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There is a new music scene brewing out on the edge of the prairies in Tulsa, Oklahoma. A town once referred to as the 'magic city' for its ability to make people rich with oil in the early 20th century, has all too often made news over the last two centuries for its tragedies and failures. From the Trail of Tears to the massacre of Black Wall Street, to the current budget shortfalls and education system crisis, many around the United States have dismissed Oklahoma as a hopeless state where nothing can possibly go right.

Miraculously, this set of circumstances has birthed a downtown culture and hip-hop scene that is hell bent on healing itself, the city of Tulsa and eventually the entire world. The word 'movement' gets thrown around a lot with hungry young rappers in cities across the United States, but there is no better way to describe what is happening in Tulsa with a group of artists who dubbed themselves World Culture Music. A group of creatives who saw not an empty city with an inactive downtown, but a blank canvas. Hip-hop has always been about making something out of nothing, but it has been a while since that old spirit has manifested itself on the national level with something truly unique. The iconic hip-hop cities of the coasts have pushed culture forward since the 1980s, but the national movement is in desperate need of the spirit-conscious music flowing out of America's heartland.

The hip-hop culture in Tulsa is deeply existential. It is also deeply spiritual, though not in the way you might expect from a city at the buckle of the bible belt. Everyone brings their own flavor to the scene, their art and music drawing influences from all over the world while also embracing all things uniquely Oklahoman. From the cowboys of color rodeo life, to a reliance on community support, to the competitive cycling culture that has developed in Tulsa over the last decade, no cultural nook or cranny is left unembraced. The artists in Tulsa have a unique voice and Mid-American perspective that is absent from the national hip-hop culture, and a spiritual wisdom that has the ability to shape the next phase of evolution for the genre. Where it was once almost laughable to think of a progressive hip-hop movement emerging in a place like Tulsa, the energy here is starting to feel like that is exactly what is happening.

Cycling is a big deal in the emerging culture of Tulsa. The spiritual center of Tulsa's cycling world is the Sound Pony, a bar that is filled to the brim with cycling memorabilia. It is also a special place within the conservative universe of Oklahoma where people of all stripes including punks, hip-hop heads, metal heads, electro-dance djs, and old school R&B vinyl djs all rub elbows and live in alignment with the ethos: unity. On any given night walking into the Sound Pony, there is no telling which scene is going to be represented, an eclectic vibe you would be hard-pressed to find even in the most underground clubs of Brooklyn or San Francisco. Tulsa's modern hip-hop culture developed out of the Sound Pony and its slightly more hard edged next door neighbor, the Yeti. The Yeti boasts a back patio with an energy that must be experienced first-hand. This area has served as a sort of 'church' for the hip-hop culture in Tulsa over the years, where every-Monday events Cypher 120 and now The Situation create a free-flowing open-mic where rappers, poets, and singers can express themselves with a live house band. With these two venues as a base of operations, Tulsa's millennial hip-hop scene flourished. Where there was once nearly zero hip-hop culture in downtown Tulsa, there is now a thriving scene.

The fact that this scene exists is a slight miracle considering the long denial of access that the city's black community has experienced over the decades. First came a devastating massacre in 1921 on Black Wall Street, an area of Black American excellence. The prosperity of Tulsa's oil boom couldn't help but bleed into the black community, and entrepreneurship thrived after Booker T. Washington noted the opportunities available here. That all came to an end on May 31, 1921 when racist white mobs burned Black Wall Street to the ground. Countless black citizens were murdered. First-hand accounts from Tulsa attorney Buck Colbert Franklin describe makeshift bombs being dropped by airplanes into the Greenwood area. The devastation was unspeakable, and the land grab of black property after the massacre by established Tulsans like Tate Brady was purely evil. The black community built it all back and then some, until the catastrophic effects of urban renewal in the middle 1970s mandated the entire Greenwood district be leveled to make way for an expressway.

As a person gets a feel for the immense scars that inhibit this community, it is understandable to realize Tulsa hip-hop's intense focus on self-actualization, empowerment and spirituality is not merely some hapless self-care zeitgeist bandwagoning, but a deeply meaningful movement to heal a community. With each empowering, uplifting, introspective song these artists produce, a little bit of shame is highlighted, then released from the collective consciousness. These artists are performing a great healing. It's a community service that is greatly needed, but barely recognized by mainstream Tulsa itself. It's no wonder that a seminal album in the new Tulsa hip-hop scene by an artist named First Verse had a line like, "Most of us grew up feeling like the city don't want us," and drew its title from the mantra of the late aughts in Tulsa - this is "The City That Always Sleeps."

First Verse was a part of an influential group in Tulsa called Oil House, whose east-coast inspired artists were the trailblazers who brought hip-hop to the Arts District north of Tulsa's downtown. Around the same time in the early part of our current decade, the media and graphic crew Clean Hands began to dot the city with innovative murals, bringing hip-hop culture into the greater Tulsa consciousness. Clean Hands partnered with Oil House rapper Doctor Freeman to curate an event series called "Lessons in Fresh" to turn their frustrations with a sleeping city into a crash-course in culture featuring live graffiti painting, freestyle sessions, b-boy dance battles, and classic vinyl DJ sessions where the city's best turntablists display their crafts for the younger generation. Although several Oil House members continue to produce new music, Tulsa has un-mistakenly entered a new era spearheaded by World Culture Music.

Steph Simon, a true leader in the movement, named his live band the Rowlands, in honor of the wrongly accused young man named Dick Rowland who was used as an excuse to start the burning of Black Wall Street in 1921. His lyrics speak to the urgent need for reconciliation and acknowledgement that the Tulsa community as a whole needs. He is doing all in his power to meet that need. His resources are his pen, his writing pad, and his reputation in the community. He has put together a live theater show documentary that was filmed and premiered at Tulsa's independent film theater, Circle Cinema. He enters competitive cycling races, revels in his young days growing up around black rodeos.

Simon's spirituality is like a preacher who has gone out to the car to sneak a nip of liquor with his buddies during the cookout. He isn't a Christian rapper, but he speaks with a deep spiritual wisdom that many millennials are missing because church has become too inauthentic for them. Simon sampled Kirk Franklin before Kanye made it cool, but also draws influence from Carlton Pearson - a Tulsa preacher who built an empire in the 1990s only to lose his flock after his views on the nature of God evolved. Simon's authenticity comes through in the way he understands his place in the history of his city, the way he will wear cowboy boots as quick as a pair of Jordans, and his ability to give access to other artists who need a platform. His song 'Visions' has become an anthem of sorts to the community here, as he was perhaps the first artist to draw a parallel between the old Black Wall Street and the World Culture movement. Simon raps, "Bring me ideas, lend me your ears/how can we build? Recreate the market, the culture then we keep it real/If you doubt it then why are you here?/We're taking risks for property, it happened before I know it's possible."

Most recently Simon has been busy working on his new album 'BORN ON BLACK WALL STREET' in which he tells the story of Tulsa past and present, often taking on the persona of 'Diamond Dick Roland' - the shoe shiner who was blamed by white tulsans for starting the 1921 Massacre. For the video for 'UPSIDE (Simon Sez)', the lead single for the album, Simon rented the former home of Tate Brady - a businessman credited for much of Tulsa's development, who also happened to be a KKK leader and active participant in the 1921 massacre. For the video Simon threw a triumphant celebration in the front lawn of the Brady Mansion to usher in a new day for Tulsa, and the GAP Band sample that drives the song makes the act all the more powerful.

Perhaps no one better epitomizes this new energy than one of Simon's World Culture Music collaborators, Keeng Cut. Not only has Keeng Cut developed a unique sound with uplifting lyrics that never come across as corny, he started his own food truck called TNT Wangs that exclusively parks on Main Street in front of the Sound Pony and Yeti. 'Keno' is the ultimate self-manifestation champion of the scene. A man incredibly aware that humans possess wells of energy to play out our visions, and is deeply tapped into that source. His anthem, "Better Everyday" contains lyrics celebrating the wonders of avocado and steel cut oatmeal and culminates with the hook, "I'm enhancing and advancing in like every single way/I wake up and tell myself I'm getting better everyday." As a rapper, food truck operator, father and amateur cyclist there is no question Keeng Cut is one of the most interesting figures in American hip-hop culture, America just hasn't realized it yet.

Pushing this movement along with Simon and Keeng Cut is the artist, rapper and businessman Dial Tone, a multidimensional, multi-medium creative force. Tone has held secret art shows, developed a small digital currency portfolio, and dips his lyrics and beat selections in a glossy, yet seemingly raw nostalgia. Tone understands the new economy, the new talk of spirituality, and has a connection to both Tulsa and the deeper street culture of America. Tone brings an air of intercontinental diplomacy, displaying a deep understanding of the changing currents of the 21st century creative scene. He also acts as the defacto CEO of World Culture Music while keeping up with his own artistic output. This is the type of artist emanating out of the Tulsa hip-hop scene. Completely in-tune with the great awakening that is taking place within individuals and communities across the world. With Steph, Tone, and Keno stoking the fires of creativity, there are many others taking up the call and diving headfirst into creative endeavors.

One such artist on the rise is St. Domonick, a 23-year-old rapper who blends old wisdom, new talk and a psychedelic vibe that creates a sound all his own. His lyrical feats bless his Wayman Tisdale-inspired jazz beats, with the heady new talk of spiritualism spit in the same sentence as sparking some green. There is also Mr. Burns, hardly a newcomer but a true leader in the scene with an almost shamanic vibe that has clearly influenced artists like Dom. Burns has also been better than almost anyone at expressing the angst of the social and political climate in Tulsa as a reflection of our country as a whole, and is absolutely not to be messed with in a Lessons in Fresh MC battle.

On the other end of the spectrum, Jarry Manna identifies as a Christian-rapper but brings a genuine creative spirit and raw vulnerability; a far cry from the phoned-in music and lyrics often heard in that genre. Rounding out the scene of newcomers is M.C. who seems just as comfortable as Manna in the Christian rap world, but spits lyrics that are not religious but rich with authenticity and heart. His spirituality riddles the tracks in an effervescent way, never heavy, like recently when he absolutely went off on Jay-Z's 'Family Feud' beat. If you don't already love the boldness of a rapper literally calling himself M.C., you'll surely love his super-dope brand of hats and sweatsuits called TOWN. These artists are merely the tip of a massive iceberg of talent coming out of Tulsa and its neighbor 100 miles to the west, Oklahoma City.

This new creative culture in Tulsa is celebrated each year at the World Culture Music Festival, an event created by Simon, Keeng Cut and Dial Tone as a celebration of life and art. The World Culture Music Festival is held at the Yeti and Soundpony over two nights and has steadily grown in attendance over three years. The new cultural values of access, authenticity and collaboration run rampant in the festival as the organizers have prioritized the importance of creating a platform for others even above themselves. On the main stage are the established performers of the scene, and on a separate stage are the up and coming rappers who the World Culture team noticed and nurtured. By giving them a space to perform, they are actively growing the hip-hop scene and planting seeds that have already made younger artists realize what is possible even in a city that used to sleep.

That a hip-hop scene this fresh and deep with talent is bubbling up in Tulsa speaks to the emerging tools that have brought access and ability to markets that were once relegated to the third or fourth tier of marketing and promotions in the entertainment industry. That this scene has emerged amid Oklahoma's institutional failures and in the historical context of Black Wall Street makes the work of each of these artists even more powerful. Tulsa's hip-hop culture is cultivating a holistic-based awakening with unabashedly positive energy emanating from the music scene. These are rappers who are not afraid to be themselves, to celebrate their hometown's eccentricities, and to pull inspiration from a deep well of those that have come before them. These are the pioneers of culture that boldly decided to fully own the history of their city, and make the choice to turn the wound of an American tragedy into motivation and empowerment. Perhaps there is some magic left in this city afterall. Welcome to the New Black Wall Street.

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Something From Nothing: How Tulsa, OK birthed the hip-hop movement the world needs

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There is a new music scene brewing out on the edge of the prairies in Tulsa, Oklahoma. A town once referred to as the 'magic city' for its ability to make people rich with oil in the early 20th century, has all too often made news over the last two centuries for its tragedies and failures.

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The New Tulsans Initiative recognizes the core belief that our city's greatest asset is our people. As Tulsa grows and becomes a diverse world-class city, the New Tulsans Initiative Welcoming Plan will provide pathways for socially responsible immigrant integration and will seek out opportunities that benefit both native born and immigrant residents of Tulsa.

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OKLAHOMA CITY - The Oklahoma State Department of Education on Thursday released school report cards after a years-long effort to overhaul the controversial A-F grading system.

The new grade cards, which were designed to better reflect student achievement and school improvement, came online shortly after State Board of Education members voted to certify them during their monthly meeting. They appear on an interactive dashboard via oklaschools.com that allows users to analyze and compare data with schools across the state.

