Recalling the Glory of Walnut Street in ‘50s Black Milwaukee

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Image via Milwaukee Public LIbrary

Bronzeville Week (through August 14) takes me back to my black Milwaukee in the days of yore. My mind instantly flashes back to West Walnut Street between North Sixth and West 12th street. In my teen-age heydays here in the 1950s, this was where it all happened for me, my running buddies, and all of my girlfriends. 

Thus, on a recent summer night at the corner of 125th Street and Lenox Avenue in Upper Manhattan—as I took-in the sights and sounds of the center of the universe for black people in America—a funny thing happened. I found myself looking back in time, thinking of Walnut Stret where I grew up. 

There I was, in the heart of Harlem, sidewalks dripping people, streets choked with cars and taxis and buses, the Apollo Theater marquee lit-up and the “A” train beckoning. Yet, my mind’s eye saw Walnut Street in Milwaukee. And what a vision it was.

Street of Dreams

 Granted, Walnut in my hometown never quite equaled 125^th in Harlem, but Walnut was black Milwaukee—our street of dreams. It was our Harlem. And I recall it like it was yesterday.

Great memories rarely fade away, which is why I remember Walnut Street in the ‘50s. It was really something day or night. Especially at night. And it was all ours.

Upbeat Walnut Street, a half-block from my childhood home, started near the southwest corner of North Sixth with Deacon Jones’ Chicken Shack, which attracted people from all over town—black and white.. 

One of my fave memories of Walnut was watching and listening to talented local (and some out-of-town) vocal groups sing a cappella on the sidewalk. This included the Moonglows and Five Notes (of Chess Records) and the Spaniels (of Vee-Ja). The latter impressed me so much that years later I was inspired to write their authorized biography Goodnight Sweetheart, Goodnight: The Story of the Spaniels (1995). 

In addition to the well-known, heavily patronized taverns on Walnut, the most popular hang-out for me and my young crowd was the Regal Theater at N. Seventh Street we called “The Flick.” Along with many grown-ups, we piled-in to see films featuring the likes of Lena Horne, Eddie “Rochester” Anderson, Ethel Waters, Nina Mae McKinney and Bill “Bojangles” Robinson.

Imitation of Life

But I was first introduced to the Regal the night my mother took me along in 1950, to a re-release showing of the stunning 1934 classic Imitation of Life, with light-skinned actress Fredi Washington passing for white, to the sad realization of her mother, played by Louise Beavers. My well-traveled, night-working father called the Regal “Our Apollo.”

As teenagers, we also were regulars on Friday nights to take advantage of the Regal’s popular 25-cents admission for a movie-and-half after 9:30. Sundays were given over to triple-feature cowboy shoot-em-ups, and everyone seemed to get totally caught up in the goings-on up on the screen. It truly was a trip.

Our little Walnut, like big Harlem, wasn’t confined to a place or activity. But this short stretch of real estate buzzed with energy—from the Rose Room, Mr. Brown’s Colonial Barbershop, O’Bee’s Funeral Home, Art’s Shine Parlor, V&V Supermarket and the Bop Shop, to the Savoy Lounge, 700 Tap, 711, Clara’s Restaurant, Manny Mauldin Jr.’s Harlem Records, the Booker T. Washington YMCA, Roosevelt Junior High School and the Milwaukee Globe newspaper, run by my late father, Sanford Carter. 

Day or night, indoors or out, the Walnut Street of my teen-age youth was the best place in town for black folks of all ages to be and to be seen. It was something special. Those who lived it wouldn’t trade the experience, and those who are still around fondly remember it. 

No, my Walnut of yesterday was not my Harlem of today. But yes, it was very well worth remembering. Indeed, I’ll never forget it.