Setting the Table in Black and White

By Leslie Kelly
The Commercial Appeal
June 27, 2004

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Chefs John Fleer of Walland, Tenn., (left) and Scott Barton of New York City prepare Southern fried chicken at Willie King's Freedom Creek Festival in Aliceville, Ala.

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Alabama event celebrates food's role in race relations

Birmingham – Fried chicken was on the menu for breakfast, and the buzz around the tables was typical for folks who are passionate about food: Do you like white meat or dark? Don't you love those biscuits? That sausage gravy is heaven. Please pass the green tomato jam.

After the plates were cleared away, though, the discussion took a serious turn toward the meaty issue of race relations in the South.

"There are a lot of things we're still apologizing for," said John Egerton, Nashville-based author and historian in the opening remarks. "But there are three things I don't apologize for . . Our food. Our music. And the funny way we talk."

That appreciative roar that erupted set the tone for the recent two-day field trip to Birmingham, an event filled with laughter and tears, organized by the Southern Foodways Alliance at the University of Mississippi's Center for Southern Culture. The agenda of the group's fourth annual field trip was clear from the name of the event: "Alabama in Black and White."

Against the savory backdrop of exquisite feasts of classic Southern dishes, this diverse group would commemorate the 40th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act by visiting significant sites in the struggle and hearing from people who were witness to those often violent events.

More than 100 participants traveled from such far-flung destinations as Chicago, Texas, Boston, San Francisco, arriving in the city once nicknamed "Bombingham," hungry to understand the way food can be used as a vehicle for racial reconciliation.

But not before recognizing the key role food played in the civil rights movement.

"When you start to look at the movement through the lens of food, you realize how many connections you can make," said Frye Gaillard, author of "Cradle of Freedom: Alabama and the Movement that Changed America."

Food was at the heart of the very first test of the exclusionary Jim Crow laws that dictated "separate but equal" facilities for blacks and whites.

"In 1958, Bruce Boyton, a law student at George Washington Carver University, got homesick around the holidays and wanted to go home to Selma," Gaillard recalled. "When they stopped to eat, he was offended by the conditions in the side of the cafe reserved for blacks so he went in and took a seat in the whites only section. When he refused to leave, he was arrested. . . . The case was appealed and eventually heard in the Supreme Court where a ruling came down that blacks had a right to eat what they wanted, when and where they wanted."

Hearing again about the historic sit-ins at lunch counters and the heroic efforts to feed the foot soldiers of the civil rights movement was a lot to digest. But these stories were tempered with moments of humor.

"(Rev.) Fred Shuttlesworth used to say that Ralph (Abernathy) and Martin (Luther King Jr.) would rather eat a plate of pork chops than lead a revolution," Galliard said. "Food humanized the movement."

The lessons learned in history books were painfully fleshed out when the group toured the 16th Street Baptist Church to hear about the tragic bombing of that building when four young girls were killed. While watching a video that recounted that terrible day in 1963, group members wept.

It seemed almost unsettling to sit down to a lavish lunch a little while later, a spread at the stylish Highlands Bar and Grill worthy of the glossy pages of Gourmet magazine: Smoky Mountain rainbow trout with redeye gravy, Anson Mills grits, pinkeyed peas and fried green tomatoes served with wines from South Africa.

Did participants feel guilty eating so well while chewing on such a serious subject?

"Food is like salve on the wound," said Hoover Alexander, a restaurateur from Austin, Texas.

Dean Crawford, an English professor at Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., said he found that he was picking at his food.

"I was self-conscious about enjoying the food. . . . I was thinking about the issues, thinking that this was the food of the civil rights struggle, but wondering did they ever get a chance to eat quite as well," said Crawford.

After lunch, the group gathered across the street from the restaurant at the Highlands United Methodist Church to hear from a panel of restaurateurs about "The Integrated Alabama Kitchen: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow."

Clayton Sherrod, a successful culinary entrepreneur in Birmingham, talked about working as a young man at a local country club.

"I started out as a caddy, but one day I saw someone in the kitchen making bread and it fascinated me," said Sherrod, who is black. "When I started cooking there, I felt isolated, but I liked what I was doing."