For Tulsa Public Schools, only Booker T. Washington High School received an overall A grade, while 21 school sites received an F. Meanwhile, several suburban districts received mostly B's and C's, but with no A's or F's.

This is the first time Oklahoma has released school report cards since October 2016. State Superintendent Joy Hofmeister led education proponents in condemning the old accountability system for relying too much on student proficiency rates for state-mandated tests while failing to accurately show school performance.

A 95-member task force representing educators, parents and other stakeholders helped remodel the grade cards to feature performance indicators and highlight student progress.

The new report cards include measurements for academic achievement, English language proficiency and chronic absenteeism. There are also measurements detailing academic growth for elementary and middle schools as well as graduation rates and post-secondary opportunities for high schools.

Each indicator is assigned a number of points and given an individual letter grade, with a maximum of 90 available points to produce a school's overall grade. The online dashboard includes the overall letter grade at the bottom of each school page.

Academic achievement in math, English language arts and science are now measured on two factors - the degree to which students are meeting individual group targets as they work toward proficiency and the percentage of students reaching proficiency.

"It was important that the new system not have a myopic focus on spring state tests," Hofmeister said. "The new system recognizes that all kids start at different places, and in fact was built on the belief that all students can grow and all students can improve, no matter where they are today."

The grading system assigns students target scores based on special subgroups in an effort to help all demographics reach proficiency, as required by the federal Every Student Succeeds Act. Subgroups include students with disabilities, economically disadvantaged students, English learners, black students and Hispanic students.

Unlike in the previous system, Hofmeister said students are now counted only once to ensure everyone contributes equally to the student achievement indicator.

This year's grades were distributed on a bell curve. The bottom 5 percent of schools received an F and will have access to increased federal funding. Because of the bell curve, 5 percent of schools also received an A.

As required under ESSA, academic achievement and academic growth account for the highest number of possible points.

Hofmeister acknowledged that the new report cards are a tool to satisfy federal requirements and shouldn't be viewed as a snapshot of school progress.

"It is not a comprehensive evaluation of the important and critical work that is occurring in schools right now," she said. "But it does give us some information that we hope will be more meaningful than in the past, and we have confidence that it is valid and reliable, which is what it must be."

'Be cautious about drawing conclusions'

TPS Superintendent Deborah Gist said the new report cards are an improvement over the previous grading system, but she said schools shouldn't be solely judged on their state grades.

"It is absolutely a better system than the old system, but there is no perfect system," Gist said. "So it is valuable and it is important information, and I would just encourage people to use it to understand and better hold us accountable, but also be cautious about drawing conclusions about any of our schools based on their grade."

The district's own testing, conducted three times each school year measuring progress in the fall, winter and spring, better demonstrates schools' performance than the annual state tests which factor in summer break, Gist said. Students lose five to six months of progress during the summer break, and Gist said schools spend much of their year digging out of the hole left behind.

It's why a school like Anderson Elementary, which Gist said has shown vast improvement based on district evaluations, still received an F despite the new system's focus on growth.

"I think it's just the difference between the sensitivity of the tools and the timing," Gist said. "We have a test that we give multiple times during the year that we can look at multiple times of the year. ... So on an annual measure, even if the students show growth, it may not pick up as much growth because during that school year they've made progress and fallen back behind again."

Despite extensive efforts to better serve students, Anderson Elementary received the same overall grade it did in 2016. The high-poverty school has focused on closing achievement gaps faced by poor and minority students.

"My teachers just go above and beyond every day, and for us to hang another F on the door, it's disheartening," Anderson Principal Tracy Thompson said.

Although she's frustrated with the results, Thompson said the new emphasis on student growth is a step in the right direction.

But she believes the report cards still focus too much on standardized test scores to grade schools.

"In the same way that not all people learn the same, not all people test the same," Thompson said. "As this news is coming out, my teachers are like, 'Oh my gosh, I would rather build a portfolio for every kid to measure their success instead of just assigning a score to every child.'

"That's not fair to make a score of one test on one day what that child has learned because it's just not accurate."

Booker T. Washington High School received the district's only A grade. Principal Melissa Woolridge said it's a team effort to achieve the high grade, but that doesn't mean the school won't address the few low marks on its scorecard.

The high school received a C for chronic absenteeism, and Woolridge said the high school is already working to improve its rating through various efforts.

"We've already put measures in place to make sure we reach the A level status on that next year," Woolridge said. "But it's a good feeling because as a team we've put in a lot of hard work and dedication, a lot of extra time and it's good to see something positive come out of our effort.

"We've shifted a couple of people to focus on certain portions of our students who are continually absent. We're trying to put something in place to make sure that no longer becomes a problem."

Suburban reaction to new grade cards

Bixby Superintendent Rob Miller said he continues to struggle philosophically "with the methods used to place individual students into priority groups and for computing chronic absenteeism" even though his district fared well by comparison with others.

"The intent was to increase transparency and public accountability related to school performance. This goal has never been fully realized because the definition of school success is narrowly defined as performance on standardized tests. The new Oklahoma school reports continue to emphasize student performance on state testing as it's primary metric," Miller said. "These report cards do not point to the real opportunities for growth."

Owasso Public Schools earned mostly B's, which represents a change for the community.

"Our grades are not the same; they've gone down," said Margaret Coates, assistant superintendent of teaching and learning. "I'm new this year, but I think in the past, Owasso had more A's on the old system. We have to keep that in mind - this report card is a new system and it is a growth-model. It is just a snapshot of our schools. It is not our primary motivator to improve."

Todd Nelson, senior executive director of research, design and assessment at Union Public Schools, said overall, the state's new grading system means it is statistically impossible for as many schools to earn A or F grades as on the previous report cards. And Union saw that fact born out in its own results, having mostly B's, C's and four D's.

"It tends to have most schools fall in the middle with C's. We have several schools with B's," Nelson said. "It's a new accountability system. It does make a better effort than the previous one to address the complexities of education and mitigate the effects that are variables in students' lives, but it doesn't fully accomplish that goal. Even those involved in the development of this understand that."

Like many school district leaders, Nelson said Union will remain focused on more meaningful outcomes and measures for students and their parents because of the inherent fault of Oklahoma's school grading system.

"We respect the (state's) effort and will reflect on this information, but we're going to focus on our mission of 100 percent graduation," Nelson said. "We have found if students stay at Union, they succeed over time. We have students who come from all different backgrounds and we love our diversity. We have an average graduation rate of 90 percent over the last five years and we're pressing forward to 100 (percent). Whether a student needs to learn English, or comes to us a little behind, or is gifted, we want to help them achieve that."

Karla Dyess, associate superintendent of instructional services at Broken Arrow Public Schools, said the district will treat this year's grades, mostly C's, as a starting point and have already begun efforts to address lingering issues.

"We are using the results of this new formula as a baseline to help us measure our progress and continue making strategic decisions regarding areas we can improve," Dyess said. "Chronic absenteeism is a new portion of the formula, and we have already launched a 'Be Here BA' campaign to educate our parents and community on the importance of consistent student attendance."

Lisa Muller, associate superintendent for education services at Jenks Public Schools, said the new grade cards are an improvement that provide data with deeper context and detail.

"The work taking place inside of our schools goes far beyond what can be represented by assigning a letter grade," Muller said in a prepared statement. "The population of English Language Learners and the socioeconomic status of students must be considered when evaluating these grades. At Jenks Public Schools, we are pleased, but certainly not content with the grades of our schools. Our principals, teachers, and staff members will continue to work diligently to identify areas of improvement, and to provide outstanding educational experiences for all students."

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'No perfect system': Revamped grade cards are better but don't fully accomplish goal, school leaders say

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OKLAHOMA CITY - The Oklahoma State Department of Education on Thursday released school report cards after a years-long effort to overhaul the controversial A-F grading system. The new grade cards, which were designed to better reflect student achievement and school improvement, came online shortly after State Board of Education members voted to certify them during their monthly meeting.

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The Cherokee, Muscogee (Creek) and Osage Nations, all with a large footprint in Tulsa, are among the state's largest economic engines.

The three northeastern Oklahoma tribes combined have more than 450,000 citizens and an economic impact in our region measured in the billions.

The Cherokee Nation, with 360,000 members, is the largest Native American tribe.

Cherokee Nation Principal Chief Bill John Baker estimated last year that the Cherokee Nation and Cherokee Nation Businesses combined have a direct economic impact of $2.2 billion in northeastern Oklahoma.

"We have a great history in the Cherokee Nation but I really believe the best days of our nation are ahead of us," Baker said.

The Cherokees are building a health care center and medical school in Tahlequah that will be the nation's largest Indian health center. "This is a huge project, the largest ever in Indian country," Baker said.

The new health center, which could partially open by this summer, will partner the tribe with Oklahoma State University to train primary care physicians. The 469,000-square-foot facility, scheduled for completion in the fall, will create about 850 new jobs in Tahlequah.

Plus, the decision by the Oklahoma Veteran's Commission to locate an Oklahoma veterans center in Sallisaw will be aided by the pledge of at least $300,000 from the Cherokee Nation. "This is a real game changer for Sequoyah County and we're very happy about it," Baker said.

Over the last decade, the Cherokees have gifted nearly $50 million to education in northeastern Oklahoma.

Tahlequah city officials estimate the tribe has invested more than $250 million in the town of 17,000. Eventually, the projects, including a new gaming facility and the health center, will bring about 1,000 jobs to Tahlequah.

The Cherokees returned to self-governance in 1968. That first year the budget was $1,118,367. In 2017, the budget for the Cherokee Nation (seperate from the Cherokee Nation Businesses) was $915 million.

The Cherokee Nation and Cherokee Nation Businesses have about 14,000 employees.

"In the last eight years, we've doubled our business," Baker said. "There's no reason why we won't double again in the next eight years."

James R. Floyd, principal chief of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation, recently outlined many of his tribe's accomplishments in a state of the nation address.

According to Floyd's speech on Jan. 26, he said the Creek Nation has gone from 7,000 enrolled citizens to more than 86,000 since 1979.

In addition, the Creeks had just 100 employees in 1978 when Floyd first went to work for the tribe. Now, the Creek Nation employs more than 5,000 people and has an annual payroll in excess of $169 million.

Floyd said a recent economic impact study found that the total economic impact on the state is more than 8,000 jobs and $874 million.

The permanent fund of the Creeks has grown to over $372 million.

The Creek Nation has been a leader in many initiatives. It was the first Indian tribe to operate a community hospital.

It has been two years since the Creeks developed a master plan for expansion to the tribal headquarters and other facilities in the Okmulgee area. Many of the 40-year-old facilities will be replaced or upgraded. There are also plans for a museum, cultural center, archive and golf course. The Omniplex is being upgraded and the Dome has hosted both college and high school basketball games.

Floyd said he is hopeful the tribe will break ground on the first buildings in 2020, including the museum and cultural center.

"Many of you know that we started with few resources, but we have always had our great resource - our people," said Floyd in the address. "It is your strength that flows through us and your struggles to overcome that assure us today. It is our people that have always kept us moving forward."

Osage Chief Geoffrey Standing Bear won re-election last year.

During his time as chief, the Osage Nation, with about 20,800 citizens, has increased its land ownership by more than 50,000 acres. It includes the 43,000-acre Bluestem Ranch from Ted Turner.

The Osage have also used more than $8 million in federal money for additional land purchases.

Standing Bear, in his campaign, touted preservation of culture and language as a priority by working on projects to preserve maps and books of tribal history.

He's also worked on language, education and health projects.

"We have strengthened our language and culture programs including the establishment of a language immersion school for pre-school and kindergarten students," Standing Bear said. "Our higher education scholarship fund and our health benefits program are stronger than ever."

The tribe also opened the $160 million Osage Casino in Tulsa last summer, bringing the total number of casino/resort hotel rooms in the Tulsa metropolitan area to over 1,000.

John Klein 918-581-8368

j ohn.klein@tulsaworld.com
Twitter: @JohnKleinTW

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Outlook 2019: Tulsa's Indian Nations continue to flourish

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The Cherokee, Muscogee (Creek) and Osage Nations, all with a large footprint in Tulsa, are among the state's largest economic engines. The three northeastern Oklahoma tribes combined have more than 450,000 citizens and an economic impact in our region measured in the billions. The Cherokee Nation, with 360,000 members, is the largest Native American tribe.

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Advocacy groups say Oklahoma has a shortage of diverse LGBTQ individuals in community and business leadership roles. Organizers of a new leadership training program hope to bridge that gap.

Applications are now being accepted for the Lead Together LGBTQ Leadership Program, a four-month program that will offer training and networking opportunities to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer people.

The program is the result of a collaboration between Oklahomans for Equality and Leadership Tulsa. Jose Vega, program director of Oklahomans for Equality, said the courses will teach participants about the legal and institutional discrimination that LGBTQ people face and prepare them to be an advocate for themselves and others in their communities and places of work.

