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Nottoway dishonored my enslaved ancestors. Why I still hated to see it destroyed.

Nottoway dishonored my enslaved ancestors. Why I still hated to see it destroyed.

Yahoo21-05-2025

With its 200 windows and 165 doors fashioned by enslaved craftsmen and put in place with enslaved labor, Louisiana's Nottoway Plantation was the South's largest antebellum mansion, or 'big house.' It was also a place that tour guides infamously sold a romanticized and sanitized version of plantation life about, and for generations, those who ran the plantation hosted weddings, graduations and school field trips where Black schoolchildren and their parents often felt diminished and alienated. As The Associated Press has noted, Nottoway 'makes no mention of enslaved former inhabitants on its website.'
A fire on Thursday that destroyed Nottoway's big house led to a predictable response. Some Black people posted selfies presumably taken at Nottoway that showed the burning house behind them. People shared memes that added the images of Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman, uncharacteristically grinning, to photos of the mansion on fire. Other memes showed Black people enjoying an outdoor cookout with the burning house in the background.
'We're very devastated, we're upset, we're sad,' Dan Dyess, a co-owner with his wife of the plantation resort, told The Times-Picayune | The Advocate. 'We put a lot of time, effort and money to developing this property.' Still, after the fire, some voices wryly expressed that all such sites should burn.
Simultaneously, some white people wistfully mourned an irreplaceable architectural gem and moment in American — read Southern — grandeur and responded to the celebrations of the fire as an assault on their 'heritage,' the same way many responded in 2017 to the removal of Confederate monuments downriver in New Orleans.
I'm not mourning in the same way that those embracing myths of the 'Lost Cause' and the idea of 'moonlight and magnolias' are, but I'm mourning the loss of another opportunity to teach about the history of enslavement. Our material history, including at places such as Nottoway, has messages for us. There are bricks where our ancestors' fingerprints remain, spiritual caches, crystals and sometimes lone cowrie shells reflecting traditional African beliefs.
There are signs there of Islamic practices and practices of the early Black church. Even a rat's nest found in Charleston, South Carolina, had much to tell us about the past. It wasn't just a rat's nest; it had been fashioned from the pages from a 19th century speller. In the darkness, hidden from the enslavers' prying eyes, we were learning to read.
The destruction of Nottoway isn't a trending story for me. I am a historical interpreter — not a re-enactor — and such places have been the focus of my research. I even wrote my award-winning memoir, 'The Cooking Gene,' tracing my ancestry from Africa to America, from enslavement to emancipation, using the story of African American food combined with the battle over how our history gets told and who gets to tell it.
Many plantations, homes and living history sites are tied to colonial and antebellum slavery, both South and North. They have never been cheap to maintain or preserve, hence the need to bring in crowds that spend big. Sanitizing the brutality of slavery and promoting their properties as wedding venues is a way for those who operate such places to increase revenue. But their general refusal to confront the truth of history and balance their messaging, their willingness to bury the experiences of our ancestors underneath white supremacist propaganda, helps explain the glee many felt at Nottoway's destruction.
I found it disheartening while doing research for 'The Cooking Gene' that one of my ancestors, Harry Townsend, who was sold as a child from North Carolina through Virginia to Alabama, had a bill of sale and a value for his body on the death of his slaveholder. He had run for freedom, and there was even a receipt for his return by a 'slave catcher.' But there's no record of my ancestor's grave, and most of land where he was enslaved is now underneath a mall.
Places such as Nottoway that glorify the buildings that enslaved people built but ignore the pain and suffering those enslaved people experienced contribute to another kind of erasure.
The New York Post quotes Dyess as saying, 'My wife and I had nothing to do with slavery but we recognize the wrongness of it.
'We are trying to make this a better place. We don't have any interest in left wing radical stuff. We we need to move forward on a positive note here and we are not going to dwell on past racial injustice.'
If this fire was a message, it was a wake-up call. There are no perfect answers here. Nottoway could have gone the way of Whitney Plantation, also in Louisiana, which is a museum dedicated to helping visitors understand who the enslaved people were.
I've been privileged to cook at Whitney Plantation, which is staffed by brilliant Black interpreters. Nottoway also could have been more like Magnolia Plantation in South Carolina, where my elder and teacher Joseph McGill raises awareness about chattel slavery. It could have been more like Colonial Williamsburg in Virginia, where, as a consultant and scholar in residence, I learned from generations of people behind the site's African American programming.
Coming to terms with what these plantations have meant is a process that takes time and generational commitment. Plantations and sites related to slavery have to have foot traffic and human and financial investment to preserve the evidence of African and African American labor, craft and resistance. Still, they shouldn't exist as mere resorts.
We must stand in solidarity with museums (especially Black independent sites), genealogists, scholars, preservationists and descendants who do this recovery work. Their efforts to perform acts of sincere redemption and reconciliation are crucial. We can contribute to a more inclusive and accurate representation of our shared history by supporting such initiatives.
This crossroads is the sacred ground where people of many backgrounds can and must meet. I can't think of a more critical time to speak the truth and acknowledge the humanity of enslaved Africans and Indigenous Americans and the flow of immigrants and others without whom we would not exist.
This article was originally published on MSNBC.com

