Pittsburgh’s Kid Angel

Stories circulated for years in Pittsburgh about the exploits of a Jewish gangster known as “Kid” Angel.  During the 1920s and 1930s, Angel  and his gambling exploits were legendary. “Over town there’s a lad who has been active around the bookie shops where the race track fans pick the horses,” wrote Post-Gazette investigative reporter Ray Sprigle in 1936. ” [Harry] Angel is his name, but everyone knows him as Kid Angel.”

1701 Centre.jpeg

The corner of Centre Avenue and Arthur Street in Pittsburgh’s Hill District, April 2020. In the 1920s, Harry “Kid” Angel had a billiards hall and gambling den at this location.

This visit to #MobsBurgh re-introduces Kid Angel to Pittsburgh readers. Continue reading

Fenced Out: Enclosure and Racism in Montgomery County, Maryland

This is a dispatch from deep within the enforced social distancing imposed by the 2020 coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic.

In 2006, a Montgomery County, Maryland, homeowner placed a chain across an unnamed and unsurfaced road to restrict access to her subdivision. Known locally as “Farm Road,” the narrow corridor provided access to a small African American community settled during Reconstruction. The Farm Road case became the latest example in the suburban Washington, D.C., county of more than a million people where whites have closed off roads leading to Black homes.

Maryland-National Capital Planning Commission “Address Book.” Addresses crossed out in the right portion of the map are along the “Farm Road.”

Farm Road, 2016.

Though Farm Road has received a lot of attention since 2006, the other cases of exclusionary enclosure in Montgomery County are less well known. This post explores a few other examples that antedate Farm Road.

The Hyson homestead in the Burnt Mills part of Silver Spring and the Jackson family driveway fence are two known precedents that likely represent a much larger sample of episodes where white folks erected barriers to Black spaces. I learned about these two examples during interviews about African American hamlets that I conducted between 2016 and 2018. This post is derived from those interviews and from the limited documentary evidence that survives. Continue reading

The Jim Crow pet cemetery

In Jim Crow Montgomery County, Maryland, it was easier for white folks’ pets to get a respectful burial than it was for the county’s African Americans. The indignity is compounded when you factor in the conditions of many Black cemeteries in Montgomery County versus the Aspin Hill pet cemetery. Many Black cemeteries have been abandoned and overgrown. Others, like Bethesda’s River Road Moses Cemetery, have been paved over.

Montgomery Preservation, Inc., a historic preservation advocacy group recently announced that it was giving its prestigious Wayne Goldstein advocacy award to someone for “documentation of, advocacy for preservation of historic Aspin Hill Pet Cemetery.”

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Ephemera: Barbershop

The editor of a monthly Pittsburgh neighborhood newspaper recently asked me to cover a benefit being held at a local cafe. The benefit was to raise money for a customer battling stage 4 brain cancer.

Naturally, I had to ask about the building’s history. The owners proudly told me that the building they lovingly rehabilitated in 2017 was used for more than a century as a barbershop. One of them even described the meticulous research he had done to confirm what nearby residents had told him.

Advertisement, Pittsburgh Daily Post, November 2, 1912.

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A son of Moses in Pittsburgh’s North Side

Introduction

Moses Order logo, c. 1887.

I first “met” Henry White in 2017 while researching a suburban Washington, D.C., cemetery. White was a founder and the namesake of White’s Tabernacle No. 39 of the Ancient United Order of Sons and Daughters, Brothers and Sisters of Moses. Henry (sometimes called “Harry” in historical records) was born c. 1847 in North Carolina. By the late 1870s, he was married and living in an African American hamlet in the District of Columbia established by free Blacks in the 1830s.

