Through displays and lectures it taught a history long withheld from blacks and whites alike — one largely suppressed, omitted or ignored in schools. With its 
insistent black-heritage focus, the museum gave a poignant history lesson to anyone who passed through its doors or saw its touring exhibitions and presentations. It was a revelation.
But over time, the museum has devolved into a troubled place beset by all manner of problems. Many revolve around embattled interim director Jim Calloway, whose strident ways make him persona non grata with potential funders. Ultimately, though, the museum has suffered from the lack of a consistent revenue stream; a well-connected, well-heeled board; and inadequate record keeping.
The interior of the split-level building, which sits mostly empty, is in disrepair. Both roofs leak and one is in danger of collapsing. When the museum was still open on a semi-regular or by-appointment-only basis, the back of the structure was closed off due to liability concerns. Building engineers have decreed much of the building unsafe for public tours. Three years ago, the museum holdings were hurriedly put in storage, where they remain, to protect them from water damage.
Finally, after years of controversy, solutions to some problems may finally be in the works.
She gave
Grand visions for the museum have surfaced before, never to be realized. It’s a familiar story to Calloway’s ailing mother, Omaha civil rights activist and black
history buff Bertha Calloway, who forged the museum from her own imagination and determination.
She harbored a dream for an archives and interpretive center on the city’s north side that chronicled the seldom told story of black pioneers. With help from her late husband, James T. Calloway, and fellow members of the Negro Historical Society she founded, the museum opened in 1976 at its present site — the three-story Webster Telephone Exchange building, at 2213 Lake St. The structure, once slated for condemnation, was saved from the rubble heap when the couple purchased it for a song in the mid-’70s. The 1906 brick structure, designed by famed architect Thomas Kimball, was home to the Nebraska Telephone Company and, later, an Urban League community center, before being converted into apartments. After some revamping, it became, under Bertha Calloway’s watch, a storehouse and a source of black pride.
Malcolm X Birthsite Foundation board member and former Omaha Public Library staffer Vicky Parks said the woman behind the museum did great things for her community.
"Mrs. Calloway gave me and people of my generation a sense of our history and a sense of our culture … Kwanza, Black History Month, Juneteenth, the black cowboys, the black homesteaders, the Tuskegee Airmen … She gave all that to me and more. Notice I say she gave all those gifts, not the Omaha Public Schools, not the university. I had a black studies minor in college, but that was just a refresher compared to what she gave me."
Bertha devoted herself to the museum and its mission with the same fervor she gave to the civil rights cause. She explained why in a 1996 Reader interview: "People must see black history in order for the images they have of black people to change. That’s what our museum is all about," she said, "It’s about revealing a history that’s been withheld."
She was driven in part to start the museum so that she could correct the one-sided history taught in schools. "The history I was forced to learn and hated just consisted of white history," she said. "I knew there had to be some other kind where black people fit in other than slavery. Even when my children were growing up there wasn’t anything in the public schools about African-Americans." She vowed then "that my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren [would] know that African-Americans were involved in the settlement of this country and the settlement of the West in particular. That’s important because it makes you feel like you belong."
The struggle
The museum’s 30-year life has always been one of struggle. Part of it stems from the Calloways’ wary, insular, defensive posture, which has valued protecting their independence above all else. They simply will not kowtow to or play ball with the big shots. Admirable as that maverick streak may be, it’s also alienated the museum and cost it valuable allies. Coupled with its lack of a professional staff and its incomplete financial accountings, questions and suspicions are bound to arise.
It’s no wonder then, as Jim Calloway noted, "There’s always been some sort of conflict with the city on funding." His mother managed all aspects of the museum’s business, including the books, and since her illness there’s been no one to pick up the slack. Few outsiders have been brought into this inner circle.
"She’s always been very leery of having certain types of individuals involved in the operation. She’s never been one who goes out to cocktail parties or fancy dinners. That’s not who she is and that’s not who I am, either," Jim Calloway said. "She’s always been more interested in getting grassroots individuals involved. Unfortunately, the powers that be like to see some substantial, high-profile figures on your board. They want you to change to their ways, so she’s steered clear of them."
Omaha photojournalist and longtime family friend Rudy Smith said Bertha didn’t want the museum to fall into the hands of the corporate community.
