What Do We Owe the Places That Built Chattanooga?

A conversation from this weekend has been sitting with me.

During a community meeting, I found myself talking with Mrs. Jackie, one of the elders who first taught me about the historic golf course that once existed in Bushtown. At some point the discussion drifted toward Negro League baseball and the generations of athletes who passed through Chattanooga.

Then she said something that stopped all of us standing there.

"How do you tell your children and grandchildren that some of the most legendary baseball players they know, that they are people we used to trash talk?"

Everyone laughed.

I did too.

Later that evening, the weight of her comment landed differently.

Most of us encounter history through books, documentaries, museums, or old photographs. Mrs. Jackie was describing something entirely different. The people we now celebrate as legends were once familiar faces. They played games, built relationships, sparked rivalries, and moved through communities filled with ordinary people who never imagined the world would eventually know their names.

That exchange left me thinking about Chattanooga.

Not the version marketed in tourism campaigns or economic development reports.

The version carried by the people who have spent decades living here.

A city's story does not belong exclusively to buildings, monuments, or archives. Knowledge survives because somebody remembers. Wisdom travels from one generation to another through conversations, shared experiences, and lessons that rarely make it into official records.

Lately, I have become increasingly concerned about what happens when those connections disappear.

Last week, I wrote about Jackie Mitchell.

At seventeen years old, she stepped onto the mound at Engel Stadium and struck out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. Nearly one hundred years later, the story still sounds unbelievable. Baseball fans continue debating the details because moments like that feel larger than life.

Yet it happened right here.

Recent conversations surrounding Engel Stadium, Lincoln Park, Bushtown, and Chattanooga's first historic preservation plan in nearly fifty years have forced me to think about a larger question.

How many places are we willing to lose because of our obsession with growth?

Development has become one of Chattanooga's defining stories. Apartment buildings rise from former industrial sites. New businesses open their doors. Construction cranes dot the skyline. Fresh investment continues reshaping neighborhoods across the city.

Many positive outcomes have emerged from those changes.

Additional housing creates opportunity.

Economic momentum strengthens communities.

Entrepreneurs benefit from increased activity.

None of those realities trouble me.

A different concern keeps surfacing.

What unintended cost will we pay once history has been destroyed and the elders carrying those stories are no longer here to tell them?

My grandparents moved back to Chattanooga from Elizabeth, New Jersey and settled on Maude Street with my mother and Aunt Janet. Long before I paid attention to preservation plans, transportation proposals, or zoning discussions, that part of town already occupied a place in my family's history.

Hearing Momma Hughley, Tiffany Rankin, Eric Atkins, Tom Kunesh, and members of the Lincoln Park Coalition speak out about the proposed Central Avenue Extension on the radio years ago immediately caught my attention.

Their message centered on far more than infrastructure.

Lincoln Park represents one of the most important chapters in Chattanooga's Black history. During segregation, families gathered there when many recreational opportunities remained unavailable elsewhere. Summer afternoons unfolded around an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Neighborhood baseball games filled the fields. Community celebrations strengthened relationships. Negro League history touched the grounds. Indigenous history reaches even deeper into the landscape.

Tiffany Rankin, president of the Lincoln Park Neighborhood Association, offered a simple observation during a recent preservation discussion.

"It is sad that some generations don't know about it."

Her words describe a challenge facing communities across the country.

Forgetting rarely announces itself.

Distance creates gaps.

Context slips away.

Entire chapters become unfamiliar.

Bushtown faces a similar reality.

Teachers, business owners, faith leaders, civic organizers, and some of the nation's earliest duly elected African American officials emerged from that neighborhood. Generations invested their talents into building something meaningful despite barriers designed to limit opportunity.

Far too many residents remain unaware of that legacy.

Part of what makes this conversation so important is that Chattanooga has already benefited from preservation decisions made decades ago.

The Walnut Street Bridge still stands because people recognized its value before demolition became permanent.

Character remains woven throughout St. Elmo because residents protected it during years when the neighborhood looked very different than it does today.

