Time to hang it up Silver Spring Historical Society

The identities of Blair’s slaves will never be known — Jerry McCoy, In Search of the Lost Souls of Silver Spring (February 2018).

If only the Silver Spring Historical Society had made even the most rudimentary effort to go beyond Ancestry.com and digitized Washington newspapers in its search for people enslaved by Silver Spring founder Francis Preston Blair, they might have been able to learn about Albert, Abraham, Vincent, Henry, Emily, Sarah, Nancy, Olivia, Mary, and Phillis (who married Samuel Lytton, founder of Lyttonsville, in 1859).  The group’s 2018 “Black History Month” posts in a local blog are yet another glaring example of erasure, one of many by the 20-year-old organization.

Maryland State Archives. BOARD OF COUNTY COMMISSIONERS (Assessment Record, Slaves) C1112, 1853-1864.

 

How a bridge closing underscores need for local journalism

Yesterday evening, the Purple Line Transit Partners and Montgomery County’s Department of Transportation closed the Lyttonsville Place Bridge. The six-month closure will allow for the demolition and reconstruction of a new bridge to accommodate the Purple Line light rail.

Though local news outlets have covered the controversial bridge closing for the past several months, not a single journalist has written about Lyttonsville residents’ claims that the bridge closure and a detour using a street closed during urban renewal in the 1970s is environmental racism.  And, no journalists have covered the community’s search for a civil rights lawyer to take up their claim that the detour and bridge closing violate the National Environmental Policy Act and Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 by introducing impacts to the community that should have been evaluated under the law’s environmental justice requirements. Continue reading

The Decatur “F-you” fence

I spent a few days in Decatur this week following up leads derived from interviews I have done over the past year. One of the things that I wanted to see and photograph was a fence that a historic Black church had erected to block access to its parking lot in Decatur’s gentrifying Oakhurst neighborhood. I learned about the fence in a February 2018 interview that I did with a Decatur native who grew up in the city’s Beacon Community during the second half of the twentieth century.

Thankful Baptist Church parking lot and fence, June 2018.

“Right up there on Mead Road they’ve got a bar and now they’re trying to take over the parking lot on the weekends,” the woman told me in a telephone interview. “I think even when you try to be nice, they take advantage.” Continue reading

Environmental racism explained in one photograph

In the early twentieth century, the City of Decatur, Georgia, constructed a municipal trash facility in the heart of the city’s African American neighborhood. The city that long called itself a “City of Homes, Schools, and Churches” could have picked just about any site along its periphery; aerial photographs and historical maps indicate lots of space away from established homes, schools, and churches.

Sanborn fire insurance map portion showing Decatur’s African American neighborhood, c. 1950. The annotations show the trash facility (A); Decatur’s African American school (B); and, the Allen Wilson Terrace apartments (C).

Instead, the facility — which included an incinerator and space for refuse vehicle parking — was built adjacent to the city’s “colored school” and sandwiched into a densely occupied urban neighborhood. The City Manager’s annual report published in 1963 boasted of its facility: “10 collection trucks and 40 employees spend 1280 hours per week in disposing of 360,000 lbs. of garbage and trash weekly for the City of Decatur.” Continue reading

Montgomery County Historical Society BOOM exhibit is a dud

If I were mounting an exhibition to tell the story about Montgomery County, Maryland, in the 1950s, there would be lots of material from which to choose: the Cold War, suburbanization, and civil rights would certainly be in the mix. But how would I choose to tell the story about the Black experience in Montgomery County during that eventful decade?

One place I wouldn’t look for inspiration is the Montgomery County Historical Society’s exhibit, BOOM: The 1950s in Montgomery County. My latest article in The Activist History Review tackles the exhibit’s deficiencies.

There are many stories about African American entrepreneurialism, education, consumer choice, housing, religious life, and sports that would be solid candidates for some sort of exhibit featuring artifacts, texts, and photographs. How would I select the most compelling stories to tell? Continue reading

The kernel of truth in Trayon White’s conspiracy theories

Washingtonians lay claim to an urban legend called “The Plan.” It’s a conspiracy theory-rumor-urban legend that has circulated among the District’s African American residents for decades. Basically, it’s a belief that whites are conspiring to push blacks out of power and out of Washington. Mostly it’s a group of faceless, nameless generic whites. The conspiracy theories repeated earlier this spring by Ward 8 DC Councilmember Trayon White, however, combine elements of The Plan with even older and more widespread anti-Semitic conspiracy theories about Jews dominating global markets, governments, and the media.

