The Sad Ballad of SB 346

Earlier this year, state representatives proposed SB 346 ~ a bill that would alter the definition of a "governmental action" in the Georgia Environmental Policy Act (or GEPA) to exclude transportation improvements that "do not exceed $100 million in costs" ~ this is virtually every project, by the way ~ on the basis that "such project[s] shall not constitute a proposed governmental action which may significantly adversely affect the quality of the environment and the requirements." 

As a preservation planner working for the state, this was clearly an absurd notion. First and foremost, this would eliminate any form of screening for historic and archaeological sites, including unmarked burials, on essentially every state-funded transportation project in Georgia. Second, how does the cost of a project ~ especially when it is absurdly high ~ have anything to do with its potential to adversely impact the environment ~ cultural or natural? It would also significantly reduce the opportunities for work in the private sector of cultural resource management in Georgia.  

Area archaeologists, including members of SEAC and the Society for Georgia Archaeology, mounted an effort against the bill resulting in an amendment to address concerns over cultural resources. That amendment states "that an environmental evaluation shall be considered in the decision-making process, consistent with paragraph (3) of Code Section 12-16-2 [this is from GEPA, it just states that ‘Environmental evaluations should be a part of the decision-making processes of the state’], when it is probable to expect significant adverse impact on historical sites or buildings and cultural resources.” This is problematic ~ I will get to why that is a little later...

SB 346 was passed this morning. Two representatives spoke in favor ~ including the chair of the House Natural Resources & Environment Committee, Lynn Smith. Paraphrasing Smith, she asked if it is true that this will not allow GDOT to "ignore" architectural or archaeological resources? She stumbled over those words a bit, so it is possible she may have only been referring to archaeological resources and misspoke about architecture. Another representative with concerns over coastal heritage, spoke of how “well-vetted” this bill has been.  

Representative Sam Watson, who introduced the bill today, described it as potentially shaving 6-8 months off the life of each project. To put this into perspective, a fast transportation project from proposal to construction may take three years. 22 nays were overwhelmed by 146 proponents. Georgia’s representatives have spoken and their words reflect the state of historic preservation in Georgia: uninformed and leaderless. 

There is little doubt that those who rose to speak of cultural resources in the House today had the best of intentions, but even they demonstrated a fundamental lack of understanding of the law they voted to circumvent. Smith’s question ~ if asked, genuinely unaware of the answer ~ demonstrated an unfounded confidence in the knowledge of Representatives Beach, Mullis, and Watson, about the GEPA process, transportation planning, in general, and how cultural resources currently are and would be accounted for in project planning. There was no follow-up ~ Watson confirmed that GDOT will not be able to “ignore” cultural resources and she accepted his assertion.

There was no deception here. The individual presenting the bill even stated that this was on the heels of HB 170 (the Tranportation Funding Act of 2015) ~ a bill providing an excess of a billion dollars of transportation funding through the state, which eliminates federal involvement on the majority of those projects, and thus, circumventing Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act. Section 106 is arguably the single most important piece of legislation in preservation planning. While it may be another toothless law, it defines and mandates preservation planning itself. In less than a year, the State of Georgia has effectively circumvented the National Historic Preservation Act, Section 4(f) of the US Department of Transportation Act (which has teeth), and GEPA. Our sole consolation is the promise of an undefined process to consider cultural resources.

Speaking of that process, let's revisit that amendment: it references a vague, very base-level statement, taken directly from GEPA, that cultural resources will be considered when a significant adverse impact is expected. It’s an empty concession; the process remains undefined and it is unclear who would define it. Also, who decides when a “significant adverse impact” is probable? Would it be a coalition between the cultural resource specialists at GDOT and the Historic Preservation Division, as it has been, or will this be decided by a coalition of project managers and engineers without the expertise to anticipate these sorts of impacts? 

As I strain to deny myself the cynicism that feels so natural in this moment, we must face the unsettling fact that this bill was proposed to circumvent a simplified environmental process ~ those of us who work with GEPA understand, there is very little you can strip away from it. It is simply hard to imagine many seats at that table for preservationists or archaeologists. SB 346 included no measures for accountability, no checks and balances between agencies to ensure quality compliance.

