The riot dimmed Tulsa’s luster and threatened her reputation as America’s economic darling. What happened, or, perhaps more consequentially, what failed to happen, in its wake shaped race relations in Tulsa for decades after.
Until the late 20th century, the catastrophic riot remained shrouded in mystery, cloaked in secrecy, and draped in conjecture. Despite its significance as a defining moment in the history of the city, state, and nation, some Tulsans, even more Oklahomans, and most Americans, remain largely oblivious to this watershed event.
The 1997 convening of the Oklahoma Commission to Study the Tulsa Race Riot of 1921 shined a spotlight on the incident. The commission’s deliberations and its 2001 final report generated enormous press coverage and reignited community interest.
The full cost of Tulsa’s reluctant reckoning has yet to be calculated. Perhaps the greatest casualty—trust—has yet to be fully recouped. Recent examples of such trust issues include a 1990s lawsuit by black police officers against the City of Tulsa alleging racial discrimination (settled in 2010) and a 2013 controversy over a popular arts and entertainment area near downtown named for a Tulsa pioneer recently revealed to have had ties to the KKK and possibly the riot as well. The once vast chasm of distrust between black and white still lingers, marginally diminished, but no less real.
This 1923 photograph of the Tulsa skyline illustrates the city’s remarkable economic trajectory just 25 years after incorporation. Walter White noted: “One could travel far and find few cities where the likelihood of trouble between the races was as little thought of as in Tulsa. Her reign of terror stands as a grim reminder of the grip mob violence has on the throat of America, and the ever-present possibility of devastating race conflicts where least expected.” (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
This 1923 photograph of the Tulsa Junior Chamber (the “Jaycees”) showcases Tulsa’s young establishment leaders. Founded on January 21, 1920, the Jaycees provide opportunities for young men between the ages of 18 and 41 to develop personal and leadership skills through service to others. At the time of this photograph, the Jaycees offered such opportunities only to young white men. During this era, referred to by many as the nadir of race relations in America, white supremacy reigned and membership in domestic terroristic organizations like the KKK swelled. The 1920s rolls of the Tulsa KKK include the names of a number of well-heeled citizens. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
This photograph of a forlorn black woman and others fleeing the carnage of the 1921 Tulsa Race Riot is captioned, “Homeless negroes gathered by the militia and citizen deputies and taken to the hastily constructed shelters at the Fair Grounds, where they were cared for by the Red Cross and other agencies.” (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
Attorney Buck Colbert Franklin, right, works with colleagues in a makeshift law office to assist victims of the riot with legal claims. Franklin won a critical court decision that struck down a city ordinance that would have imposed strict rebuilding requirements in the wake of the riot. These new provisions would have made reconstruction cost-prohibitive for many African Americans. Franklin is the father of the late eminent historian, Dr. John Hope Franklin. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
This photograph, labeled “Ruins of the Tulsa Race Riot, 6–1–21,” captures the devastation wrought by the worst of the 20th century American race riots. Many believe the historical referent “race riot” misses the mark for these widespread incidents of racial violence. The Tulsa event, for example, has alternately been called an assault, a burning, a holocaust, a catastrophe, a sacking, a lynching, a pogrom, an eruption, an ethnic cleansing, and a massacre. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
A group of professionally attired white men gather in downtown Tulsa as the riot unfolds. The next few hours would thrust Tulsa into the national spotlight for all the wrong reasons. Walter White suggested in The Nation that some whites “feel that these [wealthy] colored men, members of an ‘inferior race,’ are exceedingly presumptuous in achieving greater economic prosperity than they who are members of a divinely ordered superior race.” (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
This photograph, also labeled “Ruins of the Tulsa Race Riot, 6–1–21,” further illustrates the magnitude of the destruction. Taken from the roof of Booker T. Washington High School, the image shows Dunbar Elementary School at left rear. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
In this 1921 Tulsa Race Riot scene, smoke billows in the background as men walk along the railroad tracks. The riot caused massive physical damage and left profound emotional scars on the Tulsa community. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
