Postcard from Luther, OK - “This Place Matters”
Driving Route 66 from Tulsa to Oklahoma City, about three miles before the town of Luther you'll notice an old sandstone building with peeling white gables. At first glance, it's the kind of structure a realtor might dismiss as a "tear down." But behind its dusty windows rest a pair of faded signs that simply read in orange print, "This place matters." The place is The Threatt Filling Station, which in its heyday was a black owned rest stop that serviced African American motorists throughout the segregation era. More than a destination for gas and provisions, it provided a much needed refuge for weary travelers of color. We'll spend some time there with cousins Edward and Allen Threatt, who share stories, family history, memories of its past, and their plans for its future, while cultural documentarian Candacy Taylor is on hand to describe what the experience of traveling 66 would have been like for black drivers. We're also joined by Dr. Lorn Foster of Pomona College to touch on the Great Migration's impact. The resulting segment is a tribute to those who found joy in the midst of darkness, and to borrow a quote from MLK, made "a way out of no way."
TRANSCRIPT
(As this transcript was obtained via a computerized service, please forgive any typos, spelling and grammatical errors)
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Evan Stern (00:00):
Near the end of my trip, while in Los Angeles, I met Dr. Lon Foster at Griffith Avenue's historic Second Baptist Church. 74 and newly retired after 40 years on the faculty of Pomona College, he grew up worshiping here on Sundays and tells me he came home from the hospital just five blocks away on east 18th street. Still, he mentions his Southern roots within our first minute of speaking.
Dr. Lorn Foster (00:27):
My folks are from south Louisiana. Okay. And I gotta have grits and eggs. My favorite restaurant here in LA is a place called Harold and Belle's and it's a New Orleans style restaurant. So I can go there and get a plate of red beans and rice or an oyster po boy or bread pudding. And you know, that's just like being at home.
Evan Stern (00:53):
Dr. Foster developed this taste for Creole cooking through his grandparents who quit the sawmill and came here from Baton Rouge in 1919. Within four years, they owned a seven room home with three apartment units in the back thanks to a barbershop his grandfather ran on Central Avenue.
Dr. Lorn Foster (01:09):
It was night and day. African Americans could come to Los Angeles pre depression and be aspirational. I, I didn't say be free, but I said, be aspirational, uh, have access to education, have access to some civil service jobs, uh, and have the opportunity to own property and to, you know, see if the American dream really does work for, you know, former enslaved people. The Exodus story is not just a Jewish story. It's an African American story. And in Exodus you go through, it's not a story. You go through the Exodus. And so you have to remember, and you have to kind of convey to others. What, what the stories are-
Evan Stern (02:05):
Like many fleeing Jim Crow, Louisiana and Texas, Dr. Foster's grandparents followed this Exodus via the Southern Pacific rail line. Then as motor travel took off those who could afford to began journeying west via car. But while a drive down Route 66 in the forties and fifties was heavily promoted as an ideal leisure trip, absent from posters advertising the wonders of the Painted Desert are any black faces. For them, author and cultural documentarian Candacy Taylor says this trip could be like a minefield.
Candacy Taylor (02:40):
What I learned is that half the counties on Route 66 were sundown towns and sundown towns are all white towns and they were all white on purpose. Some had a sign saying n word, don't let the sun set on you here. Others would ring a bell at 6:00 PM, alerting the locals, um, local laborers and, and domestics to leave the town. Um, if, if nearly half the counties, there are 89 counties on Route 66 and about 44 of them were sun down towns, how in the world did black people drive Route 66? I mean, that was my first question.
Evan Stern (03:18):
Ms. Taylor found herself asking this question while driving 66 on assignment to write a guidebook for Moon Travels and discovered an answer of sorts upon a return to California in the form of an old weathered pamphlet.
Candacy Taylor (03:30):
I stumbled on a black travel guide at the Autry Museum in Los Angeles. I was living in LA at the time and I had never known such a thing existed. It was 2013. So it was still very largely unknown. It was just very clear that this wasn't just a AAA guide. You know, it wasn't just about, you need a place to sleep and eat. It was like you needed a place to find solace and comfort and peace, um, in a way that other travelers, especially white travelers didn't necessarily need while they were on the road. And so to me, it became obvious. It was very different. Um, but yet it's just listings in a book. You know, it seems very innocuous. It seems like, oh, it's a travel guide. Um, but it saved lives.