"She was concerned if other people took it over the black community would lose treasures and no longer have access to their own history," he said. "It could be rewritten, retold, sold and maligned. Bert’s always felt that way. She told me she always wanted it in the hands of black people." He added that the resources required for restoring the museum may necessitate bringing on board "people outside the black community that can do that."
For years the museum did at least enjoy the support of some major funding bodies, such as the now-defunct United Arts Omaha, and received tourist revenue allocations from the city and county. Its 1976 startup was facilitated by a $101,000 federal Bicentennial Commission grant.
Bertha suffered a setback when she underwent brain surgery in 1993 for what turned out to be a benign tumor. As Bertha’s memory became impaired and her faculties diminished, her son, Jim Calloway, moved from Lincoln back to Omaha to assist his mother. He assumed control of the museum’s day-to-day operations and cared for his mother at her home. Eventually, she was declared mentally incompetent to handle her own affairs and in 1997 a court-appointed attorney, Karen Tibbs, was installed as her guardian-conservator.
Historian Alonzo Smith, a former consultant to the museum, said both the strength and weakness of the GPBHM is the grassroots mentality Bertha Calloway instilled and that Jim Calloway perpetuated.
"She’s not a museum professional. She’s not a curator. She’s not an archivist. She’s not an arts administrator. She’s not a historian. But she has a love on a subject and she has a love for people in the community," said Smith, who collaborated with her on the 1998 book An Illustrated History of African-Americans in Nebraska. "She really took it and made it into a community institution. It was a wonderful community institution. But she’s a strong-minded lady who found it difficult to work with other people. She would listen and say, ‘Thank you very much, but I’m going to go ahead and do what I’m going to do.’"
What should have been a shining moment — a book about Nebraska’s black history, featuring images and data drawn from the museum’s collection — turned into a debacle. There was a dispute with the publisher and with a pair of corporate sponsors. The museum did not accept the publication, which is full of errors. Most of the books went unsold and sit in the office of an Omaha attorney. Questions linger over how the museum spent the corporate dollars dedicated to the project.
Bertha turned inward when she felt "betrayed" by a series of dealings with the suit-and-tie set that reneged on promises, said Rudy Smith. The book fiasco along with other imbroglios embittered her. "That’s why she became somewhat of a recluse and hermit and would not let anybody close to her," Smith said. "A lot of opportunities were lost because of betrayal and lack of trust and stubbornness." Museum advocate Rev. Larry Menyweather-Woods, an ordained minister and a professor in the department of black studies at the University of Nebraska at Omaha, said Bertha rejected proposals that not only could have financed a new facility, unburdening the museum of its albatross of a building, but strengthened the board, supplementing or replacing the current roster of cronies.
Alonzo Smith said she also spurned involvement with the African-American Museums Association.
"They do a needs assessment, which she really could have used to really get some big time grant money, but she didn’t want to relinquish financial and administrative control to a board." He added that a reluctance to form alliances or share governance "happens with community-family museums all over the country."
While Alonzo Smith admires Jim Calloway’s loyalty to "his mom in trying to take care of her and the museum," he said, "it’s beyond his capacity. He can’t handle it. It’s a sad story. That museum was her life’s work and to see it decline the way it has …"
If anything, photojournalist Rudy Smith said, Calloway’s carried his devotion too far.
"He is not the bad guy," Smith said. "Jim’s being true to his mother’s wishes and desires. Everything Jim’s done has been to maintain the legacy his mother established. He’s not in it for the money. He’s not in it for glory or fame. The problem’s been with him giving it up. He would do anything and everything to keep it, and he has — from borrowing money from people knowing he couldn’t pay it back to pay bills, to going without eating to working part-time jobs — whatever it took. All because of his love for his mother and her dream. He came into this thing when the museum had no money, no followers, no members, no board of directors and virtually none of the records that Bert kept. Who knows where they are? He inherited a lot of things he had no control over. He’s been in this by himself."
Bertha now resides in a north Omaha nursing home, her mind in and out of the mental fog that brain surgery left her in. Chronic seizures grip her.
Hibernating history
Over the past decade the GPBHM’s been closed more than it’s been open. From about 1998 to 2005, access to the museum and its collection was "by appointment only." In 2003 the holdings — artifacts, photos, books and documents — were mostly emptied out of the century-old building and put in storage to protect them from water damage and other environmental hazards.