The sad reality is that maybe this bill was well-vetted, but not by the right people. We are fortunate that Georgia archaeologists championed this cause, because without their effort, there would have been no legal protection for resources in the path of a billion dollars in transportation improvements.  The common defense of this bill was that numerous other legislation in place would account for environmental impacts. With the exception of known cemeteries, the only law for cultural resources is GEPA. Once more, the proponents of this bill fail to recognize that the environment includes more than our natural resources; it includes the built environment, historic landscapes, and trace elements of past lives that exist beneath the soil. 

So, while a mystery process is better than no process at all, that small success should be tempered by the loss of the fairly simple and effective process that was already in place. The indeterminate "they" will now proceed to revise a law they don't understand with the express purpose of shaving 6-8 months off project delivery at GDOT, which is unlikely to happen regardless. The State of Georgia breathes new life into the old cliché of the blind-leading-the-blind. 

So, here we are. How do you feel about it? If you are reading this, you must have some stake in historic preservation; if you stuck with me this far, you must really, genuinely care. I have shrugged off too many frustrations of late. I am pissed and disheartened. 

I am pissed, because this is important. This is too flipping important to have been developed and vetted by persons who lack any experience whatsoever with environmental compliance for cultural resources. I am pissed that representatives, whose interest is in transportation, were able to easily and effectively circumvent environmental legislation that should not have been in their purview. Did anyone else notice that the bill refers to "historical sites" ~ historical?! It is 2016 and virtually every person I encounter on the street ~ in all corners of Georgia ~ still believes that the "National Registry of Historical Places" is actually a thing and that it prevents property owners from making any changes whatsoever to their homes. It is clear that education about historic preservation is needed at all levels in this state. 

I am disheartened because more and more I am beginning to see my passion and profession reduced to the misunderstood nuisance that naysayers have always claimed it to be, and I feel powerless to combat it; that state representatives are undermining laws that they lack the professional vocabulary to properly discuss; and that the collective constituency to which I belong lacks the influence or presence to even be recognized as anything more than an interest group on this matter. But more than anything else, I feel responsible, because I did not do more to fight it ~ in the two months it has been presented and, more importantly, in the years before it was even an idea. We couldn't win this fight, because it was lost before it began. There was no concept of a resistance to it ~ no concern over combative agencies, no fear of public outcry in the media, or the retaliation of angry voters. Our voice was limited to 22 nays. 

I have a young son, a stressful job, other interests and commitments, and personal issues like everyone else that affords little time and energy to be a leader on something that is so dear to my heart. I imagine you could cut and paste that last sentence and apply it to nearly every preservation professional I know in Georgia. This is an exhaustive effort. Atlanta preservationists have experienced some recent successes in being heard and combating passive efforts to demolish local landmarks. How can we ~ a sea of passionate part-timers ~ expand this to the state at large? The effort to remain good stewards in the face of SB 346 will be carried on by qualified professionals in the state, I assure you; but the question is, what do we do now that this fight is over? 

~MRK

Off the Beaten Path in Worth County

Sometimes you stumble upon a little slice of heaven. That was the case yesterday, when I went to check out an abandoned bridge down in Worth County.

I didn't know the surrounding area would feel so magical. This gorgeous wetland was still and quiet, despite being not that far from the current highway alignment. Several egrets took flight as I approached.

The bridge was probably constructed during the 1920s. The highway, US 82, was realigned during the 1950s. The bridge can be seen on this 1940 State Highway Map:

By 1958, the new highway alignment was in place, as seen on this topo map:

If I had known what I would find, I would've packed a picnic lunch and stayed a while, instead of eating Krystal burgers in the car on the way there. I didn't expect to be so overtaken by this seemingly ordinary stretch of abandoned roadway. The place was a reminder that magic and transcendence are often found where you least expect them.

Grant Park School: Gone but (not?) Forgotten

In 2013, I wrote an article for BURNAWAY Magazine about the importance of preserving neighborhood schools, and what we lose when they're gone. I mentioned Grant Park School as one that was a casualty of interstate construction, but recently someone commented and said that's not quite accurate. The original Grant Park School was lost as I'd reported, this commenter said, but a later Grant Park School still stands as The Arts Exchange. So I went to check it out.

