This week on Inside Appalachia, Rev. George Mills Dickerson of Tazewell, Virginia was born in the years after slavery ended. He’s remembered today through his poetry. And a new wave of black lung disease is ravaging Appalachia. We’ll hear more from a black lung town hall in Whitesburg, Kentucky. Coal miners have their own thoughts about black lung, too.
This week, Rev. George Mills Dickerson of Tazewell, Virginia was born in the years after slavery ended. He’s remembered today through his poetry.
And a new wave of black lung disease is ravaging Appalachia. We’ll hear more from a black lung town hall in Whitesburg, Kentucky. Coal miners have their own thoughts about black lung, too.
You’ll hear these stories and more this week, Inside Appalachia.
Celebrating Poetry About 20th Century African American Life
Poetry has been a tradition in Jeanette Wilson’s family for generations. They’ve recited the poems of Wilson’s grandfather and her uncle George for nearly a century. Now, these poems about African American life in southwest Virginia are reaching a wider audience — and connecting the past to the present.
Folkways Reporter Connie Kitts brings us this story.
The Voices Of Black Lung Miners
For years, it looked like black lung disease was on the decline, but a new epidemic has emerged. In 2018, NPR and the PBS program Frontline investigated a resurgence of advanced black lung among coal miners across Appalachia. They found that despite mounting evidence and a stream of warnings, federal regulators and mining companies failed to protect workers.
The result was that thousands of miners were afflicted with an advanced stage of black lung disease — known as Progressive Massive Fibrosis.
We bring this story from the miners themselves, as told to NPR’s Howard Berkes and Ohio Valley ReSource reporter Benny Becker. It was originally broadcast on NPR’s All Things Considered on Jan. 22, 2019. The full documentary Coal’s Deadly Dust is available on pbs.org.
Black Lung Town Hall Meeting In Kentucky
In July, the Appalachian Citizens Law Center hosted a black lung town hall in Whitesburg, Kentucky. The nonprofit law firm invited miners and their families to hear from experts about the current state of black lung disease in Appalachia. One of those experts is Kentucky radiologist James Brandon Crum, who first alerted federal researchers to what they later labeled an epidemic of complicated black lung.
Our theme music is by Matt Jackfert. Other music this week was provided by Jeff Ellis, Charlie McCoy, Southern Culture on the Skids, June Carter Cash, and Tim and Dave Bing
Bill Lynch is our producer. Zander Aloi is our associate producer. Our executive producer is Eric Douglas. Kelley Libby is our editor. Our audio mixer is Patrick Stephens.
You can send us an email: InsideAppalachia@wvpublic.org.
Black Policy Day returned to the West Virginia Legislature Wednesday for its second year to highlight the policy issues facing Black West Virginians.
Wednesday was Black Policy Day at the West Virginia Legislature. The event is in its second year and is an opportunity for advocates to highlight the policy issues facing Black West Virginians.
Katonya Hart, one of the day’s organizers, said she wants the legislative process to be open so that all can participate. This year, the day’s focus expanded to not only look at policy, but also to help community members learn about and engage with the process directly.
“It’s that diversity when everyone’s at the table,” Hart said. “Having an opportunity to put in that we become strong, that there is a ‘we’ and there’s no longer that separation, that we’re able to keep our identity while supporting and standing in solidarity with each other.”
She said the day’s focus is broad, bringing attention and action to issues facing all West Virginians. Hart is tracking more than 200 bills this session. However one bill, the CROWN Act, is of particular interest. Hart and many other activists around the rotunda wore crowns during the day as a symbol of support for the legislation.
“CROWN stands for, ‘creating a respectable and open world for natural hair and culturally relevant hairstyles,’” Hart said.
“If I wake up in the morning and I wash my hair and I go to work and not straighten it, perm it, it’s okay,” she continued. “Nobody’s gonna say ‘That looks wild and unruly and unprofessional,’ and send me home and try to have me press it like another culture’s hair in order to file papers, to type a letter. What is the necessity of that? What is the reason for that? But so many people have found themselves in that situation, showing up for work and someone saying ‘Your Afro, your curly hair is just not professional.’”