This narrative has lots of variants, all of them involving some secret cabal of white folks hellbent on whitening the Chocolate City. Like all urban legends and rumors, there are kernels of truth to be found embedded in The Plan. With Washington’s demographic shifts and gentrification over the past two decades, many Washington blacks see The Plan coming to fruition.

My first article for the new folklore blog published by New Directions in Folklore tackles Councilmember White’s comments and the context out of which they emerged. The kernel of truth in White’s conspiracy theory narratives lies in the decades during which Washington area Jewish businessmen wielded an invisible hand in discriminatory housing practices that resulted in generations of concentrated poverty, barriers to accumulating wealth, poor healthcare, and unequal educational opportunities.

The Rothschild family around which the conspiracy theories White recounted may not have been involved in Washington-area businesses but we had our own Rothschilds. Their names were Caffritz, Eig, Freenman, Kay, and Gudelsky.

Read THE PLAN, THE ROTHSCHILDS, AND CONSPIRACY THEORIES IN WASHINGTON, D.C.

© 2018 D.S. Rotenstein

Renaming Montgomery County schools

Ever since the Washington Post published my op-ed on Confederate monument removal last March, I have gotten quite a few calls and emails from Montgomery County residents about schools named for enslavers and white supremacists. The key passage in my 2017 op-ed reads,

But ditching a century-old memorial — celebrating a period long past, built by people long dead — doesn’t address other, more subtle markers of white supremacy, including the county’s legacy of segregated housing in residential subdivisions and apartment communities …

… One such example is Silver Spring’s E. Brooke Lee Middle School. Established in 1966, the school is named for Col. Edward Brooke Lee (1892-1984), a former Maryland secretary of state and a founder of the Maryland-National Capital Park and Planning Commission. Lee was Lincoln confidant Francis Preston Blair’s great-grandson and the scion of a regional political dynasty. History books and academic articles uniformly describe him as the father of modern Silver Spring … As late as 1967, the septuagenarian was calling on residents to reject what he described as “Anti-White laws” that he perceived as a threat to the suburbs he built. “Desegregation is not the answer,” Lee wrote that spring…

Last month I was interviewed twice about Montgomery County’s school names, once by an area magazine reporter and the other time by the editor of the Watkins Mill High School newspaper. The high school student sent me a list of questions and he asked me to respond. His article was published today in the Gaithersburg school’s online paper, The Current.

Much of my interview didn’t make it into the final version. But, some curious comments about post-bellum white supremacists did, notably that their names were not included in the final list of schools that the student believes is problematic. About Montgomery Blair, the student wrote, “Montgomery Blair was not included in this article because there is evidence that Blair, despite growing up in a slave-owning family, never owned slaves himself.” One friend of mine on Facebook wrote about this slippery approach, “I love how Blair escaped the list.”

Reprinted below is the complete list of questions the student sent, along with my answers (in bold).

1. Do you think the county had knowledge of the history of these people before naming a high school after them?
Yes, I do believe that the County was aware that a number of prominent early citizens were enslavers. Add to that the people who came later who also were fervent white supremacists, like E. Brooke Lee (there is a middle school named for him).

2. Do you think that these names are a result of the time period when the schools were named?
Partly, yes. But I also believe that Montgomery County like other places throughout the nation has not fully sought the truth about our history nor have we sought ways to reconcile with a past that includes slavery and Jim Crow.

3. Why do you think the schools were named after people instead of the area in which they reside?
I can’t speak to the specific schools as to why they were named. But, there is a long history in the United States of naming public buildings after prominent white men.

4. Do you think that there was any significance in the choice to name Richard Montgomery High School after a slaveowner to distinguish it as a high school that, at the time, was separate from the “colored” Rockville high school?
Again, I can’t speak to the specifics because I have not researched school names in Montgomery County and the deliberations that went into them. For most of the 20th century, Montgomery County had two school systems: one for whites and the other for African Americans. To the best of my knowledge, none of the African American schools were named for people, e.g., African American community leaders. Instead, they typically were named for the community in which they were located (e.g., Takoma Park Colored School, River Road Colored School, etc.).

5.When the names were chosen do you think people would have realized this fact? And if they did, do you think they would have cared?
For most of Montgomery County’s history, it was a rigidly segregated and mainly agricultural county. The county was ruled by democratic political bosses who fought hard to keep schools, housing, and public places segregated. Because of the county’s culture, until the Cold War, any efforts to seek equity in public spaces would have been resisted. In 1948, for example, a group of more than 1,000 African American residents formed the Citizens Council for Mutual improvement and they petitioned county leaders to improve African American schools, provide water and sewer services to African American communities, and pave streets in those communities. They also asked that the Jim Crow signs be taken down in Rockville. Their requests went unanswered. 

