On MARTA this morning, in rapid succession
— A young man offered a young woman his seat (she declined).
— An older man thanked the young man for offering his seat to the young woman.
— Another young man complimented another young woman on her shoes.
— I braced myself for some shitty counterbalance, but nothing came.
“Forest Park, Ga. — Rock music record albums, including Barry Manilow, are burned in a bonfire outside the Landmark United Pentecostal Church outside Forest Park on March 17, 1982. Traveling minister Steve Timmons branded the music a tool of the devil and albums were thrown on the fire. Timmons, a Wisconsin Pentecostal minister who is taking his crusade against rock music across the country, drew a crowd of about 200 people. (Nancy Mangiafico/AJC staff).”
Photo courtesy of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
I honestly had no idea Barry Manilow ever raised ire among the record-burning set! What do these kind of people do now, stage ceremonial mp3-deletions? Or have they just moved on to other things that we will one day look back on like, “What, really?” Is the cloud somehow to blame for this?
It’s a little hard to believe, but the Downtown Connector is essentially a colossal ditch dug through the heart of town. Here’s a revealing 1949 photo looking westward across a vast construction site where crews are beginning to remove massive amounts of earth before building the expressway itself. The picture was taken from the edge of The Varsity’s property and that’s the Georgia Tech campus on the other side of all the tumult.
I walk across this ditch every day. Such a strange thing to see. I grew up in a town cut in half by a river and I missed the river when I moved to Atlanta so I started to think of the Connector as a river, and while it kind of functions in the same way—a line of demarcation, a way to orient myself when I’m driving or MARTA-ing or walking around town—I have to remind myself sometimes that it’s a wholly unnatural thing, that ”we” made it this way, that it could have been different. What would this city be like if we weren’t always mucking around trying to make it a city? Though I suppose the same question could be asked about the river I grew up with, too.
One of the writers, 11-year-old Kadija Marshall, tells a story about [Martin Luther King Jr.] getting arrested after he refuses to leave a restaurant until he’s served. While in jail, King breaks up a fight between white and black inmates.
The story portrays these events as influences for his “Where do we go from here?” speech, in which King called for nonviolent economic and social change at the 1967 Southern Christian Leadership Conference in Atlanta.
“Readers will understand about violence and history, and adults who read it will know that they could be writers too, because I’m a kid and I did it,” Marshall said.
KIPP Scribes is one of my favorite things happening in Atlanta/the world.
The old Kodak lab on Ponce and Argonne is one of my favorite old buildings in Atlanta and for the first time last night I was stopped in just the right spot at the corresponding red light to take a photo. (I suppose there’s a certain amount of irony, or something, in posting the shot to Instagram.) As of last year the whole building, including the neighboring Atlanta Eagle, was for sale, but I don’t know what came of it. I live in fear of coming upon the building one day and seeing the storefront being painted over, the sign being dismantled, the block being readied for one of those parking garages Atlanta developers seem to love so well.
This cat lives on the Beltline, has its own mailbox and is named Piper. (If anyone knows anything else about this beautiful thing, please share! Google doesn’t seem to know much.) (Also it took me too long to realize the cat was probably named after the culvert pipe it [apparently] hangs around the mouth of all day.)