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Legacy of change
Herman J. Russell's rise to the top of the construction business mirrored the progress of blacks in Atlanta
By the time Herman J. Russell sought his first construction loan in 1959, he had already created a solid foundation for the bank to say "yes."
For African-Americans in Atlanta in those days, that was no small accomplishment. Homes in more than a few Atlanta neighborhoods still had deed restrictions that prohibited sales to "Negroes."
But when Russell, then 29, walked into the now-defunct Home Savings and Loan on Forsyth Street, he carried with him a solid balance sheet and other paperwork that reflected his habit of saving and his growing ability to turn bare tracts of red clay into income-producing apartments. He was hoping for a $14,000 loan to start a new project.
"An older, white man took me back in an office and asked me what I wanted," said Russell, now 76. "I gave him my papers, and then he took me to the president. The president asked me what church I went to, and then he said, 'We will get back to you in a couple of days.' He sort of adopted me, and I never had to worry about borrowing after that."
Russell's handiwork is easy to find in Atlanta. Turner Field, the Georgia Dome, the Georgia World Congress Center, Coca-Cola headquarters and Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport are a few of the prominent projects that H.J. Russell & Co. helped build.
But Russell is most proud of his affordable housing developments. When he was 30, he said, he owned about 100 apartments.
"I always kept two or three buildings going" at the same time, he said.
That deliberate approach and dedicated work ethic turned H.J. Russell & Co. into one of the largest minority-owned construction companies in the country. He officially retired from the company in late 2003, but, for Russell, retirement means overseeing the redevelopment of several blocks in Castleberry Hill.
"When I semi-retired, I thought I would be working about six-hour days, but now it's more like 11 hours," Russell said. "But I used to work 16 hours, so at least I've cut back."
His office overlooks the projects he has dabbled in since his retirement -- mixed-income housing and a new version of the legendary Paschal's Restaurant.
From his office balcony, he points out the projects he has just finished and the vacant lots just south of the Georgia Dome that he plans to transform soon.
"All this property . . . I own and am developing as a hobby," Russell said. "Something to keep me busy."
And though he needs to be prodded to speak of race-based challenges that he overcame along the way, the signed Norman Rockwell print "The Problem We All Live With" that hangs on his office wall shows he is ever-mindful of the journey he and other African-Americans have taken. The illustration shows a young, black schoolgirl being escorted past a wall with a racial epithet written on it.
In the 1960s, Russell helped get his friend Martin Luther King Jr. out of jail during the civil rights movement. Russell was the first black member of the Atlanta Chamber of Commerce, and he helped Maynard Jackson get elected Atlanta's first black mayor.
Russell made a long, steady climb from his hardscrabble upbringing during the Great Depression in the Summerhill neighborhood, which is next to Turner Field.
His father was a subcontractor who did brick and mason work, and he often brought young Herman to work with him. Even before that, Russell embraced a strong work ethic, shining shoes and delivering The Atlanta Constitution.
By the time he was 16, Russell was a master mason and had bought his first piece of property, a small plot near Grant Park that had been abandoned by the city of Atlanta. When he graduated from Bass High School, he headed to Tuskegee University in Alabama. But when he came home to Atlanta, Russell and a friend worked to finish building a duplex they had started on the Grant Park lot.
That duplex was the start of something big.
Because Russell had saved his money since the days he delivered newspapers, he soon had enough to buy another lot -- this one in Summerhill. He built a duplex there and then added two more units.
In 1952, he incorporated H.J. Russell & Co. In 1956, he built a two-bedroom house with a basement for his new bride, Otelia, and him to live in. "That place was like a palace to me," he said.
By 1960, the company employed 15 people. Up to that point, Russell had focused on building in the African-American community, because formal and informal restrictions kept him out of white areas.
"Back in those days, most white people wouldn't sell to black folks," Russell said.
In order for his company to grow, he would have to find a way around that.
Enter Jim Coclin, a Greek friend and partner who helped Russell buy land all over Georgia. Together, through programs offered by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, they built nearly 30 apartment complexes across the state.
"I would help buy the land, with the rezoning, the permitting -- you name it," Coclin said.
The two men have traveled the world together and share a mutual admiration.
"Herman is a brilliant man and one of the most hard-working I've ever seen," Coclin said. "And if you're brilliant and hard-working, it's hard not to be successful."
The Rockwell print of the schoolgirl reflects Russell's passion for giving back to education. In addition to donations to his alma mater, he has given to Georgia State University, Clark Atlanta University and Morehouse College through his Herman J. Russell Foundation. He was named Philanthropist of the Year in 2006 by the Greater Atlanta Chapter of the Association of Fundraising Professionals.
"I have been blessed, and I enjoy giving back," Russell said. "There is a lot we have to do to improve the lives of people, and education is the foundation of what every person needs. The worst thing you can do is deprive someone of an education."
Today, H.J. Russell & Co. is run by his son Michael. Another son, Jerome, is company president.
Russell said all his success and philanthropic efforts can be traced back to the struggles of growing up.
"I was a have-not child born in Summerhill, and I know what it's like to go to the dinner table with no meat," he said. "I never went hungry, but we had chicken on Sunday and fish on Friday. And I know what it's like to have worn[out] shoes, so your feet were cold on a cold day. So I'm glad to give jobs to people, and I have to give back. It's a moral obligation."