"We see persistent gaps within leadership ranks that overlook the talents of lesbians, gay men, bisexuals, transgender and queer or questioning individuals," Vega said in a statement. "The aim is to accelerate the careers and possibilities for qualified LGBTQ leaders by offering an exceptional learning environment and networking opportunities.

Vega, who is gay, said he is often the sole LGBTQ person in professional settings.

"I'm at a table or I'm on a board and I'm the only gay man on the board," Vega said. "Or I'm the first LGBTQ person on (the) board."

By offering the training program, which Vega said is the first of its kind in the state, other qualified people will be given the opportunity and visibility to be a leader.

"So this will hopefully open those doors," he said.

The four-month program includes an orientation, six day-long sessions, volunteer work for Tulsa Pride and networking opportunities. Allies are welcome to apply.

Reece Ristau

918-581-8455
reece.ristau@tulsaworld.com
Twitter: @reecereports

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Program to offer leadership training to LGBTQ community

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Advocacy groups say Oklahoma has a shortage of diverse LGBTQ individuals in community and business leadership roles. Organizers of a new leadership training program hope to bridge that gap. Applications are now being accepted for the Lead Together LGBTQ Leadership Program, a four-month program that will offer training and networking opportunities to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer people.

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Long before the gushers of Glenpool, before any oil mansions dotted the tree-lined Arkansas River and before the automobile-ruled the streets of Tulsa, there were the Locv Pokv people, or as some know them- the Muscogee Creek. Locv Pokv was the daughter of the old town in the deep south of Georgia and Alabama, the Turtle Meeting Place.

The Council Oak Tree that's perched atop the hill at 18th and Cheyenne in Tulsa, overlooking the Arkansas River, is where the Creeks ended their journey along the Trail of Tears in 1836 and lit a new fire. It was Tulsa's first City Hall. According to Robert Trepp, descendant of the well-known Perryman family of Tulsa, the Creeks carefully packed their original flame in a lantern filled with moss so it wouldn't extinguish on their long journey to Oklahoma.

More than 175 years later, the flame still burns and every year, the City of Tulsa and the Muscogee Creek Nation come together on that same spot at the end of the journey to honor their tradition, survival and to say, according to Principal Chief James Floyd, "We're still here."

Mekkos, the leaders and keepers of ceremonial grounds, also attend the annual ceremony to honor the city's Creek roots. Mekko Simon Harry, from Duck Creek, is 94 years-old and can remember his grandparents telling him about dancing near the Council Oak Tree.

"That fire is my church," he said during our interview on the windy Saturday afternoon after the ceremony came to a close. While waiting with his granddaughter, he explained that this was their original religion, before the white man came to Tulsa.

The annual Council Oak Ceremony may be little more than a way for city officials like outgoing Mayor Dewey Bartlett and Mayor-elect G.T. Bynum to quickly acknowledge the city's past, but it's still important. Nearby, maybe a stones throw from the tree, a world class park will grace the banks of the river, near what used to be the most prominent Creek family's allotment.

As the ceremony wound down and people got in their cars to head to a stickball game and feast, all of the Mekkos stood proudly in front of the Trail of Tears sculpture near a tree that will hopefully be there for another 180 years.

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'We're Still Here': Creek Nation Council Oak Ceremony

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Long before the gushers of Glenpool, before any oil mansions dotted the tree-lined Arkansas River and before the automobile-ruled the streets of Tulsa, there were the Locv Pokv people, or as some know them- the Muscogee Creek. Locv Pokv was the daughter of the old town in the deep south of Georgia and Alabama, the Turtle Meeting Place.

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Labor, Racism, and Corruption in the "Tulsa Outrage" of 1917

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Labor, Racism, and Corruption in the "Tulsa Outrage" of 1917

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The seventeen men were terrified, and with good reason. They stood shivering in the November midnight air, their bare chests lit by the headlights of the parked cars surrounding them. In the dark, they could barely make out their captors, a group of about fifty men dressed in black hoods and robes.

Two hours earlier, during a special session of night court, Tulsa judge T.D. Evans had declared them all guilty of the crime of not owning a war bond-a conviction that smacked of political and ideological retaliation. All defendants but one were members of the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), a worker's union. The "Wobblies," as they were commonly called, were opponents of the war effort and of capitalism. None of the men had a criminal record, but all men were fined a hundred dollars. [1]

They weren't expected to pay for their crimes, at least not in money. Once the trial ended, policemen rounded up the seventeen and loaded them up in squad cars. Instead of jailing them, the police delivered the convicted men into the custody of the black-robed Knights of Liberty, [2] who were waiting for the Wobblies at the railroad tracks near Convention Hall. [3] The Knights kidnapped the Wobblies at gunpoint, tied them up, threw them into their cars, and drove them into the area west of town. [4]

"We were ordered out of the autos, told to get in line in front of these gunmen, and another bunch of men with automatics and pistols," Joe French, one of the Wobblies, would later testify. One by one, they were pulled from the lineup and tied to a tree a Knight then approached each man with a double piece of hemp rope and whipped the victim's back until blood draped his skin. Another man stepped forward and slathered boiling tar on the victim's back with a paint brush, coating him from head to seat. In a final act of humiliation, the Knight then padded the victim's back with feathers from a down pillow. [5]

"I've lived here for 18 years, and have raised a large family," pleaded an older man in the group. "I am not an IWW, I am as patriotic as any man here."

The man's cries were ignored; every man was whipped, tarred, and feathered. The incident became known "The Tulsa Outrage," and was reported in the national press. According to multiple interviews conducted by National Civil Liberties Bureau investigator L.A. Brown, two men were repeatedly identified as perpetrating the torture: Tulsa's Chief of Police, Ed Lucas, and W. Tate Brady, one of Tulsa's founders. That's Tate Brady, as in Brady Theater, Brady Arts District, and Brady Heights. [6]

The following day, November 10, 1917, the front page of the Tulsa Daily World would make an announcement to the city regarding the flogging of the Wobblies: " Modern Ku Klux Klan Comes into Being: Seventeen First Victims; [7] Black Robed 'Knights of Liberty' Take Prisoners from Police to Lonely Ravine. "
THE SEGREGATION OF HISTORY
According to the Oklahoma Historical Society's Encyclopedia of Oklahoma, Tate Brady was a "pioneer, entrepreneur, member of the Oklahoma Bar, politician, and early booster of Tulsa." The Brady Heights Historic District website calls him "a pioneer Tulsa developer and entrepreneur, who was a powerful political force in the state's early years. He was Oklahoma's first Democratic National committeeman, and he built the Cain's Ballroom and the now extinct Brady Hotel." Tulsa World wrote: "Brady, a pioneer merchant, was an incorporator of the city, as well as a political leader at the time of statehood."

All of these accounts exclude any direct mention of Brady's less-than-honorable traits: his violent behavior, his attempts to segregate Tulsa, his deep involvement with the Klan and affiliated organizations, and his abuse of power.

"Well, it's political," one employee of the Oklahoma Historical Society said, when asked about the gaps in Brady's biography.

Despite the widespread segregation of memory surrounding Brady, a rounder, more accurate portrait of the man emerges when all of the history is taken into account.
THE MAKING OF COMRADE TATE
Wyatt Tate Brady was born in Forest City, Missouri, in 1870, and moved to Nevada, Missouri, when he was 12. By the time he was 17, he had taken up work at W.F. Lewis' shoe store, where he encountered his first brush with real terror-as a victim.

In the early morning hours of March 3, 1887, a customer unfamiliar to Brady entered the store. The stranger asked to see samples of shoes and offered to pay for them. Suspicious of the customer, Brady slipped his revolver from under the counter into his pocket. When Brady went to the safe for change, the stranger rushed Brady and shot at him, sending a bullet through Brady's left ear. Brady fired a shot back, missing the robber. A disoriented Brady was then pistol-whipped and the robber made his getaway.

Undeterred by the assault, Brady set out for a new frontier.

Three years later, in 1890, the young bachelor headed toward the Creek Nation, Indian Territory, to make his mark as a merchant, providing goods for the established cattle trade and railroad. By Brady's arrival, Tulsa had a cemetery, [8] a Masonic lodge, a post office, a lumberyard, and a coal mine.

Five years after his arrival in Tulsa, on April 18, 1895, Brady married Rachel Cassandra Davis, who came from a prominent Claremore family. She was 1/64th Cherokee, which gave her new husband special privileges among the Cherokee tribe. [9] Together, the Bradys had four children: Ruth, Bessie, [10] Henry, and John. Three years later, January 18, 1898, Brady and other prominent businessmen signed the charter that established Tulsa as an officially incorporated city. Tate Brady was now a founding father of Tulsa.

"Indian and white man, Jew and Gentile, Catholic and Protestant, we worked together side by side, and shoulder to shoulder, and under these conditions, the 'Tulsa Spirit' [11] was born, and has lived, and God grant that it never dies," Brady wrote in a Tulsa Tribune article.

Brady was operating a storefront by this point and preparing to expand his operation when an event occurred that would forever change Tulsa's history.

In 1901, the Red Fork oil field was discovered, which catapulted Tulsa onto the scene of world commerce. As the city began to swell with oil-minded entrepreneurs and workers, Brady saw an opportunity: the visitors needed a place to stay. In 1903, he opened the Brady Hotel, located at Archer and Main street, just a short walk from the railroad tracks. It was the first hotel in Tulsa with baths. By 1905, with the discovery of more oil in the Glenn Pool south of town, the Brady Hotel found itself with a rush of clientele. [12]

With his hotel and mercantile businesses thriving, Brady began broadening his scope of influence. He lent financial support to an early paper called the Tulsa Democrat, and he began to buy and develop land near his businesses. [13] along the way, Brady became a true Tulsa booster. In March of 1905, he, along with a hundred civic leaders, a 20-piece band, and "the Indian" Will Rogers, hired a train and toured the country to promote Tulsa as a city with unbound potential.

Brady's Confederate sympathies ran deep-sympathies that would steer his actions in later life. His father, H.H. Brady, had fought as a Confederate soldier in the Civil War. By 1912, Tate Brady's name had already appeared in Volume 20 of the Confederate Veteran. The magazine listed him as the commander of the Oklahoma Division of the Sons of Confederate Veterans. In 1915, Nathan Bedford Forrest, General Secretary of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, visited Tulsa. In the Confederate Veteran, Forrest wrote that he consulted with "Comrade Tate Brady," and together they made plans for "an active campaign throughout Oklahoma."

Forrest, it should be noted, was the grandson of General Nathan Bedford Forrest, a pioneering leader of the Ku Klux Klan.

Nathan Bedford Forrest II, General Secretary of Sons of Confederate Veterans and a Grand Dragon of the Ku Klux Klan. Click thumbnail for larger image.
THE TULSA OUTRAGE
Tulsa's oil was an important national resource during World War I. By 1917, the city was selling a tremendous amount of Liberty Bonds, a type of war bond that helped bolster the USA's financial position during the war. Because the war effort consumed so much oil, however, Tulsa stood to gain massive economic benefits. Any opposition to the war was viewed as a threat to personal prosperity and success.

To help support the war effort, the national defense act established the state Councils of Defense. In Tulsa, the Tulsa Chamber of Commerce fulfilled that role. Its members were asked to report any seditious activities, including statements of dissent, acts of industrial sabotage, or "slackerism" (the refusal to participate in work or war). In Tulsa, this essentially put business leaders in charge of finding and reporting anything or anyone they found threatening to the war effort.

No group was more hated or feared in Tulsa than the IWW. As individuals publicly opposed to the war effort, wobblies felt compelled to dampen industrial productivity by encouraging workers to strike. If such a strike were to occur, it could impact oil production and threaten the supply of oil to the military campaign. Tulsa's economy was vulnerable to an act of worker sabotage.

On August 2, 1917, a sharecropper's uprising in southeastern Oklahoma resulted in the arrest of several hundred people. The Green Corn Rebellion, as it came to be called, essentially ended the socialist movement in Oklahoma. It also proved that anti-war sentiments had not only reached a wide level of social acceptance among working-class Oklahomans, but had escalated to the point that many were willing to take up arms in opposition to the war.

Brady held a particularly strong antipathy for the Wobblies. Just a few days before the Tulsa Outrage, on November 6, 1917, Brady saw a rival hotel owner, E.L. Fox standing at the corner of Main and Brady streets. A year prior, Fox had leased an office to the IWW, unaware of the Wobblies' mission. Their presence in the neighborhood infuriated Brady.

"When are you going to move those IWW out of your building?" Brady yelled at him.

"There's no North Side Improvement Association anymore," Fox replied, implying that Brady had no authority over Fox's business affairs. [14]

An aggravated Brady punched Fox, knocking him to the ground and beating him into the gutter. dozens of people witnessed the assault, which was reported in the Tulsa Daily World the following day.