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'Game-Changing' Anti-Ship Weapon Tested by US Stealth Bomber
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'Game-Changing' Anti-Ship Weapon Tested by US Stealth Bomber

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Courier Journal great Bill Luster, ‘the most beloved person in all of photography,' dies
Courier Journal great Bill Luster, ‘the most beloved person in all of photography,' dies

Yahoo

time2 hours ago

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Courier Journal great Bill Luster, ‘the most beloved person in all of photography,' dies

Bill Luster, a two-time Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer for The Courier Journal and member of the Kentucky Journalism Hall of Fame, died Thursday after battling the types of diseases that come with being older. He was 80. He used light and a camera to tell stories in the newspaper in such a way that few could equal. Whether it was Barack and Michelle Obama sneaking a quick dance outside the White House's Blue Room, or a dog stretching while country folk gathered in lawn chairs under a shade tree, Luster had a knack for conveying an entire story in a single frame. 'He operated in such a quiet way, I don't think he ever forced his way into a situation,' said Jay Mather, a former Courier Journal photographer who shared the 1980 Pulitzer Prize for international reporting with reporter Joel Brinkley. 'He gained the trust of subjects easily because of his quiet manner.' Standing just 4'11', Luster was a giant in the world of photojournalism — a world where he used his height as an advantage. He loved to tell the story of when actor John Wayne visited Louisville in 1976 to be grand marshal of the Pegasus Parade. Luster met his plane at the airport and as Wayne climbed off the plane, Luster scrambled backward as he shot. 'He got about 10 feet away, knelt down and said, 'How's this, little pardner,'' Luster wrote in 2008. 'So I do have some advantages, and I still treasure that picture.' Back in the days before digital photography, when photographers had to print pictures using a device called a photo enlarger, Luster needed to stand on a stool — known as a 'Luster Lifter' — to see what he was doing. His photos had a unique perspective both literally and figuratively. Michael Clevenger, The Courier Journal's director of photography, said when he was a young photographer he figured out that talented photographers at the newspaper like Luster didn't necessarily love what they were shooting, but 'what they really loved was telling the best story they could through photos — and Bill was a master at that.' Photographers, Clevenger said, often have just one chance — and a small rectangular box — to tell a story. 'What Bill did best was he used that entire rectangle. Edge to edge, he told stories. … I'm always amazed at how good he was at protecting that space.' In 2010, Luster won the Joseph Sprague Award, the highest honor in American photojournalism, from the National Press Photographers Association. He also won the Joseph Costa Award for Innovative leadership from that organization. C. Thomas Hardin, a longtime photographer and director of photography at the CJ, said Luster had skills few other photographers could claim back in the days before auto-focus camera lenses were available. "He was a great sports photographer," Hardin said. "He had terrific eye-hand coordination. ... He had the ability to follow-focus as the action happened in front of him. Very few people had the innate ability he had." Over the years, Luster was named Sports Photographer of the Year and the Visual Journalist of the Year by the Kentucky News Photographers Association. In 1982, he was named runner-up for Newspaper Photographer of the Year from the University of Missouri's School of Journalism. Over the years, he gained exclusive access to the White House under several U.S. presidents, including Ronald Reagan, Gerald Ford and Barack Obama — and he shot photographs of every president from Lyndon Baines Johnson to Obama. Luster had two photo essays appear in The National Geographic magazine — the holy grail of news photographers — and had images published in Time and Newsweek, according to his website. Sam Abell, who worked for National Geographic for more than 30 years and has known Luster since he was a photo intern at The Courier Journal in the late 1960s, said Luster's piece on organ transplants was the "single most difficult story anyone had ever done for National Geographic" both in terms of subject matter and emotionally as he had to photograph people while they were making the excruciating decision about donating a loved-one's organs. "Bill Luster is the most beloved person in all of photography," Abell said. "He had a combination of things: personal charisma, absolute hard work, and belief in the high calling of photography." He covered 55 Kentucky Derbies, continuing to shoot them even after he retired until just a few years ago when his health and mobility issues made it impossible for him. But beyond his work as a photographer, he was a consummate prankster. For decades, he would make up outlandish tales for young reporters, photographers and interns about his previous career as a jockey and the time he had a mount in the Kentucky Derby — tales that were believable because he was a tad under 5 feet. In reality, Luster wrote that a man in his hometown once convinced him he could be a jockey and urged him to climb into the saddle. 