Occasional selections from the collection could be viewed in temporary/touring displays at off-site locations. For the past two years the collection’s largely been invisible, even to students and scholars. Since June, when the GPBHM hosted its last exhibit in the Webster building, the museum’s doors have been shut to all visitors, the gas and water turned off and the phone disconnected. This in lieu of badly needed repairs and the result of a then-pending lawsuit over who should retain possession of the building.
Public funding was pulled when elected officials expressed concerns about the museum’s shaky financial condition and its slow response or noncompliance in producing mandatory reports. Douglas County Board Commissioner Mike Boyle said the museum failed to show how it spent past appropriations. "When you’re getting funds from a government agency, you have to account for them. You have to show you spent it for the purposes for which it was given. That’s basic 101 stuff." Boyle said. "If you don’t account for the funds, we’re certainly not going to give you any additional money, that’s for sure."
Then, when the museum was in line for Community Development Block Grant funding to pay for some of the outstanding repair work, Jim Calloway refused a 2001 city allocation of $50,000 as inadequate. Even after the allocation was increased in 2003 to $100,000, he stalled, and, in a fit of pride, held out for more. When stipulations, in the form of financial accountings, were placed on the museum getting the funds, Calloway did not comply and the money offer was rescinded. When, around the same time, he similarly did not satisfy Douglas County Board requests for financial records, county appropriations were withheld.
In recent years, Rudy Smith and others agree that Calloway’s miscalculations have left his and the museum’s reputations tarnished to the point that all public funding for the GPBHM has been denied. Calloway admits making "a big mistake."
"I gambled and lost. I take responsibility because I could have acted on it sooner," Calloway said. "A $100,000 is $100,000. If I had it all to do over again I would probably have taken the money and got part of the work done and then lobbied for the rest. But at the time I felt they were throwing us carrots. They’ve got millions of dollars they’re spending on a lot of other projects and here we need at least $230,000 and they’re only throwing out $100,000. Just enough to get us in trouble."
In a recent interview, Housing and Community Development Manager James Thele said, "We’d certainly be glad to work with them again if they'd like to submit again." He added the door’s not been closed on the museum. "Oh, no, not at all, it’s a wonderful building. We’d like to see the building preserved. It’s part of the history of north Omaha."
Jim Calloway concedes the museum’s record keeping is inadequate. He said finding documents is complicated by the volume of items he must sift through in storage.
At the same time he held out for more money, Calloway led the Committee for the Preservation of Historic North Omaha Sites, which criticized city plans for North 24th Street redevelopment as disprespectful of black heritage.
"My lesson is, in order to really play the game, you’ve got to kiss the man’s butt every once in a while — that politics is a nasty game and I’m not suited for it. I’m not a diplomat in that regard at all. I get pretty hardheaded sometimes. I find a lot of times that stubbornness about me gets me in trouble. I just don’t tolerate a bunch of bull. Even my mother continues to be defiant … She frequently tells me not to be ‘a sellout to the bourgeois martini set.’"
One financial crisis after another has dogged the museum. There are some $10,000 in unpaid bills. There are outstanding tax liens. In recent years Jim Calloway has failed to file for the museum’s tax-exempt status, which left him scrambling to scrape up the cash. He raised what was owed before, but he’s well behind on the most recent taxes due — $3,750 and counting in tax and interest.
"My fault. There’s no question about that," he said, adding the building’s tax certificate is held by an investor who has no designs on the property itself except to collect interest on the taxes owed. Menyweather-Woods has negotiated a payment plan with the investor.
Lawsuits
It doesn’t stop there. Calloway is embroiled in legal disputes with Tibbs, his mother’s conservator, who already had him evicted from one of her properties.
"Her performance as guardian-conservator has been sub-par all the way," Calloway said. "This whole business with the museum was not necessary. One of the problems with her is she shoots from the hip a lot. She doesn’t do her research." Calloway filed a motion in Douglas County Probate Court for her removal as Bertha Calloway’s guardian-conservator, but withdrew it before the March hearing.
A County Probate division officer said the motion was the latest skirmish in "a long battle" between the family and Tibbs.
