The sun set on the golden letters that spelled Black Lives Matter in the center of North Greenwood street in Tulsa, Oklahoma, that embraced the modern business district of Black Wall Street (BWS). Two story, red brick buildings lined the street of North Greenwood and extended to the Interstate 244 bridge that divided BWS from the Greenwood Cultural Center Museum and Vernon AME Baptist Church. A business district and community that once spanned 32 square acres was now the size of a 70-yard football field in both length and width.
To the west of North Greenwood street, the neighborhood had been totally gentrified. The new state of the art ONEOK Baseball Field butted against BWS. To the south of the field was a four-story U-Haul building and to the left and right of the U-Haul building was new construction and high-end condominiums. To the west of the field are skyscraper buildings, upscale hotels, restaurants, cigar bars, and banks. Most of the area has been rezoned as an industrial district.
The traffic noises from the I-244 drowned out the sound from a local impromptu drummer who sat underneath the bridge and played tunes for all to hear. The smell of soul food pierced the air from Wanda J’s Next Generation Restaurant, and a small gathering of five people stood in front of Black Wall Street Tee’s & Souvenirs and proudly branded their colorful Black Wall Street t-shirts.
I exited my car, stood in the center of the street, and took in the history of a community that has been overlooked by politicians, historians, and educators for more than 100 years. I felt more like I was home in Orange Mound, Tennessee, than in Tulsa, Oklahoma as a visitor. As I stood in the middle of the street, I mentally connected to the days of prosperity where Carter’s Barbershop, Smith’s Apartments, T.W. Harris Pharmacy, Dr. A.C. Jackson’s Doctor’s Office, Duncan & Clinton’s Groceries, and the Dreamland Theater stood and a host of other thriving black owned businesses lined Greenwood’s business district. I could feel the souls of my forefathers and mothers who built the economic fortress that rivaled New York City’s Wall Street in the early 1900’s; yet they experienced the worst carnage and attempt at genocidal annulation in American history.
According to some historians, Dick Rowland, a black teenager, and local shoe shiner, entered an elevator where he encountered Sarah Page, an elevator stewardess. Between the first and third floor, Mr. Rowland had supposedly assaulted and raped Ms. Page, which triggered the 1921 race riot and massacre in Greenwood, Oklahoma. Mr. Rowland was severely beaten by an angry white mob and hauled to a local police precinct south of the tracks that divided North Greenwood from South Greenwood, the forbidden zone where the whites lived and prospered, where he awaited his fate to be lynched. But within an hour of Mr. Rowland’s arrest, a group of affluent blacks came to his rescue and demanded his release. His father was included in the group. These black men were not only affluent and wealthy, but also skilled in combat and weaponry. They all were WWI veterans.
The Police Chief felt insulted by the presence of the affluent black men and called in the calvary – a white mob. This altercation led to a race riot and massacre where less than 500 blacks fought against more than a mob of 10,000 whites. Whites came from all the surrounding cities and states to assist in the carnage and massacre of more than 300 blacks including women and children. The white mob went door to door, led men, women, and children into their front yard, and executed them.
According to oral history from some local blacks in Greenwood, Mr. Rowland and Ms. Page had been dating for quite a while. They had been seen together multiple times in the BWS business district area. On the day of the event, Mr. Rowland and Ms. Page met on the elevator and intensively caressed each other between the first and third floor. Unbeknownst to them, the elevator door opened on the third floor and a group of white men witnessed them in their act. Immediately, Ms. Page screamed rape and at this point, the rest of the story merges with the previous paragraph.
I walked the sidewalks and took photos of the only bricks that honored the names of the black business owners whose businesses once stood in the locations prior to the 1921 race riot and massacre. I also stood in front of King Architectural Solutions, PLLC building and ceremonially touched the only remaining burned and melted brick remnants from the original face of BWS’s business district. Next, I drove north on Greenwood street to the Greenwood Cultural Center (GCC) to speak with black historians to learn more about BWS.
The GCC sat on the entrance of Oklahoma State University – Tulsa and directly across from Vernon AME Baptist Church. Tall and large threes canvassed the property and the sun created a spotlight over it. I walked the property to take in the history, to smell the natural fragrances, to feel and touch the monuments that stood in the courtyard. I stood in front of the marble Memorial Headstone and read the names of all 300+ African American who were massacred in the race riot, and I prayed for their peace. I took photos of the Memorial and walked to Mabel B. Little Heritage House.
The two-story red brick house resembled the ownings of an affluent working-class family. The red brick house was trimmed in white paint, donned a red roof, and possessed at least 20 white trimmed windows and a large white front door. The house was once owned by the Prince-Mackey family. The Mackey’s house is significant because it is the only home built in the 1920’s that still stands as a vestige of BWS. The former owner, Mabel B. Little who survived the 1921 Tulsa race riot, died January 13, 2001 at the age of 104. I touched the bricks and stood on the porch with excitement. My anticipation soared and I rushed to the entrance of the museum so that I could gain a cultural experience and a tour of history. To my surprise, the board had issued a temporary closure or reduced hours due to the coronavirus spikes in Tulsa. According to some national investigative journalists and scientists, the spike in COVID-19 cases in Tulsa were caused by President Trump’s campaign rally which occurred less than a month before my arrival.
I stood in the entrance of the GCC, clenched my fist, and shook my head. I felt that my trip to Greenwood was all for not. I turned to face the large, colorful, and beautiful mural that was painted on the side of the 1-244 bridge that read Black Wall and thought about all the history that I had already experienced and learned since I arrived, and smiled. I got back into my car, called friends and family, and informed them of the GCC’s closure. They told me that they would research historic sites there and text me their addresses. Before I could pull off the parking lot, I received a text about the John Hope Franklin Reconciliation Park, which was five minutes away in walking distance. I parked my car in front of the ONEOK Baseball Field and walked to John Hope Franklin Reconciliation Park.
