History often records firsts, but legacy tells us which of those firsts mattered.Wilmer F. Lucas holds a singular place in the history of the accounting profession as the first Black Certified Public Accountant licensed in New York State (see the featured article in this issue). Lucas retired as a Brigadier General and as a Lt. Colonel, he served as commander of the 870th Antiaircraft Brigade on Okinawa during World War II, making him one of the highest-ranking Black officers in World War II. Those facts alone should secure his place in our collective memory. Yet to reduce “General Lucas” to milestones would be to miss the deeper significance of his life and work.
Lucas, a Washingtonian and graduate of New York University, earned his CPA license in New York State in 1929—an era when access to the profession was extraordinarily challenging for many African Americans. He did not simply navigate numerous barriers; he redefined what leadership could look like within and beyond accounting.
One of the few published articles authored by Lucas appeared under the National Urban League’s banner. As the former Chief Financial Officer of that historic organization, I’m proud to see how his words there helped strengthen the work of the Urban League. Across decades, two CPAs—one a pioneer, and me, a beneficiary of his path—find common ground in the belief that accounting, when properly wielded, can be an instrument of positive impact for all our communities.
As he passed away in 1980, I never met General Lucas. And yet, like many in the profession, I know him.
I know him in the opportunities I inherited without having to name the barriers he confronted head-on. I know him in the rooms I now occupy as the Chief Executive Officer of this great Society of CPAs—in boardrooms, policy discussions, leadership tables—that once excluded voices like his (and mine) entirely. I know him in the expectation that a CPA is not only technically competent, but ethically grounded and civically engaged.
Lucas’s legacy challenges some subtle but persistent misconceptions: that progress is linear, inevitable, or complete. It is not any of these things, and it never has been. The profession today still grapples with pipeline challenges, representation gaps, and questions about who sees themselves reflected in its professional member and leadership. Remembering General Lucas is not an exercise in nostalgia; rather it is a reminder that advancement requires intentionality from all of us.
As NYCPA CEO, I often speak about the importance of broadening pathways into the profession and ensuring that our current pathways work for all of our stakeholders. General Lucas embodied that work long before it took on modern terminology, like inclusion. He demonstrated that excellence and inclusion are not competing values; they are mutually reinforcing and enhancing.
There is also something instructive in General Lucas’s story. He did not seek acclaim. But at one point, the firm he founded (Lucas & Tucker) was responsible for training or employing more than 25% of the Black CPAs in New York. His impact was cumulative, institutional, and durable. In an age of constant visibility, with so many influencers clamoring for our attention, his example reminds us that leadership is measured less by volume and more by consequence.
Legacy, after all, is not about being remembered—it is about being felt and known.
General Lucas’s legacy endures in the lives and careers of those who followed, whether they know his name or not. I know it. And I am grateful—for the doors he opened, the standards he set, and the reminder that being a CPA carries responsibilities that extend well beyond the ledger.
Personally, I may stand taller than most, but we all stand taller because he stood first.
