MLK’s ‘Dream’: Letting freedom ring from Stone Mountain, 60 years later
I was born in Atlanta during the evening hours on a Friday in late May. Days later, my parents brought me home, home to Stone Mountain. Since then, I’ve begrudgingly called this Atlanta suburb, born of red clay and granite, mine.
From my hometown, the 825-foot-tall quartz monadnock for which our city is named looms in the distance, visible from most anywhere. Its presence follows us as we run errands, lounge in outdoor spaces, or take out the trash in the evenings.
Others have staked their own claim on Stone Mountain. Before roads were built, Indigenous people hiked to the summit, bowing to the sunrise in the mornings and the sunsets as evening called.
This rock meant something else before the reborn Ku Klux Klan set a cross ablaze on the summit in 1915 the night of Thanksgiving, reigniting its agenda to sow seeds of violence, destruction, bigotry and discord. It became a sacred place to many Klansmen, who owned the land and as recently as 2017 petitioned to burn a cross atop the mount. When Georgia took over the park in 1958, the Klan’s ties to the rock were officially severed. But the stain of what had already been done — the degradation and unfettered hatred — was cemented.
Venture into Stone Mountain Park — the most-visited tourist site in Georgia — and you’ll get a closer glimpse of the face of the mountain, upon which Confederate leaders Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson are carved. It took 57 years and four lead sculptors to finish the project, which was fraught with disagreements and funding issues. As it is, this tribute to the Confederacy is the largest, unmovable monument of its type in the world.
And yet, families gather in front of the mountain on weekends, sprawled out on the lush Memorial Lawn with blankets and coolers, engaged in games and entertainment coupled with cognitive dissonance. The significance is loud and forever silenced.
Life in the suburbs of Atlanta crawls. Leaf blowers and lawn mowers compete for attention in a cacophonous chorus early on weekend mornings and evenings as dusk settles into the skies, urging crickets to screech their allegiance to darkness. As a child, I plotted my way out of this home, promising myself that when I finally left, I would not look back. I would not return. I would not fight to be rooted where it all began.
But home always calls. Even after leaving for college and later, leaving the country for a Spanish adventure teaching English, I found my way back to Stone Mountain, looking to the land that burdened and frustrated me for a fresh start. Within the same time I was finding my new rhythm back in the South, my hometown has been finding its way, too, becoming somewhere beautiful in spite of its past.
This moment of reflection came with the approaching 60th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s renowned “I Have a Dream” speech, which he gave Aug. 28, 1963. On that day, as he looked down from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, he saw a horde of Black people waiting for his words. They were waiting to be moved, encouraged, to feel some sort of validation that their efforts for equality were not in vain.
And as he spoke his now often-called-upon words, mesmerizing and inspiring the crowd, he invoked a bit of home for me — he called to “let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia,” forever memorializing the complexities of this city and the reputation that often precedes it.
People like me, a Black woman from Stone Mountain, don’t feel the need to reflect upon the gruesome history. But we know it intimately, without blinking and without hesitation.
And yet, there is another story we cling to: one of resilience, of rebuilding, of taking what is broken and using the shards to create something unprecedented and glorious.
This is the story I want to tell.
To get to the top of Stone Mountain, a 1-mile hike or gondola ride are your options. On a clear day, you can see the north Georgia mountains and parts of Tennessee on the ascent. As the wind blows in docile gusts, the serenity connects you to how monumental this rock’s existence is as a sacred gathering place in nature.
Travel along a walking path from Stone Mountain Park, and you’ll reach Stone Mountain Village, often touted as “downtown” by residents. Humming in the shadows of Stone Mountain Park with an unexpected vibrancy, the newly invigorated Main Street corridor is proof of what can happen when we move beyond the gruesome underbellies of history and create a pathway for all — and, specifically, Black people — to flourish.
Throughout my youth, what lined Main Street was forgettable. Stone Mountain Village was not somewhere most folk, residents or not, wanted to spend any extended amount of time. I remember a funnel cake restaurant and a pizza joint with decent slices. I always wondered what it could be if someone cared enough, and in recent years I’ve had the honor of watching that potential unfold, with Black entrepreneurs leading the way.
At 5329 Mimosa Drive, you’ll find Gilly Brew Bar. Daniel Brown opened his cafe in 2018, in the city’s oldest existing building and once-home of Stone Mountain’s first mayor. The stately white house was built by enslaved Africans around 1834, and the town’s borders were based around the mayoral residence.
When you walk inside the stuccoed building, the floorboards creak under your feet, a reminder of the stories and lives that played out over nearly 200 years. In that time, it served as a hotel, a Civil War hospital, and a restaurant. As Gilly Brew Bar, the inside cafe and outdoor verandas maintain a steady flow of people working from their laptops or meeting friends for lively conversations.
Meander five minutes north and you’ll find The Vibrary, 970 Main St., a combination wine-andbook bar helmed by owner Candace Walker. A longtime wine aficionado, she sought to create a space for fellow enthusiasts to gather, and opened the space in 2021.
“Given the area’s history and that a Black womanowned business was not welcomed during that time, being a part of its revitalization is important to me,” she said. “I want to help others experience the same nostalgia and connection to the community that I have.”
For Black people and Black families like mine, our full, rich stories are lost in the Stone Mountain history books. The assumption is that only racism thrived here when really, we took root and built community in spite of it. And we still remain.
Better still: We thrive. We embrace a city once mired in gore and fear, and find it reaching out its arms back to us. Instead of the suburban suffocation of my childhood, I am surprised to find myself breathing deep, drawn to spending long stretches of time in a downtown where, for the first time, I truly feel at home.
Sixty years later, this is what King’s dream was about. Stone Mountain was one of the first towns where Union Maj. Gen. William T. Sherman laid waste on his March to the Sea, considered instrumental in bringing about the end of the Civil War. He wrangled this city and destroyed the railroad tracks as he scorched the earth in petulant rage, but it regrew into a place where Black people felt encouraged to start anew.
For places such as The Vibrary and Gilly Brew Bar to be hubs of fun, enjoyment and community is the fulfillment of more than dreams; it is our inheritance, it is the ultimate consolation, it is a certain peace.
This place is ours to call home. And always has been, even if we didn’t always realize it. As you walk through Main Street, you’ll pass the Freedom Bell at the heart of town. It commemorates King’s speech and that promise of freedom.
The legacy of Stone Mountain belongs to us, too, and we shall, forevermore, let freedom ring here, right at home.