Dr. Carol Adams: The Original Cultural Architect

If Dr. Carol Adams, the former president and CEO of the DuSable Museum of African American History, among many other positions, was an African sculpture, the patina would tell the story of a magnificent cultural architect—layered, rich, and enduring. Her life reflects the deep hues of reddish brown or Redbone, like the iron-tinted patina formed over time: strong, complex, and lasting.

Carol's story is also the story of a Black Baby Boomer woman, coming of age during a pivotal era of transformation—from Colored to Negro, to Black, to African American. Each term carried its own power and reflected a distinct moment in history.

Family and Education

Carol grew up in Louisville, Kentucky, in a loving, educated household. Her father was a Fisk University graduate and entrepreneur; her mother was insightful and progressive. Carol was the youngest of three daughters, born nine years after her sisters. “It was like having a bunch of parents,” she recalls. Her older sisters were protective, and she idolized them, always eager to follow in their footsteps.

They were opposites—one artistic, the other athletic—offering Carol a blend of both worlds. Her mother encouraged freedom of thought, especially in faith. Carol was allowed to choose her own church, as long as she attended one. She laughs recalling how she went to three services every Sunday: mass with one sister, Baptist church with the other, and evening service with her Presbyterian parents.

Their home often included male cousins, making her feel like the baby of an extended family. “I always had validation,” she says. She was constantly surrounded by love, encouragement, and people who believed she could do anything. One cousin later admitted she couldn't stand Carol’s piano playing—but always cheered her on anyway.

Her eldest sister even helped her skip kindergarten by adjusting her age so she could enroll directly into first grade. “Everything she taught me prepared me for school,” Carol says.

Reflecting on her childhood, Carol remembers a tight-knit neighborhood where kids roamed freely, and doors were never locked. “Everyone knew each other,” she says. “We could run in and out of each other’s homes. It was amazing.”

Now, she mourns the loss of that kind of community. “I look out my window and never see kids playing,” she says. “We’ve lost our sense of the village. That extended family is broken.” In her day, children could walk to the store or church without fear. “Nobody was lurking around to harm you. The community protected you. Everybody knew everybody.”

Off to College

Carol always knew she was going to college—her father made that expectation clear. Although he preferred less male-dominated environments for his daughters, her oldest sister, a pianist, chose Fisk for its renowned music program. The other sister, more traditional, went to Hampton but agreed to attend at least one year of college before getting married, which she did the following year.

Their family lived in a two-flat building her father owned. He converted the top floor into a larger unit for their household, while other relatives, including one of her sisters and a cousin’s family, lived in the remaining apartments. “That time—living with everyone under one roof—was the happiest of my life,” Carol remembers. With support from cousins, siblings, and parents, she never lacked encouragement or guidance.

She also witnessed the effects of the Great Migration firsthand when a cousin moved to Seattle for work at Boeing, a company more accessible to Black workers in the Pacific Northwest than opportunities available in the South.

When it came time for college, Fisk was again considered for Carol. Her high school principal agreed to her early admission offered through Fisk's “Early Entrance” program, but she declined—wanting to graduate with her class and already being a year ahead academically. Interested in law school, she opted instead for Lincoln University in Missouri, which had a pre-law track and ties to her family through her father and uncle, both coaches who had sent athletes there.

Carol arrived at Lincoln with 13 “home boys” on the football and basketball teams. Despite her mother’s warning not to get involved in civil rights activities, Carol’s convictions didn’t fade. Though not formally involved with student groups, she joined protests against segregation in Jefferson City. The school president, under pressure from the state, cracked down harshly: expelling demonstrators and instituting strict dorm lockdowns, even hiring guards to enforce isolation.

After a week under those conditions, Carol called her mother to say she was ready to leave. But her mother, ever practical, encouraged her to finish the semester first. “You can do this,” she told her. “Then you never have to go back.”

Carol took that advice—and the lesson stuck: effective activism requires not just passion but preparation. “That’s why civil rights organizers trained people before protests,” she reflects. “You had to be ready mentally, emotionally, and physically.”

Transfer to Fisk

When Carol transferred to Fisk, the environment was completely different. This was after all the school of W.E.B. DuBois. Civil rights activism was supported—not punished. “When we went to jail, they brought us our schoolwork, retained lawyers, and made sure we were okay,” she recalls. At Fisk, she followed in the footsteps of icons like John Lewis and Diane Nash, surrounded by a culture of purposeful resistance.

