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118 ˜ A Work of Hospitality, 1982–2002
African American who traveled in the South before the Public Accommodations
Act of 1965 can tell stories of how they got along without bathroom access on
the road. I recently heard a man about my age refer to “traveling with the
Maxwell House coffee can.” When the Public Accommodations Act passed
Congress, the distinguished Mrs. Sadie Mays heard the news and reportedly
said, “Oh, thank goodness, I won’t have to travel with my chamber pot anymore.”
In the spring of 1968, the small southern women’s college from which I
graduated accepted its first Black student. She was my roommate. At a dorm
meeting (my roommate was not present), one sweet belle contorted her face and
snarled, “Well, maybe I can’t stop her from living here, but I’ll never share the
same bathroom with her.” That harsh memory caused me particular pain when,
some fifteen years later, the African American congregation in whose church we
were going to serve a meal locked its newly renovated bathrooms so they could
not be used by the poor people (mostly Black) who were coming to eat. Poverty.
Race. Germs. Unclean. Protect the Bathrooms. These words and ideas seem to keep
coming together.
In 1983, our fifth year of working with homeless people, we began to advocate
for public toilets in Atlanta. We had heard the story again and again of
men and women who, caught in the humiliating act of public urination or defecation,
had been arrested, jailed, and sentenced to serve time in the city prison
farm (now the city jail). Public urination is a violation of a city ordinance, punishable
by up to 180 days in jail or a fine of up to $1,000 or up to six months of
work on public streets. Most people arrested for this “crime” are the homeless
poor. They do the jail time.
Joanna Adams, then associate pastor at Central Presbyterian Church, was
president of the Christian Council. She responded to our advocacy by having
the council sponsor a debate on public toilets, held at City Hall. Ed Loring of
the Open Door spoke in favor of public toilets, and Dan Sweat, director of Central
Atlanta Progress, spoke against them. Ken Burnett, police zone commander
of the downtown area, was also present to speak. Ed made a case for installing
toilets at five “pressure points” in the downtown area. This, he said, would cover
the most crucial areas, providing everyone access to bathrooms, cleaning up the
streets, reducing the odor and health hazard of urine and feces underfoot, and
reducing arrests and costly imprisonments. The toilets would also go a long way
toward easing the life of the poorest of the poor.
Dan Sweat declared, “We will have public toilets in Atlanta over my dead
body.” He went on to explain why the concept was distasteful and would cause
poor people to come here from all over the United States. (This is known as “the
Mecca theory”: Do something nice for the poor, they come in droves, and we
are overrun.) He would not hear of it.
Major Ken Burnett spoke and, much to our surprise, he said, “I agree with