Fort Wood retained its identity through deliberate choices made by people who understood that cultural memory can disappear much faster than anyone expects.

Looking backward makes those decisions appear obvious.

Living through them rarely feels that simple.

Engel Stadium sits at the center of that tension.

A visitor might notice aging concrete and deferred maintenance.

Someone familiar with local history sees a ballpark connected to Jackie Mitchell, Willie Mays, and generations of Chattanooga families.

Perspective changes the experience.

Place gives memory somewhere to live.

The strongest communities understand that growth and stewardship are not opposing ideas.

Progress becomes richer when it remains connected to the people who laid the foundation beneath it.

Development can coexist with preservation.

Investment can coexist with remembrance.

A healthy future benefits from understanding its roots.

Mrs. Jackie's comment keeps bringing me back to the same realization.

Many of the people carrying Chattanooga's history are still sitting beside us at community meetings, church gatherings, neighborhood events, and family reunions.

Questions remain unanswered.

Stories remain untold.

Opportunities remain available.

Eventually, that window closes.

What survives afterward depends largely on choices being made right now.

Organizations like the Lincoln Park Coalition understand that responsibility. Tiffany Rankin, Eric Atkins, Tom Kunesh, Momma Hughley, local historians, preservation advocates, and countless residents continue doing work that often receives little attention.

Their efforts protect more than property.

A sense of identity hangs in the balance.

Every generation inherits a version of Chattanooga.

Responsibility enters the picture when deciding what gets passed forward.

Fifty years from now, someone may ask why Lincoln Park mattered.

Another resident may become curious about Bushtown.

A child could hear the name Jackie Mitchell for the first time and wonder where her story unfolded.

The answers depend on what remains.

Perhaps that is what we owe the places that built Chattanooga.

Curiosity strong enough to ask questions.

Wisdom sufficient to recognize value before it disappears.

Care deep enough to ensure that future generations receive more than fragments.

A city should never lose stories like that.

Long before NASCAR became a billion-dollar sport, stock car racing belonged to mechanics, moonshiners, and daredevils willing to push a car far beyond its limits.

One of the best came from Red Bank.

Charlie Griffith spent the 1940s and 1950s racing dirt tracks across Southeast Tennessee and Northwest Georgia. Fans packed local venues like Moccasin Bend Raceway, Boyd's Speedway, and Nashville's Fairgrounds Speedway to watch drivers battle for prize money and bragging rights.

During the week, many racers worked ordinary jobs.

Charlie did not always fit that mold.

Like several early stock car drivers, he earned a reputation transporting moonshine through the mountains surrounding Chattanooga. Local stories describe him as a fearless wheelman capable of outrunning law enforcement on winding roads stretching from Whitwell Mountain to Suck Creek.

His driving ability became the stuff of legend.

NASCAR Hall of Famer Donnie Allison later described Griffith as someone who taught younger drivers what it meant to be a race car driver.

"He was a hell of a race car driver," Allison said.

The moonshine routes eventually gave way to racetracks, where Griffith built a reputation as one of the area's most talented competitors. While racing nationally, he entered 17 NASCAR Grand National events between 1958 and 1963, often competing against teams with far better equipment and larger budgets.

Then came Daytona.

The inaugural Daytona 500 took place in 1959, launching what would become NASCAR's biggest event. Griffith drove the entire 500 miles on a single set of tires and stopped only for fuel.

When the race ended, confusion followed.

A photo finish involving Lee Petty, Johnny Beauchamp, and Griffith left officials sorting through the results for three days. NASCAR founder Bill France ultimately declared Petty the winner. Griffith was ruled one lap down and credited with a third-place finish.

Not everyone agreed.

Several drivers and witnesses maintained for years that Griffith had actually won the race. Among them were fellow racer Freddy Fryar, NASCAR champion Rex White, and others who believed the Chattanooga driver had crossed the line ahead of the field.

The controversy never disappeared.

Some fans have long wondered whether Griffith's reputation as a former moonshine runner worked against him at a time when NASCAR was trying to present a cleaner image to the public.

No official ruling ever changed.