Tibbs challenged the deed to the museum building, noting that a clause in the title Bertha and James Calloway signed over to the nonprofit Great Plains Black Museum Archives and Interpretive Center, Inc. requires that the structure revert back to Bertha Calloway’s ownership should it stop being used as a museum. In her brief, Tibbs asserted the building no longer filled that function. Tibbs later said she had investors lined up to purchase or repair the building.
Jim Calloway sees it differently. "The case we made before the judge is that we’re an organization that’s struggling but that’s still trying to keep afloat," he said. "No, we’re not open right now, but we’re in the process of making a partnership [to stabilize and reopen it]."
In a Jan. 17 trial in Douglas County District Court, Judge Robert Burkhard heard testimony from witnesses on both sides. His decision found that while the institution "may have been somewhat loosely operated as a corporation … the building and the property … had always been used as a museum … possibly somewhat sporadically at times … but that does not mean that it ceased to be used as a museum."
According to Tibbs, who said she represents the best interests of her client, "The decision is that the museum is an operational museum, so maybe it is, but nobody else in the community knows that. The building’s not been open. I can’t get in. Nobody can. You cannot go to that place, open the door and go inside to see an exhibit, and you haven’t been able to do that for some time."
Tibbs said she’s not sure of her next move. "I do know it is unfortunate that it all came down to this," she said. "I think Jim is trying to do the best he can with what he has, but he just won’t let it go. Maybe I just won’t let it go."
Calloway sees the decision as opening the door for the museum to have a fresh start in the building he and his mother fought so hard to save. "I’m happy with the way things turned out," he said, noting its loss "would break my mother’s heart. She’s got a lot of sentimental attachment to the building. It does have a lot of historical significance."
Still, squabbles, accusations and allegations both inside and outside the family have further eroded confidence in the museum. Calloway and his sister, Bonita, are at odds over who owns the museum holdings. She asserts they’re the property of the family. He maintains they belong to the museum corporation and the community.
Menyweather-Woods summed up the contentiousness and controversy by saying, "There’s enough mess to go around. This is a vicious game being played," he said. "I’m so tired of this conniving, back-stabbing when it ain’t necessary."
There’s even talk holdings were sold on eBay or at auction. Calloway said nothing’s been sold online but some artifacts were sold at a Dino’s Storage auction held to recoup unpaid storage fees. He said he bought back most of the museum items on sale. The few he didn’t purchase, he added, "weren’t really of any great historical significance. They’re things that can be replaced." He said the museum’s most prized possessions — photos and research documents prepared or compiled by his mother and others — remain untouched. These items, he said, hold little monetary value but much historical value.
"We have the most information of any museum on early blacks in this part of the country, including the homesteaders," he said. "Every effort has been made to protect these important historical documents and photos."
While Jim Calloway acknowledges mistakes, he said much of the doubt is unfounded speculation. "There’s so many misconceptions about what’s going on," he said. "Maybe because we’re not open on a regular basis, that’s where those perceptions come from." Woods, a close observer of the museum, said the public doesn’t know what to believe. Former Douglas County Board member Carole Woods-Harris said, "Very few people know what’s going on."
Calloway tried putting some of those concerns to rest when, in early March, he showed a pair of visitors the holdings at two storage sites. One, situated on a patch of ground directly west of the museum building, is a 48-foot-long metal storage trailer jammed with stuff. He owes thousands of dollars for the trailer’s use but he said the owner’s been "patient with me" thus far. Ironically, amid all the talk about the holdings, they’ve sat — albeit unseen and locked away — next to the museum for years.
Along nearly the entire length of one side of the trailer, stacked from floor to ceiling, are columns of cardboard conservation boxes containing documents on various topics of black culture and history. To illustrate the contents, Calloway removed two boxes, one labeled "Black Cowboys" and the other "Bob Gibson," each filled with articles, essays and notes on their subjects. The little known role of black cowboys is a major emphasis of the museum. Bertha Calloway’s own grandfather, George "Dotey Pa" Pigford was a cattle hand. The feats of black icons with local ties like major league baseball hall-of-famer Bob Gibson, publisher Mildred Brown, black nationalist Malcolm X and civil rights activist John Markoe are also museum staples.
The other site, a warehouse owned by a family supermarket chain, is a vast space leased to the museum for storing shelves, lights, signage, et cetera. The lease ended some time ago and the site’s continued use by the museum is on "a month-by-month basis," although Calloway’s been told he must clear out the holdings this month. He’s looking for a new spot.