Her mother, though protective and concerned for the family’s safety, ultimately respected Carol’s choices. Her father, proud and grounded in his own experiences, supported her fully. Carol credits her parents for instilling strength and independence while recognizing each daughter’s individuality. “My mother treated us the same by respecting how different we were,” she says. “That was her superpower.”

Trouble in Boston

After Fisk, Carol headed to Boston University to pursue her Ph.D.—but quickly realized Boston was the most racist place she’d ever experienced, despite having grown up in the South. It wasn’t her first introduction to the North; that summer, she had participated in a Yale experimental program on community development, which brought together Black students from the South and white students from the North. She’d even visited Boston earlier that summer to apartment-hunt with help from a high school friend from Louisville who now lived there.

Carol and her mother traveled to Boston together to set up her new place. She had no trouble renting the apartment, unaware she was the only Black resident in the building. It was close to Boston University, which made it ideal—until the day her mother was set to return home. That morning, racist signs were posted on Carol’s door.

Alarmed, her mother insisted they leave. “You’re not staying. We’re going home,” she said. Carol stood her ground, pointing out she had a friend in the city whose prominent parents had promised to look out for her. “Nothing is going to happen,” they assured her. “Yes, they’re racist, but it’s all bluff—they’re just trying to make you uncomfortable.” Her mother reluctantly agreed to leave.

But things escalated. Carol began experiencing daily racism, including being followed home. Once, she said, was too many. Her neighbors across the hall embodied what she described as “MAGA-style” confrontations—aggressive expressions of American exceptionalism that excluded people like her. Fearing for her safety, she called her Fisk alumna sister in Detroit and asked her to send mace.

Still, she remembered her mother’s advice from her time at Lincoln: finish what you started. So, she stayed long enough to complete her master’s degree in sociology, then made plans to leave Boston for good.

She began looking for Ph.D. programs and quickly set her sights on Chicago, , known for its sociology footprint. Through The American Sociologist magazine, she found several job listings in the city. Chicago also made sense geographically: it was home to a strong sociology program at the University of Chicago and was just a few hours from her sister in Detroit and family in Louisville.

Move to Chicago and the Catalyst

Carol arrived in Chicago for the first time on September 1, 1966. She stayed at the YWCA on Dearborn and Clark while getting settled. A friend of her sister’s, a sociologist at the Welfare Council of Metropolitan Chicago, suggested she apply for a research position there. She did—and got the job.

She stayed briefly with her sister’s brother-in-law while searching for an apartment. “Within two months of arriving,” she recalls proudly, “I had a job and a place to live.”

The Welfare Council conducted research and policy work for all the private social service agencies in Chicago. Carol’s role there took her across the city, eventually connecting her with Mr. Simon, who was based on the West Side in North Lawndale.

One day, Charles Ross—who was working on Richard Hatcher’s mayoral campaign—showed up at the office. He shared that Black social workers were organizing. They were frustrated with their lack of voice in the agencies where they worked. Despite being on the front lines, they had no say in policies or decisions, because the agencies were largely run by white leadership and white boards. At the time, there was also an organization (a predecessor to the United Way) that expected monthly donations deducted directly from employees’ paychecks—contributions that ultimately supported decisions Black workers had no influence over.

That first organizing meeting, called by Warner Sanders, Al Raby, and Abena Joan Brown, was held at Brown’s home—and for Carol, it was transformative. “I will never forget that meeting,” she recalled. “It was a life-changing occurrence for me because I met so many people who were major change agents and advocates for the Black community—people like Useni Perkins, Levert King, and Orthello Ellis. It was the beginning of everything for me in Chicago.” That night lit a fire in her—it set her on a clear path and began her integration into Chicago’s Black socio-political movement.

From that meeting, a group emerged, and Carol gave it its name: Catalyst. It was a fitting title for the collective of powerful social architects focused on diversity, human rights, and social justice. As the Catalyst was formalizing, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated in Memphis. Riots erupted in Black neighborhoods across the country—particularly on Chicago’s West Side. The response from social service agencies was dismissive, if not outright hostile. After much deliberation, the Catalyst chose to confront the moment and reject the status quo. In doing so, they became a bold and unified force of intelligent, educated, and skilled people committed to the advancement of Black communities.

