Food Feature: Painful past

The recent grand jury indictments of two former Klansmen believed to be responsible for the fatal bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham in 1963 calls to mind the rivalry that once existed between Atlanta and the erstwhile “Magic City.” Both cities were in a heated contest to become capital of the New South. Then Atlanta got an international airport while Birmingham got Police Commissioner Bull Connor. Connor unleashed his dogs and firehoses on civil rights protesters for all the world to see, and suddenly Atlanta became “The City Too Busy to Hate,” while Birmingham became known as “Bombingham.” The rivalry was over. Atlanta won.

Fast-forward 37 years. Restless Atlantans looking for quick escapes from lung-scarring ozone and 24-hour traffic reports, head for Helen, Chattanooga, Savannah, Dahlonega ... but Birmingham? Nah. What’s Birmingham got that Atlanta hasn’t? What could possibly be worth that two-and-a-half hour drive, unless you have family or business there? Well, I could make you a list, but if I had to choose only one, it would be the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.

I am a white native of Birmingham. I grew up ashamed and embarrassed of my hometown ... and guilty by association. My first visit to the Civil Rights Institute, shortly after it opened in 1992, was an emotional one. This is not just a history museum, it is “a place of revolution and reconciliation,” as the words engraved in stone on each corner of Ingram Park across the street tell you. This is the park around which the demonstrations took place. Encircling the park are statues that are impossible to walk past. You’re compelled to stop at each one and imagine how it might have been as children stand behind bars, dogs snarl and water cannons sit ready to blast. On the other side of the street sits the 16th Street Baptist Church, still standing, still active.

On my most recent visit, the Institute was sadly lacking in visitors. Even more sadly, I was the only white person in attendance. The staff was friendly and eager and, despite my cracker anxiety, the atmosphere at the Civil Rights Institute is one of tolerance.

The gallery tour begins with an informative 12-minute film, which ends with a shot of segregated water fountains. You sit there in the small theater wondering where the museum is when, suddenly, the wall on which you were watching the film rises. Straight ahead are the museum galleries. The first thing you see, in real life, are segregated water fountains - the same ones from the film. There is a modern, refrigerated fountain with a sign over it that says “White” and a makeshift fountain that says “Black.”

On all of my visits to the museum no one in the crowd, white or black, has dared to touch either one of the fountains, preferring to walk past them and on into the galleries ahead - not because there were signs saying “Do Not Touch.” In fact, both fountains are in complete working order. I made a point to check on my last visit. The “White” fountain worked perfectly; the “Black” fountain sprayed my face. I’m not sure if that was the intended effect of the museum curator, but I got the point. ??