In conjunction with his upcoming book, Here Is Where: In Search of America's Great Forgotten History, we're following historian and Legacy Project founder Andrew Carroll as
he drives, flies, walks, boats, buses, bikes, and hikes to seek out
little-known historic sites in all 50 states. Bookmark all of his posts here.
After leaving Palestine, Texas, to pursue an extraordinary story I'd heard concerning the Columbia Space Shuttle explosion in 2003, I needed to photograph a site in Dallas related to one of the nation's greatest Blues singers.
I told the hotel concierge where I wanted to go, and, after noticing my camera and video equipment, he warned me: "Be careful." Be careful? "The building you're going to is near a homeless shelter, and it's a pretty rough area."
I appreciated the head's up but wasn't terribly concerned. Yes, when I got there I definitely encountered some scowls as I began setting up my tripod in the middle of the street to photograph 508 Park Ave. By the time I looked up from the viewfinder there were about half a dozen guys around me.
"Hey man, what's going on?" one of them asked--not in a threatening way, but his tone wasn't entirely welcoming either.
"I'm traveling across the country to find little known historic sites," I explained, "and that building is the last place where Robert Johnson recorded his music before he died."
"That's right, that's right," another guy said.
"Not just Robert Johnson, Eric Clapton recorded there too," an older gentleman added. I didn't know that.
After leaving Palestine, Texas, to pursue an extraordinary story I'd heard concerning the Columbia Space Shuttle explosion in 2003, I needed to photograph a site in Dallas related to one of the nation's greatest Blues singers.I told the hotel concierge where I wanted to go, and, after noticing my camera and video equipment, he warned me: "Be careful." Be careful? "The building you're going to is near a homeless shelter, and it's a pretty rough area."
I appreciated the head's up but wasn't terribly concerned. Yes, when I got there I definitely encountered some scowls as I began setting up my tripod in the middle of the street to photograph 508 Park Ave. By the time I looked up from the viewfinder there were about half a dozen guys around me.
"Hey man, what's going on?" one of them asked--not in a threatening way, but his tone wasn't entirely welcoming either.
"I'm traveling across the country to find little known historic sites," I explained, "and that building is the last place where Robert Johnson recorded his music before he died."
"That's right, that's right," another guy said.
"Not just Robert Johnson, Eric Clapton recorded there too," an older gentleman added. I didn't know that.
"You should also check out Dallas's underground tunnels. Lots of history down there. Prohibition, bootlegging, all that."
"And also go to where Freedman's Town used to be."
I couldn't keep track of who was saying what, but soon we were all chatting like old friends. They told me about Little Egypt and Doc Holliday's old place, and among themselves they debated whether the 508 Park Avenue building had been designed by William Sidney Pittman, a brilliant African-American architect who lived in Dallas (Most seemed to think not, but the group encouraged me to visit and photograph other Pittman landmarks).
I had to move on, but before I left I posed to them the same question I've been asking all of the historians, park rangers, tour guides, and other individuals who've been assisting me along the way: Why does history matter? Why are these stories important?
"Just something to do," one man said.
"Yeah," another agreed, "it's a good way to kill time."
So far, these are two of the better responses I've gotten. And I couldn't agree with them more.
All photos and text © Andrew Carroll
"And also go to where Freedman's Town used to be."
I couldn't keep track of who was saying what, but soon we were all chatting like old friends. They told me about Little Egypt and Doc Holliday's old place, and among themselves they debated whether the 508 Park Avenue building had been designed by William Sidney Pittman, a brilliant African-American architect who lived in Dallas (Most seemed to think not, but the group encouraged me to visit and photograph other Pittman landmarks).
I had to move on, but before I left I posed to them the same question I've been asking all of the historians, park rangers, tour guides, and other individuals who've been assisting me along the way: Why does history matter? Why are these stories important?
"Just something to do," one man said.
"Yeah," another agreed, "it's a good way to kill time."
So far, these are two of the better responses I've gotten. And I couldn't agree with them more.
All photos and text © Andrew Carroll
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