The Catalyst soon expanded beyond social workers, growing to include teachers, professors, artists, writers, psychologists, lawyers, and historians—including well-known figures like Dr. Anderson Thompson, Dr. Harold Pates, and Larry Shaw—as well as Vince Cullers, the founder and president of a Black-owned advertising agency.

In those tense times, with national attention on Black unrest, demands were being made—from Black communities, not just to white leadership but also internally, calling for action and accountability. The Catalyst crafted its own list of demands. Vince Cullers designed a bold black bag to hold a formal telegram, which each member would send to their agency leadership, directing them to attend a meeting at the Afro-Arts Theater with their Black employees.

“It was an opportunity for me to observe and learn from all the people I’ve mentioned—people who became iconic figures in Chicago’s Black leadership,” Carol recalled. “I served when asked, got to know them, and witnessed their thought processes, organizing skills, attention to detail, and commitment to excellence. I watched them work together as a team. I learned from them. They were audacious—very bold.”

Abena Joan Brown emphasized a key point: if the telegrams were anonymous or signed only with “The Catalyst,” they might be dismissed. “They needed to know we were in their agencies,” she argued. Every detail mattered.

To avoid getting fired for skipping work, the plan was carefully timed. When the telegrams arrived, Catalyst members would approach their department heads during lunch and identify themselves as members of the Catalyst. It was a coordinated, strategic move—and a powerful statement.

“We assumed they couldn’t fire every Black person working in the agency. And we thought we had critical mass, right?” Carol says with a smile.

She recalls how many of these agencies were led by white men—but interestingly, many had Black secretaries. These women became the group’s internal communication line, quietly relaying the agencies’ responses to the Catalyst’s letters and actions. “Surprisingly, nobody got fired,” Carol says. “And the meeting took place. We presented our black bag.”

“That’s why the name of my book about the Catalyst is Our Black Bag,” she explains. “The bag symbolized how we intended to move forward. We declared that we no longer worked for them—we worked for our community. We were no longer going to contribute to that United Way predecessor, paying into a fund that never served our interests. We laid it all out—how we felt, how we would operate going forward. And from that strategic move, our organization just kept growing.”

After that, the Catalyst began meeting every Saturday at Parkway Community House on 67th Street, in the theater. “People would come down with workplace issues,” Carol remembers. “I can recall one meeting where a brother who worked at Cook County Hospital came because he wasn’t allowed to wear a dashiki to work. Consequently, we went to his job.”

“The point is,” she continues, “You must understand the relevance of these issues in the context of the moment. That’s key. You can’t open the door without that understanding. It was important that brother knew he had people listening—and that we were there for him.”

Carol adds, “We did everything from small things like that to something huge—like "Bird of the Iron Feather." That was when they were trying to get the show on TV. By then, Oscar Brown Jr. was involved. Everybody was involved. It was the first all-Black soap opera.”

The Catalyst mobilized and went to WTTW to demand that Bird of the Iron Feather be aired. The series became the highest-rated local show ever broadcast by WTTW-TV in Chicago. Life magazine noted in April 1970 that the show’s ratings were “high enough to have assured syndication by at least 40 educational stations around the country this year.” Lee Bey of WBEZ called it “an unflinching look at the harsh realities of ghetto life.” Life described it as “television’s first attempt to portray life in the Black ghetto as it is actually lived,” praising its “authentic, controversial portrayal of Black ghetto life” and its “gutsy reality that is missing from white-washed Black-life shows like Julia.”

Sometime after the WTTW action, the Catalyst staged a powerful demonstration at the United Way’s annual meeting. They showed up with their respective agencies and took their seats at designated tables. As the speakers began, the Black men stood and walked to the stage. The women stood at their tables in silent support. Then the men voiced the group’s demands to the audience, declaring that they would no longer participate in the organization unless Black people were placed in decision-making positions.

That bold move eventually led to real change. In the 1980s, Jerome Stevenson became the first Black head of the United Way.

The most important thing is that the Catalyst had become a think tank that turned thought into action. As Carol puts it, the organization kept growing stronger. Major Chicago heavy hitters in social change got involved—like Lou Palmer and Georgia Palmer—and with them, the Catalyst expanded its reach and influence.

Carol pauses and smiles as she continues: “It was the organization people looked to when they wanted to elevate Black people into different spaces and places.”