Evan Stern (04:17):
This revelation ignited a purpose in Candacy to study and drive thousands of miles, documenting green book sites for a project that resulted in the publication of her book, Overground Railroad. Near its opening, she writes that she was immediately struck by how something as practical and simple as the green book could be so powerful. Published by Victor Green, a postal worker with a seventh grade education, its title always included the phrase, "now we can travel without embarrassment." And while born of indignity, it stands as an incredible record of black self-sufficiency and entrepreneurship. And today we're gonna visit a site on Route 66 that while strangely never listed stands as a reminder of these same people of fortitude who made it way out of no way. I'm Evan stern. And this is Vanishing Postcards.
Evan Stern (05:16):
Many favor driving 66 to Oklahoma city in order to sample bottles of sweet corn, celery, or maple bacon soda at Pops outside Arcadia. But driving west before there on a bluff about three miles ahead of the town of Luther, you might notice a small shabby bungalow of sandstone rock with peeling, white gables. A long shuttered filling station, it's the kind of unremarkable structure realtors might dismiss as a tear down. But in its grimy windows rest a pair of faded signs that simply state in orange print, "This place matters." This place was the Threatt Service Station, and having unlocked the door and invited me in, Pastor Allen Threatt tells me why they keep those words displayed
Pastor Allen Threatt (06:42):
Because the only way that black folks could travel from east coast to west coast, they had to come by Threatt Service Station. Blacks couldn't stop in any town. But by the word of mouth, not the green book by the word of mouth. They knew if you want some rest. If you want some peace overnight, if you want some food, you can eat Thirsty, you can drink soda pop, beer, whatever, uh, just stop by Threatt Service Station. And so this was a place, a refuge that people can stop and have and relax. Uh, you wasn't worried about, uh, the, the, uh, the color of your skin because we didn't see a person as, uh, white, black, or red or whatever. We looked at a person, just as a human being,
Evan Stern (07:37):
83, but tall, spry and commanding in presence, Pastor Threatt was put to work here for tips not long after he could walk and talk. His employer was of course, his grandfather, Allen Sr., who built this cottage in 1915 before converting it into a station in the twenties. And while it's been a long time, since anything was sold here, standing behind the dusty old wood paneled counter, Mr. Threatt's eyes light up as memories come alive.
Pastor Allen Threatt (08:04):
Uh, as a little boy, uh, I used to spend the summer here with my grandpa. He was the owner, and then my uncle took over after my grandfather passed away. But, uh, I used to help pump gas, run out to the cars when the cars stopped, put air in the tires and do all that and walk back in and, and it seemed like this place, seemed like it was a great big place as a little boy, you know you, because, uh, this was a bar and the bar went all the way across. Had had a little TV in a corner back there and had little stools. People could sit around and after they get gas and just relax. And so this was a place. This was a very important place. And I, I thank God for the vision that he had, uh, when he built this right here on 66 highway
Evan Stern (09:01):
Nodding in agreement is the pastor's younger, gray bearded cousin, Edward who shares in this familial pride-
Edward Threatt (09:08):
We are the only black family that owns a business on Highway 66 in Oklahoma. Right,
Pastor Allen Threatt (09:18):
Right.
Edward Threatt (09:18):
That's important. Yeah. Um, the family actually owns about 150 acres here. Okay. And it's been in our family for over a hundred years and, um, it'll be in our family forever. Well, grandpa, he, he actually started out homesteading the property. Okay. And <laugh> it was actually by the grace of God. I mean, there was so much animosity directed towards black people at that point in time, so that you had to have, unfortunately you had to have a white intermediary. Okay.
Pastor Allen Threatt (10:05):
Just to purchase. Yes.
Edward Threatt (10:06):
To, to, to, to, to step forward and to allow certain things to happen. Things that you shouldn't have to have anybody in your way. But it, it was through the grace of, of, of, of, of some white people that, um, recognized <laugh> grandpa's strength as a man recognized that grandpa was serious about taking care of his family and his sons and daughters. Grandpa was serious about owning this piece of property. Okay. And it was through, like I said, intermediaries that grandpa was able to get a patent. And, uh, really the rest is history.