The Council of Defense had no better ally or mouthpiece than the Tulsa Daily World, Tulsa's largest newspaper. Historian Nigel Sellars called the World "the most pro-oil industry, pro-war, racist, anti-foreigner and anti-labor paper of them all." [15] Throughout 1917, most of the paper's vitriol was aimed at the IWW, whom the World accused of being a German-controlled organization.

In what is arguably one of the lowest points in the paper's history, Tulsa Daily World published an editorial titled, "Get Out the Hemp." [16]Glenn Condon, a managing editor for the World, wrote that "the first step in whipping Germany is to strangle the I.W.W.'s [sic]. Kill 'em as you would any other snake. Don't scotch 'em; kill 'em. And kill 'em dead."

The day after the article was published, the seventeen Wobblies were convicted of a minor charge and handed to the Knights of Liberty by Tulsa's own police. Brady was a ringleader in the kidnapping and ensuing torture in the woods west of town. Only two people in the mob were not robed-a reporter and his wife. The reporter was Glenn Condon, [17] who at the time was also serving as a member of the Council of Defense.

A month after the incident, in the December issue of their magazine Tulsa Spirit, the Tulsa Chamber of Commerce included this note:

"The Tulsa social event of November to attract the most national attention was the coming out party of the Knights of Liberty with about seventeen I.W.W. in the receiving line. As is usual in such social functions, a pleasant time was not had by some of those fortunate enough to be present."

Glenn Condon, Managing Editor, Tulsa Daily World. Click thumbnail for larger image.

DIXIELAND
Terrible as it was, the Tulsa Outrage foreshadowed an event that would soon eclipse it in violence and notoriety. By 1918, extralegal violence, including lynchings, had spread throughout the state and had appeared to gain a quiet acceptance and collaboration among law enforcement, politicians, and business leaders. during this heated period of racial tension, Tate Brady and the Tulsa Chamber of Commerce brought the Sons of Confederate Veterans 28th Annual Reunion to town. [18]

Back then, the Sons of Confederate Veterans wasn't merely a benign Civil War re-enactment club, as it is so often portrayed in today's media. One of its organizing principles was, and remains, "the emulation of [the Confederate veteran's] virtues, and the perpetuation of those principles he loved."

As the largest gathering of Confederate veterans since the Civil war (more than 40,000 attended), the 1918 Tulsa convention celebrated Southern nostalgia and ideologies. Tulsa leaders banded together to raise over $100,000 to cover the cost of the event. Reunion visitors were treated to the best of Tulsa's marvels: tours to the oil fields, free trolley tickets, and lodging with modern-day heated quarters. Although Tate Brady was the primary organizer of the reunion, its committee members included judges, ministers, and influential names that are still widely recognized in Tulsa: R. M. McFarlin, S. R. Lewis, Earl P. Harwell, Charles Page, W. A. Vandever, Eugene Lorton, and J. H. McBirney.

The event was so popular that it took up several columns on the front pages of the Tulsa Daily World, which helped promote a number of other ancillary events happening across the city. While the reunion was largely received as an economic boost of Civic Pride, history won't excuse the darker attitudes that motivated the organization and its leaders.

The reunion's figurehead, Nathan Bedford Forrest, served as the KKK's Grand Dragon of Georgia, and an "Imperial Klokann" for the national Klan. [19] The Klan actively recruited its members from the Sons of Confederate Veterans. A few years after the convention, Forrest served as the business manager of Lanier College, the first KKK college in Alanta. "our institution will teach pure, 100 percent Americanism," Forrest told the New York Times.

The 28th annual Sons of Confederate Veterans Convention demonstrated that Tulsa's most powerful and influential leaders at the very least tolerated-and at the most promulgated-the beliefs and biases that primed Tulsa for its most violent display of racial tension, the Tulsa Race Riot of 1921. Publicly, there was no dissenting voice, no expressed opposition to the Tulsa Outrage or the reunion.

Many prominent Tulsans helped promote the Reunion, which was officiated by Nathan Bedford Forrest, a KKK leader. Sons of Confederate Reunion letterhead courtesy Eddie Faye Gates. Click thumbnail for larger image.
BRADY AND THE RIOT
Tate Brady's prominence and wealth increased with each passing year. In their tenure, his retail stores sold some $5 million worth of goods (60 million in today's dollars), and the Hotel Brady did $3 million in business. He began to invest in coal mining operations and farming interests. In the early twenties he began expanding his property holdings, spending $1 million in property acquisitions- some of which was in Greenwood.

In 1920, Brady built a mansion overlooking the city and modeled it after the Arlington, Virginia, home of one of his personal heroes, General Robert E. Lee. The home contained murals of famous Civil War battle scenes favorable to the Confederacy. Brady and his wife held galas celebrating Lee's birthday.

By 1921, Brady was a recognized city leader and a tireless booster of "Tulsa Spirit," a term he coined. Yet despite his position at the top of the town's social circles, he managed to find time to volunteer when civic duty called.

When the Tulsa Race Riot occurred on May 31, 1921, mayhem broke out in Greenwood, with buildings catching fire just two blocks from the Hotel Brady. During the early morning hours of June 1, white mobs numbering in the thousands were spotted on each major corner of the Brady district. [20] They headed eastward, invading Greenwood.

Brady and a number of other white men volunteered for guard duty on the night of May 31. During his watch, Brady reported "five dead negroes." One victim had been dragged behind a car through the business district, a rope tied around his neck.

The following week Brady was appointed to the Tulsa Real Estate Exchange Commission. The Exchange, created by the Tulsa Chamber of Commerce, was tasked with assessing the property damage. [21] The loss was estimated at $1.5 million. In conjunction with the City Commission, the Real Estate Exchange planned to relocate black Tulsans further north and east, and to expand the railroad's property over the damaged lands.

"We further believe that the two races being divided by an industrial section will draw more distinctive lines between them and thereby eliminate the intermingling of the lower elements of the two races," the Exchange told the Tulsa Tribune.

The Exchange then created new building requirements that made rebuilding in the area difficult. The Exchange reasoned that if residential property could be inhibited, commercial property would take its place, increasing its value by over three times its original cost. Greenwood's property value could skyrocket, and the races could be separated. To the Exchange commission, it must have seemed like an ideal plan.

Accusations of land-grabbing tormented Brady so much that he publicly issued a $1,000 reward to anyone who could prove that he benefitted from the Tulsa Race Riot. Brady, incidentally, owned rental properties that were destroyed in the riot, and tried to collect insurance on them, but did not succeed.
Hear a reenactment of Tate Brady's testimonial before an Oklahoma military tribunal.
Despite the Exchange's efforts, Oklahoma's Supreme Court overruled the proposed ordinances, allowing Greenwood citizens to rebuild. [22] Black Tulsans were left to rebuild their homes without any aid from the city or from insurance companies. [23]
BRADY'S CURSE
Following the riot, Klan activity increased. A large parade of Klansmen, women and youth was organized in the months following the riot. In 1923, the Klan, established as the Tulsa Benevolent Society, paid $200,000 for the construction of a large "Klavern" or gathering hall that could seat 3,000 members. Beno Hall, as it was known, was located at 503 N. Main St., on land owned by Brady. [24]

Brady's prominence in Oklahoma politics suffered a setback when Oklahoma Governor John C. Walton targeted the Klan. In August of 1923, Walton put Tulsa under martial law to investigate Klan activity.

During a related Oklahoma military tribunal in September 1923, Brady admitted his membership in the Klan. [25]

" I was a member of the Klan here at one time, " Brady said, claiming he resigned his membership by October of 1922. "I have in my home the original records, some of my father's membership in the original Klan, and I think that you [the current Klan] are a disgrace." he didn't like the Klan telling him how to vote, he explained. [26]

Brady's testimony hinted at a larger social predicament. Oklahoma's Democratic Party was losing its dominance to the republicans, putting Brady, a committed democrat, in a weaker position politically. Nevertheless, he still appeared outwardly hopeful.

"As I look about me during this my thirty-fourth year in Tulsa, I see locks, once raven, sprinkled with snow, and life's fires burning low in the eyes of pioneers once bright," Brady wrote. "As we start this new year of 1924 may the spirit of the pioneer-the spirit that built Tulsa-prevail as of yore. Cursed be he, or they, who on any pretext try to divide our citizenship and destroy this spirit."

While he saw a sunny future for Tulsa, Brady's own situation did not appear as golden. By 1925, his considerable holdings had been reduced to about $600,000, according to a Tulsa Daily World estimation, which also suggested that he was indebted on those holdings. [27] In the spring of that year, his son John Davis Brady-a promising law student at the University of Virginia-died in a car accident.

Lacking the political power he once held through both the Democratic Party and his Klan affiliations, diminished in his fortune, and aggrieved by his son's death, Brady began to fall apart. Tulsans reported seeing him dining at his hotel alone, staring into space and leaving his meals untouched. Gone was the steeley-eyed entrepreneur. A portrait published in the Tulsa Daily World around this time shows an aged Brady looking weary and morose.

In the early morning hours of August 29, 1925, Brady walked into his kitchen and sat down at the breakfast table. He propped a pillow in the nook of one arm, and rested his head upon it. With his right arm, he took a .44 caliber pistol, pointed it at his temple, and pulled the trigger. [28] Brady, who worked to divide Tulsa along racial lines, died a victim of his own curse.

John Davis Brady. Student Photo, Central High School, 1921
THE BRADY DISTRICT TODAY
Today, the Brady Arts District is the focal point of multi-million dollar developments involving local organizations such as the George Kaiser Family Foundation, the Oklahoma Museum of Music and Popular Culture, the University of Tulsa, Gilcrease Museum, Philbrook Museum, and the Arts and Humanities Council of Tulsa. Local businesses also thrive in the district: numerous bars and restaurants, [29] the family-owned Cain's Ballroom (which once served as Brady's garage), and the Tulsa Violin Shop, to name a few. A large new ballpark separates the Brady district and the Greenwood area. [30]

In 2005, the National Park Service/US Department of Interior published The Final 1921 Race Riot Reconnaissance Survey commissioned in 2003 by the Oklahoma Historical Society and the 1921 Tulsa Race Riot Memorial of Reconciliation Design Committee. The purpose was to determine if Greenwood possessed enough "extant resources" to merit national significance. The survey concluded that the Tulsa Race Riot is significant because it is "an outstanding example of a particular type of resource," and "possesses exceptional value or quality in illustrating or interpreting the natural or cultural themes of our national heritage." In addition to the findings, the report explained Brady's role in segregating not only Tulsa, but Oklahoma. [31] Despite these findings, the Tulsa Race Riot area, including Greenwood, remains unregistered.

Preservation consultant Cathy Ambler stated, in a February 2010 PLANiTULSA proposal: "Today, there is a faction of Tulsans who take issue with some of the associations and choices that Tate Brady was involved with, but there is no denying that he was a huge supporter of Tulsa and played a very big part in its early development."

In September 2010, the Brady Arts District was placed on the National Register of Historic Places, owing to its significance as a place of commerce. It enjoys the full benefits allotted under the designation.
This article was originally published on Sept 1, 2011

The title of this work comes from the Dreamland Theater, located in Greenwood.

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The seventeen men were terrified, and with good reason. They stood shivering in the November midnight air, their bare chests lit by the headlights of the parked cars surrounding them. In the dark, they could barely make out their captors, a group of about fifty men dressed in black hoods and robes.

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1913 - The Foundation of Booker T. Washington High School on Tulsa's north side

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1913 - The Foundation of Booker T. Washington High School on Tulsa's north side

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Now ranked as one Newsweek's Top 65 high schools in America, Booker T. Washington High School was founded on 507 E. Easton as Tulsa's first legally segregated black school. The building has changed three times, and the current structure now stands as one of the crown jewels of north Tulsa.

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507 E. Easton Street

Legally segregated schools for African-American students began shortly after Oklahoma became a state in 1907. In 1908, a two-room frame school building was constructed on Hartford Avenue between East Cameron and East Easton Streets. The small school served grades 1 through 8. In the fall of 1913, Dunbar Grade School began operation in an eighteen-room brick building and a two-room frame building located at 326 N. Hartford Avenue. That first year's enrollment included 241 lower grade students and 7 high school students. That same year the original Booker T. Washington High School was constructed. Its four-room frame building, designed by Leon B. Senter, was located at 507 E. Easton Street. Its first principal was E. W. Woods. This is now the center of the OSU Tulsa campus just north of Greenwood and Archer.

507 E. Easton Street

As Tulsa grew the four-room school soon became inadequate. A larger 3 story brick school was built on the same location in 1920 which served Tulsa's African-American community until 1960.

Booker T. Washington High School number two.

1631 East Woodrow Place

The third Booker T. Washington High School at 1631 East Woodrow Place began serving students in 1958. The first class to graduate from this school was the class of 1961.

