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When do you get to call a city home?

What's the number of years you have to be there?

3, 5, 35?

The number of people you have to know?

A sufficient number of bonds forged from late nights to early mornings?

A list of joys and tragedies that the city represents?

An address and a tax record?

By almost any measure, Charleston's my home.

And I thought I knew what it meant.

I knew it wasn't simply the last bastion of charm and grace in the South.

I knew that when you scrape down past, the candy-coated veneer, you found something much more complicated.

What I didn't know was the depth and breadth of what lies below, and just how important it is to the future of the holy city.

[music playing] Harlan Greene is an author and historian.

He's also a gay Jewish charlestonian continuing a long line of gay and Jewish history in the city, though admittedly, not always in the same package.

We set off on foot through downtown Charleston to discuss some of the lesser known histories of this storied city.

Charleston looks like this incredibly beautiful, fragile, sweet-tempered old lady with these wistful memories, these pastel colors.

But if you're a historian or if you're interested in the truth or both, you have to look back and see that there were some really distressing things that happened here.

This was a city on the edge of the wilderness, incredibly addicted to slavery.

So much violence was here, so much went into this melting pot to create the culture that we have.

And I think we've got kind of amnesia.

Harlan's recently released book, The Real Rainbow Row explores the city's little known LGBTQ history.

He sets the stage as we approach the storybook houses.

Charleston, with its great pride in starting the Civil War, after the Civil War, the economy declines and these become ruins.

So in the early 20th century, many of them are brothels, are saloons, rented out to impoverished African-American families.

But in the 1920s, Charleston starts inventing preservation.

They start seeing, well, maybe if we can't lure an industry here, gosh, we can make our past into our future.

So wealthy people come to town, they'll kick out all the inhabitants, they'll restore it to a single family house.

Charleston is a survivor you know.

It survives hurricane, famine.

It survives plague.

It's almost biblical.

And nowadays, people say, can Charleston survive being wealthy?

So they all have stories, but this blue house itself housed a very interesting man here in the 20th century.

His name was Harry Hervey.

He traveled all over the world.

He traveled with his young male lover.

Charleston in the '20s is welcoming all these new artists and writers from all over the world.

So they think they can come to Charleston and maybe kind of fit in.

And they do for a while.

Harry Hervey is wearing all of these fabulous clothes that he's picked up.

Today, we would call it drag, then it was kind of oriental splendor.

So he writes a novel here named Red Ending, probably the first gay novel set in Charleston.

And he's a little too outrageous, so people start turning on him.

They don't want to go to his parties anymore.

He gets the call to go to Hollywood.

He ends up writing the screenplays or the scenarios for these, what today we see is these great campy films like Shanghai Express.

Don't do anything foolish.

He could never afford to move back to the city of Charleston, so he longed for it and he pined for it, even though the city kind of excluded him.

So Harlan, tell me about-- so what was the gay community?

What did it look like in Charleston?

You can't stop humanity.

There is kind of a vibrant gay culture here that's always been here.

It's hard to document because you could be killed for it.

But we find little shards.

Just South of us at White Point Garden, I think I've heard you say in the past it was a famous cruising ground.

First, it was the Native Americans there.

And then the elite whites built this for their pleasure ground, enslaved people are not allowed to come in.

But interestingly, after the Civil War, all of a sudden, it becomes where African-Americans go to show that they belong in the city of Charleston too.

Then LGBTQ people feel more comfortable appearing in the battery at night.

And it's almost like because it's the most visible park in the city of Charleston, you can show that you are a part of the city of Charleston.

Earl and I had previously discovered the beautiful KKBE synagogue and been given a brief tour.

We learned surprisingly that it is the oldest reformed Jewish synagogue in the country.

I can remember New York tourists coming down to Charleston and being surprised that there were Jews in the South.

And actually, Charleston was the Jewish metropolis in America in the 19th century.

I mean, it actually goes back to the founding.

King Charles II gives it to these eight men who want to make money.

And because they only respect money, they're not paying attention to religion, so they're very inclusive.

The early charters say heathens and Hebrews are allowed to come to Carolina.

And they do.

We know Jews were made citizens here in the 1690s.

And they feel so acculturated here that that gives them the confidence to say, we need to change our religion to live in the new world.

So that's when the synagogue basically broke into two.

You had the Reformation.

We want to take what's best of our religion, we want to save our religion, we want to pass it on to our children.

And that's why we're reforming it.

We don't want to do the letter of the law.

We want to do the spirit of the law.

American Judaism starts in the city of Charleston.

We made our way to Saint Michael's Church.

The oldest church left in the city of Charleston, probably one of the most beautiful.

This is the pew where George Washington-- Among others/ People owned their pews at the time.