Suffocating smoke fills the air in this scene. The riot resulted in a blazing inferno that wiped out the successful black entrepreneurial enclave known as the “Negro Wall Street.” (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
Here, smoldering ruins appear ready to tumble. The riot destroyed some 1,250 businesses and homes, with property damage conservatively estimated in the $1.5–$2 million range in 1921 dollars. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
As smoke wafts from the Greenwood District, groups of white men observe the spectacle. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
Rioters set alight hundreds of homes in the Greenwood District, leaving scores of residents homeless. The 1921 Tulsa Directory lists the homeowners on this burning block: 521 North Detroit Avenue, P.S. Thompson; 523 North Detroit Avenue, Dr. Andrew C. Jackson; 529 North Detroit Avenue, H.M. Magill; 531 North Detroit Avenue, Ellis Walker Woods; 537 North Detroit Avenue, Thomas R. Gentry; and 541 North Detroit Avenue, C.D. Brown. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
During the 1921 Tulsa Race Riot, black men in Tulsa were interned, ostensibly for their own protection. This internment photograph, marked “National guards—taking Negros to ball park for protection—race riot at Tulsa, June 1st 1921,” conjures up images of the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. Some survivors of the riot noted that the roundup essentially left the Greenwood District defenseless, peopled only by women and children. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
In the wake of the riot, the obliterated Greenwood District appears both desolate and deserted. Walter White discussed how the over-matched African American community rose up to protect one of its own: “Dick Rowland was only an ordinary bootblack with no standing in the community. But when his life was threatened by a mob of whites, every one of the 15,000 Negroes of Tulsa, rich and poor, educated and illiterate, was willing to die to protect Dick Rowland.” (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
This photograph captures some of the marauding white men who, during the course of the riot, ran roughshod through the Greenwood District. Fire-starters and trigger-happy scofflaws terrorized the black community for hours. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
The front page of the June 1, 1921, Tulsa World blared headlines describing the progress of the riot, with accounts of white
s advancing into “Little Africa” and troops and armed men patrolling the streets. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
This c. 1923 group photograph was taken from the Frisco Railroad tracks at Boston Avenue in Tulsa’s Greenwood District. The dramatic and rapid post-riot rebuilding of the Greenwood District in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds speaks to the human spirit of Tulsa’s early African American pioneers. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
This June 1, 1921, photograph shows captured black men being marched off Main Street onto Second Street in downtown Tulsa, hands up in surrender, to one of the several internment centers throughout Tulsa. The photograph’s handwritten caption reads, “Captured Negros on way to Convention Hall during Tulsa Race Riot, June 1st 1921.” (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
The June 1, 1921, headline of Tulsa’s afternoon daily newspaper, The Tulsa Tribune, announced the declaration of martial law in Tulsa. The paper also included front-page stories informing Tulsans of post-riot measures designed to quell lingering hostilities. The Tribune published a series of inflammatory articles and editorials before and after the riot. One editorial, an alleged pre-riot incitement to lynching, remains missing to this day. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
Another headline in The Tulsa Tribune trumpeted the lifting of martial law. The paper also included front page stories apportioning blame for the riot and touting post-riot relief measures. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
This photograph depicts the smoke-filled sky over the Greenwood District. The telling caption suggests a pogrom. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
A young armed white man stands atop a flatbed truck, surveying his cargo: a wounded—likely dead—man. A crowd mills about in the background in front of the Tulsa Convention Center (now the Brady Theater). (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
Maurice Willows came to Tulsa from St. Louis to manage the American Red Cross’s post-riot relief effort. This building was the headquarters for his operation and was known as the Maurice Willows Hospital. These “Angels of Mercy” did a splendid job by all accounts. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
The KKK, a white supremacist hate group, taunted and terrorized African Americans not just in the Deep South, but in places like Oklahoma as well. The KKK gained an incredible foothold in Tulsa and in the state of Oklahoma during the 1920s, with Tulsa boasting a women’s auxiliary and youth chapter. (Courtesy of the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society.)