The Tulsa Public Schools district was slow to react to the U.S. Supreme Court ruling that de jure racial segregation was unconstitutional in the Brown v. Board of Education decision in 1954, and the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which outlawed all racial segregation in the United States. However, in 1973 Booker T. Washington was chosen to be the vehicle for Tulsa's school desegregation program. At that time in Tulsa, most Caucasians lived in south Tulsa, whereas most African Americans lived in north Tulsa. As Booker T. Washington was built during American Segregation, it was in north Tulsa. The Tulsa School Board chose to bus in primarily Caucasian students who did not live near the neighborhood that Booker T. Washington had served, while continuing to accept students who lived near the school. This method was used by several school districts, and is called desegregation busing.

Although a fourth Booker T Washington High School was built in 2003, the front section of the previous school was retained for its historical significance.

After 1973, Booker T. Washington became a magnet school; it no longer had a home neighborhood from which students were accepted, instead, students had to apply for admission to the school and came from all over Tulsa. A racial quota system was established; until the 2004-2005 school year, 45% of the students accepted identified themselves as "white," 45% identified themselves as "black," and 10% came from "other" ethnic categories. However, because of the 2003 Supreme Court Grutter v. Bollinger and Gratz v. Bollinger decisions Booker T. Washington was forced to accept students using a different method. The school now uses a system that accounts for the geographical location in which a student resides. Because Tulsa remains rather segregated, this method maintains the ethnic diversity created by the old quota system.

Today, the student body of Booker T. Washington boasts championship basketball, football, and soccer teams, a nationally ranked academic bowl team, a physics team, a nationally competing science bowl team, a robotics team, a forensics team, and a competitive cheerleading team. Booker T. Washington was the first Tulsa Public High School to offer Advanced Placement courses and began offering the International Baccalaureate in 1983. The 2003-2004 school year marked the 90th anniversary of Booker T. Washington and the dedication of a new school building.

(Excerpted from

Booker T. Washington High School's new 213,000-square-foot building was completed in the fall of 2003, as the school began its 90th year. The new high school is an unique achievement; a state-of-the-art, expansive, and technology-rich facility that also celebrates a distinctive heritage within the Tulsa community. The top public high school in Oklahoma, Booker T. Washington is also one of the top-rated schools in the nation. The 1,250-student school is considered a cornerstone of north Tulsa's African-American community: it began as a one-room segregated schoolhouse in 1913, and in 1973 it served as a model for Tulsa Public Schools' voluntary desegregation program.
(photos courtesy of Robert Hicks and the Beryl Ford Collection/Rotary Club of Tulsa, Tulsa City-County Library and Tulsa Historical Society) Wikipedia and Tulsa Preservation Commission)

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507 E. Easton Street Legally segregated schools for African-American students began shortly after Oklahoma became a state in 1907. In 1908, a two-room frame school building was constructed on Hartford Avenue between East Cameron and East Easton Streets. The small school served grades 1 through 8.

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In 1959, Tulsa became the first Oklahoma city to begin one of the "urban renewal" programs begun under the Eisenhower administration. While there were certainly some general "improvements" to the city, the government's use of eminent domain consistently targeted communities of color for their "renovations" resulting in significant displacement and continued road blocks to the accumulation of generational financial safety nets.

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After World War II ended, the temporary moratorium on domestic housing construction was lifted. As the soldiers returned home, new housing was in great demand. The government VA loans helped to increase housing production which led to the growth of suburban areas and the move out of the inner city. Congress responded with the Housing Act of 1949 which authorized funds to localities to assist in slum clearance and emphasized new construction.

Tulsa was the first large city in Oklahoma to form an urban renewal authority in July, 1959. After the first Oklahoma project - Seminole Hills - was completed in 1968, Tulsa initiated a downtown urban renewal program, declaring the heart of the city "blighted". Use of condemnation by eminent domain allowed the city to acquire 9 city blocks and clear dozens of properties to make way for a new office complex anchored by the Williams Center. In the past the wrecking ball had been fairly selective in which buildings were taken down and why. Now the city's heart, where it all started, was reduced to rubble, clearing the way for what was hoped to be a revitalized downtown.

Lost in this was The Grand Opera House, the Lynch building which was Tulsa's oldest standing building and Tulsa's first bank. The Commercial Building was once a city pride, back in the early oil days, as were the Brady and Tulsa Hotels. Granted, these buildings were all sagging and weathered. If they weren't abandoned, they were used as Pawn or Loan shops. They were eyesores, to be sure. And at this time, in the late 1960's and early 1970's, what was being done was in the name of Progress.

Here is some of what we lost:

This is the SW corner of 1st and Main 1969.

AAA Trading Post was originally the Lynch Store,

Tulsa's first masonry building. The building next to it

was where Tulsa's first bank was:

This was the Hall Store that he built in 1909.

And this was the Archer Building, also on Main.

The Grand Opera House opened in 1906 and was where the elite gathered.

In it's last years it was used as an auction house.

On Boston you can see the Browning Hotel, Uncle Willie's Donuts, Harrington's, Reeder Cafe, and the Bliss Hotel.

This was the Bliss Hotel under construction in 1929 at 2nd and Boston:

The last years of the Bliss were spent as a home to low-income elderly,

most of whose homes had been bulldozed by urban renewal.

The building came down in Feb 1973:

The Hunt Building, home to Brown-Dunkin sat at 4th and Main:

It was torn down in 1970 to make way for

First National Bank's expanding complex:

The Medical Arts Building sat at 6th and Boulder.

It was impractical to heat and cool and

was imploded in July 1970:

When the old Lynch Building came down there wasn't even a crowd-pleasing implosion. The building housed one of Tulsa's first movie theaters, The Lyric. As the 2-foot thick walls of hand-cut stone crumbled down, one could see a bit of the balcony and decorative fake windows.

The Hotel Tulsa sat at 3rd and Cincinnati. It came down in 1972:

The Hotel Brady 24 N. Main sat empty for 30 years.

It finally came down in 1970.

This photo was taken in 1973 during the transition.

While Tulsa's pioneer district was gone, there would soon be the

Williams Center and the Performing Arts Center:
(click on photo to enlarge)

By 1978 the BOK Tower had altered the Tulsa skyline:

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Smaller towns refused urban renewal which is why many of their historic areas are still standing.

Sources: digital.library.okstate.edu, The Tulsa World

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After World War II ended, the temporary moratorium on domestic housing construction was lifted. As the soldiers returned home, new housing was in great demand. The government VA loans helped to increase housing production which led to the growth of suburban areas and the move out of the inner city.

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After the end of the Civil War in 1865, many newly freed slaves in the South began to migrate away from the lands of their bondage and to what they hoped was greener pastures. While many moved to the North, often with assistance from the Freedman's Bureau, a large group also went west, to the American "new frontier." Taking their name from the Biblical story of Moses leading the Israelites from Egypt, the Exodusters went west, setting the foundation for a number of black independent communities throughout northeastern Oklahoma, and eventually blossoming into the Black Wall Street you can read about elsewhere on this page.

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Historians of the Dust Bowl and the Depression ignore the effect these events had on African Americans living in the Southwestern United States. Donald Worster in his book Dust Bowl, mentions African Americans only once, saying "few African Americans ever lived in the regions' rural countryside." Worster goes on to say that the real contribution of blacks to the Dust Bowl saga is the borrowed use of the term "Exodusters" to describe white Dust Bowl migrants.[1] Both statements completely erase not only the historic importance of the original Exoduster movement, but also the contribution of blacks to the history of Oklahoma and the plains. The statement also ignores facts. Jimmie Lewis Franklin states that before the Depression two-thirds of the state's African Americans lived in rural areas. In Oklahoma, there were 15,000 black-owned farms totaling one million production acres in 1930.[2] This figure does not include the number of black farmers who were working as sharecroppers and tenant farmers, but who were nonetheless intensely affected by the Great Depression.[3]

Oklahoma Farmer. Side by side, excluding race these men shared much in common.

Moreover, African Americans were not newcomers to Oklahoma, having first arrived in the Western territories in the early nineteenth century, brought on the Trail of Tears by their Native American slaveholders.[4] The next wave of blacks to settle in the Indian Territories did so of their own volition, beginning after Reconstruction. In 1879-1880, African Americans began a mass migration to the Kansas and Oklahoma territories. Encouraged by the false promises of a land of redemption, a Canaan in the West, "Exodusters" were lured by the thousands by unscrupulous land boosters.[5] Robert G. Athearn calls this migration a "Hegira" that had "emotional, often, biblical, overtones that gave the phenomenon a millenarian flavor."[6] The next movement into Indian Territory, into what would become Oklahoma, was more organized. It began shortly after the Plessy v. Ferguson decision in the last decade of the nineteenth century. Blacks and even some whites become involved in the promotion, sponsorship, and settlement of African Americans into the territory with some expressing a desire that Oklahoma become an all-black state.[7] By the end of the first decade of the twentieth century there were more than fifty all-black towns or settlements in Oklahoma-more than could be found in any other state in the nation.[8]

The prevailing thought, then and now, was that African Americans were universally so poor, that they did not notice the effects of the Great Depression. While many black Oklahomans were sharecroppers or domestic workers barely eking out a living before the Depression, there were a considerable number of blacks in Oklahoma who were more economically secure before the Depression than blacks living in other regions. Until the mid-1920s, Oklahoma's all-black towns were thriving as separate economies, and many black entrepreneurs did well for themselves around the state. The town of Boley Oklahoma was one of the largest and most economically successful of the nation's all-Black towns. It was home to the first black owned bank, electric company, and telephone company in the United States.[9]

Photographer Russell Lee took both of these photographs in Oklahoma City. Lee often photographed African American and white subjects in nearly identical poses. It would be easy to dismiss it as coincidence, but I believe that to be a wrong assumption. I assert that Lee was very aware of the lack of visibility for black Americans and desired to change that.

Further, African Americans in Oklahoma had more access to printed materials and education than African Americans living in other southwestern states. Due to an early Oklahoman law, the state required separate but equal library facilities for blacks in areas where their numbers exceeded 2000 persons. This led to an expansion of the Oklahoma library system for African Americans during the Depression. By 1938, with help from the WPA and the Rosenwald Fund there were eleven branches operating in eleven counties. The largest branch was in Muskogee, a town that while not all black, had a prominent and politically active African American presence.[10] Before the Great Depression there were approximately nine colleges, universities, or industrial schools for African Americans in the state.[11] The result of these schools and libraries was that between 1920 and 1940, the rates of illiteracy among black Oklahomans was reduced by fifty percent, from 23% in 1920, to 11.5% in 1940.[12] This supports the assertion by Louise S. Robbins that "the development of literacy is, not surprisingly, highly dependent on geographic access to printed material and, in fact, is amazingly enhanced by access to and even low level of use of a well-staffed and well-stocked library."[13]

[1] Worster, Dust Bowl, 247. [2]Franklin, Journey to Hope, 47, 86. [3]Russell Lee, photographer. Negro tenant farmer and his family on front porch of their home in Wagoner County, Oklahoma. June, 1939. Image. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/fsa2000014847/PP/. (Accessed December 05, 2016.) [4] Franklin, Journey to Hope, 3-8. [5] Nell Irvin Painter, Exodusters: Black Migration to Kansas after Reconstruction, (New York: W.W. Norton & Company 1976,1986), 185-87. [6] Robert G. Athearn, In Search of Canaan: Black Migration to Kansas, 1879-80, (Lawrence: The Regents Press of Kansas, 1978), 4-5. [7] Athearn, In Search of Canaan, 128-29. [8] Larry O'Dell, "All-Black Towns," Oklahoma Historical Society, http://www.okhistory.org/publications/enc/entry.php?entry=AL009. Date accessed December 4, 2016. [9] Hannibal B. Johnson, Acres of Aspiration: The All Black Towns in Oklahoma, 84-87, 101, 110,146,196-197,212,218,221.

[9]"Survivalist Entrepreneurship Among Urban Blacks During the Great Depression: A Test of the Disadvantage Theory of Business Enterprise" Robert L. Boyd, Social Science Quarterly, Vol 81, No. 4 (December 2000), pp. 972-984. University of Texas Press. E Franklin Frasier is quoted: "The number of enterprises owned by Blacks declined from 103,872 in 1930 to 87,475 in 1940. Large firms were hit especially hard and failed en masse; yet, the number of small Black-owned businesses increased as jobless Blacks "with small savings opened small stores as a means of securing a living". The number of retail stores owned by Blacks decreased from 24,969 in 1929 to 22,756 in 1935 but then increased to 29,827 in 1939. Many stores that arose in the latter period were marginal "depression businesses" that "sprang up in houses, basements, and old buildings." 975. Robert Boyd, "The Great Migration to the North and the Rise of Ethnic Niches for African American Women in Beauty Culture and Hairdressing, 1910-1920." Sociological Focus, February 1996, pp 33-45. "The disadvantage theory of business enterprise suggests that entrepreneurship is a common response by minorities to blocked opportunity in the economic mainstream. Specifically, the theory argues that disadvantage in the labor market (i.e., unemployment or underemployment) often compels members of oppressed ethnic groups to find an independent means of livelihood. The theory also holds that business cycle downturns intensify the pressure upon jobless minorities to become self-employed." Floyd G. Snelson, "S.D. Lyons Owner of East India Mfg. Co. Builds Half Million Dollar Mail Business, Gives High Praise to Negro Press-Spends $500 weekly in Colored Papers," Plaindealer, Topeka, January 26, 1934, p.2. Floyd G. Snelson, "Negro Casket Company had 50 per cent Increase In 1933 Business," Plaindealer, January 12, 1934, p.2. "Thar She Blows: May Make Fortune in Oil," the Chicago Defender, December 6, 1930, p. 13.