'I promptly fell off.' Mather recalled that Luster would often send interns to photograph a man who ran a local laundry who had let it be known over and over again that he did not want his picture taken. At lunch, he'd sometimes pilfer pieces of silverware and drop them into the purses of female coworkers who went along, said Mary Ann Gerth, a former photographer for The Courier Journal who grew up in Luster's hometown of Glasgow, Kentucky, and was photographed by him at a parade when she was a child. 'I found many of the forks and spoons in my purse before we left the restaurant. For the rest, my apologies to the Bristol," she said. He was also the target of pranks. Mather said he and Luster for years traded a self-serving book published by a photographer at another newspaper — trying to find inventive ways to slip it to the other person. After that joke grew old, they traded a gaudy plaster of Paris pig. Mather said he finally got the best of Luster when Pete Souza, the chief photographer for Reagan and Obama, snuck the pig into the White House for Luster to find while he was there photographing Obama. "He's a very determined photographer ... he pursued excellence, no matter the assignment, whether it's a photo of the president of the United States, the Kentucky Derby, or University of Kentucky basketball, or some community assignment around Louisville," Souza said. "But he also had a good sense of humor; he liked to play practical jokes, and he liked to tell stories about practical jokes after the fact," Souza said, noting that one of his favorite pranks happened more than 40 years ago "and he was still telling that story this year." He was a University of Kentucky basketball fan who never forgave Duke star Christian Laettner for hitting the shot in the NCAA's 1992 regional finals knocking UK out of the tournament. In a video at his retirement party, his coworkers included a clip of Laettner speaking directly to Luster, 'Hey, Bill, remember me?' He was a Democrat. During the 2024 election, a Donald Trump campaign sign mysteriously appeared in his front yard. His son, Joseph, quickly removed it and put it in the trash. Retired CJ photographer Pam Spaulding was often the target of his pranks. He once had the light switches in her house changed so that "up" was off and "down" was on. And he often stole her keys and moved her car in The Courier Journal parking lot so she couldn't find it. Before she left for an interview for a Neiman Fellowship at Harvard University, Luster and Mather snuck into her house and hid a frying pan, a tambourine and a copy of the Yellow Pages in her suitcase. "When I got to Boston and opened my suitcase, It took me about 30 seconds to figure out Bill did it," Spaulding said. "When I called him, as soon as he heard my voice, he was on the floor laughing. ... But it wasn't just me, everyone in the country has been pranked by Bill Luster." Charles William Luster was born in 1944 in Glasgow, Kentucky, to Betty and Earl Luster. Earl Luster was a civil engineer and was just starting a long career in the military with posts around the world and around the country when Bill Luster was born. Betty and Earl Luster soon split up and when Bill Luster was 4 years old, Betty married Joe T. Hall, a local rural free delivery carrier in Glasgow who raised his wife's son as his own. Bill Luster graduated from Glasgow High School in 1962 and headed off to Western Kentucky State College, where he began dabbling in photography as a hobby. He returned home to Glasgow in 1964 where he became a photographer and sportswriter for the Glasgow Daily Times. He improved his skills there for five years — occasionally shooting freelance photos for The Courier Journal — before The Courier Journal and Louisville Times hired him in 1969. He married the former Linda Shearer in a ceremony at Highland Baptist Church in 1976. Over 42 years at the Courier Journal, Luster would become the most well-known of the newspaper's photographers, winning some of the biggest national awards and leading the National Press Photographers Association as its president for a term. He had stints as the newspaper's director of photography and was the paper's chief photographer when he retired in 2011. He was part of the teams that won two Pulitzer Prizes for The Courier Journal. The first was the 1976 Pulitzer Prize for feature photography for the newspaper's coverage of court-ordered busing, and the second came in 1989 when the newspaper's news and photo staffs won the award for local reporting for its coverage of the Carroll County bus crash. The crash — the nation's worst drunken-driving accident — killed 27 adults and children on a church bus returning to Radcliff, Kentucky, following an outing to Kings Island amusement park near Cincinnati. Luster's iconic photo of police investigators peering at the burned-out shell of the bus on the newspaper's front page on May 16, 1988, gave readers a graphic image of the tragedy that happened two nights before. Luster was inducted into the Kentucky Journalism Hall of Fame in 2012. He is survived by his wife, his son, Joseph, and daughter-in-law, Lauren, and two grandchildren. Joseph Gerth can be reached at 502-582-4702 or by email at jgerth@ You can also follow him at @ This article originally appeared on Louisville Courier Journal: Bill Luster, former Courier Journal photographer, dies at 80

Share Parkland's present, shape its future at Courier Journal mobile newsroom
Share Parkland's present, shape its future at Courier Journal mobile newsroom

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Share Parkland's present, shape its future at Courier Journal mobile newsroom