“It was from that standpoint that we backed folks—and they catapulted to higher ground,” she says. “Warner Saunders, for instance, left his position as Executive Director of the Better Boys Foundation—which was then filled by Useni Perkins—to join WBBM as Director of Community Affairs and host Common Ground. Frank Bacon, also a Catalyst member, became head of Corporate Affairs at Sears. Chuck Curry, another Catalyst member, got the Corporate Affairs position at Quaker Oats. And so on. There are so many stories like that. But you get the drift.”

In retrospect, the Catalyst functioned like old money power and influence—but for Black folks, who historically had no access to those kinds of levers in the places and spaces they aspired to. It was also a training ground—a place where Black people could learn organizational skills and gain knowledge and understanding of how business works: in the corporate world, in nonprofits, and in philanthropy.

Members learned not just the technical side, but the culture of each space—how to navigate them. Whereas wealthy people often grow up immersed in business culture and internalize how those systems work, Black people in Chicago rarely had that kind of access. The Catalyst helped fill that gap.

Carol acknowledges that at its core, the Catalyst was rooted in Blackness and in a deep love for Black people and culture. It represented a commitment to uplift, to advance growth and development, to push the community forward. If the Catalyst had a founding principle, it might have been: “Know thyself—in the context of the collective.”

University of Chicago

The year 1970 rolls in and Carol enrolls into U of C’s Sociology PhD program  because they were recruiting students and granted her a fellowship. As a stipulation they did not want you to  work at all.  But Carol reveals  that she accepted a teaching position and taught her first class at Crane, in African American Studies class that was also a game changer another milestone in her life. In walks  her  first class of students, which included  Henry English, Calvin Cook and others . These guys were fresh out of the military and very grown. Some of them were older than her. She reminds us, “I had graduated from college very young, by age 20. I was teaching grown men who had more to teach me about life, yet I was teaching them. I was immersed in many things and a lot of  activism was emerging. The  Black Panther Party was evolving, and my students were joining as members. That's when they decided, ‘hey, this school should be named Malcolm X,’ so they advocated and worked to change ‘Crane’ to ‘Malcolm’ X.”

All this and she did as she continued her research work at the Welfare Council, because she loved researching. During this time  Northeastern University  opened  the Center for Inner City Studies on the South Side at 39^th and Oakwood. She applied for a  job there and got it which was the third big game changer in her.  There at the Center for Inner City Studies she met another level of brilliant people. She says, “So between the Catalyst and the CICS, my total political consciousness was elevated and developed.”  To her surprise folks like historian Anderson Thompson, Larry Shaw and Vince Cullers.

And all those Black women who worked at the different YWCA branches throughout the city were part of the strategic plan executed by the ultimate organizer, Catalyst member Doris Wilson who worked for the National and Metropolitan Chicago YWCAs. She pushed to secure public support for quality day care. More significant is the mentoring of the Black women around her. They were in the Catalyst too. Consequently, the Chicago representatives had a way of exuding their intentional outcomes such that their energy would just dominate the national conclaves . The movement or goal to eliminate racism became the goal of the YWCA under the guidance  Doris Wilson.

Carol pauses to point out that these brilliant people who are mentors, teachers, comrades and  friends studied, read, planned, discussed, and published. They came together to discuss papers and books. We read books together. We participated in dialogue to examine and confront different perspectives.  Lou Palmer started Lou's Book, Shelf.  Everyone would read the same books and engage in conversation. I can remember discussing with Harold Pates  and Andy Thompson and the “Crisis of the Negro Intellectual," by Harold Cruse repeatedly, And when we left the meetings, we go to the Queen of the sea and continue the dialogue.“

Listening to Carol you get the sense that people were engaged in the pursuit of knowledge and information which is the  actual meaning of being informed. People wanted to know what they were talking about; what was the past  and how it impacts us now?  There’s a sense of wanting to be grounded or enriched in the truth and facts. Today we are witnessing a shift in how information is used to misinform or tell stories that literally shapeshift the reality right in front of us. Such behavior would have cancelled out the now famous debate between James Baldwin and William F. Buckley over ‘race’ in America.  

Grasping that concept of grounding your perspective, Carol says, “So, people weren't randomly doing things. They had goals with intentional outcomes that were taken quite seriously. When one studies research you discover that the Black Panther Party, were young people who read, studied and attempted to apply the reality of the knowledge gained to their lives. “

The point Dr. Carol Adams makes is that the misguidance of our youth and the failure to properly educate or even teach them how to seek out information, how to distinguish the mix messaging is tragic but not a death sentence. We must never stop in the pursuit of truths as the facts support them. Untruths will come to pass, and the reality will set in.

