BLOODLINES VS. BULLDOZERS
- Chuck King
- Aug 1
- 4 min read
The Last Standing Beacon Against Downtown Gentrification – Back the Green
In the summer of 1955, the village cheered for the Cannon Street All-Stars. They wanted to make the Gadsden Green community proud. In a way, they did—though they never even got to throw a pitch or hit a ball.
Imagine how terrified those white teams must’ve been.
They were the first Black Little League team from Charleston. They played at Harmon Field. Which still exists today. It began as a simple patch of grass with chalk lines behind President Street. Coach Ben Singleton gathered 14 young brothers to defy the odds. When it came time for the tournament, all 61 white teams in the city forfeited. Then the same thing happened at the state level.
This got the All-Stars a spot at Williamsport for the Little League World Series. But they couldn’t play because they had never “technically” competed. Still, their name stands in history as champions of 1955.
A journey we Gullah take pride in.
Before housing projects and downtown divided the blocks, our people saw this land as sacred. In Gadsden Green, Back the Green—west of President Street—there were Freedmen’s homes. Black-owned plots and gardens thrived here.
Back the Green—west of President Street—there were Freedmen’s homes. Black-owned plots and gardens thrived here. Surnames like Flowers, Singleton, Jenkins, Brown, and Middleton filled the record books. You can still find relatives there today if you look hard enough.
Freedmen settled here after emancipation with goals, visions, and dreams. They built the first housing project in 1944. It was ironically named for the enslaver who ran one of the largest human cargo ports in Charleston. Figures.
But from the 1940s through the 1980s, businesses flourished. Black self-sufficiency set a tone. Brooke’s Restaurant was a safe haven for Black travelers. Harmon Field—still standing—hosted sports and youth activities.
This is the history we must teach our youth: real, tangible examples of doing for themselves.
Then came gentrification—by force.
In the 1960s, Highway 17 carved through our communities. Black businesses, homes, gardens—gone. The Black land that was once farmed is now MUSC and Roper parking lots. The authorities took the land through eminent domain when this change occurred.
No warnings. No honoring. Erasure.
Now in 2025, all we see are luxury condos and giant retail estates. But knowing the history? That’s something they can’t take. That part, at least, we still control.
If you go past Radcliffe Street, you’ll see a surviving piece of our soul in Central Baptist Church. Blacks built this tall Carpenter-Gothic sanctuary in 1893. John Pearson Hutchinson Sr., a Black architect and craftsman, designed it.
Self-taught. Unlicensed.
Our legacy of skilled brilliance never needed permits or permission. We set the tone.
Inside, Amohamed Milai adorned the church walls with murals he painted in 1912. It’s that uniqueness that has kept the bulldozers away—for now.
But few even know that this history exists, let alone understand why we must protect it.
I remember going to get food from Martha Lou’s with my sister one afternoon. It was one of the last Black-owned restaurants downtown. It was a ten-minute walk from Back the Green.
Mrs. Martha Gertrude Beulah Simmons Gadsden founded the restaurant in the early 1980s.
I did not know Mrs. Martha married into the Black Gadsden Bloodline until I wrote this article. It’s amazing how we are all tied together—culture, history, tribe, and our mission: the Bloodline.
That day in 2018, her daughter was running the kitchen. Mama Martha was aging, but her legacy was holding strong. I’ll never forget the feeling inside. That small, warm room felt like my grandma’s house. You knew the food was going to be good.
And it was.
Real Black Lowcountry cooking: fried fish, pork chops, red rice, greens, lima beans. Recipes older than the building.
I spoke with her daughter about how downtown had changed. How so many of us had moved away—or had moved out. You can now count the Black businesses that once filled the area on one hand.
I was grateful I got to experience that moment of culture before it slipped away.
In 2020, Martha Lou’s closed its doors for good.
In 2021, Mama Martha went to be with the ancestors at the age of 91.
Martha Lou’s wasn’t a place to eat. It was a community pillar. For 37 years, it stood as a monument to Black excellence in a city that rarely honors it.
In 2020, a developer bought the land where the iconic shelter stood. Then, they raised the rent to an unaffordable level.
So, I share Mama’s words:
“When I opened up, everything was reasonable. But now, everything is sky-high—and the rent nowadays would kill you.”
Now, when you search for it, your phone will take you to Morrison Yard. It’s a mixed-use complex with luxury apartments and corporate offices.
Where her kitchen once stood, developers now lease space for thousands of dollars a month.
Bloodlines and bulldozers.
Elders continue to tell their stories. Documentaries like Back the Green (2024) capture some testimony. A few organizations file for historical status.
But as a Gullah descendant—from the port to the sweetgrass to the rose boys—I write this to remind us:
Only we can preserve our culture.
.Only we can protect it.
Only we can preserve our culture.
Only we can protect it.
The elders left blueprints. We don’t talk about them.
We spend a lot on fashion brands on King Street. So, we could use that money to buy abandoned properties before developers get them.
And do what?
Shit—open nail salons, hair stores, schools, and academies.
Don’t get me started.
We can support Back the Green, which is still active, and our support matters.
They call it “the projects.”
Some of us call it home.
Grandmas still sit on the porch.
Kids still run and play.
Even if they have to hit the ground when gunshots ring out.
Our ancestors’ land has become a war zone.
And still... we breathe there.
What I wouldn’t give for one more plate:
Fried catfish, pork chops, okra, and mashed potatoes.
Right at Mama Martha’s table.
To sit across from her daughter and talk.
As I call all elder Black women—Mama.
That culture.
That reflection.
That rhythm.
That flavor.
That’s what we call the Bloodline.
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