roads paved over lives

Joan Green Storr’s life has unfolded on the same block for nearly a century. Born in 1933 at Dr. Holly’s hospital in Overtown, Florida, Storr was brought home to 443 NW 10th Street, where she would witness the world changing over the next nine decades. From the moment her parents carried her in the house, it became the center of her universe, a place where memories and milestones would transpire over nine decades.

Overtown, a neighborhood just northwest of downtown Miami, was founded in 1896. It occupied the territory from Tenth Street (now known as NW 2nd St) to the city line, which included avenues F and G. Industrialists such as Henry Flagler, a founder of Standard Oil, were instrumental in aiding the city's urbanization and grown. He rented out shacks to black workers and as they wanted to expand their neighborhood, Flagler sold lots, donated church buildings and loaned school spaces to the new community. By 1905, the city had a main street on Avenue G, filled with both residents and businesses.

Registries and pamphlets from Overtown’s prime showed that they had over 300 businesses and created their own enterprise within the city. 

Deemed  "Harlem of the South," Overtown was a bustling city for the Black community. Housing singers such as Ella Fitzgerald and Sam Cooke who couldn’t stay in the segregated Miami after performing there. It had a wealth of history and culture. Ella Fitzgerald, Josephine Baker, Billie Holiday, Nat King Cole, W. E. B. Du Bois, and Jackie Robinson. Many of these talents would perform in segregated nightclubs and theaters in Miami and then return to Overtown to sleep and perform free encore shows in Black clubs (Red Rooster Overtown).

During its heyday, Overtown had everything its residents needed despite segregation. From Black-owned hair salons to its own "Little Broadway," it was a self-sustaining society. Primarily African American business owners, professionals, and families filled stucco houses, apartments, and other residences across the city. In this epicenter of Blackness, there was a collective of people who cared for each other like no other, according to Storr.

“Overtown was beautiful, with the fellowship and the love we had for each other,” she said. 

All that she had known was bordered in roughly two square miles. From attending early morning Sunday school sessions at A.M. Cohen Church to saying her wedding vows in that very sanctuary, her life was steady and full. Paced by the people around her and anchored in the heart of her city, Storr wanted for nothing outside of this Black mecca.

Storr’s first 25 years in Overtown are remembered fondly, with the word "community" at the forefront. If one person had turnips and fish, her mother had greens and cornbread to share in return. In a time when "separate but equal" was far from reality, Storr’s neighbors, family, and peers created an asylum where that concept was a fading thought. When they graduated from Booker T. Washington Senior High School, Storr and her classmates cried for each other. Overwhelmed by the legacies and bonds they had created, the Class of 1951 was ready to carry that impact into the next generation. Little did these students know, all they strived to protect and love would be forever changed in the next five years.

Concrete monsters consume almost every major city in America. The long tails of expressway exits hover over houses. The talons of pavement pillars dig into what used to be free land. But under the bellies of these beasts lie untold stories.

The first American highway, Route 40, was built in the early 1800s, and the expansion of these roads has continued. In 1956, former President Dwight D. Eisenhower initiated the Federal-Aid Highway Act. This act expanded the interstate system by 41,000 miles nationwide. Aimed at easing the hardships of road travel and creating jobs across the states, the act was praised as the foundation of the modern transportation system.

Since then, over 4 million miles of road have been built across America. But this success did not come without consequences. According to the Department of Transportation, 475,000 homes were demolished to continue this progress, leaving over 1 million Americans displaced from their homes.

Miami is now a city run by roads. From U.S. 1 to the Turnpike, these paths take residents through what some call the Magic City. But in the late 1950s and 1960s, one road gained a bittersweet reputation. I-95, the longest north-to-south highway in America, became a convenience for South Florida residents. But in this convenience, the interstate became an inanimate suppressor for the residents of Overtown.

“The quality of what we had is forever gone,” said Cathia Darling, a 72-year-old resident of Overtown. Like most of Overtown’s residents, Darling grew up in the AME churches that stand as some of the only remaining landmarks from Overtown’s golden days. She attended Booker T. Washington Senior High and matured in a community where Black people could be anything.

In 1957, Miami city officials began constructing I-95. Using eminent domain, Overtown was placed on the chopping block. This bustling city was in the direct path of destruction and had no power to pivot.

Cathia Darling was a first-year college student when the effects of I-95 hit her life. To build this interstate, the city demolished buildings in Overtown, including her apartment. The Darling family was relocated to the “Pork ‘n’ Beans,” a popular Miami housing project.

“I really didn’t understand what was happening until I came back home,” said Darling. During her pursuit of higher education, fostered by her teachers in Overtown, she returned to find the world she had known decimated.