Henry White and his wife, Clara, had several children during their marriage. After Henry died, one of their children moved to Allegheny City, Pennsylvania. Henry White left no diaries or photographs and he died intestate. His traces in the historical record are slim, but compelling. While searching for information that would help me to understand Henry White and his time in Washington, I found a 1930s legal case in which his kin were named as defendants in litigation brought to clear the title to properties in the former hamlet where Henry and Clara raised their children. Among the briefs and depositions were papers filed by William Miles White, a resident of Allegheny County, Pennsylvania. He was the same “Miles White” who was just a few months old in June of 1870 when a census enumerator visited Henry and Clara White’s rented Tenallytown (Tenleytown) home.

I finished the cemetery research and its results were presented in a report submitted to the descendants of the people associated with the White’s Tabernacle cemetery and agencies in Montgomery County, Maryland, and Washington, D.C. William Miles White and his life in Pennsylvania became an open question to follow up on later. Later arrived in 2019 when we moved back to Pittsburgh.

Like his parents, Miles White left few traces in the historical record. But also like his father, what evidence he did leave raises some intriguing questions about where he lived and how he fit into complicated racialized urban and suburban landscapes. This post is a step towards answering those questions. Continue reading

Quotable Pittsburgh visitors

During the nineteenth century, many notable people passed through Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. They experienced indelible sights, sounds, and smells. Some of them left contemporary accounts that have formed some of the most iconic historical quotations about the industrial city and its region.

“Smokey Riverside,” c. 1940. Smoke Control Lantern Slides, University of Pittsburgh Libraries.

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The census and resistance

In 1968, Congress held hearings on the violence that erupted after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s April assassination. Testimony by Rufus “Catfish” Mayfield exposed how fraught the U.S. Census is with regard to communities of color. Mayfield’s candid testimony about how some of Washington’s African American residents responded when the census taker knocked on the door is worth considering as the current U.S. President plays political games with the 2020 Census.

District of Columbia Chairman of the City Council John Hechinger recognized Mr. Rufus “Catfish” Mayfield, who was identified as a “District of Columbia citizen.” Mayfield’s statement began, “Thank you, members of the Council, brothers and sisters. Usually I don’t go with prepared speeches. They say I am an uncut diamond in the rough, but I am letting you know I am going to school and trying to sharpen up and attack things a little harder.”

Mayfield continued,

See, you have robbed the black male of his masculinity and his dignity. And until this is restored, the man has no alternative but to strike out. I tell you now, that you had better take another census on bow many black people are In the District of Columbia, because I know when I was growing up, I got tired of hiding in the bed when the census showed The way it goes now, when the census taker comes around they can have eight children and she is putting one in, the bed and putting another one -In the closet. And that census taker comes in there, “How many children you got?” two. I tell you there  are black people out there.

You know what a judge told me, he said, “Mayfield, this Is coming down to a civil war. But let me tell you something, you people can’t win’ because you don’t have the troops.” I tell you, take another count.

I think that we have to rid ourselves of the go-called classification of black people into categories. There is only one kind of black people, or there should be only one kind of a black person, and that is a proud black person. But the way It goes now, you are classified. It Is upper middle class, middle class, and the lower Negro. (Vol. 2, Rehabilitation of D.C. Areas Damaged by Civil Disorders.: Hearings before the United States Senate Committee on the District of Columbia,Subcommittee on Business and Commerce, Ninetieth Congress, Second Session on Apr. 18, 30, May 20, 28-29, 1968. Washington: U.S. G.P.O., 1968, p. 401)

 

 

The man who saw canal boats

Canal boat mural by Laurie Lundquist, Pennsylvania Route 28 retaining wall, Pittsburgh. Photo by David Rotenstein.

I recently met a man who looked at a hillside in a highway corridor and he saw canal boats instead of concrete retaining walls. The man is Jack Schmitt and we met during a walking tour in the Pennsylvania Route 28 highway corridor along the Allegheny River in Pittsburgh. Schmitt is a historic preservation activist who was a catalyst the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation (PennDOT) decision to explore alternative approaches to mitigating the impacts of destroying an entire neighborhood along Route 28.

My article on Schmitt and how his work fits into emerging national trends in historic preservation has just been published in the National Council on Public History’s History@Work site. This post digs a little deeper into Schmitt’s advocacy with PennDOT.