He worked hard and rose in the ranks until a manager who was openly racist made life miserable.

"I resigned and never looked back," he said.

Martha Hawkins talked about the struggle to open Martha's Place in Montgomery. She was on welfare and the banks wouldn't give her a loan.

Somehow, she managed to scrape together the money, and the tables have been filled since she opened more than 10 years ago.

"My community rallied behind me," she said. Diners lined up out the door for her fried chicken and collard greens. Her enthusiastic customers are black and white.

"I wasn't trying to be a black restaurant, but a restaurant that represented everybody," Hawkins said. "I wanted to be inclusive and you can do that through food. I could even soothe the savage beast of a Ku Klux Klan wizard with my shrimp and grits."

Later that evening, while people passed around platters heavy with smoky barbecue from Jim `N Nick's at the gorgeous Southern Progress campus (home of Southern Living magazine and other publications), event organizers recognized several Birmingham women who fed civil rights marchers in the 1960s.

The "Sisters of the Skillet" honored as stewards of the movement were Lola Hendricks, who cooked at the family cafe and risked retribution taking care of injured freedom riders; and Beatrice Johnson, who worked all day and then cooked chicken, collard greens, turnips and potato pies for civil rights marchers in the evening.

Yvonne Turner arranged for donations of food and raised money for bail, tallying donations on what she called the "baloney log." Marian A. Woods organized an assembly line for preparing sandwiches at the 16th Street Baptist Church.

"So many people went to meetings in the evening," said Toni Tipton-Martin, a board member of the Southern Foodways Alliance who paid tribute to the "Sisters of the Skillet." "People would rush home from work. They didn't have time to cook. These women bestowed a gift . . . they were the unsung heroes of the movement."

The following morning, breakfast was prepared by chef Kimberly McNair, whose sister Denise, 11, was killed in the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing. It was served at the Chris McNair Studio and Art Gallery, where the family recently opened a heart-breaking memorial filled with Denise's childhood treasures, her clothes and a few photos.

"Some days I can hardly stand to go in there," said Chris McNair, Denise's father, who for many years would not publicly discuss the tragedy. "But I'm glad it's there. It's good to remember."

After breakfast, powerful photos of the civil rights movement taken for Life magazine by photojournalist Charles Moore fueled further discussion about how far we've come and how much work there still is to do.

"There's a recognition that we've come far," said John T. Edge, the head of The Southern Foodways Alliance. "Forty summers ago. That's not that long ago. But we're still a broken people. This is still very raw stuff."

While boarding buses to travel to Willie King's Freedom Creek Festival in Aliceville, Ala., some people talked about being inspired to do something. Many participants asked Edge, "How do I apply this to my daily life? What's next? What can we do?"

Adrian Miller, who is planning the SFA's fall symposium in Oxford, Miss., said the trip to Birmingham set the table for further discussions. "I think Birmingham was an appetizer," said Miller, who works for a political think tank in Denver and was part of "One America," President Clinton's efforts to address race issues. "It started the conversation."

At gatherings of The Southern Foodways Alliance, race always has been on the back burner.

"It's been part of the organizations' implicit mission to come together across the lines that divide us," said Miller, who is black. "But this year, we're making it explicit. We're actually issuing a challenge, asking people to do something, to get something started."

Arriving at the huge field that's home to Willie King's annual blues bash, participants were greeted by air perfumed with the fragrance of chicken and catfish frying, sliced tomatoes marinating in vinegary dressing along with the occasional whiff of bug spray. Five chefs from upscale restaurants had spent the morning cooking for the crowd.

"We wanted to bring food from white tablecloth restaurants to this event, encouraging people who might not normally be exposed to this kind of cooking to try it," Edge said.

The experiment ended up being a noble failure, as the crowd was fairly small, and most locals arrived with coolers in tow.

But Edge remained upbeat about continuing such efforts.

"People do want to talk about race, and when you sit around a table with thoughtful people eating fried chicken and macaroni and cheese, the discussion can take some interesting turns," he said. "Sometimes, it's just that darned simple."

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