[10] Tanya Ducker Finchum and Allen Finchum, "Not Gone with the Wind: Libraries in Oklahoma in the 1930s," Libraries & the Cultural Record, Vol. 46, (2011), 276-294 [11] Larry O'Dell, Oklahoma Historical Society "Colleges, African American" http://www.okhistory.org/publications/enc/entry.php?entry=CO026, Accessed 11/05/2016. [12]National Assessment of Adult Literacy, 120 years of Literacy. https://nces.ed.gov/NAAL/lit_history.asp [13] Louise S. Robbins, "Changing the Geography of Reading in a Southern Border State: The Rosenwald Fund and the WPA in Oklahoma," Libraries & Culture, Vol. 40, Perceiving the Past: Essays Honoring The Legacy of Donald G. Davis, Jr. (Summer, 2005), pp. 353-367.

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Historians of the Dust Bowl and the Depression ignore the effect these events had on African Americans living in the Southwestern United States. Donald Worster in his book Dust Bowl, mentions African Americans only once, saying "few African Americans ever lived in the regions' rural countryside." Worster goes on to...

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After World War 1, Tulsa was recognized nationally for its affluent African-American community known as the Greenwood District also referenced to as The Black Wall Street. However, the thriving business district and the surrounding neighborhood began to unravel after the events that took place on the mornings of May 30th and June 1st, 1921. On May 30th, 1921, An African-American man named Dick Rowland was apprehended by local police, after being accused of assaulting Sarah Page, a 17-year-old white elevator operator. Tulsa police arrested Rowland the following day and began an investigation. On the morning of June 1, 1921, Greenwood was looted and burned by white rioters upset about allegations.

In the wake of the violence, 35 city blocks lay in charred ruins, and over 800 people were treated for injuries. Historians now believe as many as 300 African-American people may have been murdered during the massacre. About 10,000 black people were left homeless, and property damage amounted to more than $1.5 million in real estate and $750,000 in personal property ($32 million in 2019).

After the massacre, many survivors and their families left Tulsa. African-American and white residents who stayed in the city were silent for decades about the about the terror, violence, and losses of this event and as a result, the massacre was largely omitted from local, state, as well as national, histories, causing an internalized resentment and mistrust between both black and white communities.

Back in 1921, Tulsa was plagued with one of the worst incidents of racial violence in the history of the United States. However, in 2019, Tulsa looks a bit different with the smoke cleared out and the ashes gone from the Tulsa Massacre. As Tulsa prepares to commemorate the massacre's centennial in 2021, new community leaders are stepping up to the plate to revitalize the Greenwood neighborhood and create a sense of unity and understanding between two communities that were divided from the aftermath of the massacre. I met with several of the women of color leaders and activists who are doing their best to cleanse Tusla of the sinister underbelly that was established in 1921.

Women like Carolyn Sickles, Director of Tulsa Artist Fellowship program, Ashley Phillipsen, Deputy Chief of Community Development & Policy City of Tulsa, Marcia Bruno-Todd, Program Director, Leadership Tulsa, and Carlisha Williams-Bradley, Executive Director are currently doing the work within their community to revitalize Tulsa, years after the Tulsa Massacre. These women are committed to working on issues around social justice, criminal justice, education reform, and inclusivity. I had the opportunity to speak with several of the women to discuss their career journeys and social activism within Tulsa.
Ashley Philipsen, Deputy Chief of Community Development & Policy for City of Tulsa:
Dominique Fluker: Share your career journey.

Philipsen: I started my professional career in Houston at Teach for America. I originally thought that I was going to do civil rights law but ended up seeing how much more powerful I can be in a classroom of kids, helping give them choice filled futures, but then I was contacted by a Houston staffer about coming to Oklahoma. Once visiting Tulsa in 2011, I was hit by the stark contrast in North Tulsa versus South Tulsa, which is completely void of economic development. So I wondered, after the Tulsa Massacre, did things stop? I learned that many of the Black Wall Street businesses were torn down due to urban renewal, which led to disinvestment in the area and you see that impact on the North Tulsa community. The state of emergency within the school systems, the lack of dynamic things happening led me to move here. I worked for Teach for America Oklahoma for three years and then got an offer to design curriculum for a leadership development program, and what excited me about leaving Teach for America to do this work was to give aspiring leaders the knowledge, skills, and habits desired to drive meaningful change. Then the Mayor of Tulsa approached me with the opportunity to drive civic engagement and ensure the policy is equitable with North Tulsa in mind. I decided to work for the city to ensure that black voices are central in development and policy.

Fluker: What work needs to be done to establish tangible and fundamental growth in North Tulsa?

Philipsen: I recently joined the City of Tulsa's economic justice team and one of the initiatives that I'm working on is providing North Tulsans the opportunity to work in the newer buildings opening up within the city while earning livable wages. My job is getting out and engaging the community, ensuring the community is central in the decisions that were made and driving justice and inclusion. I want to form coalitions with community members to inform planning for those spaces and that would be a success for me. Creating a policy to ensure that this isn't something that will only last this administration but beyond.

Fluker: Why is it important to remind people about the Tulsa Massacre?

Philipsen: I think it's important to educate a lot of people about the Tulsa Massacre, there's been a lot of talk about children not learning it in schools. There's also this idea of confronting the cognitive dissonance. A lot of people want to move on and not discuss it, but this is part of our history that has been swept under the rug for so long. So bringing it front and center and having people understand what led to this terrorist attack on American soil and what is the Tulsa we see now and how did it impact that?

Fluker: What are the effects that you see in North Tulsa from the Tulsa Massacre?

Philipsen: As a non-native Tulsan, folks have shared that we had the momentum to be like what the Harlem Renaissance was but it got cut short, so what did we miss out on? What could've been central to Tusla, Oklahoma there? Also, I've noticed the fear factor amongst native Tulsans regarding the massacre, people were afraid to speak out and didn't share that history. There also was a mass exodus, for people who didn't stay and build, so families left and I just think, all of that human capital and social currency does something to a community in terms of a critical mass of folks. That demoralizing event which was then compacted by the urban removal resulted in the death of the Black Wall Street. There was a loss of community.

Fluker: What three words guide your activism and community work?

Philipsen: Justice. Education. Black Tulsans.

Fluker: How are you bringing change and mending the interpersonal dynamics of two fractured

communities within Tulsa?

Philipsen: What success looks like for me and what I want my community to hold me accountable to is this idea of coalition building. We mend the fractures through relationships and through involvement. I don't what to just do lip service, I don't want to just confirm people's doubts. I have people's trust through the work I've done but what sets this work apart is having people be part of the process. My goal in the next two months is to bring together people from different subgroups who could form the design of housing development for North Tusla.
Marcia Bruno-Todd, Program Director, Leadership Tulsa:
Fluker: Share your career journey and position at Leadership Tulsa.

Bruno-Todd: I'm essentially a connector of people and resources. It's amazing. It's my most liberating act of social justice and community building that I can do and that's what I do at Leadership Tulsa. Our mission for our organization is to identify, develop and connect diverse leaders so they can make an impact on our community through service. I started in higher education, social justice work through diversity and inclusion and now through leadership development. From my understanding, how I was first introduced to Leadership Tulsa was through the Hispanic Leadership Institute in partnership with the Greater Tulsa Hispanic Chamber of Commerce. The Greater Tulsa Hispanic Chamber of Commerce identified the need that needed younger Latinx people to serve in leadership positions across Tulsa. Nothing ever existed like this in Tusla, I'm a Latinx leader, I'd like to see what this is. Quite frankly, I joined super skeptical because my experience with Latinx Tulsa was a lot of infighting.

Fluker: What are some issues that the Latinx/Latino community faces in Tulsa and why?

Bruno-Todd: The lack of educational equity for our black and brown children. Our Latinx children, which is over a third of student population in Tulsa public school are suffering exponentially, at the rate of our African-American children, so our parents are coming together and recognizing that this is a problem. Leadership Tulsa's role is to break the idea of silos between the two communities. My perspective is for many years, we've been fighting for our Latinx students and resources to be given a fair chance.

Fluker: I've been hearing the word accountability, the theme of reclaiming Tulsan narratives and taking up space, since being here in Tulsa. So how do you take up space?

Bruno-Todd: There's power in reclaiming the known narrative. I'm proud of North Tulsa. Leadership Tulsa has the opportunity to share honestly and openly the assets of our community the opportunities for growth while holding people accountable for the roles that they play in their communities. When I'm invited to the table, I occupy space with a return. When you invite me, I invite two others. I'm able to connect people to resources because something that prevents silos is a connection. I strive to intergenerationally connect people so that their narrative isn't lost either. There's a lot to be learned from how things worked in the past, survival, but in also the integration of our next generation.

Fluker: What sparks your drive for this type of work? What's your personal manifesto on diversity, equity, inclusion?

Bruno-Todd: The opportunity for innovation, equity, and growth.

I come to you, as a proud Latinx, Boricua, Tulsan, mother, and wife, fully aware that the blood of the oppressed and the oppressor flow through my veins. I have both benefited and been disenfranchised by both privileges alike.
Carlisha Williams-Bradley, Executive Director Impact Tulsa:
Fluker: Share how Impact Tulsa is helping the community regarding providing education opportunities.

Williams-Bradley: When I think about the work with Impact Tusla, I really think about the culmination between my experiences with non-profit education reform and being a native Tulsan. We really work as a connector of all 15 school districts in Tulsa County. We work with business leaders with non-profit organizations and we center around the educational outcomes and the data. We're bringing stakeholders to have conversations about the data through measuring what matters, we want to replicate those best practices and ultimately we want to align resources so that we are spending funds in ways that are equitable but also enhancing outcomes for students in our city. I think that often times we are having conversations around education and what we perceive to be challenges without the data present. One thing that we are stepping into the next phase of our work is an intentional and unapologetic focus on racial equity. There seems to be this fear of having a conversation of what really are academic outcomes for children of color, so we're diving into the space of aggregating the data to see what the real challenges are within the classroom. Secondly, we're working on community engagement and voice. At Impact Tulsa we have this unique opportunity to not only work with superintendents but parents and students as well.

Fluker: How are you humanizing the data of these families?

Williams-Bradley: This year with our Community Impact Report, it actually is sharing the conversations of leaders within our communities, of students, of parents and city officials. We are taking their voices alongside the data points. Next, to the data, these voices speak about their call to action, their causes and what are the things we can do collectively to support them and public education further. Often times we can look at the data and make judgments and past opinions but until we push to the point to where we are hearing from those who are most connected to it, we're not understanding the pain points.

Fluker: What are some challenges in the North Tulsa community with education reform?

Williams-Bradley: I would say that one of the challenges in public education in North Tulsa, is historically we've had a failing education system that's been provided to families. There's been an introduction of choice through select charter schools available, but ultimately replicating best practices and providing students with school options within their neighborhood, we're still not there yet.

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Meet The Women Of Color Who Are Revitalizing Tulsa Years After The Tulsa Massacre

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After World War 1, Tulsa was recognized nationally for its affluent African-American community known as the Greenwood District also referenced to as The Black Wall Street. However, the thriving business district and the surrounding neighborhood began to unravel after the events that took place on the mornings of May 30th and June 1st, 1921.