My first conversation with Schmitt took place during an Allegheny City Society walking tour in May 2019. We met again in June at a Pittsburgh sandwich shop and I ran an audio recorder during our 90-minute chat. I also had a long history with Route 28 and the historic resources there. The former tannery buildings and the derelict industrial landscape comprised the core of the 1997 Pittsburgh History cover article that I wrote about Pittsburgh’s leather industry. The walking tour, my recent move back to Pittsburgh, and the conversation with Schmitt brought me back to a consequential episode in my professional history.

I wanted to revisit some of my understandings about the Route 28 project with the benefit of the subsequent 20 years of complicated regulatory compliance consulting and my research into how history and historic preservation are produced. This blog post and my History@Work essay are my first steps in this process.

Towards Better Mitigation

Jack Schmitt didn’t think much of PennDOT’s approach to mitigating the Route 28 impacts to historic properties. In fact, he questioned if the agency even had a mitigation plan. And what is mitigation? Mitigation represents the steps a government agency must take to compensate a community for destroying or polluting its natural or cultural resources. Most often mitigation comes in the form of reports and photographs that no one will ever read or see and archaeological excavations. Other times, it’s a flat-out bribe: An agency throws some money for historical research or a museum exhibit and calls it square.

The archaeologist and prolific regulatory compliance critic Tom King knows mitigation and how it is misunderstood and abused. In one of our many exchanges on the subject, King wrote to me in 2018, “Mitigation is widely and incorrectly understood to mean shitty compensation.” Yet, that’s frequently what results from poorly executed historic preservation research work done in coordination with a project that will destroy someplace or something people in some community value.

As a resident of one such community, Schmitt wanted better from PennDOT. Schmitt saw the steep hillside in the corridor as an opportunity. “There was going to be walls on the north side of the road and we tried to get them looking better,” he told me. “They were just going to be poured concrete walls like all the other bypasses.”

Pennsylvania Route 28 retaining wall in Etna, north of Pittsburgh.

Schmitt’s solution was to reach out to the American Canal Society to get the rights to use an image of a canal boat. Schmitt envisioned creating a visual history lesson using the new retaining walls. “As you drove along the highway, you would be passing canal boats with mules and you would get the feeling of what was happening there at one time in history,” he explained.

Canal boat image Schmitt proposed using in Pennsylvania Route 28 retaining walls.

PennDOT balked. What ended up being built were retaining walls using concrete shaped and treated to appear like stones used in Pennsylvania Canal locks. And, one of the five murals depicting images drawn from the corridor’s history did include a canal boat being drawn by mules — it is twice the size of the other murals (see the first photo in this post). Read the History@Work post to learn more about the murals and the artist who designed and executed them.

In the remainder of this post, I’d like to spend a little more time on the concept of mitigation and how folks in the real world (i.e., those who don’t work for state and federal agencies or people who aren’t cultural resource management consultants) see mitigation.

I asked Schmitt if he thought that PennDOT had fulfilled its obligations to comply with Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act. “I think they tried very hard and they did a lot. I have to give them credit for that,” said. Schmitt concedes that his opinion might be more positive if the historic St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church had not been demolished. The reasons why the church, which was located in the corridor, was demolished are complicated and not fully tied to the road project.

St. Nicholas church demolition, 2013. Pittsburgh Tribune-Review photo.

With the church gone and all of the homes, businesses, and industrial sites along with it, I asked Schmitt how people will learn about the community’s history. Schmitt replied, “The people learn about the community through their living memory and their oral traditions. They’re talking about that even now.” The murals, historical markers, and commemorative features at the demolished church site will help.

Former St. Nicholas church site with reproduced grotto, bronze tower base outline, and historical markers, June 2019.

