When they were barred from the Metro Atlanta Chamber of Commerce, they sat down outside and sang songs of protest.

When they were blocked from entering a meeting, they refused to budge and three ended up in handcuffs.

Bita Honarvar/AJC (ENLARGE)

Georgia State Senator Vincent Fort speaks at a small demonstration consisting of Grady Coalition supporters prior to a public hearing Thursday to discuss the formation of a new non-profit corporation to control Grady Memorial Hospital.

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With bullhorns and banner-adorned protests, they demanded more services for the poor.

The tactics of the Grady Coalition seem to reflect black and white news photos of the '60s, yet their cause is very 21st century.

At a time when health-care costs are soaring and taxpayer support for many services to the poor is declining, the coalition is Atlanta's loud and raucous voice for patients and workers at Grady Memorial Hospital.

A decade of red ink brought the 115-year-old hospital to a crisis in recent months. As Grady leaders said the hospital was in danger of closing, Atlanta business and community leaders and elected officials rallied to find a way to save it.

They proposed a management restructuring that puts daily hospital operations in the hands of a new non-profit corporation. During an often contentious, torturous process of vetting that plan, the Grady Coalition emerged as something between the loyal opposition and a burr under the mainstream saddle.

To the coalition, the non-profit plan was a raw power grab, designed to wrest control from the legitimate representatives of the community the hospital serves — poor and mostly minority — and give it to the white establishment.

And coalition members made that point of view known.

They've all but lost the battle. The management restructuring is headed for implementation.

"We need to be the public witnesses to the evil that men do," said Sen. Vincent Fort (D-Atlanta), a leader of the group, sounding like the embodiment of the civil protest tradition.

"The only way we can affect public opinion is offering our body as a sacrifice. It's American as apple pie."

Now, acknowledging reality, coalition members are redefining their role from hard-core opponents to watchdogs of Grady's historic mission to serve the poor and needy.

The Grady Coalition formed in 1999 to oppose a proposal to increase co-payments for medications at the hospital pharmacy. A rag-tag multi-racial organization of die-hard socialists, anti-war activists, homeless advocates, patients and workers, the coalition was re-energized by the struggle to save Atlanta's safety net hospital.

Waging 'war at home'

It now has about 75 members, who have nurtured "a belief in audacity and an assertiveness," in Fort's words.

That assertiveness was visible almost every time anyone met to talk about Grady. Often, it provided high contrast to the groups supporting the hospital restructuring, not only in substance but in style.

At a meeting last week of the Fulton County Commission, coalition members heckling from their seats in the commission chamber got under the skin of Commissioner Tom Lowe.

No shrinking violet himself, the gray-haired veteran politician pointed a finger at them and said, "I'm trying to save Grady. You people are not."

At that meeting, the coalition gathered on one side of the chamber, while the other side was occupied by young doctors and nurses who train at Grady.

The sea of white-coated medical professionals stood in quiet unison — almost at attention — as their members addressed the commission.

Across the aisle, coalition member Dianne Mathiowetz, a retired auto plant worker, wore her yellow sweatshirt featuring Rosa Parks' likeness.

Speaking to the chamber, she evoked what she considers the lies used to justify the war in Iraq to describe what she sees as false promises about the Grady restructuring.

"I see [the Grady protests] as part of the war at home," she said.

Coalition leaders are proud of their pugnacious reputation. They see themselves as a last vestige of the civil rights movement, keeping alive sit-ins and song-filled protests in a city and society that have largely moved beyond them.

And the coalition has had impact.

When the Grady board tried to raise the pharmacy co-payment from 50 cents to as much as $10 in 1999, the coalition so disrupted meetings that some members were arrested for disorderly conduct.

Won't give up bullhorn

The Rev. Timothy McDonald, a leader and early member of the group, recalled his emotional reaction as the board moved toward approval of the increase. He stood up, called out, "That's the end of this meeting" and started knocking over the board member's name plates, then led his group in chants and song.

The meeting stopped, he said, and the board later scrapped the plan.

Coalition tactics haven't changed. There have been several confrontations over the Grady restructuring. When the board tried to keep coalition members out of a meeting in November, asserting the room was full, they refused to budge. Fort and two others ended up in handcuffs, before they were released and the meeting was moved to a larger hall.

Even some critics acknowledge the coalition has made an imprint on the process to transform Grady.

"They add value to the discussion," said Fulton County Commissioner Lynne Riley. "They had valid concerns."

Some critics, though, are pretty tough. State Senate President Pro tem Eric Johnson (R-Savannah) dismissed them as "a group of liberals with nothing better to do," quick to drop the race card and exploit people's fears.

"No solutions, just finger-pointing," Johnson said.

The group's bullhorn is provided by McDonald, former head of the Concerned Black Clergy of Metro Atlanta.

As the restructuring process approaches the last lap, McDonald is potentially a member of the new non-profit board, the one he so vehemently opposed.

When Grady board chairwoman Pam Stephenson asked the coalition for a list of candidates, McDonald's name was on it. Stephenson could name the new board today.

McDonald said if he's asked, he will serve. He insisted the coalition is not being co-opted. He sees the inevitability of the restructuring, he said, and knows Grady needs the $200 million donation promised to it in exchange for the change.

"Somebody must be there to put this thing in check," McDonald said.

He added, however, if protest is called for, "I will not give up my bullhorn."