In Atlanta, we pride ourselves on knowing what things used to be. Sometimes it’s a street’s original name, even after it has been changed to honour a local politician, or to shake off a dodgy reputation. We remember the nicknames of neighbourhoods that have been spruced up to reflect changing real-estate interests. We stubbornly refer to department stores that have long since morphed into Macy’s.
We may be attached to our past, but we’re not stuck there. Atlanta, once the beacon of the South, is now a light for the whole country. Everyone knows about our pop-culture icons, hip-hop superstars, and reality TV franchises; these days our movie and television industries rival those of Los Angeles. Scores of writers and fine artists call this city home. At the Mayor’s Masked Ball a couple of years ago, the party favours read atlanta influences everything. As the old folks might say, “We’re so proud we could pop.”
I grew up in Southwest Atlanta, now called ‘The SWATS.’ In the 1970s and 80s, what was known as ‘The City Too Busy to Hate’ was still racially segregated, but not in the way you might expect. When you hear the term ‘racial segregation’ you may think about Lester Maddox, who, in 1964, before he became governor, defied the Civil Rights Act by refusing to serve Black people in his restaurant. But the Atlanta I grew up in was what we used to call a ‘Chocolate City,’ a showpiece of African-American progress where Black children were driven by Black bus drivers, taught by Black teachers, and treated by Black doctors. We hardly ever explored the rest of the city,