Evan Stern (10:55):
The Threatt Filling Station did see a lot of history. The cousins tell me some of the people they served included the prize fighter, Joe Lewis, Pearl Bailey, and Nat King Cole. But their grandfather didn't just sell gas and provisions. He built a free campground out back where people could get a safe night's rest and not one, but two baseball diamonds that hosted Negro league tournaments
Pastor Allen Threatt (11:19):
All the summer, all the summer. They played every, every Saturday and Sunday. And during that time, all the black baseball teams, uh, that had formed league that couldn't play with the white, where they came, they played against each other. And so on the weekend we had, they had two or three baseball games right here on right here. And we had a baseball diamond across the street. Mm-hmm <affirmative> and they had another baseball diamond on this side of the street. Mm-hmm <affirmative> yes.
Edward Threatt (11:50):
It's, it's hard to describe okay. The feeling when, when you look around and when I say that it was wall to wall black people out here, I mean there was a joy in that all by itself. Mm-hmm, <affirmative> a peace. You gotta understand that our property is right in the middle of sundown towns. Okay. And I, I don't know if you're familiar with what a sundown town is, but to come here to have that where you don't have to be concerned about anything,
Evan Stern (12:36):
Hearing this, I ask how they were made aware of these towns growing up
Pastor Allen Threatt (12:40):
Very easy. Uh, because, because when you enter the town, they had a sign there says, uh, I don't know if this said, I can't remember said "Negro or blacks. Don't be caught after sun go down in this town." You know? So, so some had six o'clock and some just had just don't be caught the town after sun go down.
Edward Threatt (13:07):
You would like to think that these things went away, but they didn't, you know. Uh, a few years back and let's say 10 years ago. Okay. I used to be the mayor in Luther. Okay. And I had a white guy tell me, "Don't let dark catch you in town." Okay. This is 10 years ago. Okay. Now me being me, I made a point to be in town after dark, cuz you're not going tell me. That's just my attitude. Okay. But again, that just goes to show you that you will like to think that things have changed. And they have. But not that much. Yeah. Okay. Not that much.
Evan Stern (14:01):
Remembering this story in California, I ask Dr. Foster, if there are any precautions he takes as an African American driver today, that might never cross my mind.
Dr. Lorn Foster (14:11):
You are always, even today as a 74 year old, you are always mindful of your space. No one need tell you what the rules of the road are. They, they, they they're implicit. Uh, and they're unwritten. Uh, you never know, uh, when something untoward will happen,
Evan Stern (14:34):
Similarly, Candacy tells me her stepfather Ron's travel practices confounded her for years.
Candacy Taylor (14:40):
He would only drive at night. If he was taking a long trip, he would leave at like 10 o'clock at night. And I would be so furious because I was like, I was like, "It's dangerous to drive all night. Why, why can't you just drive during the day? Like a normal person <laugh> you know?" And I said, you're putting my mother's life at risk and everybody's life at risk on the road, cuz you cannot, you know, and he would just say, "Oh, traffic, you know." That's a reason he would have to drive in the middle of the night. And you know, once I started talking to him more and I was writing the book, I was like, oh, he was doing that because it's just easier. He's invisible as a black man behind the wheel. Um, there were other things he would do when I would go home. He would try and just load me down with food. And I, you know, and I'd be on my way. I was like, I can just get something at the airport or I can just get, you know, I don't need to take food with me, but again, he never left the house without taking food with him. Because being, you know, raised in that, that reality that you couldn't always depend on somebody who's gonna serve you while you travel. These were the, the steps that he would take.
Evan Stern (15:50):
She began to understand the roots of these precautions when late in life he shared a story she'd never heard.
Candacy Taylor (15:56):
I remember one day I was asking him about, I was reading about people who traveled with chauffeur's hats as a ruse. And he, this story just tumbles out of his mouth. And um, he basically said, yeah, this happened to me when I was seven years old and we were driving, leaving Memphis, crossing the Tennessee border and uh, with his, him and his mother and father. And his father had a good job with the railroad, so they had a nice car. It was a newer car and they get pulled over by a sheriff and the sheriff comes to the side of the window. And as he is walking up, you know, Ron's father, you know, turns to Ron, who's sitting in the back seat and says, "Don't say a word." All of a sudden, the, you know, tone and the energy and everything changes in the, in the car.