These images show downtown Tulsa during the 1921 Tulsa Race Riot. The riot took place just to the north and east, across the Frisco Railroad tracks from the heart of downtown. Geographically, the riot-ravaged Greenwood District is bounded by Detroit Avenue to the west, the Midland Valley Railroad tracks to the east, Archer Street to the south, and Pine Street to the north. (Both, courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
A black man raises his arms in surrender by the Frisco Railroad tracks near Detroit Avenue. Thousands of black men were interned throughout the city as the riot wound down. As a condition of their release, they were given green cards—also known as American Red Cross Refugee Cards—to be signed by a white person willing to vouch for them. (Courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
Smoke indicates that all is not well in the Greenwood District. (Both, courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
A dead man lies on the road somewhere north of Archer Street. He was one of an estimated 100 to 300 deaths attributable to the unspeakable violence that characterized the 1921 Tulsa Race Riot. Determining a definitive number of deaths has proven virtually impossible. Gaps in records, the possibility of mortally wounded persons fleeing Tulsa and succumbing to their injuries elsewhere, and the oft-repeated prospect of undiscovered mass graves makes it particularly challenging. (Courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
An unidentified gun-toting white man stands defiantly. White men looted downtown pawnshops for guns and ammunition before invading the Greenwood District. Some shopkeepers complied with the looters’ demands; those who resisted had their inventories forcibly removed. (Courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
Residents of the Greenwood District, including a woman and child, seek refuge from the carnage and chaos. Many African American families left homeless by the riot spent days, weeks, months, and even years in makeshift tent cities and other irregular housing set up by the American Red Cross. Tulsa’s weather extremes, from sweltering summer heat to bitter winter cold, added to the challenges of this already-daunting experience. The riot destroyed at least 1,250 residential and commercial structures in the Greenwood District. (Courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
An armed white man, accompanied by another man and a boy, stands sentry over a pile of unknown contents near the railroad tracks. (Courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
Acrid smoke emanates from the Greenwood District as arsonists’ fires burn out of control. The obliteration of the Greenwood District left hundreds of structures in ruins. The monetary value of the still-apparent psychic scars left by the riot is both immeasurable and incalculable. (Both, courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
An observer stands over one of the many lifeless bodies that dotted the Greenwood District during and after the riot. Though the precise death count remains indeterminate, most experts believe the total to be somewhere between 100 and 300. Speculation about possible mass graves still persists, with possible locations including Newblock Park, Booker T. Washington Cemetery, and Oaklawn Cemetery. Based on available evidence, the most likely location is Oaklawn Cemetery at Eleventh Street and Peoria Avenue, near downtown Tulsa. (Courtesy of Dana Birkes.)
This scene captures the inhumanity of death and the perplexity of life. The riot, though a devastating blow, failed to knock out Tulsa’s African American community. (Courtesy of the Greenwood Cultural Center.)
Smoke pours from R.T. Bridgewater’s home at 507 North Detroit Avenue. To the immediate left is the home of Tulsa Star publisher, A.J. Smitherman. The riotous mob prevented Tulsa firefighters from extinguishing the flames that ultimately consumed the Greenwood District. (Courtesy of the Greenwood Cultural Center.)
As seen from the roof of Hotel Tulsa, clouds of thick smoke swirl in the air above the Greenwood District inferno. In the end, little would be salvaged and lives would be forever altered. Remarkably, the Greenwood District would be rebuilt, bigger and better than ever, peaking in the 1940s. (Courtesy of the Greenwood Cultural Center.)
This photograph was taken from the roof of the Sante Fe Depot on First and Elgin Streets. Some white Tulsans referred to the Greenwood District as “Little Africa,” a clear racial reference, while others unabashedly resorted to the epithet “Niggertown” to describe Tulsa’s African American community. (Courtesy of the Greenwood Cultural Center.)
This photograph reads, “Truck being used to gather up Colored victims—during Tulsa Race Riot—6–1–21.” In context, “Colored” seems to have been intended as a polite reference to African Americans. (Courtesy of the Greenwood Cultural Center.)
Three
REGENERATION
A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history.
—Mohandas “Mahatma” Gandhi
The Greenwood District trailblazers rebuilt their community from its smoldering ashes. The community rose up from riot ruins not through magic or miracle, but simply by the blood, sweat, and tears of those for whom it was home.
Rampant land speculation, proposed zoning changes, and failed local leadership could not quell the spirit of Tulsa’s African American citizens. The American Red Cross, led by Maurice Willows, supervised the post-riot relief effort. Red Cross workers supplied food, shelter, clothing, and medical care.
Attorney Buck Colbert Franklin and his law partners lodged claims against the City of Tulsa and insurance companies for damage occasioned by the riot. They lobbied nationwide for assistance from African Americans citizens. Operating out of a tent after having lost their offices in the riot, these attorneys doubled as counselors, providing listening ears in addition to legal services.
Tulsa's Historic Greenwood District Page 3