Exploring the Vibrant Heart of Alabama
Alabama is a place of boundless creativity and abundant natural resources—yet it carries an unfathomably painful past. On a road trip from top to bottom, Kevin West finds the state’s residents reckoning with its legacy and developing new definitions of what it means to be Alabamian.
The devil was beating his wife as I crossed the Alabama state line. I was driving from Nashville, in a hurry to reach Muscle Shoals, and had gotten to the point where I-65 snakes down from middle Tennessee’s Highland Rim. When the highway levels out again and runs straight, you’re in the cotton-growing Heart of Dixie, as Alabama has been known since the 1950s.
The windshield wipers on my rental car frantically tried to keep pace with an August downpour. However, in a clap, the sun broke through, electrifying the gloom, even as the rain continued to fall—in Southern folklore, that’s the devil beating his wife. Luminous spray trembled above the road, and sunlight bounced off wet pastures on either side, creating a surreal landscape. On the stereo, Aretha Franklin’s voice soared through “Mary, Don’t You Weep,” shining in glory with the sun. When the clouds closed again, I was off the interstate and on a two-lane road behind a car with the license plate LUV BAMA. I passed a field of King Cotton, its leaves dark as poison ivy.
Muscle Shoals was not meant to be on my itinerary, but upon hearing about Aretha’s death while in Nashville, I decided to pay my respects at FAME Studios, where the Queen of Soul recorded her career-defining hit, I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You. I bought a funeral wreath and a vintage LP of Aretha’s Gold as tributes and drove to FAME in a car called Soul—the rental agency issued me a Kia Soul. The studio was about to close at five.
Arriving at 4:15, the nice man in the front office listened to my story and informed me that the last tour had already begun but welcomed me to join. Pushing open a door, I entered the carpeted studio, where a FAME sound engineer interrupted his tour to greet me. “Come in,” he said. “I’m sharing stories about Aretha Franklin.”
He recounted a famous story: Atlantic Records producer Jerry Wexler had brought Franklin to FAME to record with the Swampers, the house band that would go on to support renowned artists. The session lasted just one day due to an unfortunate incident involving Aretha’s husband. The Swampers later flew to New York to finish the album’s title track as well as “Respect,” Aretha’s first number one hit. The Queen had arrived, and her reign began in that very room, the sound engineer recounted.
This was the beginning of my week of milestones—my road trip through Alabama. My home state is Tennessee, and I had only ever been to Alabama on one drunken New Year’s Eve in Opelika. Most of what I knew of Alabama revolved around the civil rights era and college football. The music scene—from the Blind Boys of Alabama to the Alabama Shakes—left a significant impression. However, I could have mentioned Truman Capote and Harper Lee whispering childhood secrets in Monroeville, white barbecue sauce, and Huntsville’s role in the space program. Despite the apprehensions I had, it turned out that friends had shared glimpses of a vibrant, progressive Alabama. The flourishing fashion and music scenes around Florence, across the river from Muscle Shoals, painted a new picture.
Moreover, Birmingham’s sophisticated food culture and innovative architecture in the Black Belt, named for its rich, dark soil, spoke of resurrection and recognition. A new monument, the National Memorial for Peace and Justice, opened in Montgomerylast year, serving as a poignant reminder of a painful past. Simultaneously, the Grand Hotel on Mobile Bay had its grand reopening, and down at Gulf Shores, a new generation of oyster farmers, fishermen, and chefs was rebranding the coastal stretch once derisively called the Redneck Riviera.
Consequently, Alabama politics surprised many. In 2017, Democrat Doug Jones was elected to the U.S. Senate and made history as the state’s first Democrat to hold the seat in over two decades. Likewise, Randall Woodfin, a charismatic 37-year-old African-American political newcomer, won the Birmingham mayoral race. With the approaching 200th anniversary of statehood, Alabama unveiled itself anew.
Throughout my travels, I discovered more than just the state’s vibrant present. Alabama is burdened with America’s racial history, which prompted me to prepare by rereading Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail” and viewing images of marchers attacked during those times.
I had just sat down for dinner at Odette, a farm-to-table restaurant in Florence, when a silver fox approached me. With an impressive sweep of hair, natty dress, and a gentry accent, he inquired, “Are you Alabama Houses?” This unexpected conversation with Fennel Mauldin introduced me to local stories, including the history behind GunRunner Hotel, a former Cadillac dealership, where I was staying. The Mauldins passionately recounted how the younger generation was now motivated to stay and innovate, transforming the area.
The next morning at Alabama Chanin, I shared Fennel’s insights with Natalie Chanin, a notable designer who emphasized that Florence’s renaissance was rooted deep in historical creativity. “There’s always been a creative bent to the area,” she noted, illustrating Alabama’s rich artistic legacy through its musicians and writers.
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Not far from Alabama Chanin, I encountered the work of Tom Hendrix, spanning over 30 years and containing 8.5 million pounds of stone. The wandering wall, resembling a labyrinth, served as a memorial for Hendrix’s great-great-grandmother, who endured the Trail of Tears and perilously returned to Alabama on foot. The artist’s son explained that one side represented her removal, while the other conveyed the challenges of her journey home.
The long walk of Te-lah-nay resonated deeply with other historical journeys, including the foot soldiers who crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge during their freedom march from Selma to Montgomery.
As I concluded my evening at Highlands Bar & Grill in Birmingham, a waiter known as Red Dog prepared the table for dessert. Since 1982, he has held the honor of being a landmark within celebrated chef-owner Frank Stitt’s restaurant. This year, pastry chef Dolester Miles made history by winning the James Beard Award as the first African American and self-taught pastry chef to achieve this level of recognition.
Her journey, filled with fond memories of her family baking as a child, illustrated the essence of heritage and community in Alabama and the pride of togetherness prevalent in the dining experience at Highlands. The commitment to respecting one another’s character within their professional environment was evident, ensuring a welcoming and inclusive atmosphere for all.
Birmingham holds a unique position in America’s narrative. While it transformed through industrial growth, it was also the site of profound racial injustice. The historical context of segregation and the notoriety from pivotal events during the civil rights movement propelled Birmingham into the nation’s consciousness. The bombing of the 16th Street Baptist Church and the violent reactions during peaceful protests cemented Birmingham’s legacy.
Reflecting on the resilience of this city, Mayor Woodfin emphasized how Birmingham once demonstrated to the world how to turn away from hatred. His vision of revitalization aimed for improvement in all neighborhoods, even those that have faced challenges for generations. The ongoing transformation of places like Avondale, with trendy restaurants and lively markets, represents a new era of hope for Birmingham.
Throughout my travels, I encountered individuals excited to share a new narrative of Alabama—one of creativity, perseverance, and delicious cuisine. The state is not just a relic of its past but a vibrant hub of cultural rebirth.
The minds behind the changing façade of Alabama recognize that overcoming ignorance requires exposure. “If we get ’em here, we’ll change their minds,” a local remarked confidently, expressing the transformative power of travel.