A fresh start
Burkhard’s Feb. 22 ruling may clear the way for a working relationship between the museum and the UNO Department of Black Studies, which could give the GPBHM a whole new image. Calloway and UNO officials have been conferring for months now on an association whereby UNO would help provide space, on or off-campus, for storing/exhibiting the collection, as well as professional/student services to catalog it. Brokering the deal is Menyweather-Woods, who approached Calloway about the university working with the museum. Terms of a formal agreement are under review. The partnership is contingent on Calloway cutting official ties to the museum, although he would act as a consultant.
In addition to providing professional and student services to help catalog the collection, UNO would identify funding sources, apply for grant monies and advise on the formation of a new board of advisors, board of directors and personnel.
Another potential partner is Metropolitan Community College, which may provide space on its Fort Omaha campus for storing/cataloging the museum holdings. Wherever the site is, the plan is to house the collection there until the museum building is ready to be reopened.
Menyweather-Woods said partnerships between black studies departments and black
museums exist across the country. He said such an arrangement only makes sense here given the scholarship the university can apply to "the uniqueness" of the research trove the museum possesses. "Those are natural collaborations," Hendricks said. In no way, Menyweather-Woods said, will UNO take over the museum. It’s more about guiding it. "It’s about the black studies department being intrinsically involved in helping reestablish the museum as a viable research center," Menyweather-Woods said.
Jim Calloway said any new leadership is likely to "fit more easily and comfortably into that atmosphere" of public-private politics and hoop jumping he loathes so much.
"With all the controversy that surrounds the museum and me, I know it’s in the best interests of the museum for me to step aside as soon as possible," Calloway said. "My character has been assassinated to the point where, right now, it doesn’t do me any good to even think about continuing to try and remain.
"There’s so many questions swirling around that I’d be a detriment. I know that. It used to bother me quite a bit. It doesn’t bother me anymore because I know I’ve done the right thing by my mother and by other individuals who started this thing, and that’s to protect the holdings at all cost, and that’s what I’ve done. And so, I’m comfortable with it."
Alonzo Smith embraces any help the museum can get. "They have all this material, but they really need a different institution … a different organization [to maintain it]," he said. "A lot of the collection’s never really been cataloged. I remember going through all these photographs that were in boxes and they had no names or labels on them. Things were not done in a professional manner. It’s time to take it out of [the Calloways’] hands, so somebody else can pick up with it. It would be great if that could happen."
Rudy Smith said whatever happens, the museum needs "a new direction, new leadership, an infusion of money and a five- or 10-year plan. It does need to be turned over to an organization or a group that can help revive it, restore its integrity and do something with it," he said. "It needs someone with a big vision — a big vision beyond Omaha. It has to have some linkage to the national black museums association. It’s going to take a lot of work, a lot of money."
How much money depends on whom you ask. Renovation estimates vary from a few hundred thousand dollars to address the most pressing needs to a few million dollars to completely overhaul the building. There’s also been talk of a new structure adjacent or connected to the existing museum.
While a UNO association would give the GPBHM more credibility, many issues remain, the most basic being a need for sizable resources, and UNO is adamant about not committing money to the project. Besides repairs and renovations, funds must be secured for an operating budget and to cover salaries for a professional staff to curate and preserve the collection and manage the museum.
If the proposed agreement with UNO is finalized, then Calloway said the museum’s holdings can, for the first time, be completely indexed or inventoried. "It’s mainly identifying what’s in these 200-plus boxes. It’s going to take a big effort by a lot of people and it’s going to take a lot of time," he said. He hopes his past isn’t held agasint the museum when funding for it is once again sought.
Little else but hope has kept the museum alive. That, and Calloway’s devotion to his mother’s dream, a devotion he’s perhaps carried to a fault by refusing to relinquish control, even during the 10 years he cared for his mother in her home.
"I made a commitment to her that I’d keep her at home as long as possible," he said. "But it did put the purpose of the museum behind 10 years. I wish I could have had that time to really dedicate to the museum because I think … things wouldn’t be as bad off as they are now. But there wasn’t anyone else I had total confidence in that I could just give the key to and say, ‘Here …’
No one knows more than Jim Calloway what the burden of that dream has cost. "More than a dream, really, it’s a mandate from my mother."