Recalling the time she spent in her one-bedroom apartment with her mother and sister, Darling said the life she knew in Overtown diminished into a distant memory. All she has now are her memories and Greater Bethel Church to remind her of what once was.

“The bastards had a choice, and they just ran that sucker right through our home,” said Darling. In her opinion, the creation of I-95 was segregation by design.

Between New Deal Programs, Congress’ new interstate system, and city planners, Overtown’s fate was set in stone. Slicing the neighborhood into four quadrants, the city not only lost its economic luster but the sense of community fostered. The interstate took over 30 blocks of residential area from the locals. 

The construction of I-95 resulted in over 80 acres of property and housing being wiped out, reducing an estimated 40,000-person population to a mere 10,000. The displacement of so many residents crippled the Black economy, making it impossible to thrive.

Regarded as “slum clearance” by Miami officials, Overtown’s plan was a direct attack to this community. When tenants began questioning the placement of I-95 a leading Miami engineer, Arthur Darlow, deemed it as a necessity saying that naturally properties would be destroyed as a means to an end. So they dissected Overtown. The west was the heart of the city, where almost every business, church, and homeowner lived. Instead of winding the roads to the less-populated east, city planners decided the epicenter of Overtown was the perfect place. 

Although the highway was an unstoppable force, inquiries of the intent purpose, effects of I-95 began to rise within the community. Seeing that Overtown was now overtaken by roads, housing issues were at the forefront of the expressway concerns. According to research from the University of Miami,  reporters at the  Miami Herald began an investigative series on slums that sparked conversation and controversy in 1958. They began closely following the relationships of slumlords that led to direct links with Francis Kelly, the Director of Miami Slum Clearance Office. 

Luther Brooks, a known political figure and representative of slumlords had exploited his relationship with Kelly. His clientele faced no charges or repercussions when it came to code infringements, disobeying housing policies and overall hazardous conditions that tenants had succumbed to. Targeted negligence like this is what led to the downward spiral of Overtown and surrounding black areas. 

By 1965, the damage caused by transportation infrastructure was irreversible. While I-95 was being constructed, additional projects such as the East-West Dolphin Expressway and the Miami Metro further disrupted the city. Housing projects that were used for displaced residents ill-managed and unattended.The businesses that weren’t wiped lost customers and no longer has the means to occupy space. The city that was once known as a core for black expression and success was being gutted. 

Today, Overtown, once a vibrant community, struggles with poverty, homelessness, and income disparities. It stands as a stark reminder of how systemic decisions can devastate marginalized communities.

In present day almost each statistical aspect, Overtown vastly varies from the greater Miami area. Although not a linear downfall the mark of I-95 is unignorable. In data collected by the US Census and  American Community Survey in 2015, the average per capita income was averaged to $11,750, which is 59% decrease from the surrounding Miami Dade area. Currently the crime rate in Overtown is 103% over the national average with violent crime being over 227% over the national average.

Factors such as education were also affected in Overtown’s reconstruction as test scores for local highschoolers are 22% lower than the national average and the pursuit of higher education also lessened. Population and demographics changed immensely since the expansion of highways. Although not a direct result of I-95, the Cuban Exodus of 1960 caused the hispanic population to take over the city. In 2023, there was an accounted 54% hispanic population and 39% black population, drastically different fromthe racial composition of Overtown we saw in the 1950s. 

Still, the flame of Overtown has not yet burned out. Historians, community leaders, and activists have all continued to work to preserve the integrity of this community's culture.

During a recent walk through Overtown, the remnants of its rich history and vibrant culture are faintly visible through the encampments and subsidized housing. Bea Hines, a journalist who lived in Overtown during its golden age, hopes people will remember the community's resilience and beauty.

“Overtown was more than just a place—it was a heartbeat, a rhythm of life,” she said. She hopes that efforts to revitalize the area honor its history while bringing hope and opportunity to future generations.

“I want people to see that Overtown is not a lost cause but, in turn, a different creature,” said Hines. As the city tries to cover the horrors of I-95 with thought-provoking murals and condos, Hines wishes for nothing more than a rebirth of her hometown.

Places such as the Historic Lyric Theater are dedicated to preserving the history of Overtown and creating programs that showcase what it used to be. New plans, like the “Overtown Underdeck,” aim to create outdoor spaces for residents. To Hines, it seems as if city planners are trying to atone for the sins of their predecessors. With that in mind, she hopes this newfound empathy breathes life into the city.

“I am hopeful for the future. I just hope others can let go of the past,” said Hines

. In the opinion of many residents, Overtown will never be the same after these last 75 years. However, the dream has not yet died. In the coming years, Overtown can only be described as an episode to be continued. Prayerfully, the leaders, figureheads, and preservers can weave a brighter fabric into the tattered quilt that is Overtown.

roads paved over lives-video