The Arts Exchange - confirmed as the former Grant Park School - is a Spanish Colonial Revival style building hiding in the shadow of I-20 at the end of Kalb Street, a remnant street that was once part of a connected street network in the Grant Park neighborhood. The Arts Exchange opened in 1985 and won an award from the Atlanta Urban Design Commission. Despite being in use today, the building is in a state of disrepair - so much so that when I approached, at first I thought it was abandoned. The cornerstone dates its construction to 1930, and it is indicated on the 1931-32 Sanborn Fire Insurance map as "New Grant Park School."

The original Grant Park School is also visible on the 1931-32 Sanborn map. It was a two-story brick building with a basement, built in 1903. Its location at Boulevard and Kalb Avenue is now in the middle of I-20, as I had mentioned in my BURNAWAY article.

Sanborn Map courtesy University of Georgia online collection.

A c. 1911 photo shows children on the steps of the Grant Park School. Its brick walls and stone foundation, with basement windows, are evident.

Photo courtesy Atlanta History Center.

The Arts Exchange is located adjacent to GlenCastle, better known to preservationists as the Atlanta Stockade. That building is currently boarded up and appears vacant - a surprise to me, since as far as I knew, it had been low-income housing operated by Charis Community Housing for a long time. Another investigation for another time, perhaps. However, on a hill beside the GlenCastle parking lot, I noticed a cornerstone dated 1903, listing members of the Atlanta Board of Education. Perhaps this is the cornerstone from the original Grant Park School. 

It's always sad to find remnants of historic buildings standing alone, as if the isolated piece apart from its whole could be expected to convey the story that the building itself once embodied. However, better to preserve remnants, I suppose, than for places to vanish without any indication that they ever existed. But as preservationists, we strive for more, and as a society, I hope we can do better. Schools, in particular, have the power to bring us together in a way few other building types can. They deserve to remain in use as living buildings, not as stone markers decorating empty parking lots.

• Terry Kearns has more pictures of the Arts Exchange, from 2011.

Possum Poke in Worth County, Georgia

Rural Georgia certainly has no shortage of stories to tell. And sometimes those stories surprise you, like when you are minding your own business, driving down a highway in Worth County, and you stumble upon what appears to be a roadside park of WPA or CCC vintage. And when you get out to explore, you (how long can I keep up this writing-in-the-second-person narrative?) discover a monument that appears to be several decades younger than the surrounding site - and commemorates a former governor of Michigan.

Roadside park along US Highway 82 in Worth County

Although I have given it my best as far as internet research goes, I haven't been able to find any information on the old roadside park. However - and I mean this is the least-clickbait-sounding-way possible - what I did find is, arguably, even better.

Monument to Governor Chase Salmon Osborn

As it turns out, Chase Salmon Osborn, the former governor of Michigan to whom the above monument is dedicated, once had a winter retreat and hunting lodge in Worth County, just outside the small community of Poulan. The property, called Possum Poke, still exists, and is listed in the National Register of Historic Places.

"Big Poke" at Possum Poke. (Photo credit: The Chase S. and Stellanova Osborn Home Page.)

From historical sources, Governor Osborn appears to be flamboyant and multi-faceted in the way only a late 19th/early 20th century politician could be. He made money in newspapers, timber, and iron ore, and after a decades-long political career, settled at his winter retreat in Georgia with his adopted daughter (also his secretary and "companion"), Stella Brunt. There the two of them spent a lot of time writing books - 17 in total, including A Tale of Possum Poke in Possum Lane - and in 1931, Miss Brunt changed her name to Stellanova. She and Osborn saw the light while at Possum Poke, and worked tirelessly for the creation of an Atlantic Union. That's right, they were secessionists. Governor Osborn is quoted thusly:

If ever the great masses of people in the world who are living under despots are organized under despotism, the self-governing peoples, who are in a hopeless minority, will be forced to unite for self-preservation.

Chase Salmon Osborn as a young man. (Photo credit: Wikipedia.)

Governor Osborn passed away at Possum Poke in 1949, but not before marrying Stellanova Brunt, his adopted daughter, two days before his death, in part to ensure that she would carry on his vision of an Atlantic Union. And carry it on she did, for another nearly 40 years until her death in the 1980s. In fact, Stellanova Osborn was instrumental in getting Possum Poke listed in the National Register, as the only remaining place specifically associated with Governor Chase Osborn and the Atlantic Union.