The record books still list Lee Petty as the winner.

Back home, however, many never stopped asking the question.

What if Charlie Griffith was the real champion?

Following his racing career, Griffith worked as a truck driver for Chattanooga Brick and Tile before passing away in 1999.

Today, his story lives on through a documentary created by his granddaughter, Michelle Griffith-Talbert, and filmmaker Michael Starr. Titled It's In The Blood, the film explores Griffith's life, the origins of stock car racing in the Chattanooga area, and the colorful personalities who helped build the sport's earliest chapters.

Whether he won the first Daytona 500 may never be settled.

One thing is far less disputed.

Long before NASCAR became a national phenomenon, a moonshine runner from Red Bank proved he could drive with the very best.

If you're looking for an easy outdoor escape this week, head to Greenway Farms.

The trail winds through woods, follows North Chickamauga Creek, and eventually leads to a flooded limestone quarry originally excavated for the construction of Chickamauga Dam. Towering rock walls and bright blue water make it one of the more unique views in Chattanooga.

Bring comfortable shoes, your dog, and a little extra time to explore the surrounding trails.

A quick note ⚠️: Swimming and fishing are prohibited at the quarry, so enjoy the view from the shoreline and leave the water to the fish.

📍 5051 Gann Store Rd., Hixson, TN 37343
🥾 Easy to Moderate
🐶 Dog Friendly

Last week, I asked:

What's the most underrated restaurant in Chattanooga?

Not the place everyone already talks about.

Forget the restaurant with the two-hour wait.

I wanted to know where locals actually send their friends.

A few of you wrote in, and your responses reminded me why I love asking these questions. Chattanooga always seems to have another recommendation hiding around the corner.

📍 Dockside Cafe — Mark Sheldon says the food is consistently great, the weekend breakfast is worth the trip, and the patio overlooking the Harrison Bay boat ramp offers plenty of entertainment while you eat.

📍 Red Lobster (Northgate Happy Hour) — Another recommendation from Mark. His pitch? $5 Long Island Iced Teas, free cheddar biscuits, and a surprisingly quiet bar that rarely feels crowded.

📍 Barque BBQ — Veatrice Conley Lee recommends this Main Street favorite and says to ask for head cook Megan when you stop by.

📍 Five & Dime — My pick. The Crab Benedict is outstanding, the French Toast never disappoints, and a sorbet mimosa makes brunch feel like a celebration instead of a meal.

What stood out to me wasn't the list itself.

Google can tell you what's popular.

Locals usually know what's worth returning to.

Those conversations are where the good stuff lives.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to write in.

If today's edition made you think, taught you something new, or reminded you why you love Chattanooga, send it to someone else who feels the same way. Every new subscriber brings another story, another perspective, and another voice helping us uncover what makes this place worth calling home.

⚔️ Thanks for being part of it.

Closets By Design: Tired of clutter and disorganized spaces? Closets by Design of Chattanooga creates custom closets, pantries, garages, wall beds, entertainment centers, and more. Get a hassle free estimate.

C&C Nursery and Landscape: The warm weather is here and planting season is just around the corner. No project is too big or small. Get a free quote.

Restoration 1 of Chattanooga: Mold can sneak up on your fast and often hides behind walls, under flooring, or in crawl spaces. Don’t ignore the warning signs, call us today for an inspection!

The Sweet and Savory Classroom: Looking for a fun night out with your spouse? Our Ramen Date Night class will teach you how to make real ramen! Use code ‘Explorer’ for $20 off!

History has a marketing problem.

Most of us imagine it as something dramatic.

The kind of moment that feels important while it's happening.

The longer I spend learning about Chattanooga, the less convinced I am that's how history actually works.

What I keep finding instead are ordinary people simply living their lives.

A neighborhood gathering in the summer.

Friends watching a game.

Families building traditions.

Someone telling a story decades later that changes how you see a place.

Only with the benefit of time do those moments start to look significant.

Maybe history isn't made by extraordinary days.

Maybe it's made by ordinary days that refuse to be forgotten.

— Marie