Several municipalities, including Morgantown, Charleston and Beckley, have created their own ordinances to codify the CROWN Act’s protection locally, but advocates have been waiting to see it become state law for four years.
Hart listed issues of funding for education, the regulating of women’s bodies and legislation targeted at the LGBTQ+ community as other areas of focus.
Kasha Snyder-McDonald, the president of the West Virginia Black Pride Foundation, echoed the importance of passing the CROWN Act.
“People of color, we do have distinct hair, hair quality, something that Caucasian people have no understanding of,” she said. “Therefore it is no other body’s place to tell a person of color, what to do with their hair, how we wear our hair. Our hair is a sign of our glory.”
As an LGBTQ+ advocate, Snyder-McDonald also had her eye on several bills aimed at banning drag shows in the state, which she said is often a crucial source of income for people in the community.
“People are scared of what they do not understand or what they do not know. When it comes to the drag community, they do not know that some people that do drag, the majority of people that do drag, is because it is their livelihood, it is their way of employment,” Snyder-McDonald said. “There are so many doors that are close to the LGBTQ+ community, especially the LGBTQ+ community of color.”
“Here in West Virginia, we don’t have a lot of representation for the LGBTQ+ community, including within our own community,” she continued. “It’s very hard for us to get people to understand our vision and to see that we’re here and we’re just like everyone else. Each and every day is a struggle. We’re fighting just to be seen and just to be heard.”
Snyder-McDonald and Hart both expressed their excitement for the opportunity that Black Policy Day provides for Black West Virginians to organize and stand together for a better future.
A Fayette County community will soon join in a digital tour that honors Black history. The African American Heritage Tour is part of the New River Gorge National Park and Preserve.
A Fayette County community will soon join in a digital tour that honors Black history. The African American Heritage Tour is part of the New River Gorge National Park and Preserve.
The tours can be accessed through the National Park Service’s apps for their respective parks. The project already visits historic communities such as Hinton, Winona and Nuttallburg to share stories of Black coal miners, railroad workers, and other community members that helped shape this region.
In the mid-20th century, Charleston, West Virginia, was a major stop for black musicians traveling to Baltimore and D.C. on what was known as the “Chitlin’ Circuit.” Improv jazz masters like James Brown, Cab Calloway and others are said to have stopped in Charleston’s historic Triangle neighborhood to play informal gigs late into the night, or have a drink of moonshine in some of the illegal bars and brothels that operated in the neighborhood.
Credit WV State Archives
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Protesters attempt to block bulldozers after they arrived in the Triangle District to tear down homes. The man in the yellow shirt was arrested moments later.
But in 1974, following a series of development projects, the neighborhood was demolished, and hundreds — perhaps thousands — of residents were forced to relocate. Some even left the state. It was one of many predominantly black communities across the nation that was decimated by urban renewal and the interstate highway system.
It pitted black families, civil rights groups, neighborhood alliance groups, and War on Poverty groups against officials from the Charleston Chamber of Commerce, the State Road Commission, and former Governor Arch Moore. This story in state’s largest city had national implications and resulted in a case that went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Some residents say Charleston has never truly reckoned with this history and the underlying racism that led to so many being forced out of their community.
Center of Black Culture
Credit The Charleston Gazette
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The Charleston Gazette
The Triangle District is outlined in heavy black in this map from The Charleston Gazette. It is described as the “city’s worst slum.”
The Triangle District sat on a coveted spot in the state’s capital city, on prime flat land in the heart of downtown. The area was known as the Triangle District because of its three borders: the Elk River on one side, Slack and Capitol streets on another, and Washington Street on the third.
