In 1947, African American brothers James and Robert Paschal launched a scrappy luncheonette in Atlanta'sCastleberry Hill neighborhood, their fried chicken earning renown as the house's go-to specialty. Within 15 years, Paschal's Restaurant & Coffee Shop had become not just a beloved community eatery but a supporting player in the civil rights movement.
In the years before passage of the1964 Civil Rights Act, the soul food restaurant offered more than nourishment: Not far from the offices of Martin Luther King Jr.'sSouthern Christian Leadership Conference, Paschal's was a hub for civil rights luminaries such as King, John Lewis and Julian Bond as well as a refuge for Atlanta parents waiting to reunite with students arrested for conducting lunch counter sit-ins.
As the civil rights movement gathered momentum in the 1950s and early 1960s,Paschal'sand other Black-owned restaurants played crucial roles throughout the South, offering affirmation, security and even financial support, with food as the common thread. As with Black churches and Black-owned salons and barbershops, they provided gathering space free from the scrutiny and disrespect community members often faced elsewhere.
"These restaurants lent themselves to the movement because they had the autonomy to decide for themselves what happened under the roof of their place," said Bobby J. Smith, an associate professor of African American studies at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. "They were able to welcome all people, particularly those who did not have the opportunity to be part of other restaurant spaces."
As dining establishments, he said, they provided cover for revolutionary activity.
"On the outside it looked like people were just going in to gather around gumbo or pork chops," said Smith, author of "Food Power Politics: The Food Story of the Mississippi Civil Rights Movement." "But inside, they were planning one of themost important social movementsin American history. It's a covert network of public spaces hidden in plain sight."
That's why such restaurants were important from a strategic standpoint, said Marcia Chatelain, a professor of Africana studies at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia and author of "Franchise: The Golden Arches in Black America."
"During the era of segregation, there were few places where African Americans could dine without fear they would be treated poorly or harmed by other patrons," she said.
It wasn't only restaurants: People like Montgomery's Georgia Gilmore also embraced food as a weapon in thewar against discrimination. A cook who lost her job at a White-run restaurant after testifying in support of the 1956 Montgomery bus boycott, Gilmore started acatering businessthat helped feed and raise funds on the sly for civil rights activists in Alabama.
"She used food as a way to support the movement," Smith said.
Meanwhile, across town, the constant lines of people waiting for barbecued ribs and chicken atBrenda's Bar-Be-Que Pithelped the Montgomery take-out stand likewise lend financial support to ongoing activism.
"Brenda's was very dynamic, very involved in the movement," said Georgette Norman, the retired former director of Montgomery'sRosa ParksMuseum at Troy University. "Food was one of the ways that money was raised. Everybody has to eat. These days, people say, send me a check. But back then people cooked, and people bought, and people ate. Brenda's was part of that."
Robert and James Paschal passed away in 1997 and 2008, respectively, but their descendants continue to operate the restaurant, which reopened in a more modern Castleberry Hill neighborhood location in 2022. Its walls continue to exude history in the form of mounted photos of King and others who were once regular patrons.
Paschal's and Brenda's are some of the few establishments central to the civil rights movement that have stood the test of time. Here are some others that continue to operate today.
Dooky Chase's, New Orleans
The first time Raphael Cassimere Jr. tried going to Dooky Chase's he waited two hours in line and never got in. That was in 1959, and Cassimere was a fresh high school graduate in New Orleans;Dooky Chase's, in the city's Treme' neighborhood, was one of the few fine dining spots where Black people were welcome.
"There was another high school graduation the same night," he said.
Cassimere, who retired in 2007 after 37 years as a professor of history at the University of New Orleans, recalled finally entering the famed restaurant a year later as a member of the city's youth council, accompanying a lunch group that included a high-ranking NAACP official.
Dooky Chase's etouffee, stuffed shrimp and jambalaya drew steady crowds that eventually included civil rights advocates like Thurgood Marshall, A.P. Tureaud andErnest "Dutch" Morial. In the 1960s, King convened with Freedom Riders in the private dining room upstairs to plan and strategize as the movement heated up.
Cassimere was among the young activists who attended meetings there.
"(Chef) Leah (Chase) would serve us herself," he said. "There were not many places where Black and white activists could meet together."
In 1941, jazz trumpeter Edgar "Dooky" Chase Jr. had taken over the late-night po'boy sandwich stand opened by his father, and before long his wife Leah began introducing Creole dishes to the menu. As the couple transformed the place into a sit-down restaurant with linen tablecloths, Leah Chase took over as chef in 1952, eventually earning acclaim as "The Queen of Creole Cuisine."