You can see the numbers on them.

And if you didn't own your pew and if you were a visitor, you would stay in the strangers' gallery upstairs.

So this was the governor's pew.

This is where distinguished people would sit.

So George Washington worshipped in this pew when he came to the city.

The bells have been ringing the hours of this city for over 200 years.

And this history has not stopped.

History is ongoing.

The Episcopal Church is embroiled in a controversy over the issue of the ordination of women and gay marriage.

So many members of the Episcopal Diocese now are promoting gay marriage and women clergy and more conservative parts of the Diocese.

The Diocese is actually split.

And as I always like to say, the Episcopal Church was founded on divorce.

Henry needed a divorce, and that founded the Church of England.

And again, it's just one of the ironies of history that a church that was founded on divorce is now standing up for the sanctity of marriage.

We sat in Washington Square Park across from Saint Michael's and discussed the very messy business of history under the shadow of monuments dedicated to the Confederate dead, a Jewish hero, and America's first president.

How far have we progressed?

Are we progressing?

Charleston is doing some serious soul-searching, so there are numerous movements throughout this city to tell the truth about the past and to try to figure out how do you go forward so we're not a fragmented culture anymore.

I mean, we've got statues coming down.

But how do you view it?

The city of Charleston does have a history commission on which I sit.

And we interpret monuments that go up, we parse the history, we parse the grammar.

The state of South Carolina has made it against the law with The Heritage Act to take down anything that memorializes something from the Civil War as well.

But interestingly, through a loophole, the city did take down John C. Calhoun.

John C. Calhoun dies in 1850, but was the architect of the Civil War and said hideous things about Africans.

So we took that statue down.

The city has apologized for slavery.

We tried to come up with wording to say that we don't erase the past here in Charleston.

We try to put it in context.

But we understand that those inanimate objects can actually cause pain and suffering on people.

There are difficult issues, but life's not a bowl of cherries.

It was not all smoothly paved road that got us here.

And it's not going to be a smoothly paved road that's going to get us out of here.

So you've seen the past.

Yeah.

Do you have a sense of the future?

I don't know if I do.

I'm hopeful only because we're actually talking about things.

We never talked about our gay history in the past before.

30 years ago, we didn't have the words in our vocabulary about institutional racism.

Some people may object to those words, some people strongly believe in them.

But they're on our vocabulary.

So I guess I've just talked myself into being an optimist.

I love your optimism.

Marion Square, the once dominated by the John C. Calhoun statue, the park has since been reclaimed by the people.

Its less than subtle symbolism is hard to shake though.

We met with Osei Chandler on the rooftop bar overlooking the square at the Bennett Hotel.

Host of Public Radio's reggae show Roots Musik Karamu for over 40 years, Osei is a kind of elder of the Black community in Charleston.

He also works in adult continued education and tells us about the lack of African history in his own education.

And that even went on through college.

I went to college, first year, you got to take a Western Civilization 1.

It's not there.

Western Civilization 2, it is not there.

Now, we got to get that straightened because why?

Black History is world history.

In college, my professor who was also my advisor, by the way, he was talking about Cain and Abel.

I guess it was Cain who killed Abel.

And he was marked for the rest of his life, and all his descendants were marked.

My professor told us the whole class that the mark of Cain is Black skin.

Go back to my room, I'm reading this, I'm asking my classmate, anybody see what the mark is?

What's the mark?

Nobody sees the mark.

So I go back to class.

Hey, Dr. Simmons, I can't see anywhere in the Bible where it says what the mark is.

It could be blue eyes and blonde hair.

Get out of my class!

Get out!

Get out!

[laughs] Yeah.

Who knows?

Maybe it was.

Maybe they turned-- yeah, the mark was the white guy.

I'm not going to put that on you guys.

[laughs] Thank you for that.

A lot of people view you as this kind of elder figure within the African-American, as a mentor, as somebody that's been around and been involved.

Who are you bringing up?

What are you trying to tell this next generation?

My professional career was in education with the Educational Opportunity Center where we helped adults go back to college so that they can enhance their career opportunities.

I found that to be my job, to motivate those adults to go back to college.

I've been influenced a lot of young people, and I'm proud to say-- and I'm humbled and proud to say that many of them, they are now more conscious.

See, when I came to Charleston, African-Americans didn't know much about their history.

I mean, in Brooklyn, they didn't teach it actively.

But there were places where you could go get it, OK?

And when I found those places where you can go get it, I became part of those places.

But there was no place like that here.

At some point, I became a place where you can go get it.

Yeah, you owned the place.

And I'm grateful for that because why?

I believe in two sets of governing principles.

You have the Ten Commandments and Nguzo Saba, The Seven Principles.

Most people know them as the Seven Principles of Kwanzaa.

