Nothing Personal

No stones were hurled, no bombs thrown, no swaggering men with lightning-flash shoulder patches patrolled the district. The decent, middle-class people of west Hollywood would have been shocked at such tactics. But they had their own.

When the Crockers moved into their district two years ago, neighbors were quick to notice that Mrs. Crocker and her three daughters were very dark. The whisper went round--the Crockers were Negroes. The truth was that Mrs. Crocker's father had been a full-blooded Iroquois. The daughters had inherited her dark hair, olive-brown skin, and black-brown eyes.

No one could complain that they were bad neighbors. Harry Crocker, of French Canadian descent, was a mild-mannered, grey-haired man who worked for a camera manufacturer. Mrs. Crocker ran a gift shop in Hollywood. Muriel, 30, kept house; Alicia, 20, posed for art classes; Jeanne, 13, was in school. They were all Catholics. But their skins were dark.

On the sidewalks in front of the neat lawns, the neighbors gathered, purse-lipped, inexorable. They called a meeting, formed a committee. In the original deed to the tract, which included the Crocker's lot, they found just what they needed--a stipulation that, though anyone could buy property within the tract, only "Caucasians" could live there. The committee filed an eviction suit. At a hearing last May, Mrs. Crocker pleaded that perpetual race restrictions are against public policy, violate the state and Federal Constitutions.

Last week Superior Court judge Ruben S. Schmidt handed down his decision. Mr. Crocker, a true "Caucasian," could stay. Mrs. Crocker and her daughters would have to leave.

While the Crockers planned a last ditch appeal, Committee Chairman William A. Douglas explained defensively: "We have no objections to the Crockers personally, other than that they are not white."

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