Madison’s experience in architecture alone is a microcosm of the 20^th-century African-American experience—and the realization of the American dream. Before the war, he studied architecture at Howard University. It was the only career he cared about since, at 6 years old, his mother took a look at a drawing he made of a sailboat and said, “Son, you’re going to be an architect.” And with the G.I. Bill of Rights in hand after the war, Madison wanted to resume his studies at Western Reserve University (now Case Western Reserve). He was met not with a hero’s welcome but bigotry, the architecture dean denying his entry “because we have never had a Colored attend this school.” He fought that discrimination, was admitted, graduated two years early, earned his masters at Harvard studying with Walter Gropius, then studied on a fellowship at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris.

“It was just 50 years from slavery, so there were not many opportunities in any field for anybody,” Madison says. “You had no choice but to say you were going to do it. And I never thought in terms of not being successful. We were out there sort of just doing what we thought we should do, as pioneers. But I look back after these years, and my goodness, I'm amazed with what we did.”

When Madison opened his firm, no white architects would work with him. Instead, he trained a staff that crossed all racial and gender lines and became the foundation of Cleveland’s minority architectural world. And after starting small, working on homes, churches, and doctor’s offices, Madison would have a hand in some of the largest projects in Cleveland—working with I.M Pei (a Harvard classmate) on the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, and with Rafael Viñoly Architects on the Cleveland Museum of Art; helping design FirstEnergy Stadium, the home of the NFL’s Browns, and Quicken Loans Arena, home of the NBA’s Cavaliers, and the Greater Cleveland Regional Transit Authority Waterfront Line. But his work wasn’t confined to northeastern Ohio. In 1965, Madison was commissioned to design the U.S. embassy in Dakar, Senegal, and in 1977, as part of Minority Airport Architects & Planners, a group Madison helped organize, his team designed concourses at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport.

Today, Madison is no longer actively involved with Robert P. Madison Intl.; he sold the firm to his nephew two years ago. But he knows his work isn’t over. Despite his pioneering efforts, diversity has yet to make major inroads in architecture. According to the 2017 Survey of Architectural Registration Boards, there are 113,554 registered architects in the U.S. Of those, only 2% are African-American. The University of Cincinnati's Directory of African American Architects places the number at 2,270. Of those, 66 are in Ohio and 22 in Cleveland. Most, if not all of them, can trace their careers back to Robert P. Madison. And he hopes, with Deeds Not Words, his story—of sacrifice, perseverance, and accomplishment—can inspire more young people to join the ranks. And the fight.

“I had a practice for 62 years,” Madison says. “I didn't think about all of this until they started [making the film]. And then as I began to focus on it, I'm beginning to admit now that I did do something pretty important.”