But they are seven principles that I kind of live by.

Umoja, number one, unity; number two, kujichagulia, self-determination; ujima, collective work and responsibility; ujamaa, cooperative economics; nia, purpose; kuumba, creativity-- that's the one I like the best.

And imani is faith.

Now, kuumba means creativity.

But it's defined as to always do as much as you can in any way that you can to make your community more beautiful and beneficial than when you inherited it.

I've been working on that all my life.

If I was here, if I was in Brooklyn, if I was in Illinois, I'd do the same do something that made that community better if I could.

That's incredible.

Love you, man.

You haven't left, this is where your wife was from, you're sticking around.

It's Charleston where are you going to be for a while?

Charleston is home for me now.

I mean, when I first came here, I've been treated like I've come here.

But now they're not treating me quite like I've been here.

But I'm not quite a come yet because I've been here longer than half my life.

1977 this November 4.

So it has culture, it has history.

And I'm able to make an impact.

And I'm grateful for that.

I love Charleston as well.

It's an amazing city.

And I will tell you that meeting you today has been a complete delight.

So far, so good.

But I haven't seen the cruise yet.

[laughter] Awesome.

If Osei had trouble finding his own history, Darren Calhoun is trying to change that for the next generation.

He is on staff with the Avery Center for African-American History and Culture, whose mission is to collect preserve and promote the history and culture of the African diaspora.

We met with him at the little-known memorial to Denmark Vesey to discuss Black culture through the lens of resistance.

Everybody wants to start the history of the Black experience at slavery.

Right.

And if you want to do that, OK, let's reframe it.

But let's give the agency back to the Black people who were here.

50% of African-Americans who came to Charleston came in through the Charleston ports.

They weren't just being subservient.

They resisted.

It could be the physical resistance.

Marriage-- marriage has a form of resistance.

I was engaged right here.

Were you?

Yeah, I was.

Education was a form of resistance, particularly here in Charleston.

With the Avery Normal Institute in 1865, we were founded and built by Black people.

The pillars that stand outside of the Avery right now, those four pillars have been up since 1868 through every hurricane, through every racial uprising that happened here, all throughout Charleston history, all throughout the Black experience in Charleston history.

You see that, the cigar factory strikes that happened in the '40s, the strikes that happened on King Street in the '60s' going back to the 1860s, you have the trolley strikes that happen in Charleston.

It always happened right here.

If it happens here, it's bound to happen anywhere else in America.

Explain a little bit about the history of Denmark Vesey.

I mean, why do we even have a statue here?

And why is it here not elsewhere?

Because there's a lot there, a lot to unpack.

He was an enslaved man who bought his freedom.

A lot of people like to say he won his freedom.

No, he won the lottery.

He bought his freedom.

But one thing about Denmark Vesey, if he was going to be free, the rest of his people had to be free.

He was a learned man.

Founded one of the first AME churches down here, which will eventually in the 1860s become Mother Emanuel.

And he was one of the preachers over there.

It was said because everything is alleged that he was planning a insurrection down here.

Now, insurrection is a loaded term nowadays in today's America.

However, he was planning an uprising of enslaved Africans to take over Charleston.

The Haitian Revolution didn't happen just not too long ago.

And the white charlestonians were afraid.

It was alleged that Denmark Vesey was using the church as a planning place for this uprising.

You look in the Old Testament, there's a lot about throwing off your oppressors.

And I could see how someone could develop that narrative in their mind.

Absolutely.

It was foiled.

As we would say now, somebody snitched.

They had a trial, barely.

There were people who were hung with him.

We had folk who were exiled from America.

But then also we have to think about the white lives that changed because of that uprising.

We got things like the citadel.

There was a want to have that before.

So now all of a sudden, you have this thing happen.

And then all of a sudden, it passes.

It was really just to quell future slave rebellions.

--slave rebellions.

Absolutely.

That's it.

Absolutely.

This statue was erected in 2014.

And it was, I want to say 20 years in the making.

However, where was the original placement supposed to be at?

They wanted it to be in Marion Square.

The marching grounds.

Where that man that owed my family used to stand.

How could they juxtapose a man who was a staunch proponent of slavery to somebody who would do anything to free everybody?

He said, if all of us aren't free, then we're not free at all.

And that's something that lived through Black charlestonians.

Right.

We Can't talk about the resistance of Denmark Vesey without talking about what is happening here today.

He lived it for us.

He gave us the blueprint.

Now, we're here in Hampton Park among all the trees hidden in plain sight.

Hidden in plain sight.

I mean, Hampton Park is gorgeous.

But I will tell you, the first time I came out here, I didn't know exactly where it was.

I asked a couple of folks.