6. The current student body at Magruder is 55.6 percent minority. If the student body realized that their high school was named after a slaveowner, what kind of effect do you think it would have?
I think the conversation about the school’s namesake is an important one to have. Changing it is one option; another is adding educational information for students and the community about the school’s namesake. That is a decision that must be made by students and the community that the school serves. The status quo, though, is not preferable since it continues to celebrate an individual and a society that enslaved people and that created conditions for subsequent generations of poverty, discrimination, and diminished opportunities for many Montgomery County residents. As a Montgomery County resident, I see nothing worth celebrating among people who enslaved others. See my answer to no. 7 for more.

7.  In your opinion, do you think that it is appropriate for these educational institutions to be named after former slave owners?
Perhaps. We can’t erase history but we can learn from it. For example, what did the enslavers do after the Civil War and during Reconstruction? Did they sell land to formerly enslaved people and enable them to build wealth as neighbors or did they cling to white supremacy and deny formerly enslaved people their civil rights? Many Montgomery County enslavers did the latter. In fact, the Blair family after the Civil War and as Reconstruction was starting bolted from Lincoln’s Republican Party back to the Democratic Party and they not only continued to embrace white supremacy and segregation but they also became active in the colonization movement which sought to relocate formerly enslaved people to Africa or the Caribbean and South America. There is nothing honorable worth celebrating among those people.

The Gold Dust Twins repurposed

A few years back I wrote about a ghost sign exposed in Atlanta by a tornado. It was a “Gold Dust Twins” sign that had been painted on a building facade that had subsequently been concealed by the construction of an adjacent building. Atlanta historian Velma Maia Thomas dug deeper into the Gold Dust Twins advertising in a 2015 article published in the online journal, Atlanta Studies.

This post recounts another unexpected meeting with the Gold Dust Twins.

I was reviewing photos in the Library of Congress collections to use in slides for an upcoming program. The photos depict African Americans in Washington neighborhoods near or where Civil War contraband camps had been located. One of the photos I was considering using was one I had seen before. It was taken c. 1916 and it depicts an African American entrepreneur in front of a roadside restaurant — a stand, actually —that he whimsically called the “Fair View Hotel.”

FAIRVIEW HOTEL. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, LC-DIG-hec-08027.

Continue reading

Environmental racism along the Purple Line

Not a single length of track has yet been laid for Maryland’s new suburban light rail line, the Purple Line, yet there already are complaints of environmental racism coming from the historically African American Lyttonsville community. Though much of the environmental/social justice and equity concerns about the Purple Line have focused on displacement once the line opens, virtually no attention has been focused on the externalities communities like Lyttonsville are bearing during the construction phase.

Over the past few weeks, the entity selected to build the Purple Line (Purple Line Transit Partners), the Maryland Transit Administration, and the Montgomery County Department of Transportation have been trying to figure out how to mitigate the impacts of closing the Lyttonsville Place Bridge, a structure spanning the new Purple Line corridor (an abandoned former B&O industrial railroad line) connecting Brookville Road and the Lyttonsville community. Lyttonsville has been partially isolated since April 2017 when the Montgomery County DOT declared the historic Talbot Avenue Bridge unsafe and closed it. If the Lyttonsville Place Bridge is closed (for up to six months, according  to transportation officials), that will leave Lyttonsville residents and emergency responders with limited options for entering and leaving the community.

The Past is Prologue

Denise Watkins, facilitator, opens the April 3, 2018 Purple Line community meeting.

Continue reading

Decatur loses important LGBTQ history site

Facebook screen capture, February 27, 2018.

For many Americans, Danny Ingram isn’t a familiar name. But to the military LGBTQ community, Danny is family. The former army sergeant was a leader in the nationwide effort to overturn Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and he lived in Decatur, Georgia’s Oakhurst neighborhood since a 1990s gentrification wave attracted a large number of gays and lesbians to buy homes in the neighborhood. Yesterday, Danny posted on Facebook that his former Fayetteville Road home had been demolished.

Danny’s former home had been built in 1925 and it would have been a comfortable part of any historic district because of its architecture. The 19 years that Danny lived there gave the property its associational significance with LGBTQ history. I first met Danny when I was well into interviews for my book on gentrification in Decatur. In April 2014, I interviewed him in the home that was demolished. Continue reading