Jazz musician Bob Thompson moved to Charleston in the 1960s. He recalled in a StoryCorps interview with Mountain Stage host Larry Groce that musicians often stayed up all night playing b-bop and improv jazz at many of the clubs throughout the Triangle. He said those clubs were integrated, as well.
Credit StoryCorps
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StoryCorps
Larry Groce and Bob Thompson from their StoryCorps interview. Thompson moved to W.Va. to attend college and study music. He played in many of the clubs in the region.
“There was a constant flow of great players. As always, music brought all kinds of people together,” Thompson said.
Danny Jones, the city’s former mayor who grew up in the city, visited the Triangle District often and worked in a popular neighborhood restaurant called The Sterling.
“The Triangle was a neat place. It had a lot of character. I was so happy I got to know some of those folks and waited on a lot of them at The Sterling,” Jones said.
He acknowledged the Triangle was known for prostitution, gambling, and lots of illegal drinking. There wasn’t a law on the books that allowed bars to sell liquor by the drink. There was an understanding, though, that clubs would operate illegally in neighborhoods like the Triangle. Many restaurants, like the one Jones worked at, were open late.
According to some residents, the police would make a show of being tough on crime in the Triangle during election years. But once the election was over, things would return to normal.
Redevelopment Begins
By the 1960s, Charleston city officials decided to redevelop the Triangle, partly as a way to shut down Red Light businesses for good. The Charleston Urban Renewal Authority wanted to see new shops and businesses located in this area, according to a report compiled by CURA in 1977.
The decade was a dizzying time for the Triangle: The state’s Public Service Commission gave West Virginia American Water permission to build facilities in the neighborhood, and in 1966, 200 houses were razed to make way for them. Interstate highway project officials, faced with limited choices, sought connections for Interstates 64, 77 and 79 that went right through the neighborhood.
Credit WV State Archives
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Emmerson Reed was one of the organizers of the protests to stop the demolition of the Triangle District. Here he is speaking to reporters.
Emmerson Reed, one of the main activists in the fight to stop the demolition of the Triangle District, said these projects were routed through the Triangle neighborhood as a convenient way to displace black residents and push them out of the city. As the interstate system made its way across the country in the 1950s and ‘60s with the promise of connecting people, it also disrupted or displaced many communities in its path, often poorer neighborhoods and neighborhoods where most of the residents were black or Hispanic.
“An interstate shouldn’t go through a city,” he told a reporter at a public meeting in the late 1960s. He pointed to a former plan for the interstate that would have routed it through Kanawha City, a plan ultimately rejected by city and state officials. “It was rerouted to save hills around capitol. It’s going to be rerouted around Logan County. And if he can look out for the poor, white farmers, he can look out for the poor angry black folk in the Triangle District.”
Then in 1968, the Charleston Urban Renewal Authority finalized a plan to redevelop the area for businesses and housing: It allowed for the demolition of 471 out of 483 structures.
Residents protested to stop the demolition. According to a document compiled by the General Accounting Office (now known as the Government Accountability Office) the Triangle Improvement Council sent letters to both of West Virginia’s U.S. senators. Another letter made it all the way to President Richard Nixon.
Credit Joey Aloi
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Interstates 64/77 in Charleston run right through what was once known as he Triangle neighborhood
Sense Of Loss
Credit WV State Archives
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WV State Archives
Men, women and children carry signs protesting the demolition of the Triangle District for the water company, the interstate and urban renewal.
Since most of the people who were pushed out of the Triangle district rented, they had to find landlords who would give them leases in other areas. But there was a housing shortage and some landlords didn’t want to rent to black families.
In 1967, a housing advocate named Berley Geiger led a march to protest unfair housing conditions. He and others marched for the many low-income residents across the city who lived in rental apartments or homes. They said there were often roaches in rentals, they were poorly maintained, and white landlords often discriminated against black tenants.
A report from the redevelopment project said the plan was intended to tear down a “blighted” neighborhood and remove houses that were “dilapidated.” CURA also supported the plan to route the interstates through the Triangle District.