• More information and photographs
• Possume Poke National Register Nomination

Louvale Church Row & the Rosenwald Coincidence

To revive a popular expression that has only just fallen back out of use (my apologies): a drive through the highways of rural south Georgia for the heritage hunter is like a box of chocolates ~ you never know what you may get, but you know it's going to be good. 

Bird's eye view of Louvale Church Row along US 27 (Courtesy of Bing Maps)

A drive along US 27 through Stewart County quickly proved that point for me one afternoon when the steeples of three historic churches broke the tree line and caught my eye. A u-turn later, I was at Louvale Church Row, a National Register-listed historic district (NRIS 86000747, listed 1986) located on Old Louvale Road. The district consists of three church buildings dating from the late 19th century, built by congregations that dated from the 1830s and 1860s, and a school building dating from sometime around the 1880s.

Louvale Church Row Historic District in 1985, view to southwest along Old Louvale Road. Excerpt from National Register Nomination (courtesy of Georgia DNR & James Lockhart).

1953 Topographic Map of Louvale (courtesy of HistoricAerials.com).
Church Row is visible just left of center.

Louvale was a small community, like many others in this region, that simply never prospered. For some, the death knell came on the wings of the boll-weevil, poor farming conditions, and more frequently, as in this case, the roar of the train (or lack thereof). There are numerous examples of small towns and cross-roads communities in south Georgia that were stars-in-waiting in the eyes of some wealthy entrepeneur, just waiting to be ignited. For Louvale, that man was Dr. William H. Tatum.

When Tatum came to Louvale (either through birth or otherwise), it would have been little more than a post office (established in 1843) called Hannahatchee, after a nearby creek.  Tatum was, in many ways, the first citizen of this community (in esteem, not order); he was recognized as a successful merchant and planter, and held prominent positions, including Mayor. When Tatum was postmaster at Hannahatchee (known as Antioch, by then), he relocated the office closer to his home and renamed it Louvale after his wife Lucy (Lou for short). Tatum seized an opportunity to expand the development of his community by raising funds for the construction of a station and turntable near his home in order to bring the Americus, Preston, and Lumpkin Railroad through Louvale; which was built and connected in the mid-1880s, opening for use in 1887. This has been described as a temporary fixture that was ultimately abandoned in 1892, when the APL railroad was renamed the Savannah, Americus, and Montgomery Railroad, and plans for the line were altered in another direction; however, the line does not appear to have been abandoned at that time, though there were discussions of its potential sale in newspapers in 1895, before the company went bankrupt that year.

Contemporary Article on Tatum's Efforts to Bring the APL to Louvale (Americus Weekly Recorder, April 29, 1886)

SAM Railroad Line (from Rand McNally Map of Georgia, 1892, courtesy of railga.com).
The Louvale station is marked near the center of Stewart County (far left).

 
It was in the midst of this devastating blow to Tatum's vision that Church Row came to exist. Tatum owned much of the land in the area of Louvale, including the land adjacent to Antioch Primitive Baptist Church (the community's church). In 1899, he sold an acre to Marvin Methodist Church, a congregation that originated in Green Hill in the 1830s.

Marvin Methodist Church (c.1900)

This church was built on that land, adjacent to the Antioch Church and school, in 1900. The building is a corner tower type with a prominent belfry and squared candle-snuffer roof. This was a very common church type during this time period and in this rural setting. The main entry is through the tower, which was typically the case; the entry is crowned by a transom light and and projecting hood. The handicapped accessible ramp may detract a little from certain views, but this church is a wonderful example of its type.

The interior is equally impressive. Featuring skilled woodwork with the bright white walls contrasting the dark, ash flooring. Sparsely placed, tall and narrow windows flood the building with light, casting shadows in all directions. The building is silent, except for occasional passing of large vehicles on the nearby highway ~ sounds that seem distant, despite being a stone's throw away.

Interior of Marvin Methodist Church (c.1900)

The centerpiece of this church is the chancel ~ the round platform, from which ministers have been preaching for generations. Three chairs sit within the recess at the back of chancel, their golden upholstery provide the only color in room, making them glow in contrast. These chairs are symbolic fixtures in most churches; though typically used by ministers and worship leaders during services, the three (one larger flanked by two smaller) are meant to represent the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit (the Holy Trinity). The chancel is accented by an ornate tracery apron, typical of Folk Victorian design.