But back to the younger Carol Adams who was at beginning  of her doctoral degree journey,  suddenly she faced a crisis of philosophies. There was the brilliance and prestige of the University of Chicago’s esteemed academia world acknowledgement and the not so known African centered luminosity that was emerging on campuses across the country and world that encompassed both the intelligence and pursuit of information of the U of C path buy lacked its prestige on the Academic world stage created a social emotional push or pull crisis for Carol. On the other hand,  was her Northeastern University of Illinois’ Center for Inner City studies experience where the exploration of and examination of looking at scholarship in a new way presented a conundrum. She notes that the U of C  academia leadership was locked into ‘old school’ thinking while Northeastern’s CICS offered the exciting untraveled territory engaging in the study of history’s impact on Blacks and our past impact on history.  

Carol then made up her mind that she was leaving U of C and met with Morris Janowitz, chairman of the Sociology Department.  “He asked me not to leave since the number of Blacks at U Of C had dwindled since the days of Horace R. Cayton, E Franklin  Frazier and Allison Davis, thus he shared information that he hoped would influence my decision. Next  he blurted it out, “Horace R. Cayton is here to do some research, and he will need a research assistant.” Carol still stuck on the name asks, “Black Metropolis,” Horace Cayton with St. Clair Drake ?” And he said, “Yes, go look on the bulletin board for the announcement. You can contact him if you want to apply for it.” The rest is history. She found his notice, called him from the school phone booth, he answered, and said to meet him at his office right away.  When they met up Mr. Cayton said to Carol, “I’ve been waiting on you.”

She asked, “What do you mean?” He responded, “Everybody that’s been here have been white.”

Honestly what was the surprise? “As a matter of fact, Dr. Gloria Bacon, a physician was the only other Black student in the sociology department,” Carol points out.

The two hit it off and as Carol states, “I became his research assistant, putting me on an entirely different level of learning which opened the doors to a different plane of people I met because of him. While working with him she’d chauffeur him around.  As his assistant she’d record conversations, was an avid notetaker, and met with the most exciting people in some very interesting places. Inquisitive and frustrated Cayton inquired, “Where are the materials that they studied, that they developed for them?”

“I explain that I was working on the WPA, and that the materials are at the library, totally kept uncared for, un cataloged, stashed in some boxes.  He couldn't believe that they had been treated in that way. Finally, I disclosed that I was teaching at Northeastern ‘research’ and that I had students who needed master's thesis ideas, students that know how to do research. I offered to catalog the materials as part of my students portfolio. He said  that he’d love to see that happen.”

To do so, we needed to get permission. All the students were accomplished and committed to the community. Their enrollment  at CICS, required that they  wanted to do their work in the Black community or in the inner city. Permission was granted and the students from the Center for Inner City Studies were the first to begin to inventory and catalog all those materials that became the beginning of the Vivian Harsh Collection.  

On a mission and having to make choices when a course at U of C conflicted with the class she taught at CICS, so Carol ended up leaving U of C but not without having gained a myriad of experience, exposure to things and people of importance.  

During that juncture the concept of ‘Union Graduate school’ emerged out of Antioch in Yellow Springs, Ohio. The program allowed you to make up your own curriculum and choose with whom you chose to study.  Carol says,  “I began  studying with people in Chicago, and I convened my dissertation committee.  

It was a richly textured time. Carol continued her work at CICS and by then Conrad Worrill who was an Abena Joan Brown mentee had joined the CICS reflecting that those who come from the same spheres of influence seemingly came together based on academic interests and commitment to community.”

The Catalyst

The Catalyst impacted my life so completely and thoroughly. It directly effected my thinking. My perspective became razor sharp, and I never looked at things the same again. That mindset transformation was the foundation for revisioning or what is coined today as reimagining. That’s what we were doing as part of the Neighborhood Institute working with Milton Davis at South Shore Bank. Out of that relationship we envisioned a new face on 71st and that’s when ‘One of A Kind’ Boutique, Zambezi and other such fabulous shops popped up for business with the assistance of Bob Page’s vision and Milton Davis’s financial assistance.  

Carol was curator of the Everyday Art Festival, and  shares its birth,  “ I recall that it was during the Bicentennial celebration, so I wrote a grant and organized the music and arts festival at the SouthShore Country Club which grew once Geraldine De Hass took on the music entertainment showcasing the likes of Ahmal Jamal and Mc Coy Tyner.