But I had to-- I just asked some gentleman, an African-American guy that was leaving the sweet shop, this corner thing where it was, he was the only one that could tell me.

White people didn't know.

Right.

They probably don't even know who he is.

Or who he is, that's right.

They probably don't know the history and how deep this history lives here.

Thinking about the Calhoun statue and how accessible it was, but then also gets to how hard it was to take down.

It took days to take that thing down.

But that was just an analogy of how deep rooted the racism here is here in Charleston and inside of America.

They had to get a diamond cutter.

So if you want to try to start eradicating racism here in Charleston and throughout America, you have to be intentional.

So Hampton park, honestly, is a pretty nice park here in the neck.

And then during the Civil War then the Union troops that were captured were imprisoned here, it was pretty much right after the Civil War ended that there was-- --formerly enslaved Africans.

Thousands of them, though.

They memorialized those Union soldiers that died here.

Right.

And that's where we get Memorial Day from.

Memorial Day was founded right here in Hampton Park in Charleston.

Right here in Hampton park where we're standing right now.

By Black charlestonians.

Which is so different than the narrative of we usually think of Memorial Day today.

Exactly.

And we can't lose upon that it was also through the Gullah Geechee traditions of burying, of pouring of libations, and doing that whole funeral service.

Which a lot of it really came from a West African kind of-- --West African-- --tradition.

--islands.

Exactly.

Everything meshed together from our language to all about the culture that's here within that.

The murder of nine African-Americans at a Bible study at Emanuel AME Church in 2015 made Darren reconsider his life in Charleston.

After that, I couldn't stay in Charleston anymore.

Did you feel like you just weren't able to make a difference?

Like you throw your whole self into it.

It's not about not being able to make a difference because this is a place where I always felt as if I could make a difference.

Everybody in Charleston know each other.

Your voice means something.

It's just that I feel as if I was fighting a losing fight after seeing people that I knew die in that shooting.

Cynthia Graham Hurd can get killed?

What could they do to me.

In church.

In church.

So I'm like, no, I'm not staying here anymore.

I went back up to Detroit.

A year later, they brought me back.

But you came back, I mean, that's where you took kind of an important role.

This is when he returned and took a position at the Avery Center to head up the newly created Race and Social Justice Initiative.

But now, you got the responsibility.

A lot of it's on your shoulders too.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Yeah.

So right after the shooting, they founded the Racist Social Justice Initiative.

All the key buzzwords.

It was to bring dialogue, it was to foster the conversation about what is going on here.

But then we also had other projects that were more impactful on the ground.

At some level, as a professional, you're kind of viewed as a historian.

Yeah.

But when you look to the future, are you optimistic?

I've seen too much to be optimistic here in Charleston.

Am I optimistic about the people who are coming up to fight?

Absolutely.

We have some strong voices in our kids.

I'm not optimistic about the system.

Yeah.

Because at some point, some things are going to have to get torn down.

And these kids are the ones that do it.

I have people like Millicent Brown who desegregated the Charleston County Public Schools in September 1963.

I have people like her in my ear.

We have people like that talking to us.

So now, we can pass all that knowledge down to those kids who are coming up.

They're strong, and they come they come with a voice.

And they're coming with that voice of Denmark Vesey.

I'm optimistic about that.

Do you think you'll stick around Charleston for a while?

They got me a little bit.

They got me for a little bit.

I'm on school board, I'm on these city commissions and everything.

What's the role-- I mean, why is it important to have a historian, someone with your background in these types of roles?

Because you got to remember the history.

And we have to pass this history down to our children, so they can pass it down, so they won't make the mistakes that we made.

Visitors are often swept away by the veneer of the city.

But it's important to keep in mind that it's not the only story, and sometimes, a flat out lie.

The rich diversity of Charleston's past tells a much broader story about the city's future, a story that all charlestonians have a right to help tell.

There's so much more to explore, and we want you to join us on The Good Road.

For more in-depth content, meet us on the internet at thegoodroad.tv.

Hear more great stories, connect to organizations, and make sure you download our podcast, Philanthropology.

Funding for the good road has been provided by-- What makes a good road?

Blazing a trail, making a difference, being unafraid to take the path of most resistance.

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Toyota, let's go places.

Here in Asheville, we're a mixture of genres, a hybrid of styles, settling for nothing, hungry for everything, all drawn together to stand out.

You are welcome.

Always, Asheville.

Music is the great unifier with power to change the world.

Musicians create that positive change music each and every day.

In Your Ear Studios, diverse musicians creating diverse music that unifies.

Bank of America, what would you like the power to do?

Philanthropy Journal, stories about bold people changing the world.

The Buccaneer beach and Golf Resort, Saint Croix, US Virgin Islands.

[music playing]