Marvin Methodist Church Sign

New Hope Baptist Church (19th century building relocated ca. 1901) ~ appears to have undergone renovations from the mid-20th century and more recently as well.

Late in the fall of 1900, Tatum sold an acre lot, adjacent to the new Marvin Methodist Church, to the congregation of New Hope Baptist Church, which was founded in the 1860s within a few miles of Louvale. This building was built soon thereafter. This front gable church building is by far the most common form found throughout rural Georgia during the 19th and early-to-mid 20th centuries. This building is clad in asbestos shingle siding, which is also very common for the latter part of that time period, but in this instance it was probably a later addition. This building was built before asbestos shingles were widely used; their appearance suggest they were added in the 1930s or later. All the of the buildings underwent renovation efforts in the mid 1980s. The front porch was added sometime after 1985. There is also a small, 20th-century cemetery behind New Hope, that has been used by all three congregations.

Louvale Church Row Historic District from National Register Nomination, c. 1985. New Hope stands in the foreground, prior to renovations that included the addition of a front porch (courtesy of Georgia DNR & James Lockhart).

Antioch Primitive Baptist Church (c.1885)

When these churches were built on Tatum's land at the turn of the century, they joined an older church and school. Antioch Primitive Baptist Church was first established around 1839 at another location. Later the congregation moved to this site in the 1850s, where they worshiped in simple structures that typically doubled as a school, until this church was built between the 1870s and 1880s. 

Interior of Antioch Primitive Baptist Church in 1985, prior to renovations of the mid-1980s. From the Louvale Church Row Historic District National Register Nomination (courtesy of Georgia DNR & James Lockhart).

Architecturally, Antioch is something to behold. The central tower church is long and wide with a tall gable roof. The central tower is tiered and has a prominent belfry topped with an octagonal spire. The windows are ranked and include an arched transom light over the main entry through the tower. Altogether these features evoke an air of power, order, and grace; but these words do little to convey the building they describe. There is something remarkably simple yet powerful about this building. 

Interior of Antioch Primitive Baptist Church (c.1885)

The word is linear. The extensive use of narrow planks in the interior of this building is astounding. There are so many perfectly intersecting angles that Antioch could be called the 90-degree church. These planks together create an illusion of depth that makes this building feel much longer and wider than is actually the case. Collectively they work like a thousand tiny arrows leading your eyes directly to the chancel, which itself has a magnetic affect to the visitor, drawing you in for a closer look. This is vernacular perfection ~ it has all the power of a baroque cathedral inexplicably trapped in a white crate.

Chancel of Antioch Primitive Baptist Church (c.1885)

The chancel of Antioch appears almost as a shadow of the recess behind it. The recess is framed by a classical motif. The symbolic chairs, representative of the Holy Trinity, appear here as well, with the cross itself playing the role of the larger chair. Within the recess, the siding rises in an upward V, joining at the cross and leading up ~ a symbolic ascent contrasting the devoutly linear interior of the church. 

Organ at Antioch Primitive Baptist Church (c.1885)

For a musician/historian, there is no greater find than a weathered old instrument just asking to be played....

Louvale Community House (c.1900), south elevation

In its early days at this location, Antioch was known to have served as both church and school to the community; in fact, there appears to have been a school building on this property, which doubled as the church, prior to the construction of the present church.  But by the 1880s, a separate church and school building were present. The school was known as the Antioch Institute, which today, is known as the Louvale Community House (if they are one and the same, as presumed). The Antioch Institute was sold to the Stewart County Board of Education in 1895, after which it became a public school. It seems to have been some sort of community school before then, but the details of its student body (black or white, young or old) are not clear. The school was active until the early 1940s, when it was consolidated with another school, and the building returned to Louvale (becoming the Louvale Community House). 

The Louvale Community House is a modest, front-gabled building with no real exterior ornamentation. The south elevation (shown above) features two long rows of windows, while the north elevation (below) is windowless. A storage room at the back of the church does not appear to be original to the building, but may have been an early addition as the materials match.   