Most of the residents of the Triangle neighborhood did not. Residents said they had no input in the process once the government began buying-out their landlords and condemning homes to make way for construction.
Part of the problem was housing. The people being shoved out of their homes didn’t have anywhere to go.
“We didn’t have the resources — or the houses to accommodate that many people. Y’all moving us, we ain’t never getting back here. We ain’t going to never come back, and y’all are just destroying lives,” said Carl Foster, a protestor who later took a job with CURA to help people find homes.
Credit Charleston Newspapers
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Charleston Newspapers
Protesters, including Moses Newsome and Emerson Reed, march in downtown Charleston on July 11, 1969 to oppose urban renewal and interstate construction projects in the Triangle District.
To protest the lack of housing for the displaced residents, Reed organized a demonstration along the Elk River in an encampment they called “Tent City.” He said he camped out there for six months with about 75 others.
Reed and the group of residents who protested the demolition, appealed to the Federal Bureau of Public Roads — today’s Federal Highway Administration — which temporarily put a halt to the construction of the interstate. But it was on a temporary fix. West Virginia Governor Arch Moore defended the plan to demolish homes in the Triangle district.
As the interstate plan was debated and reassessed by various government entities, residents marched, rallied, and even stood in the way of bulldozers to try to prevent them from demolishing homes.
In 1968, changes to The Federal-Aid Highway Act said states had to ensure that residents that the highway displaced would have help from the government to relocate. The government didn’t necessarily have to give them a new place to live, but there had to be a plan in place. There was never a detailed workup of this plan, and some units of low-income housing they promised were built, and some were not.
By 1970, the debate over the displacement of the Triangle had been going on for several years. Similar situations and protests over interstate projects occurred across the country. That same year a New York Times article featured Charleston’s Triangle district and the citizens’ fight to save their homes and community. That fight made it all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court.
But by 1971, it was over. The Supreme Court decided not to hear the case regarding the Triangle neighborhood, ruling that the amended Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1968 did not apply to this case, in part because the interstate project was already underway by the time the 1968 amendments were made.
When the actual demolition began, some residents didn’t know what was happening until the bulldozers arrived.
“Some people were still asleep in their homes when the bulldozers came in. These people didn’t know what was going on until it started happening,” according to Carol Tillman, a former Triangle resident.
According to the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, 383 homes and 107 businesses were torn down in the Triangle neighborhood. Only 12 buildings were spared. HUD has no official count of how many people it displaced.
‘Subtle Kind of Racism’
Reverend Ron English moved to Charleston as the Triangle District was being demolished to become the pastor at First Baptist Church on Shrewsbury Street.
Reverend Ronald English moved to Charleston in the midst of the Triangle controversy. Before moving to West Virginia, he traveled throughout the deep south working as a preacher and a civil rights leader. English said the way the black neighborhood was pushed out of the city, gets straight at the heart of the type of racism there.
He said the city of Charleston told the black community essentially to wait and see how the redevelopment could help them by bringing more economic prosperity to the city. More than four decades later, he feels many African Americans are still waiting for these developments to pay off.
Reflecting on the destruction of the Triangle district, English said the examples of racism he saw “were not expressed in brutal forms. There was a more subtle kind of racism. which I think is still around.”
By 1975, the Triangle District was gone. Some people say Charleston never really reckoned with this history. Reverend English said emotions still linger over the loss of the Triangle because former residents never got the chance to grieve together for their loss.
Recently, city officials gave Court Street the honorary title of “Martin Luther King Jr Way.” This road ran through the heart of the Triangle District.
Faith leaders and community organizers say they would like the city to do more to help African American families who are still left in the city. Many of them live now in the part of the city known as the West Side, about a mile across the Elk River from where the Triangle neighborhood once stood.
Zander Aloi helped engineer and mix the audio for this story. Suzanne Higgins was the editor.