Towards the end of our conversation in the restaurant, Schmitt recounted something he told an individual whose first involvement with the Route 28 project was as a volunteer in the effort to save St. Nicholas. That individual later went to work for an engineering company that does Section 106 work. Schmitt said,

I used to kid him. I said, “You were in historic preservation and now you’re in historic destruction cover-up.” I said, “You make the case for these historic things and then you mitigate them by saying we said this.” I said, “You can’t just say this, put it in a book in the library on the shelf and it doesn’t help the neighborhood to mitigate that terrible loss.”

I think that the murals and other treatments in the Route 28 corridor make great strides towards mitigating the loss of the buildings and the community. Like Schmitt, I have issues with the final results. There’s a lot missing and much of the historical knowledge that informed PennDOT’s decision-making was flawed. I only wonder what might have happened in the corridor had the agency understood what made the place special to the people who valued it. If the agency had understood and fulfilled its obligations under the National Historic Preservation Act, completing the project might have been a whole lot smoother, less expensive, and the mitigation might have been more collaborative, memorable, and meaningful.

Read the complete History@Work post on the murals and creative mitigation: https://ncph.org/history-at-work/community-driven-mitigation/.

© 2019 D.S. Rotenstein

Back to Pennsylvania Route 28

In the summer of 1996 I emailed copies of my PhD dissertation to all the members of my committee. My dissertation was about family firms, craft dynasties, and leather tanning in the Catskills and eastern Pennsylvania, c. 1780-1950. Instead of sitting back and waiting to read their comments, I followed up on some research notes I had made about tanneries in the Pittsburgh region. That research ultimately led to several published articles, a couple of Historic American Engineering Record reports, a PBS interview, and several newspaper articles. But those aren’t what this post is about.

At the same time I was researching leather tanning in Pittsburgh and elsewhere, a cultural resource management (CRM) company was doing compliance studies for a highway improvement project in Pittsburgh. The highway project cut through the geographical heart of the space I was researching: Pittsburgh’s North Side and the north shore of the Allegheny River. After I read the CRM company’s report I published a review in my website and shared it with colleagues via various nascent listervs (this was the early days of the Internet before blogs, Twitter, etc.). The original post also was written long before the field of critical heritage studies emerged.

My review and the criticisms of the National Historic Preservation Act compliance stirred up quite a kerfuffle. The fallout included lawsuit threats and a considerable amount of retaliation by the firms involved in the studies and the agencies that reviewed them. Over the years, my website morphed into a blog and the original Pennsylvania Route 28 page ultimately was deleted. The Route 28 research, though, never really disappeared from public view. Every few years I get calls from print and radio reporters with questions about the highway and the area’s history.

I have recently returned to Pittsburgh and to some of my work from the 1990s. New publications and projects are forthcoming, including a recap of a May 2019 walking tour of PennDOT’s mitigation efforts in the Route 28 corridor. But, in the meantime I have decided to resurrect the 1997 web review (with some minor edits).

Carole Ashbridge  talks about the history of the Heinz plant in the Route 28 corridor. Allegheny City Society Lost Allegheny City Murals Walking Tour, May 19, 2019.

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Silver Spring: Sundown Suburb in the Capital’s Gateway

I began doing Silver Spring Sundown Suburb talks in early 2017. I spoke about erasure and the ways local history organizations celebrate the white supremacists who made Silver Spring a desirable bedroom suburb for the nation’s capital. These same organizations marginalize, omit, and seek to tokenize stories of the black experience and the roles that Jim Crow segregation, environmental racism, and housing discrimination played in the community’s history.

I was invited to give this talk to local churches and nonprofits and I was invited several times to present it to students in the University of Maryland’s African American Studies Program. This talk explores the erasures and some of the stories of Silver Spring’s other side of the tracks, Lyttonsville. Jay Mallin recorded one of these talks given at Silver Spring’s Gwendolyn E. Coffield Community Center April 13, 2019.

I would like to thank the members of the Talbot Avenue Bridge Events Committee for sponsoring the program and Jay Mallin for donating his considerable professional skills and equipment to document the event and produce this video.

© 2019 D.S. Rotenstein, The Talbot Avenue Bridge Events Committee, and Jay Mallin.