By Rev. Donald L. Perryman, Ph.D.
The Truth Contributor
I just like people. Even strangers. I’ve always liked people. – Bishop Robert Culp
When reflecting on more than sixty years as a leader in Toledo, Bishop Robert “Bob” Culp rarely talks about power—instead, his example highlights how true leadership unlocks doors for people.
When the City of Toledo gave him a key to the city on Dr. Martin Luther King’s 97th birthday, the moment felt genuinely fitting, not just ceremonial.
Bishop Culp has held onto that key for years, both as a tangible symbol and as a representation of his role in helping the community gain access to opportunities and unlocking trust—patiently, not by force.
As a high school and college athlete who thrived in teamwork and had traveled widely, Culp arrived in Toledo to find his new church weary—four pastors in five years had left the congregation tired and cautious. Told not to move too fast, he listened.
Earning the Right to Unlock Doors
Like the prophet Ezekiel of the Hebrew scriptures, who “sat where the people sat” before speaking, Culp studied the locks before trying to turn any keys.
For nearly five years, he took a counterintuitive approach for a new pastor: showing up every Sunday, spending weekdays among the people in the city, joining—and eventually leading—the NAACP and the Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance.
“I decided I didn’t come here just to see what could be done with a church,” he said. “I came to see how I could guarantee the welfare of a community,” he once told me.
That posture—patient, relational, low-key—placed him squarely in Dr. King’s lineage. Culp had heard King speak as a college student during the Montgomery Bus Boycott.
“King changed our whole perspective,” he recalled. “Our goal ceased to be merely to impact the congregants of our church, but the culture of the community.”
Dr. King taught that justice required access, and Culp embodied that by learning who held the doors or guarded the gates—and how to open them while keeping trust.
First Church, under Culp’s leadership, turned into more than a sanctuary. It became a passageway.
“The church is not some isolated place that you show up on Sunday morning,” said Culp. “Whatever the need is in the community—that’s what the church is for. It’s a seven-day-a-week institution.”
Culp learned that perspective from King, which also helped mold his approach to power. “I thought I had to beat people over the head, but I had to learn the community and then build trust. And when you meet in the church, people are careful about their language. Their ideas are better,” Culp also liked to say.
In practice, the church became a site of access, not authority—a hub for real connection, not a place for loud talk and flexing power.
Simply stated, Culp, as Dr. King did, understood that injustice endures not just through exclusion but through restricted access to opportunity, information, and influence. Culp didn’t storm the gates; he stayed until they opened.
The Quietest Doors Are the Hardest to Open
Yet some of the most important doors Culp opened had nothing to do with institutions.
One of his quietest stories is about Paul, a struggling addict who once gave Culp $700 so he wouldn’t spend it on drugs. When Paul later demanded it back, Culp feared for his safety.
“I was getting ready to jump out the window,” he admitted.
Yet, he refused to give Paul the money—and refused to abandon him.
Paul then became one of his closest friends.
That story, perhaps, most epitomizes Culp’s ministry: he saw potential where others saw liability.
He often said he had a fondness for “down-and-out folks—and up-and-out folks too.” Judges, executives, addicts, janitors, students—all were met the same way.
He stayed at the door long after services, greeting people even in retirement. Once, preaching in Detroit, he skipped dinner with the host pastor to shake more hands.
“I’ve got to know your people if I’m going to preach to them again,” he said.
The Legacy of a Key
Dr. King gave us a dream of access to opportunity, dignity, and full citizenship.
Bishop Robert Culp showed Toledo what it looks like to live that dream. He stayed, listened deeply, and cared consistently enough so that doors began to open.
The key Toledo placed in his hand by Mayor Wade Kapszukiewicz affirmed a legacy earned, not bestowed. It was a symbol.
The real keys?
They are the trust he built, the doors he opened, and the lives Bishop Culp changed.
Contact Rev. Donald Perryman, PhD, at drdlperryman@centerofhopebaptist.org