Thanks to everyone who helped collect interviews for this segment: Nathan Tauger, Alex and Erik Abrahams, Reverend Paul Dunn and Reverend Matthews Watts. Trey Kay, who hosts the Us and Them Podcast from West Virginia Public Broadcasting, and Larry Groce, host of Mountain Stage.
Also, thanks to Anna Sale, of WNYC, whose research into the protests against the urban renewal project in the Triangle was the subject of her bachelor’s thesis, which helped us put our story together.
West Virginia native Eric Jordan and his family has been one of the most powerful forces creating hip-hop in the state. Jordan has a special ability to mentor develop and produce Appalachian artists.
As a young child, Jordan always loved hip-hop culture and music. But he learned you could make music on the sidewalk if you wanted to see Purple Rain at the Warner theater in Morgantown.
“Me and my friends didn’t have any money to get in. We went and got a piece of cardboard. Man, we got like $50. It was enough to get everybody in. From then on, music and art became a business.” said Jordan.
Two Brothers, One Record Company
In 1999, Jordan and his brother Lionel, also known as 6’6 240, started an Indie hip-hop label called Soundvizion Records. They did most of the production work themselves. They found that they had a talent for developing artists. They started a project they called 304 Reconz, where they search all over West Virginia for talent to mentor.
“When we started SoundVision in 1999, the mission statement was, ‘let’s give these kids something to be proud of for themselves’. We all did it together,” said Jordan. “It ain’t no racial line here. I didn’t see black or white. I saw poor, and that’s where we attacked it with 304 Reconz. We representing the trailer parks, we’re representing poverty. That’s not a black thing, that’s a poor thing. That’s lack of having, that’s survivalist. And you know, that’s interracial.”
How Poetry Inspired a Hip-Hop Youth Camp
Eric and his family are no stranger to the arts. His father, the late Norman Jordan, is one of the most published Appalachian poets. He even won an award from the United Nations. Norman Jordan also started a youth art camp 30 years ago. It was known as the African American Arts and Heritage Academy.
“My father was a mentor to me. I’ve been a mentor to artists. Honestly we are in the talent development business. We have been in that business for a long time,” Jordan said about his father.
Eric Jordan (l) and his father Norman Jordan, who passed away last year.
The camp is for all children ages 13 to 18.
“We concentrate on African Arts to teach, but we want students of all races to be involved,” said Jordan.
The art camp is a week where kids can come to the camp, pick a discipline, theater, graphic arts, dance, or hip-hop, depending on which instructors are available.”
To honor his memory and legacy, the camp was renamed the Norman Jordan African American Arts and Heritage Academy. Kids pay an entry fee, but he tries to keep the fees low. Recently the camp has been struggling financially. So the hip-hop community from all over the state came together to host a fundraiser at a venue in Morgantown called 123 Pleasant Street.
To honor his memory and legacy, the camp was renamed the Norman Jordan African American Arts and Heritage Academy. Kids pay an entry fee, but he tries to keep the fees low. Recently the camp has been struggling financially. The hip-hop community from all over the state came together to host a fundraiser at a venue in Morgantown called 123 Pleasant Street.
Jordan says the academy is more than a camp. It’s an opportunity to mentor young people who might come from a rough background.
He’s toured all over the American hip-hop scene, learning lessons along the way He enjoys sharing what he’s learned in the studio, but especially in the camp. It’s a way to give back and invest in the future of his community.
“It’s bigger than anything I’ve ever been a part of. If you have any kind of success, you have to take on the accountability that comes with that success,” said Eric Jordan. “Some people say, ‘I don’t want to be a role model’. But that situation and what’s going on in our communities is bigger than any damn song. You know? It’s bigger than any radio play that you’re gonna get.”
“Kids that are coming out of these communities— they don’t have confidence. They don’t have experience. The arts does that. Especially if you’re dealing with hip-hop and production. Our message is always going to be about, ‘how as we as a community can be better.’”