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This program offers restorative writing practices to incarcerated women. The President and Volunteer Coordinator is an alum and a teacher at Gilcrease Elementary School. The program has produced several books of poetry (that are beautiful!) and has tons of volunteer opportunities (and purchase opportunities!)

http://poeticjustice.org/volunteer

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Oklahoma Incarcerates More Women than Any Other State

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Oklahoma Incarcerates More Women than Any Other State

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One arm of the George Kaiser Family Foundation (also responsible in part for other things listed here) in partnership with the Family and Health Services Department is the Women in Recovery Program - an 18-month rehabilitation program designed to help women deal with addiction in a rehabilitative and healing way. It has graduated more than 12 classes of women, who successfully avoided jail or prison time and in many instances, are able to reconcile with or regain custody (or maintain custody) of their children.

https://www.tulsaworld.com/news/we-know-it-can-get-messy-women-in-recovery-helps/article_91980f10-6694-5429-a2e8-57b29ebbe09e.html

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Serves as a great local resource for community-driven news and media

https://theblackwallsttimes.com/

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Whitman Elementary Teacher writes a children's book to inspire her students, "Mirror, Mirror"

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Whitman Elementary Teacher writes a children's book to inspire her students, "Mirror, Mirror"

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http://www.newson6.com/story/40032256/tulsa-kindergarten-teacher-writes-book-to-inspire-students?fbclid=IwAR3kCGDxDH0vAX7dH6coj5P3f_NOcofBfcqbAXe69cqVm8bdalAm75ICzJ0#.XHXttlu9TwI.facebook

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Our alumni are leading across the  city. https://www.forbes.com/sites/dominiquefluker/2019/02/27/tulsa-women-of-color/

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After World War 1, Tulsa was recognized nationally for its affluent African-American community known as the Greenwood District also referenced to as The Black Wall Street. However, the thriving business district and the surrounding neighborhood began to unravel after the events that took place on the mornings of May 30th and June 1st, 1921. On May 30th, 1921, An African-American man named Dick Rowland was apprehended by local police, after being accused of assaulting Sarah Page, a 17-year-old white elevator operator. Tulsa police arrested Rowland the following day and began an investigation. On the morning of June 1, 1921, Greenwood was looted and burned by white rioters upset about allegations.

In the wake of the violence, 35 city blocks lay in charred ruins, and over 800 people were treated for injuries. Historians now believe as many as 300 African-American people may have been murdered during the massacre. About 10,000 black people were left homeless, and property damage amounted to more than $1.5 million in real estate and $750,000 in personal property ($32 million in 2019).

After the massacre, many survivors and their families left Tulsa. African-American and white residents who stayed in the city were silent for decades about the about the terror, violence, and losses of this event and as a result, the massacre was largely omitted from local, state, as well as national, histories, causing an internalized resentment and mistrust between both black and white communities.

Back in 1921, Tulsa was plagued with one of the worst incidents of racial violence in the history of the United States. However, in 2019, Tulsa looks a bit different with the smoke cleared out and the ashes gone from the Tulsa Massacre. As Tulsa prepares to commemorate the massacre's centennial in 2021, new community leaders are stepping up to the plate to revitalize the Greenwood neighborhood and create a sense of unity and understanding between two communities that were divided from the aftermath of the massacre. I met with several of the women of color leaders and activists who are doing their best to cleanse Tusla of the sinister underbelly that was established in 1921.

Women like Carolyn Sickles, Director of Tulsa Artist Fellowship program, Ashley Phillipsen, Deputy Chief of Community Development & Policy City of Tulsa, Marcia Bruno-Todd, Program Director, Leadership Tulsa, and Carlisha Williams-Bradley, Executive Director are currently doing the work within their community to revitalize Tulsa, years after the Tulsa Massacre. These women are committed to working on issues around social justice, criminal justice, education reform, and inclusivity. I had the opportunity to speak with several of the women to discuss their career journeys and social activism within Tulsa.
Ashley Philipsen, Deputy Chief of Community Development & Policy for City of Tulsa:
Dominique Fluker: Share your career journey.

Philipsen: I started my professional career in Houston at Teach for America. I originally thought that I was going to do civil rights law but ended up seeing how much more powerful I can be in a classroom of kids, helping give them choice filled futures, but then I was contacted by a Houston staffer about coming to Oklahoma. Once visiting Tulsa in 2011, I was hit by the stark contrast in North Tulsa versus South Tulsa, which is completely void of economic development. So I wondered, after the Tulsa Massacre, did things stop? I learned that many of the Black Wall Street businesses were torn down due to urban renewal, which led to disinvestment in the area and you see that impact on the North Tulsa community. The state of emergency within the school systems, the lack of dynamic things happening led me to move here. I worked for Teach for America Oklahoma for three years and then got an offer to design curriculum for a leadership development program, and what excited me about leaving Teach for America to do this work was to give aspiring leaders the knowledge, skills, and habits desired to drive meaningful change. Then the Mayor of Tulsa approached me with the opportunity to drive civic engagement and ensure the policy is equitable with North Tulsa in mind. I decided to work for the city to ensure that black voices are central in development and policy.

Fluker: What work needs to be done to establish tangible and fundamental growth in North Tulsa?

Philipsen: I recently joined the City of Tulsa's economic justice team and one of the initiatives that I'm working on is providing North Tulsans the opportunity to work in the newer buildings opening up within the city while earning livable wages. My job is getting out and engaging the community, ensuring the community is central in the decisions that were made and driving justice and inclusion. I want to form coalitions with community members to inform planning for those spaces and that would be a success for me. Creating a policy to ensure that this isn't something that will only last this administration but beyond.

Fluker: Why is it important to remind people about the Tulsa Massacre?

Philipsen: I think it's important to educate a lot of people about the Tulsa Massacre, there's been a lot of talk about children not learning it in schools. There's also this idea of confronting the cognitive dissonance. A lot of people want to move on and not discuss it, but this is part of our history that has been swept under the rug for so long. So bringing it front and center and having people understand what led to this terrorist attack on American soil and what is the Tulsa we see now and how did it impact that?

Fluker: What are the effects that you see in North Tulsa from the Tulsa Massacre?

Philipsen: As a non-native Tulsan, folks have shared that we had the momentum to be like what the Harlem Renaissance was but it got cut short, so what did we miss out on? What could've been central to Tusla, Oklahoma there? Also, I've noticed the fear factor amongst native Tulsans regarding the massacre, people were afraid to speak out and didn't share that history. There also was a mass exodus, for people who didn't stay and build, so families left and I just think, all of that human capital and social currency does something to a community in terms of a critical mass of folks. That demoralizing event which was then compacted by the urban removal resulted in the death of the Black Wall Street. There was a loss of community.

Fluker: What three words guide your activism and community work?

Philipsen: Justice. Education. Black Tulsans.

Fluker: How are you bringing change and mending the interpersonal dynamics of two fractured

communities within Tulsa?

Philipsen: What success looks like for me and what I want my community to hold me accountable to is this idea of coalition building. We mend the fractures through relationships and through involvement. I don't what to just do lip service, I don't want to just confirm people's doubts. I have people's trust through the work I've done but what sets this work apart is having people be part of the process. My goal in the next two months is to bring together people from different subgroups who could form the design of housing development for North Tusla.
Marcia Bruno-Todd, Program Director, Leadership Tulsa:
Fluker: Share your career journey and position at Leadership Tulsa.

Bruno-Todd: I'm essentially a connector of people and resources. It's amazing. It's my most liberating act of social justice and community building that I can do and that's what I do at Leadership Tulsa. Our mission for our organization is to identify, develop and connect diverse leaders so they can make an impact on our community through service. I started in higher education, social justice work through diversity and inclusion and now through leadership development. From my understanding, how I was first introduced to Leadership Tulsa was through the Hispanic Leadership Institute in partnership with the Greater Tulsa Hispanic Chamber of Commerce. The Greater Tulsa Hispanic Chamber of Commerce identified the need that needed younger Latinx people to serve in leadership positions across Tulsa. Nothing ever existed like this in Tusla, I'm a Latinx leader, I'd like to see what this is. Quite frankly, I joined super skeptical because my experience with Latinx Tulsa was a lot of infighting.

Fluker: What are some issues that the Latinx/Latino community faces in Tulsa and why?

Bruno-Todd: The lack of educational equity for our black and brown children. Our Latinx children, which is over a third of student population in Tulsa public school are suffering exponentially, at the rate of our African-American children, so our parents are coming together and recognizing that this is a problem. Leadership Tulsa's role is to break the idea of silos between the two communities. My perspective is for many years, we've been fighting for our Latinx students and resources to be given a fair chance.

Fluker: I've been hearing the word accountability, the theme of reclaiming Tulsan narratives and taking up space, since being here in Tulsa. So how do you take up space?

Bruno-Todd: There's power in reclaiming the known narrative. I'm proud of North Tulsa. Leadership Tulsa has the opportunity to share honestly and openly the assets of our community the opportunities for growth while holding people accountable for the roles that they play in their communities. When I'm invited to the table, I occupy space with a return. When you invite me, I invite two others. I'm able to connect people to resources because something that prevents silos is a connection. I strive to intergenerationally connect people so that their narrative isn't lost either. There's a lot to be learned from how things worked in the past, survival, but in also the integration of our next generation.

Fluker: What sparks your drive for this type of work? What's your personal manifesto on diversity, equity, inclusion?

Bruno-Todd: The opportunity for innovation, equity, and growth.

I come to you, as a proud Latinx, Boricua, Tulsan, mother, and wife, fully aware that the blood of the oppressed and the oppressor flow through my veins. I have both benefited and been disenfranchised by both privileges alike.
Carlisha Williams-Bradley, Executive Director Impact Tulsa:
Fluker: Share how Impact Tulsa is helping the community regarding providing education opportunities.

Williams-Bradley: When I think about the work with Impact Tusla, I really think about the culmination between my experiences with non-profit education reform and being a native Tulsan. We really work as a connector of all 15 school districts in Tulsa County. We work with business leaders with non-profit organizations and we center around the educational outcomes and the data. We're bringing stakeholders to have conversations about the data through measuring what matters, we want to replicate those best practices and ultimately we want to align resources so that we are spending funds in ways that are equitable but also enhancing outcomes for students in our city. I think that often times we are having conversations around education and what we perceive to be challenges without the data present. One thing that we are stepping into the next phase of our work is an intentional and unapologetic focus on racial equity. There seems to be this fear of having a conversation of what really are academic outcomes for children of color, so we're diving into the space of aggregating the data to see what the real challenges are within the classroom. Secondly, we're working on community engagement and voice. At Impact Tulsa we have this unique opportunity to not only work with superintendents but parents and students as well.

Fluker: How are you humanizing the data of these families?

Williams-Bradley: This year with our Community Impact Report, it actually is sharing the conversations of leaders within our communities, of students, of parents and city officials. We are taking their voices alongside the data points. Next, to the data, these voices speak about their call to action, their causes and what are the things we can do collectively to support them and public education further. Often times we can look at the data and make judgments and past opinions but until we push to the point to where we are hearing from those who are most connected to it, we're not understanding the pain points.

Fluker: What are some challenges in the North Tulsa community with education reform?

Williams-Bradley: I would say that one of the challenges in public education in North Tulsa, is historically we've had a failing education system that's been provided to families. There's been an introduction of choice through select charter schools available, but ultimately replicating best practices and providing students with school options within their neighborhood, we're still not there yet.

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Meet The Women Of Color Who Are Revitalizing Tulsa Years After The Tulsa Massacre

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After World War 1, Tulsa was recognized nationally for its affluent African-American community known as the Greenwood District also referenced to as The Black Wall Street. However, the thriving business district and the surrounding neighborhood began to unravel after the events that took place on the mornings of May 30th and June 1st, 1921.

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It took 20 years and being sued by the U.S. Attorney General for Tulsa to fully implement Brown v. The Board of Education and desegregate its public schools 

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It took 20 years and being sued by the U.S. Attorney General for Tulsa to fully implement Brown v. The Board of Education and desegregate its public schools 

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Having gone to segregated schools while growing up in Tulsa, Juanita Lewis-Hopkins began her teaching career in 1954, the same year the U.S. Supreme Court decided Brown v. Board of Education.

She tried to explain the ruling's significance to her ninth-graders at Carver Middle School, which was "all-black" at the time.

Segregation, she told them, "was one of things in history that permeated America.

And now, things should be done in a different way."

Technically, Tulsa public schools desegregated in the fall semester of 1955, when students were supposed to be enrolled in neighborhood schools without regard to race. In practice, however, an open transfer policy left the schools as divided as ever, allowing white students to move to schools that didn't have black enrollment, according to a 1977 history of school desegregation by the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights.

It would take another two decades for desegregation to really take hold in Tulsa. And on Friday, the state will honor three Tulsa educators who played a role in, finally, making it a reality here.

The Oklahoma African-American Educators Hall of Fame will induct Lewis-Hopkins, Millard House and Violet Patterson during a banquet Friday night at the Oklahoma History Center in Oklahoma City.

Tulsa had six all-black schools with all-black faculties when the Supreme Court struck down the old practice of "separate but equal." Fourteen years later, in 1968, the U.S. attorney general sued the Tulsa school district for failing to desegregate.

And as a result of that lawsuit, the U.S. 10th Circuit Court of Appeals declared that Tulsa schools were "a system of state-imposed and state-preserved segregation, a continuing legacy of subtle yet effective discrimination."

The very next month after that landmark ruling, August 1970, the Tulsa school district opened a Department of Human Relations, with House as the director.

"We had the awesome responsibility of really molding white and black kids together," says House, now 70.

About 180 teachers were involuntarily transferred, sending some white faculty members to predominately black schools and some black faculty members to predominately white schools. And the district tightened its transfer policy to prevent "white flight."

"It wasn't something that could happen overnight," House says. "It took about six years of hard work."

