BWAP 2025: Guideposts ~ Nathan Tan

During the afternoon on Thursday, our second day in Birmingham, we were blessed with a driving tour led by a local historian, Barry McNealy. Once we corralled ourselves and Barry into our hulking white van, Barry began navigating for Nii Addo, and our tour began. After a few minutes, we turned onto a street that led into a rather unassuming neighborhood lined with family homes and front lawns. Nothing about the scene looked out of place for any residential area in Madison. It was to my surprise, then, when Barry requested we pull over and stop to share some information.

Barry began telling the story of how in the 1950s, Birmingham’s infamous public safety commissioner, Bull Connor, sought to enforce segregation with brutal creativity. His initial plan, Barry explained, was to construct a manmade lake to divide white and Black neighborhoods. When that plan was rejected, Connor pivoted to an alternative: a wide boulevard called Center Street. This boulevard would act as an unofficial yet very real dividing line, cementing segregation into the city’s geography. While it may have appeared like any other road, Center Street became a stark symbol of systemic racism.

Barry then shared how Black neighborhoods were deliberately drawn to comprise less than a third of the residential area in Birmingham, despite Black residents making up nearly half of the city’s population. This created a dire housing shortage in Black neighborhoods, while homes just across Center Street sat unoccupied. The inequity was striking, but Barry’s voice grew heavier as he recounted what happened next.

Center Street rapidly became a hub of violence. The street earned the ominous nickname “Dynamite Hill” due to the frequency of bombings targeting Black residents. From 1948 to 1957, Birmingham experienced 48 unsolved racial bombings, many of which occurred on Dynamite Hill. These attacks, often carried out by white supremacist groups like the Ku Klux Klan, sought to intimidate Black families daring to live near the dividing line. Barry described how the explosions would rock the community, both literally and emotionally, leaving scars on the land and its people, mostly going uninvestigated by the white supremacist police department.

Standing in that seemingly ordinary neighborhood, Barry’s narration brought overwhelming meaning to the land beneath us. His words transformed the silent streets into a testament to resilience and suffering. It was a sobering reminder of why oral histories and historians like Barry are vital — to ensure that the struggles of the past are not forgotten and that the quiet courage of those who endured is honored.

As we continued along the hill, Barry shared the story of the Drew household. The Drews, white allies of Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., often hosted him in their Birmingham home, which became a second home for King. For their hospitality and commitment to civil rights, the Drews endured relentless threats and attacks. Stones and bullets shattered their windows, and they received countless death threats. It became so dangerous that the family had to construct protective walls around their home, which still stands today. Seeing those walls was a stark reminder of the cost of allyship in a time of deep division.

Barry then recounted another harrowing story, this time about Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth, a prominent civil rights leader in Birmingham. On one occasion, Shuttlesworth stood with a crowd across the street from armed white supremacists. Suddenly, a gun was fired in his direction. A quick-thinking companion pushed Shuttlesworth just in time, and the bullet narrowly missed him, tragically striking and killing another man. This story of survival and loss underscored the ever-present danger faced by those fighting for equality on Dynamite Hill.

As the tour concluded, the weight of the history we’d heard settled deeply into our hearts. Barry’s ability to weave stories of struggle, courage, and resistance made the past feel immediate and alive. Beyond being a historian, Barry is a professor, high school teacher, and curator at the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, and his dedication to preserving this history is a profound act of service. His work ensures that these stories — and the lessons they carry — continue to inspire and inform future generations.

Driving away, I couldn’t help but feel a deep gratitude f or Barry and others like him who dedicate their lives to keeping history alive. In their hands, the past becomes a guidepost for the present, reminding us of the enduring need for justice, empathy, and resilience. Barry’s ability to make history feel alive and relevant gives me a vision for my future classroom. I aim to create an environment where students see history not as a distant series of events, but as something that continues to affect their lives and can guide them toward a better tomorrow.

Nathan Tan (he/him) is a senior studying history and education studies.

Photo: Rev. Fred Shuttlesworth standing in front of his home after it was bombed. Shuttlesworth was inside the house when it was bombed.