Every now and again, I try to be fair when writing these dispatches.
A couple weeks back, I wrote a column headlined: "Memo to Underground developer: Bring a flak jacket."
In it I described Atlanta’s south downtown as a virtual wasteland, an area where “Walking Dead” episodes could be shot without street makeovers. I said Broad Street, just a block south of MARTA’s main station, the city’s historic center, “resembles a Dystopian society of loud, animated people hanging out until all hours, drinking, selling drugs, urinating, fighting, sometimes even shooting, and urinating some more.”
The push-back came in calls, emails and even Facebook messages telling me I was:
A) blithely writing off a segment of the population long marginalized by society, and;
B) missing out on a resurgence, spurred by artists who are taking over vacant spaces on Broad and Forsyth streets and bringing back vitality.
Joe Beasley, the longtime Atlanta civil rights provocateur, called to complain of my characterization of the Dystopes in the streets. They were without jobs, without futures and without hope, he said. By portraying them simply as a lawless element in need of strong policing amps up an unhelpful us-against-them mentality.
“I worry that it will create a dangerous situation,” said Beasley, who lives in the condos in the old Kessler’s department store overlooking that block. Beasley, the regional Rainbow/PUSH Coalition director, said that such descriptions carried racial undertones. But, he added, “we have black people in the building who feel the same way.”
I talked with a police commander who said they can’t arrest people fast enough, although it doesn’t register with many of those arrested, who just don’t care. They are back to their old haunts about the same time the arresting officers are back on duty the next day.
In response to complaint B, I returned to Broad Street Saturday for the Atlanta Zine Fest (“zine” is short for indie magazine). It was held in buildings I had written off as “largely vacant old-timey brick buildings that are painted a kaleidoscope of colors to hide the fact it’s a dying block.”
The buildings fooled me fist time around because they didn’t bear signs saying “The Gap” or “Mulligan’s Brew Pub” or “Fred’s Urban Garb.” But Saturday afternoon, a steady stream of guys with beards and girls with tattoos circulated along the two blocks attending workshops, checking out indie vendors and viewing art showings.
The fest was organized by a new gallery on Broad Street called Murmur, which is across from The Mammal Gallery and around the corner from Eyedrum.
Priscilla Smith, who runs Eyedrum, has six ragtag storefronts along Forsyth that she rents for a buck a year from a parking company. She said the city’s cultural affairs office fixed her up with the space. She’s been there a year, has put little into the buildings other than cleaning them out a bit. She has had maybe 100 events.
Kyle Kessler, an architect who lives in a south downtown condo, is forming a community improvement organization for the area. South downtown has thousands of government workers, with the state Capitol, City Hall, the police headquarters, Fulton County courts and offices, a federal court and offices all located there. But the sidewalks roll up at 5 p.m. leaving the homeless and miscreants (sorry, Mr. Beasley) to wander the streets.
“We have lots of entrepreneurs in the neighborhood,” Kessler said. “We’re trying to get more of the legal variety.”
One such “get” has been The Mammal Gallery on Board Street, the brain child of three artistically minded guys tired of working for other people.
Dan Dewberry, who is 25 and has an easy smile and hipster beard, said he and his partners have spent the last two years turning an abandoned gay nightclub into a destination for art shows, concerts, pop-up dinners and “anything else that falls under the art umbrella.”
They raised $25,000 through a Kickstarter campaign and slept in the basement while they renovated the space. That is, until the basement flooded.
“We feel this one is gonna stick,” Dewberry said, standing in a first-floor room with perhaps 15 vendors and 30 Zine Fest attendees. At first, Dewberry was surprised by how much downtown’s vibe changed south of the MARTA line.
“It’s kind of mind-blowing,” he said. “Once you cross the line, it’s dead.”
He said the omnipresent “dope boys and dice slingers” outside aren’t necessarily a threat to anyone. But they do certainly add a gritty urban flavor and scare away many would-be patrons.
His partner Chris Yonker, 26, said their business is always looking for foot traffic, “as long as its positive foot traffic.”
On this day, there was plenty of such.
Yonker and their other partner, Brian Egan, had a space on the northwest side until that property got too valuable for the likes of a struggling art cooperative.
Yonker, who is handy and has been the lead man on the building’s renovations, summed up his business strategy: “You might was well jump into the deep end and see how long you can float.”
A recent New York Times story said America kicks Europe’s butt when it comes to tech start-ups because our friends Across the Pond are more afraid to fail. Yonker and his buds are not terrified of such a prospect.
For Yonker, “the restaurant industry was a motivation” to try art entrepreneurship, he said. “I figured I couldn’t get any lower than being a food runner.”
So, there you have it. The fate of Atlanta’s historic hub depends on guys who don’t want to go back to crummy food jobs.
It just might work.
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