In 1971, when the school board closed historically black Carver Middle School as part of the desegregation plans, neighborhood residents complained that it was unfair. A disproportionate number of black students were being transferred to predominately white schools, instead of transferring white students to predominately black schools, they said.

Lewis-Hopkins, now 91 years old, helped organize sit-ins that resulted in the school reopening the next year.

Meanwhile, in a show of support for desegregation, white students were voluntarily transferring to Booker T. Washington High School, where Violet Patterson began teaching in 1968.

More than anything, desegregation was a state of mind, learning to treat people the same regardless of color, she says. And Patterson, now 87, became known as a teacher who cared deeply about her students, black or white.

"Every day I would ask them what their problems were, how I could help them," she says, "because I was interested."

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Retired educators remember long struggle to desegregate Tulsa schools

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Having gone to segregated schools while growing up in Tulsa, Juanita Lewis-Hopkins began her teaching career in 1954, the same year the U.S. Supreme Court decided Brown v. Board of Education. She tried to explain the ruling's significance to her ninth-graders at Carver Middle School, which was "all-black" at the time.

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Learn about the racial history and context of North Tulsa and Greenwood

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Learn about the racial history and context of North Tulsa and Greenwood

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The Race Massacre of 1921 is still among the largest acts of violence against a community of color in our country's history. The massacre aimed to destroy the Greenwood area, then known as "Black Wall Street" - a prosperous and self-sufficient black community. Now, the fight to maintain the historical legacy of Greenwood in the face of gentrification, "arts districts" and more is a very real challenge the community is engaging in.

https://www.tulsahistory.org/exhibit/1921-tulsa-race-massacre/

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/local/wp/2018/09/28/feature/they-was-killing-black-people/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.eec7c5349a15

https://theblackwallsttimes.com/2017/04/10/economic-development-means-gentrification-for-north-tulsa/

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Fans of the remaining northside barbecue joints no doubt are familiar with Almead Hill Stutts. After all, she has been on the barbecue scene on Apache Street for the past 44 years.

She was a familiar face at Wilson's Bar-B-Q for 20 years before opening her own place, Stutts House of Barbeque, a few blocks east of Wilson's in 1993.

It's also a good bet the casual customer is not aware of other things about her:

* She grew up on a farm in Mississippi.

* She was a sickly child.

* She has a college degree.

* She wanted to be a public school teacher before she got into the restaurant business.

* She has had open-heart surgery and both hips replaced.

* She still comes to work every day with a prayer in her heart and a smile on her face.

"Some doctors think I had rheumatic fever as a child," Stutts said recently at a table just inside the screen-door entrance to her restaurant. "Mother took us to the doctor only when she thought we were real sick. She mostly used home remedies."

Stutts was born and reared in Bolton, Mississippi, about 20 miles from Jackson. Her father, Percy "P.C." Hall, was a farmer and sometimes construction worker. Her mother, Florence Anna Carter Hall, looked after the 11 children - eight girls and three boys. Almead was No. 8.

"Most of our family were farmers," Stutts said. "My great-, great-, great-grandfather, Jefferson Thomas, was a former slave and in the Civil War. After the war, he purchased some land, and it's still in the family. I'm proud of that."

Stutts attended a black elementary school about 3 miles from the farm.

"At first we walked, then we got a bus, and eventually Dad bought a car," she said.

She finished high school in 1961 at a school in Clinton, also in the area.

"Dad was a Mason, and they had a program for children to get partial college scholarships, and I got one to Mississippi Valley State," Stutts said.

She stayed one year, got married and transferred to Jackson State. She gave birth to a daughter her final year, the marriage failed, and she moved to Memphis, Tennessee.

"Mother wanted me to go to Tulsa, where I had three sisters; the oldest had married a Tulsa man," Stutts said. "I moved here in 1967, and I have to say I didn't like it much at first."

She said she tried unsuccessfully for two years to get a teaching job with Tulsa Public Schools. She worked at Sun Oil and other jobs and took some business courses at Tulsa Junior College until she and a neighbor, the late Johnny Mayes, started dining at Wilson's Bar-B-Q together.

"One day, Mr. Wilson (the late J.B. Wilson) said he wanted to hire me to be a manager," Stutts said. "I managed the restaurant, bought all the products, worked the counter and was the weekend cook. The more I got into the barbecue business, the more I liked it.

"I was putting in long hours and decided I might as well do it for myself. I talked to Mr. Wilson about it. If he could help anyone, he would if there was any way he could. He was a good man."

One day, she saw people moving out of the little frame building at 2021 E. Apache St. that she said formerly held Smith's, Lorenzo's and Ben's barbecue joints.

"At first, the owner didn't want to lease it to me," Stutts said. "He said it was a man's job and told me how hard it was to clean the pit. I said, 'I'm cleaning the pit where I am now.'"

She cooks ribs St. Louis-style, and most of the sides are family recipes, such as Aunt Jenny's banana pudding, Mom's buttermilk pie and egg custard pie.

"I was my own best customer of the egg custard pie," she said. "I was gaining weight, so I took it off. I had trouble getting people to try buttermilk pie back then. They didn't like buttermilk and didn't want to try it. I gave away samples, and people eventually started ordering it. I went from baking it two days a week to all week."

Stutts said she was off work 11 months about two years ago after open-heart surgery, and she has had two hip replacements, but she said she doesn't plan to slow down any time soon.

"I still like cooking, and I like the people I meet," she said. "We always say a prayer before we open in the morning. We pray that we will be able to help somebody, even if it's just with a smile."

We asked Stutts a few more questions about herself.
What are you reading?
"Sycamore Row," by John Grisham
What are you listening to?
Blues, country western.
What is your favorite movie and/or TV show?
"It's a Wonderful World," OETA.
What are your favorite foods that are not barbecue?
Chicken dressing, leafy vegetables, cream pies.
Do you have any hobbies or interests outside the restaurant.
Fishing, traveling and community service.

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farmer and sometimes construction worker

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Almead Stutts, north Tulsa barbecue a perfect pairing for 44 years

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Fans of the remaining northside barbecue joints no doubt are familiar with Almead Hill Stutts. After all, she has been on the barbecue scene on Apache Street for the past 44 years. She was a familiar face at Wilson's Bar-B-Q for 20 years before opening her own place, Stutts House of Barbeque, a few blocks east of Wilson's in 1993.

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Mother Road food hall is just down the street from TU, features restaurants, retail shops and farmers market. It has great outdoor seating and fun place to gather with friends.

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Mother Road Market also features WEL Bar, a full service bar, a demonstration kitchen for community events and cooking classes, an indoor/outdoor seating area, children's activities, and, most importantly, easy access for residents and tourists to a diverse, eclectic range of Tulsa's best food businesses.

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A few blocks northwest of the University of Tulsa is Kendall Whittier Square, home to some of my favorite places in Tulsa! The family-owned Pancho Anaya bakery that's been mentioned before has a location here; you can come away with enough pastries to feed an army for just a few dollars, and they're all delicious! On the corner is Fairfellow Coffee, one of my personal favorite shops in the city - they have great coffee, a beautiful setup, and plenty of innovative drinks. Down the block is Whitty Books, a locally-owned bookstore, as well as the Stem Cell Shop, a kitschy science nerd dream come true. It also features the lab of Tyler Thrasher, who does super cool art using bugs and crystallization. Across the block is Calavera's, which has delicious food (my personal favorite is the chile relleno burrito), and a little farther south is Circle Cinema, where you can find independent films and plenty of cool screenings.  This place is definitely worth checking out!

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Moratorium on Dollar Stores in North Tulsa

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Moratorium on Dollar Stores in North Tulsa

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Community leaders and stakeholders stood up and spoke out against the continued building of dollar stores in their communities, which are largely food deserts without reliable access to fresh produce and meat. Their voices pressed the city council to enact a moratorium on the building of dollar stores on the north side

https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/as-dollar-stores-move-into-cities-residents-see-a-steep-downside/2019/02/15/b3676cbe-2f09-11e9-8ad3-9a5b113ecd3c_story.html?utm_term=.99a54537a746

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Our community is innovative and wants to work together to make systemic change.  Example- BEST. 

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Our community is innovative and wants to work together to make systemic change.  Example- BEST. 

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(Amber Masters)

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During the initial planning phase of BEST, GKFF worked with a variety of community partners and service organizations. These efforts entailed:

Hosting community input sessions, bringing together over ninety organizations to identify opportunities and potential solutions for breaking the cycle of intergenerational poverty

Conducting a variety of focus groups with Tulsa parents and caregivers

Collecting feedback and input on various components of the strategy

Community partners and families will continue to play a pivotal role in the implementation of the strategy.

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Birth Through Eight Strategy For Tulsa (BEST) | GKFF

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During the initial planning phase of BEST, GKFF worked with a variety of community partners and service organizations. These efforts entailed: Hosting community input sessions, bringing together over ninety organizations to identify opportunities and potential solutions for breaking the cycle of intergenerational poverty Conducting a variety of focus groups with Tulsa parents and caregivers Collecting feedback and input on various components of the strategy Community partners and families will continue to play a pivotal role in the implementation of the strategy.

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Our community cares about education. There are people in Tulsa who have been advocating for kids for years.  We have much to learn from them.  One group that comes to mind is CUBES.  

Citizens United for a Better Education System. 

(Amber Masters) 

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Our community cares about education. There are people in Tulsa who have been advocating for kids for years.  We have much to learn from them.  One group that comes to mind is CUBES.  

Citizens United for a Better Education System. 

(Amber Masters) 

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CUBES-Citizens United for A Better Educational System

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CUBES-Citizens United for A Better Educational System. 67 likes · 1 talking about this. A grass-root organization focused on reinventing educational systems to meet the academic, developmental and...

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coffee, churros, tres leches, etc...

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By Jeff C on July 23, 2010

Tres Leches (Three Milk ) Cake has become a weakness in my life. I have tried many versions but my favorite is the first one that I tried several years back. None of that strawberry filling stuff, just great dense sweet cake and sweeter milk. It is the made by the folks at Pancho Anaya. They have several locations in Tulsa, but the one I usually find myself in is the one on 21st east of Garnett.

Very few cakes can compete with this dense cake that is soaked in a combination of three milks. This cake uses condensed, evaporated, and straight up milk that is poured over the cake. Others will make the cake moist, but this one is literally dripping with a layer of the three milk liquid on the bottom. It is sweet and has a thick super milk'ness. Then the cake is topped with a whipped cream and a couple marischino cherrys. All in a perfect single serving portion sold nice and cold, found in the fridge. The folks at Pancho Anaya are nice enough to give you a spoon which makes it really hard to wait until I get home to dive into it.

Now this is one of those places that English is rarely spoken and barely understood except if there is a young person around. It is my understanding that they are working on it, but this location didn't take credit cards yet. So bring your cash. And yes, the cake isn't the cheapest, hovering around 5 bucks, but man, it is good!

While you are there, check out the other items since this is a Mexican bakery. And to make the experience a little more enjoyable, here's how it works there. When you enter you will see trays and tongs. Pick up a set and then start your wandering. This is due to the fact that they don't package any items so you simply pick what you want up with the tongs and put it on your tray where the items will be sacked for you at checkout.

Mexicans seem to not like their pastry items as sweet as Americans so don't expect those giant cookies to be very sweet. This was a big surprise on my first visit. But if sweet is your thing, the churros and the donuts do fall into that category. And these are some of the biggest donuts around. My other favorite is the giant crescent rolls that are filled with a little cream cheese and jalapeno.

Pancho Anaya, my gold standard for Tres Leches Cake.

Pancho Anaya Mexican Bakery
(21st & Garnett)
7942 East 21st Street
Tulsa, OK
(918) 622-0075

About Jeff C. - ambientchatter.blogspot.com

As a professional audio engineer (soundman) based out of Tulsa for over 20 years, He has had the opportunity to visit over 20 countries throughout Africa, Europe, and the Americas plus 45 states inside the USA. One the most enjoyable experiences while traveling is to experience the culture through local grub. His motto in eating is "Try a bite of anything as long as it isn't biting back". This has proven successful except for a few times like the "fish jello" in the former Soviet Union and the "extremely bone filled fish soup" in Nigeria.

About Jeff C

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Tres Leches Cake - Pancho Anaya - Tulsa Food

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Tres Leches (Three Milk ) Cake has become a weakness in my life. I have tried many versions but my favorite is the first one that I tried several years back. None of that strawberry filling stuff, just great dense sweet cake and sweeter milk. It is the made by the folks at Pancho Anaya.

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2019 USA Today readers choice went to Gathering Place as the for best new attraction.

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Download the official Gathering Place app today, it's free thank you to our partner AARP Oklahoma. Get access to an interactive Park map, daily activities and schedules, exclusive Park facts and much more.

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Download the official Gathering Place app today, it's free thank you to our partner AARP Oklahoma. Get access to an interactive Park map, daily activities and schedules, exclusive Park facts and much more.