For too long, Parkland's story has been about making do. Before November 2024, when Norton West Louisville Hospital opened in Parkland, the West End had gone 150 years without a hospital. Parkland had also gone 40 years without a library until February of this year when Parkland Library, one of Louisville's first nine libraries, funded by millionaire Andrew Carnegie, reopened after budget cuts forced its closing in 1986. Blak Koffee owner, Ronyale Smith, opened the shop's second location in Parkland's Goodwill Opportunity Center to fill another gap in the neighborhood. 'The same thing that drew me to Jefferson Street (Blak Koffee's first location) is the same thing that drew me here,' Smith said. 'This far west, there's not really restaurants and there's definitely not coffee shops for people to gather.' Parkland's history is probably familiar even if you don't know it. It follows a common pattern of struggle against racial barriers found in predominantly Black neighborhoods across the country. Some Black folk know it intimately in the boil of their blood, the fatigue in their bones. I'll give you the ultra-summarized version of one of this neighborhood's many stories. Once upon a time, Black people were just trying to make it. Oh, I'm sorry. Black people are always just trying to make it. Let me be specific. It was 1968. And Black people in Parkland were doing alright for themselves with a nice community of Black businesses and homeowners when a white police officer, Michael Clifford, attacked Manfred Reid, a Black man, during a racially-motivated traffic stop that turned violent. Clifford was suspended for excessive force. And reinstated weeks later. After a rally at 28th and Greenwood, where Stokely Carmichael, a leader in the Black Panther Party, was scheduled to speak but didn't show, a bottle smashing to the ground brought police, expecting gunfire, rolling onto the scene. All of the racial tension that had been building since Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination a month earlier, the attack against Reid and, well, forever went boom! Young Black people who were sick and tired of being sick and tired looted and burned businesses. The National Guard was called in. After days of destruction and military presence, two people were dead, 52 injured and 472 arrested. The white flight was swift. Many of the remaining businesses left, along with essential services and resources that opened gaps still visible to this day along with half-hearted city maintenance. Gerth: Courier Journal great Bill Luster, 'the most beloved person in all of photography,' dies | Opinion Leemesha Cole, who I met at the Goodwill Opportunity Center, said of Parkland, 'It stinks here. They should fix the sewers, the potholes. They don't care about us down here.' Carl Barrett, originally from New Jersey, said when he lived in Valley Station he used to tell people back home about the smooth streets. 'The roads were beautiful,' he said. When Cole spoke about Parkland's potholes, Barrett, who now lives downtown, shook his head in mournful agreement. George Harbin, who's lived at various locations across West Broadway, said Parkland 'needs to be cleaned up' and there should be 'more resources in the community for kids.' He added, 'I think the Goodwill (Opportunity Center) is a good start.' Dorothy Jackson, a Louisville native, agreed: 'I think it's nice what they're doing now. They didn't have that when I was growing up. It was the state fair and Fountain Ferry, only on Saturdays. There wasn't much to do. There's a spot here for children, ages 16-24. I think it's fantastic.' I met James Cross, another Louisville native, at Blak Koffee watching a chess match so intense the players didn't lift their gaze from the board to acknowledge my greeting. His face lit up when I told him the Parkland Library had reopened. 'I used to go to Parkland Library years before it closed. I'm happy to know Parkland is open.' Cross is affiliated with the West Louisville Chess Club, run by Corbin Sevrs. 'Corbin recruited me to promote chess in the area with young people. The owner of Blak Koffee wants us to be here.' Cross echoed Harbin's concern about youth, caught in the Parkland Uprising's aftermath. Their restlessness and anger hold the potential for destruction and violence that could keep this vicious cycle spinning. 'They're not all bad. They just need care and attention.' Opinion: Kentucky public schools depend on federal funding. We can't afford to lose it. Recent developments in Parkland raise hopes for the future, but large federal budget cuts and racial barriers that continue to mount under an administration hostile to diversity, equity and inclusion could stop that progress. What is the story of Parkland's next generation? What do they want us to know? What stories are we not telling? The Courier Journal's mobile newsroom will be at the Parkland Library, 2743 Virginia Ave., from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. June 9-13. We will be raffling off a $50 gift card to Blak Koffee. But most of all we want to meet with you, hear your stories, your ideas and your concerns. We invite community members of all ages and backgrounds to join us and offer your take on topics big and small. Why? Because we're here to serve you, and knowing what's important to you will help us do that. Also, because stories teach lessons. They resurrect history so we don't repeat mistakes. They set records straight and share blueprints of how we got over. If more of us tell our stories, maybe we won't have to make do; maybe we can make things better. Tell us what you think. Send your letter to the editor. Kristen Gentry is the engagement and opinion editor at the Courier Journal. Reach her at KGentry@ and (585) 479-0660. You can also follow her on Instagram at and Facebook at This article originally appeared on Louisville Courier Journal: Parkland, the CJ mobile newsroom wants to hear your stories | Opinion

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