Acclaimed Black music artists like Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughn and Cab Calloway stopped at Dooky Chase's post-performance, unable to patronize other establishments.
Advertisement
"Dooky Chase's was a fine dining restaurant, one of the first Black-owned restaurants of its kind in the nation," said Smith, of the University of Illinois. "Leah Chase had worked in those kinds of places in New Orleans and she wanted to give Black people a space to experience a different level of dining rooted in their cultural foodways. She wanted them to know they mattered."
For civil rights activists, that upper room became a place to be fed and reenergized, "a space where people could meet and organize, or just catch their breath," Smith said. "It became thisSituation Room, if you will, a space where they could talk over food about what to do to change the trajectory of the nation."
Four Way Grill, Memphis
In summer 2022, California chef Geoff Davis enjoyed a transformative lunch at what's now called simply the Four Way as he and his mother traveled through Tennessee, visiting friends and civil rights landmarks in Nashville and Memphis.
At the time, Davis was preparing to open Burdell, the reimagined soul food restaurant he owns in Oakland, California, and he wanted to see what other restaurants were doing.
TheFour Way, a modest stone structure minutes from the Stax Museum of American Soul Music in Memphis'SoulsvilleDistrict, was on his list. Having been underwhelmed by most places he'd visited, his expectations were low – but this experience took him by surprise.
"It's pretty powerful being in there given the sense of history that place has," Davis said. "The food was phenomenal — really vibrant and delicious and comforting."
Irene and Clint Cleaves opened what was then theFour Way Grillin 1946, a Southern food sanctuary with an integrated clientele and a back door through which Stax musicians sometimes entered to avoid attention. During the civil rights movement, activist leaders such as King, theRev. Jesse Jacksonand theRev. Al Sharptontalked strategy over meals of fried chicken and greens.
Davis said he and his mother actually became emotional as they enjoyed their lunch from Four Way — fried chicken, stewed neckbones, lima beans, macaroni and cheese, cornbread and other items that unlocked vaults of memories.
"Some of the dishes tasted like the ones we grew up eating at home or at the homes of family members who have since passed away," he said. "So it was nourishing in that way too."
The experience, Davis said, informed his menu atBurdell.
"The simplicity of it really stuck with me," he said. "We're slightly fancier, but some of the dishes there were how I remembered them as a kid. Going to Four Way really gave me the confidence to say, we're going to do smothered cabbage and do it straight up. It doesn't need garnishes; it just needs to be the best cabbage we can find. Having that homestyle element is really special."
Big Apple Inn, Jackson
In the 1950s and early 1960s,Farish Streetwas the heart of the Black community in Jackson, Mississippi, a thriving hub of entertainment and economic activity that defied the oppressive weight of segregation.
"It was one of the only places where Black people could go out and be social," said Smith, of the University of Illinois. "In New Orleans there's a level of racism that people know and see, but in Mississippi you can feel it as well."
It was on Farish Street that Mexico City native Juan "Big John" Mora, who ended up in Jackson after train-hopping through the U.S. seeking work, had set up a tamale stand that would lead to a brick-and-mortar restaurant called theBig Apple Innin 1939.
By 1952, the Big Apple Inn had moved across the street into a two-story building, with Mora's tamales sharing the spotlight with smoked sausage and pig ear sandwiches. Civil rights activistMedgar Evers, who had a second-floor office, began conducting meetings in the downstairs eatery.
That the Big Apple was owned by Mora and his wife, who was Black, provided a level of protection that activists found in rare supply.
"A lot of these independent business owners weren't necessarily immune from economic reprisal, but usually families who owned restaurants were in a better financial space to take more political risks," said Chatelain, of the University of Pennsylvania. "They could be movement-friendly because they were the bosses of their own businesses."
The Big Apple is now run by Geno Lee, Mora's great-grandson, and its menu remains very much the same as it was, with regulars stopping in for "smokes" and "ears" and tamales made according to Mora's own recipe, though now with turkey instead of beef.
Davis, the Oakland chef, said restaurant owners who hosted or enabled civil rights activity "were very brave to have their spaces be hubs for that. There's a bit of revolutionary spirit in entrepreneurship, and that's doubling down on being willing to take a risk."
Since everyone needs to eat, he said, such restaurants helped nurture the soul.
"Restaurants are gathering places," Davis said. "Everyone's full and happy, and when you're talking about difficult things it's good to have some comfort to go alongside that."
USA TODAY Network reporter Todd A. Price contributed to this story.
This article originally appeared on USA TODAY:Black-owned restaurants played vital role in civil rights movement