Candacy Taylor (16:45):
And, and the sheriff, you know, is like, first thing he asks is, "Whose car is this?" You know, "Where are you going? And who are these people with you?" And Ron's father said, it's my employer's car. And then he looked at his wife and pretended he didn't know her. And he said, uh, that's the maid. And her son is in the back and I'm driving him home. And uh, the sheriff said, "Well, where's your hat, you know?" And he said, oh, it's hanging right in the back officer. And when he looked over to, to the side, he saw this black hat hanging there. He said, he'd seen it. It had been in there the whole time. Ever since you could remember, no one had ever worn it. He didn't know what it was or what it was for. Um, and the sheriff waved him on and said, all right, go on. He said, after that day in nearly every black man's car, there was a chauffer's hanging up. And it was a very common, um, ruse or prop to basically divert attention away from any animosity that might come from a sheriff who felt jealous or upset that a black man might have a nicer car than he could afford.
Evan Stern (17:55):
A chauffeur's hat was just one of many items of preparation black drivers would keep on hand when hitting 66 or any road for that reason,
Candacy Taylor (18:03):
You know, you wouldn't just you'd have to bring gas cans with you full of gas, because there were many gas stations who wouldn't serve you. They may serve you gas, but then they won't let you use the facilities. So they traveled with, you know, lots of sheets and, uh, to hang up as partitions, to use a bathroom. I, you know, interviewed a, a man, um, who remembers, you know, growing up, he and his other brothers and cousins would be told to go run out into the field because that would scare the snakes away. So their aunts or mothers could use the restroom outside and not worry about being bitten by snakes. But there were so many things that they had to be prepared for. You know, you had to have separate spark plugs and all these different things, the way cars worked back then. You could actually fix your car on the road. So you had to make sure you had all those belts and things that, you know, in case you did break down, you just had to have a lot of faith that it was gonna be okay.
Evan Stern (19:10):
Hearing this reinforces that the Threatts didn't just run a filling station, but a sanctuary.
Edward Threatt (19:16):
We knew what it was to be discriminated against mm-hmm <affirmative>. So you don't turn around and treat somebody the same way that, that you've been treated. You treat them the way you want to be treated.
Pastor Allen Threatt (19:28):
We was taught. Always be polite. I don't care if white, black, whoever you, you always polite the people, it, it was a privilege. Because I was trying to see how many tips I could get that day. By being polite to the people.
Evan Stern (19:45):
Pastor Threatt, also pocketed some change by combing the floor for coins after dances at the juke joint, his uncle Edmond built and opened in a cinder block building they show me next door.
Edward Threatt (19:56):
There's nothing that I can't tell you about this place. Okay. Like, uh, like you said, my dad, my dad, uh, owned this Friday night. This place was just packed. I mean, it, it was packed
Pastor Allen Threatt (20:10):
Right
Edward Threatt (20:11):
Yeah. It started out on a Friday. Okay. Yeah. There wasn't enough room in this building. Okay. He sold barbecue. He sold beer, barbecue ribs, chickens, the whole nine yards. It was right here. Okay.
Pastor Allen Threatt (20:30):
You dad, your dad had a, a small casino back in the back back then. I know they shot dice and played cards. <laugh> you know, nobody could get back there unless you want to
Edward Threatt (20:43):
Uhhuh. Yeah. Yeah. Every, every Friday and Saturday night they'd be shooting craps.
Pastor Allen Threatt (20:50):
You're back in the back,
Edward Threatt (20:50):
Back, back in the back, back there. Yeah. I didn't go back there. I couldn't go back there when they were shooting
Pastor Allen Threatt (20:54):
Craps and they had a band in this corner, that corner right. Had a band right there, the corner right there, drums. And he, they play the music Friday and Saturday night.
Edward Threatt (21:03):
This place was jumping man. It was a good time. It was a very good time. The thing that sticks out in my mind being in here on a Sunday. Okay. And I remember, I can't remember the ladies names. It was more than one lady, but they would always be in here on a Sunday, listening to the blues. Okay. And I was just, I I'm a blues fan myself now. Okay. But I remember those ladies being in here and dancing and just being silly, but they always played the blues, you know? And it's just, that just sticks in my head. I remember that, you know,
Evan Stern (21:51):
Allen Threatt Sr died in 1950 and left the station in his son Euliss's hands. But like many businesses, it felt the sting when 66 got bypassed and eventually closed in the seventies with the bar shuttering in due time after. Mr. Threatt's daughter-in-law Elizabeth continued living above the station until her death in 2009, after which the property fell into limbo and disrepair. But after many years of hard work and legal wrangling, Edward and Allen tell me that measures have been taken to protect its future, which is coming into focus.