John Hope Franklin Reconciliation (JHFR) Park was west of ONEOK Baseball Field and south a gentrified Greenwood community. The JHFR Park looked tucked away and hidden. But the décor and presence felt honored. I walked through the gate and felt besieged by history. The design and décor resembled Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial in Washington D.C. It was a real testament of our history. To the left (east) of the park was a display of three bronze statues that paid homage to the rise and fall of BWS. The first bronze statue presented a black man who held a newborn child in his hands with his arms and hands extending from his chest. He faced the west of Greenwood. This reminded me of a scene from Alex Haley’s movie Roots when Kunta Kinte held Kizzy, his newborn daughter, in stretched arms to the sky as an honor to God. The writing beneath the statue’s feet read Hope. The second bronze statue presented a black man who shared the same base and stood toward the east in front of a waterfall. He held a shotgun and a pistol in his hands. He looked as if he was exhausted and had been in a war. The writing beneath his feet read Humility. The third bronze statue presented a black man who held both arms above his head in surrender. The writing beneath his feet read Humiliation.
To the west of the three bronze statues stood a bronze twenty to thirty feet high reconciliation tower that adorned images and depictions of the history of Greenwood during BWS. The reconciliation tower that stood in the center of a circle that was adorned by large bronze plaques with encouraging engravings with sayings such as “Let us Take Action” “From Tragedy to Triumph”. I walk throughout the park saying Duas (supplications) for those who were murdered in the 1921 massacre and for all blacks across the globe who have experienced racial oppression, especially in the United States of America. As the sun set, I checked into the Holiday Express and began working on this reflective article. All the restaurants had closed so I had to eat the left-over and cold Margherita pizza from Newk’s that I bought during my commute to Greenwood, Tulsa.
As the sun rose on Greenwood, Tulsa, I packed my belongings, checked out the hotel at 10:00 am, and drove to the BWS business district to stop at Wanda J’s Restaurant and ordered me some food for the road. The people hustle and bustle the block and the sounds of business ringed in the area. I parked directly across from Wanda J’s and sat on a bench in front of the Natural Health Clinic to take in the souls of my forefathers and mothers before I drove back to Little Rock, Arkansas. I closed my eyes, meditated, and thought about the times of prosperity. I saw O.W. Gurley, one of the original forefathers, who moved to Greenwood Tulsa, Oklahoma where he purchased the first 40 acres of land that started the great black migration to Greenwood. I saw Madame C.J. Walker and smelled the chemicals from her perm. I also saw J. B. Stanford and a host of other forefathers and mothers who graced the Greenwood community and BWS. My meditation was interrupted by a baritone voice from a homeless man who asked, “You got a few dollars to spare?”. When I opened my eyes, I stared at the milk chocolate face of the gray bearded man who stood six feet away from me with his arm extending to me in my space. I handed him a few dollars and headed toward Wanda J’s Restaurant.
When I entered Wanda J’s Restaurant, I was immediately greeted by Tyreiha, a young black cashier who had blackish shoulder length and pearly teeth. She was one of the most hospitable cashiers ever. She welcomed me to the restaurant and walked me through the menu. The smell of the food reminded me of Orange Mound Grill during its heyday. The restaurant was small and cuddly with four table booths on each side and the operating system was efficient. I ordered a plate of fried catfish, mac and cheese, fried cabbage, and a glass of ice brewed sweet tea. While my order was being prepared, I walked across the street to Black Wall Street Tee’s & Souvenirs to purchase multiple t-shirts for the road. But as fortune would have it, I met Cyndii, the owner of the store, and she shared with me the oral history of Greenwood, Tulsa, the resurgence of BWS.
Black Wall Street had a resurgence after the 1921 massacre although the level of prosperity was not the same and most of the surviving original founders did not return to Greenwood, Tulsa. The reestablishment of BWS prospered till the 60’s and the advent of the Civil Rights Movement. Based on desegregation policies and laws, blacks could cross the tracks for the first time into the white communities and spend their dollars. This spending practice gutted the economy of BWS and led to the collapse of the BWS business district’s economy. As the community slowly collapsed, the local government used eminent domain to run I-244 through the center of the business district and later gentrification took over the rest.
Today, the Greenwood Commission, Urban Renewal, and the Chamber of Commerce are working together to bring back the BWS business district and community. There are at least 10 black owned businesses in the business district and a few non-black owners. And the spirit of old is returning.
I purchased three t-shirts, shook hands with the owners, and people in the store, and returned to Wanda J’s Restaurant to pick up my food. As I headed south across the tracks that were once forbidden to blacks, I slowly drove across them, and for one moment I thought about what If we had never ventured across the tracks and started spending our dollars outside our community. The thought quickly dissipated, and I smiled. Then I said, “I am Dick Rowland. Black Lives Matter.”
References
Greenwood Cultural Center https://greenwoodculturalcenter.com/
Mabel B. Little Heritage House http://www.visittulsa.com/listings/Mabel-B-Little-Heritage-House/600/
John Hope Franklin Reconciliation Park https://www.jhfcenter.org/reconciliation-park
Wanda J’s Next Generation Restaurant https://www.wandajs.com/
Black Wall Street Tee’s & Souvenirs https://www.blackwallstreetteesandsouvenirs.com/
ONEOK Baseball Field https://www.milb.com/tulsa/ballpark/oneok-field
Vernon AME Baptist Church https://vernoname.com/