So much was going on because it was evolving, and the door never stopped revolving. One thing flowed into or one from another to another. That’s how it was. So, while Carol was immersed in the Catalyst, Jacob Jennings brought an opportunity to her to tackle.  The organization had created a skills bank as a research tool. The word was out bout the work that the Catalyst did, and Jacob facilitated the opportunity for her to write a study on the State of Higher Education in Illinois requested by Senator Richard Newhouse. Out of that she learned that incarcerated Black women were the worse off and most deprived of all prisoners Then the unexpected as it always flowed in Carol’s life happened amid a conversation with Claudia Mc Cormick who responded to Carol’s mention about a proposal she had written for the women in prison.  

“I’m about to be the new warden of the new women's jail.  “I’d love to be able to go in there with a program like yours.” She said, “to be able to have a program like that at the beginning, when we start, would be fantastic.”

“And we did, we got the money for the program. We had introduced arts and cultural programming to the occupants of the Cook County Women’s Jail. We had everything from GED to Dr. Aza Hapi teaching yoga. Abena Joan Brown taught theater. Nikki Giovanni held a poetry workshop, and the women wrote and published a poetry book under Walter Bradford’s tutelage, “Lyrics of Locked up Ladies.” T.L. Barret led a gospel choir. There was so much more.”

Carol admits for me, “Chicago's always been an opportunity to “think it and do it.” What it means is “If you can think it, you can do it. If you can conceive it, you can achieve it up in here.”  

At some point, there was the reality that we were parents working.  In the meantime, we had our babies but no schools to teach them as we wanted them to be taught, so we created our own. There was Shule Watoto, The Institute of Positive Education’s, and Ujima all which began with a thought.  

The interesting tie that bound us every time was the Catalyst. It was made up of all kinds of Black professionals who understood the power and necessity for inner support and the Catalyst was that. Each group or individual introduced a whole new set of ideas and philosophies that are from Black people of different disciplines and professions. It was our nature, our intention to help one another achieve one another’s goals and to contribute to our own.  

A New Foundation

Together the Catalyst and the CICS gave her everything she needed to be a leader in the world community. She says with fondness, “the challenge is to describe the phenomena of the two.  It’s like explaining that everything is not everything, but everything is happening at the same.  I'm saying everything is always going on. So, it's evolving, and though the institutions remain constant change is always taking place. At CICS while certain people would come and go; others remained. The same was true for the Catalyst. Sometimes they overlapped and the interconnection fastened us together enabling us to get a certain job done. One accomplished we move on.  

The Catalyst engaged with the American patrol men, the Black firemen, the Black parents of workers and other groups continued organizing. It was a key period for us. My observation is, some of us stay engaged constantly creating the consistency The ties that bind us like attending Operation Breadbasket, followed by attending a Catalyst meeting at noon, from there we’d go to Lou's Bookshelf. Theirs is always something else you stay immersed in. You keep working, and everybody works with everybody else. All these entities somehow were connected and came together to work together to accomplish the goals.  

Carol describes her job at Chicago Housing Authority /CHA as laying the foundation for her stint at DHS. She exclaims that she had fun as the Executive Director where she was able to utilize all her research, people skills and creative instincts to do things differently.  

She says if not for her CHA experience, she would not have been prepared for DHS. “It was bureaucratic and political, and I was neither.”

I recognized that these opportunities came through unusual means. Because I never had a desire when I grew up to become the head of the Department of Human Services. Yet there I was.”

Speaking of which I was at Malcolm X for the Kwanzaa Celebration when I ran into

A young man whom I had met a kid when I worked at CHA. The next day he called me to say, “I'm so glad I ran into you and put you on your mind.” He was sitting in a meeting where they were discussing the need for a Secretary of Human Services, then says, “You would be perfect.”  Paused and explains, “I said to myself, that'll never happen.” He then asks, “Could you apply? Would you send me your resume?”   She agreed to do so as she thought that it would never happen because the, I'll send it to you, because such positions are political, a favor for a favor.” Next, he says, "We will need your credentials. They're going to do a background check, and the job starts on Monday.”  

She was offered the job.  It certainly had not been on her radar or job protectory.  She articulates; “Such are the things you can't plan for but are what you have been preparing for your whole life.”. I loved the Center for Inner City Studies. I like being there and being back there was great for me.  