Edward Threatt (22:26):
Like I said, this land has been in the family for over a hundred years. And, um, myself and some cousins we have through an attorney put together a covenant that says that this property can never be sold outside the family. The property is actually owned by Threatt Legacy LLC. So we have done what's necessary to, uh, protect this property so that future generations of Threatts can always look at this and call it home. Right. Okay. We have been working on this for oh man, the last five years, trying to pull everything together, trying to protect the property. Mm-hmm <affirmative> so, um, it is been it's, it's a blessing that we're able to, to do all of the things that we've done. Mm-hmm <affirmative> and, uh, again, we're trying to make sure that we do this while we're still in the land of the living, because the generation behind us doesn't know the things that we know mm-hmm <affirmative> okay. So, um, with the good Lord blessing, we'll, we'll make it happen. We will make it happen. So, yeah. Um, we're in the process right now of, um, getting bids to actually have this building restored to its uh, original state.
Evan Stern (24:04):
Their goal is to have the building reopened as a small museum and gift shop in time for the Route's Centennial in 2026 and Edward hopes to even refire the pit and host occasional weekend barbecues in the old bar. They've gotten grants, have been raising money and much work remains, but the Threatts seem undaunted because this project is bigger than them.
Pastor Allen Threatt (24:26):
History don't die. History, keep living. History, get, get better or worse, but history never dies. And all depends on what you wanna remember from the past history that you can make a better history tomorrow. Keep faith alive, keep hope alive
Evan Stern (24:49):
In regard to hope, Candacy confesses to me that it's something she struggles with. Victor Green wrote in his introductions, "There will be a day sometime in the near future when this guide will not have to be published. And it will be a great day for us to suspend this publication." But while it's lamentable Mr. Green never lived to see the passage of the civil rights act, Candacy believes he would be shocked by much of our world today
Candacy Taylor (25:16):
I'd go places where there was once 20 green book sites replaced by a freeway. Those were businesses. Um, so the devastation of our communities is not because black folks don't wanna work hard or are lazy or on welfare or on drugs. Um, it's because these were targeted government forces that shaped the way people lived and survived. And those who did have educations or who did have money left those communities. It's a, it's a consequence of, you know, of integration that we lost a lot of, um, that community where, um, we had built these really fabulous places and these incredibly, you know, supportive and healthy and vibrant communities and neighborhoods. And, um, for the most part, they are, they are not what they used to be and the level of, you know, blight and, um, and, uh, just struggle and poverty is just, you know, it's, it's heartbreaking. I think the biggest thing we can do as individuals and collectively is just tell the truth and see it for what it is,
Evan Stern (26:31):
The story of the Threatt family, their filling station and the struggle and joy it represents is a true one. It's truer than much of the rose tinted nostalgia the Route has become enveloped by. And while I enjoy Coke floats, believe myths and legends have their place and recognize nostalgia has played an important role in 66's rejuvenation, there's a lot more to this road than that. As the clock nears four, our time at the station draws to a close because the cousins have a contractor to meet with. I thank them for their time. Tell them I plan on returning to see the museum after it's opened. And while they can't say when, before parting ways, Edward promises me that day is coming.
Edward Threatt (27:17):
I am, we've been doing this since I, for so long. And, um, right now physically I'm tired. I mean, I mean, I, I am, I'm tired. But I know I can't stop. I can't stop until this thing is complete. Until it's ready to be turned over to the next generation. Mm-hmm <affirmative> so that, so that we absolutely do not fail. I said, I told you earlier that I never met grandpa. Okay. But grandpa drives me. The thought of, of preserving all of what grandpa did is, what motivates me to not quit. I don't care how tired I am or how tired I feel. I can't let grandpa down. Okay. I mean, I never met him, but I know he is watching. Okay. And so I have to do this, not for me, but for our families,