Louvale Community House (c.1900), north elevation

At first glance, I was convinced this building was a Rosenwald School. Rosenwald Schools were the product of an initiative between Booker T. Washington and philanthropist, Julius Roswenwald, to improve the conditions of African American schools in the rural south. In the segregated south, finances for black schools were just a third of their white counterparts in the some areas, and many would only operate for a few months of the year.  The Julius Rosenwald Fund was based out of Chicago (and later Nashville), where they oversaw the design and financing of nearly 5000 schools throughout the rural communities of the south between 1912 and 1937.

Interior of Louvale Community Building in 1985, facing the rear of the building.  From Louvale Church Row Historic District National Register Nomination (courtesy of Georgia DNR & James Lockhart).

Distinct designs were produced for the schools based on the number of teachers and the building's preferred orientation. Louvale's Community Building closely resembles the "One-Teacher Type" (shown below). The interior of the Louvale building consists of a large, open classroom and a smaller storage room. The Rosenwald design would also feature a single, open classroom with a smaller "industrial classroom" at the rear of the building. The Rosenwald design addressed concerns over proper lighting and ventilation; windows were grouped in long rows (called "batteries") and the building was elevated atop short masonry piers to improve ventilation. The similarities between the designs are unmistakable.

Rosenwald School Plan for North-South Facing Buildings (courtesy of HistorySouth.org)

But the fact remains that this building was built at least 20 years before the first Rosenwald schools were even designed. Coincidence? It's possible. The program records from the 1930s were collected by Fisk University and a searchable database created of the schools built. The database accounts for five buildings in Stewart County: the County Training School at Richland (a five-teacher type from 1922-23) and an associated teacher's home (1923-24), the Kimbrough School (a four-teacher type from 1928-29), the Lumpkin School (a four-teacher type from 1923-24), and the Omaha School (a four-teacher type from 1926-27). The Omaha School was discussed in an article from the November 2005 issue of Reflections. There is no record of a one-teacher type school built by the Rosenwald Fund in Stewart County, and there were none associated with Louvale. That said, the Fisk University database is not comprehensive. There was also a reference to a colored school at Louvale in the Americus Weekly Recorder from June 1887. Whether this was the Antioch Institute is not known, but it warrants additional research.

The Omaha School, Stewart County (courtesy of Fisk University)

So, what's going on here? Perhaps the Antioch Institute was dramatically altered after 1912 to resemble the Rosenwald design for the benefits of proper lighting and ventilation. There are many buildings throughout the rural south from the Roswenwald era that resemble the design, but have no direct association with the Rosenwald Fund. Perhaps the Antioch Institute did not actually survive and was replaced with this building, which could have been a Rosenwald school that has been overlooked. Maybe a Rosenwald school from a neighboring county was relocated.  A new building could have been on this site by the same craftsman responsible for the construction of Rosenwald schools in the area that simply replicated the designs. Perhaps the Antioch Institute was designed and built with similar concerns regarding ventilation and lighting, which ultimately led the building, by mere coincidence, to closely resemble the Rosenwald design more than 20 years before that design was developed. All are possible, but only one is accurate, and which one that is has eluded me thus far. 

Today, Louvale is a sleepy community of less than 300 people. Newspaper articles from the 1880s paint a picture of small, but active community capable of bringing out twice that number for a special occasion. Tatum's vision, like many others in this area of Georgia, was never realized; however, we inherit from him and his neighbors something remarkable in Church Row. Several churches, integral to the identity of this small community, and architecturally a treasure for us all. More impressive still is the question of this school. Is there really a Rosenwald connection? I honestly don't know, but my impression is that any connection is likely indirect; nevertheless, I think it merits further research. I managed to glean some information from newspapers from the 1880s-1900s on Louvale, including the name of a local periodical (The Louvale News, est. 1893), the name of a teacher (Miss Rosa Haynes, reference from 1887), and a single reference to a colored school at Louvale. Additional research into census records from the 1880s and 1890s could hold the answer to the number and ethnicity of teachers in Louvale. The Louvale News would undoubtedly yield valuable information on the school, as well. If you are familiar with the history of Louvale or this particular building, please share any information you have in the comments on this post. 

~MK

Oakland Cemetery

West Entrance Gate to Oakland Cemetery (Atlanta, GA)