So, she turned down the job offer which brought one of the CHA Officers with whom she worked to talk her into accepting the position.   She told me, “When he said, ‘Doc, I hear you turn down the DHS job. You cannot do that. Do you how many people that are involved, and what it provides to our people?” At that point ii was 18,000 jobs and $5 billion dollar budget.

He continued, “Think of the people you could affect doing the work. You have got to take this. We have never had anybody like you in a job like this, nobody with your background and your politics, nobody like you has been in the position. It’s always the bureaucrats that sit in that seat.”

“That got my attention,” Carol shares, “I needed specific advice about how to deal within the political parameter’s strategically,” so she called on her catalyst members and one woman more than others because that was her area of expertise.

A different Catalyst occurred because it changed. The organization changed and got smaller over the years, the more Afrocentric it became as people started moving around. Listening to Carol it appears that her generation that had started it all was settling in growing older and ‘what’ and ‘who’ they had put in place shifted. What was once very visible went dormant and waited for the right time to raise its head.  The peace seemed nice.

Carol mentions that Abena Joan Brown was teaching at Mundelein College and began traveling to Africa, taking her students as part of the course... Carol says we followed those things, that make sense so when I taught at Loyola, I incorporated a trip to Jamaica for my students.  We are always learning and or teaching amongst ourselves.

From the House of Blues to DuSable Museum  

Carol was at CHA enjoying her work. She really loved the job and was glad that she had agreed to step into the position.  She was really contributing to making a difference. One of her co-workers Gil Walker ran the midnight basketball program and was involved with the inner-city games, a project of Arnold Schwarzenegger. At the same time, the House of Blues is getting ready to expand and open a club in Chicago. Co-founded by Isaac Tigrett who was philanthropic traveled to Chicago to demonstrate that HOB was all about doing good in the world. He attracted local investors for the house Blues in Chicago, and asked them, what was the cause that they might be interested in supporting, for whom the House of Blues could do a fundraising event? And one of the investors involved in the Inner-City Games suggested them.   Tigrett accepted and the Inner-City Games became the recipients of the fundraiser. The games were CHA driven so they asked for a meeting. “We meet and they agree to host a golf outing from which all the proceeds will go to the ‘Inner City Games.  We were happy and excited. Then they say, “It's going to cost $10,000 to play.” We ask play what? We didn’t know anybody at the time who could pay $10,000 to tee off. That was in the early 90’s... “You don't have to worry about that. We got the people who will pay the $10,000 to play golf.” Tigrett said, “You just worry about the organization that's going to get it. You all will be there, be able to demonstrate what you will do with the award.”

CHA prepared their presentation. Carol notes, “As expected the event was held at a very exclusive golf club. It was a favorite of Michael Jordan. I'd never seen a place that luxurious. They flew in people to play. Fred Williamson was present along with numerous others from corporations, paying to play.”.  She found herself inside and, “I get to know the House of Blues people, the folks who come in to sort things t, because I'm organizing our piece. Well, I was so excited at what they were doing for us. During our conversation, I learn more about them and what they want to do.  At some point Nigel, from the House of Blues, says, ‘Who should I talk to about finding out what's going on the cultural scene in Chicago? Because we want to get involved in that.” One member of her team says, “That lady right over there pointing at me, followed with “Go see Carol Adams, the person you've been working with. She knows everything that's going on the cultural scene in Chicago.”  

So, long story short, because he asked me, I prepared something for him, I said, let me just get something ready for you. And you know me. I'm a researcher, so I'm very organized in my approach.  I prepared a binder that showed him what's happening everywhere in Chicago from the schools to the lakefront; who you need to contact; this and that and the other. The next week, I had it delivered to him with a note that said, ‘Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for us. Hope this will help you.” He called me immediately and asks, “Are you looking for a job?”  

I said, “Absolutely not.” He said, well, I would love to have you.  We need somebody to head the House of Blues Foundation in Chicago. Are you interested?”

I said, “No, I'm not. You know, I like what I'm doing. I'm working at CHA. I was Ioving it. Vince, Lane allowed me latitude to do what I needed to get done there, because we came out of the same Milton Davis group and all that. Anyway, Nigel says, at least do an interview. So, interview. And Isaac Tigrett interviewed me because Nigel figured if he couldn't convince me, he would let the big boss, who was known to be very persuasive. So Tigrett and I learn that we have interesting, similar backgrounds. I'm from Kentucky, and I went to college in Tennessee. Tigrett’s from Tennessee went to college in Kentucky. His alma mater.  

