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Authors: Eugene Robinson
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rigidly locked down as an Atlanta or a Birmingham.And when change came, it often came to Washington first because of its federal status. President Truman integrated government workplaces in 1948, which opened employment opportunities to blacks in the city’s principal industry. Under President Eisenhower, first parks and other recreation facilities and then the public schools were integrated in 1954. By 1957, Washington had become the first large U.S. city with an African American majority.
As strictures in public accommodations and the schools fell away, so did the formal and informal rules that had segregated the city’s neighborhoods. Black families who lived in close-in enclaves such as LeDroit Park, up the hill from U Street near Howard University, departed for parts of the city that once would not have welcomed them, especially the leafy neighborhoods at the city’s far northern tip. Or else African Americans fled all the way to the suburbs—more to the Maryland side than to Virginia—where new ranch-style homes and split-levels offered all the modern conveniences. This was a time, remember, when there was nothing remotely pejorative about the concept of suburban sprawl. Rather, it was seen as progress. Except in Manhattan and arguably in Chicago, urban density had become the antithesis of the American dream.
Many of the African Americans who once patronized upscale retail stores along U Street had moved away, and those who remained had other options. Blacks in Washington had long been able to go downtown and shop at the reasonably priced department stores like Hecht and Lansburgh, and they were even welcome at the midrange department store Woodward and Lothrop. For many years, however, they were not invited to patronize upscale Garfinckel’s, which was the jewel of the main F Street shopping corridor not far from the WhiteHouse. Mrs. Lucille Foster, a longtime black Washingtonian who grew up in Georgetown and subsequently lived for many years near U Street, recalls that when she saw a particular dress in the window at Garfinckel’s that she wanted to buy—with her own money—the wealthy white matron for whom she worked as a cook had to go into the store and make the purchase. By the mid-′60s, though, the doors of Garfie’s were open to all—as were most restaurants and other places of business.
The need for a blacks-only venue like the Lincoln Theatre had disappeared, now that establishments downtown such as the grand Warner Theatre and the venerable National Theatre were happy, or at least willing, to welcome African Americans. The Bohemian Caverns lost its ability to attract top-line performers when integrated clubs opened their doors, such as Blues Alley in Georgetown, which was established in 1965 and became the city’s principal venue for jazz. Soon only the people who lived nearby had any reason to go to U Street. Those local residents—the ones who couldn’t or wouldn’t move out of the old neighborhood—tended to be less educated and affluent than those who took advantage of the new possibilities that racial integration offered.
The public schools serving the U Street area began to decline, not just because of a lack of attention and funding from the authorities—the ultimate authority over the District of Columbia in those days was Congress, and since the city had (and still has) no voting representation in the House of Representatives or the Senate, there was no one to hold accountable for how the city was being run—but also because the student population changed. The stable, middle-class, two-parent families that were most likely to prepare their children for school were leaving. Those students who remainedwere unlikely to get the kind of support at home that produces sustained academic achievement. As standards began to slip, more of the best and brightest students were pulled out; either they ended up in private or parochial schools, or their families moved to the suburbs and sent
As strictures in public accommodations and the schools fell away, so did the formal and informal rules that had segregated the city’s neighborhoods. Black families who lived in close-in enclaves such as LeDroit Park, up the hill from U Street near Howard University, departed for parts of the city that once would not have welcomed them, especially the leafy neighborhoods at the city’s far northern tip. Or else African Americans fled all the way to the suburbs—more to the Maryland side than to Virginia—where new ranch-style homes and split-levels offered all the modern conveniences. This was a time, remember, when there was nothing remotely pejorative about the concept of suburban sprawl. Rather, it was seen as progress. Except in Manhattan and arguably in Chicago, urban density had become the antithesis of the American dream.
Many of the African Americans who once patronized upscale retail stores along U Street had moved away, and those who remained had other options. Blacks in Washington had long been able to go downtown and shop at the reasonably priced department stores like Hecht and Lansburgh, and they were even welcome at the midrange department store Woodward and Lothrop. For many years, however, they were not invited to patronize upscale Garfinckel’s, which was the jewel of the main F Street shopping corridor not far from the WhiteHouse. Mrs. Lucille Foster, a longtime black Washingtonian who grew up in Georgetown and subsequently lived for many years near U Street, recalls that when she saw a particular dress in the window at Garfinckel’s that she wanted to buy—with her own money—the wealthy white matron for whom she worked as a cook had to go into the store and make the purchase. By the mid-′60s, though, the doors of Garfie’s were open to all—as were most restaurants and other places of business.
The need for a blacks-only venue like the Lincoln Theatre had disappeared, now that establishments downtown such as the grand Warner Theatre and the venerable National Theatre were happy, or at least willing, to welcome African Americans. The Bohemian Caverns lost its ability to attract top-line performers when integrated clubs opened their doors, such as Blues Alley in Georgetown, which was established in 1965 and became the city’s principal venue for jazz. Soon only the people who lived nearby had any reason to go to U Street. Those local residents—the ones who couldn’t or wouldn’t move out of the old neighborhood—tended to be less educated and affluent than those who took advantage of the new possibilities that racial integration offered.
The public schools serving the U Street area began to decline, not just because of a lack of attention and funding from the authorities—the ultimate authority over the District of Columbia in those days was Congress, and since the city had (and still has) no voting representation in the House of Representatives or the Senate, there was no one to hold accountable for how the city was being run—but also because the student population changed. The stable, middle-class, two-parent families that were most likely to prepare their children for school were leaving. Those students who remainedwere unlikely to get the kind of support at home that produces sustained academic achievement. As standards began to slip, more of the best and brightest students were pulled out; either they ended up in private or parochial schools, or their families moved to the suburbs and sent
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