He says, “Listen, I understand. You know everything about Chicago and its people, everybody's telling me they need you to be this. You know, you need to be the head of House of Blues Foundation in Chicago. I said, “Tell me what it entails.”  

And once he did, I said “No, that's nothing that I would be interested in doing,” I said, that's way too small for me. The work that I'm involved in now involves a lot of people's lives and opportunities for them. I said, my work with public housing is very important, and I like it, so I'm going to stick with it. He says, “All right,” then he comes back, with a new offer, “What if you were the head of the International House of Blues foundation?” I said, now you're talking and so that's how it happened. It springboarded from my CHA job. When I talk to kids, I always say, be open to possibilities. But always do what you love and do what you believe in..  

When Issac Tigrett lost control to corporate, and HOB was no longer who they had been I left.  

Reentry into the Chicago mix  

Although I had spent only one weekly monthly in LA I still didn’t feel completely immersed in Chicago like I had been because I was always traveling. Conrad Worill and Bob Starks, Andy Thompson, three people from the city all called on me to return to the CICS. They were just getting ready to have a vacancy for the head of the Center, and because I knew it and loved it, and was good at raising money I agreed to consider being the candidate for that position?  

I was very excited about the position. They could recommend me but not hire me, because there was a board or this or that, and there was a long process which included the community portion. I will never forget it, because Reverend Al Sampson sides of town South and on the North side, to listen to what the community came to support us.. He said, “Listen, I know that you all make the decisions. He said, but you can see what Dr Carol Adams is bringing to the situation. If you all even think of hiring somebody other than her, they better have a whole lot going for them.”

I got the job. They wanted to give me a big welcome event at the center. And I said, no, wait a year. I said, “Let me, let's get started and then do the welcome later when I can point to what we have accomplished over that year. That's right, and that's what we did. So, I have a great photo of me, Conrad, Harold, Page and Barack Obama.

I was at DHS, and when we elected a new governor. It was expected that the new governor would want to pick his own DHS person, but it would be hard for him to get rid of me, because I was very popular. However, I had always wanted to go to Africa to work. The position I wanted had not been activated since its creation by the previous governor and filled by Monica Faith Stuart. The following governor had done nothing with that position... So, I think, “maybe I can make this work for me. I chose to parlay the desired position to go to Africa with the newly elected Governor Quinn on board, I would be on my way to South Africa. The Governor had selected somebody he wanted to bring in at DHS anyway. However, the more I looked at my job circumstances I realized that they had moved me way down on the totem pole. I got a cabinet position, and yet I'm where line is directly down so many people to the Governor. Next, I ask about my staff. Now, mind you, I have streamlined DHS from 18 to 15,000 people? Just guess how many people they ‘had given me for my new job? One. Just one-half staff member.

In the meantime, a search firm had contacted me about the DuSable Museum job, and I had told them no, because I was going to Africa.  I remember the night that I slept and awakened with the notion that I wasn't going to Africa after all.”  

With my head back in the game to go for the DuSable Museum, position. Carol was excited. And to be in a place started by Margaret Burroughs made it more intriguing and meaningful. As the Executive Director Dr. Carol Adams says that it was her pleasure to rejuvenate interest in DuSable. She was able to build the interest of many by hosting Jazz on the lawn and creating a family picnic ‘feel’.

Dr. Adams mentions that she revitalized the trips that Dr. Burroughs planned taking groups of patrons of the museum to countries/ like Mexico, Cuba and the African Continent.  

So, when we had the exhibition, the African presence in Mexico, we took a delegation, anybody that wanted to, could pay to go. We went to Mexico and went to cities, where they were able to experience the Black presence in Mexico. So, during her tenure at the DuSable Dr. Adams she took a group to Cuba in much the same way that Dr. Burroughs had. In fact. Dr Adams used the same travel agent and the same lady that always traveled with Dr. Burroughs, who was unable to make the trip. It was exciting for all. Finally, she says we were able to host some wonderful exhibitions re-establishing -Du Sable’s position amongst Chicago’s and national Museums.  

From there Dr. Adams has not slowed down but rather manages projects under the direction of her consulting firm, Urban Prescriptives. She recently completed a book of poetry, “That’s All She Wrote, Reflections and Remembrances.”  Too much left to do the Catalyst foundation upon which she stands has her writing ‘The Catalyst’ story.

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