Narrator: From marsh to Mall; muggy port town to slick, booming metropolis; from gray granite to glass and steel; the sounds of Sousa to the go-go beats and beyond.

Man: Well, all right.

Different man: Whatever there was, it was all here.

Narrator: From what we eat...

Chorus: ♪ Eddie Leonard Sandwich Shops... ♪ Narrator: to how we play... [Screaming] change has always been a defining feature of life in the Washington area.

Man: The dive bars and the strip clubs and the little mom-and-pop restaurants, for a lot of people, that was Washington.

Narrator: But as some things fade away, memories and influences remain, and in many ways, the past continues to define this city because in Washington, D.C., bygones aren't always bygone.

Man: It's so nice to remember the good times.

Narrator: Join us as we revisit majestic, quirky, and sometimes dark parts of D.C.'s past and learn some of the surprising ways these memories mold us today.

[Playing "Take the "A" Train"] It was the birthplace of Duke Ellington... John Lennon and Paul McCartney: ♪ I get high ♪ ♪ I get high, I get high ♪ Narrator: stop number one on The Beatles' first American tour... Woman: Leonard.

Leonard.

Narrator: and Spock Central for the "Star Trek" world premiere.

D.C. has rarely lacked options for entertainment.

♪ Ain't no river wide enough ♪ ♪ To keep me from getting... ♪ Narrator: From the Senators to the Redskins to the Caps, from the Bullets to the Wizards and back to the Nats, sports teams have long been part of the soul of the city... [Crowd cheering] and for more than 50 years, at the heart of it all was Griffith Stadium.

Griffith Stadium.

Ha!

Oh, boy, I have memories about that.

Announcer: Watch now as Chicago's George Wilson takes out not one, but two Redskins.

Man: If you could put back one landmark that isn't there anymore, I think Griffith Stadium would have been the first one that people would have chosen.

Narrator: From the time it opened in 1911, Griffith Stadium drew people from all over town, even from Pennsylvania Avenue... [Band playing] Announcer: For the first time since the beginning of the war, the President of the United States goes to a baseball game.

Narrator: with president after president throwing out the ceremonial first pitch on opening day.

Man: Griffith Stadium was a big, drafty ballpark on Georgia Avenue where Howard University is today.

Announcer: And it's play ball as the... Kelly: It was named after Clark Griffith, who owned the Senators, owned the Washington baseball team.

Announcer: ...record a devastating Chicago offensive.

Kelly: It didn't just have baseball games.

It had football games.

The Redskins played there in the forties.

Also the Homestead Grays, Negro League's team in the 1940s, played some of its home games at Griffith Stadium.

Narrator: The Grays featured some of the very best players of the day-- centerfielder Cool Papa Bell, considered one of the fastest men to ever play the game; Buck Leonard, known in the day as the "Black Lou Gehrig;" and Josh Gibson, the "Black Babe Ruth."

The sports teams were segregated, and so was the seating.

It is an undeniable part of the stadium's and the city's history, but throughout it all, there have been moments of unity, like the night in 1942 when Washingtonians packed the stands for a musical showdown between Louis Armstrong... and Charlie Barnet.

My husband and I went to watch the battle of the bands.

Narrator: Mary Brown was born in D.C. nearly a century ago.

She says the concert was a rare integrated event at the stadium, but what she remembers most is the fracas that ensued when some frustrated fans couldn't hear Barnet's band.

We were sitting up in the grandstands.

Someone had a dispute, and they started throwing Coke bottles.

So my husband said, "We better get out of here," so we got up, and we were going out, and one hit me right back here, knocked me down.

Narrator: Mary Brown never did return to those stands, but for many people, Griffith Stadium holds a special place in their hearts.

Man: You know what the one thing missing is, though?

What's that?

The smell of the Wonder Bread bakery.

Narrator: Today, all that's left is a small museum at Howard University Hospital, where down the street from the old bakery, there is a wall of memories that Bill Turner and Ed Baruch know very well.

You could buy 8 rolls from the day before for 25 cents, Right.

and then you could go in and get hot dogs free 'cause they didn't-- Right.

They didn't count the dogs.

They didn't count the dogs.

They just counted the rolls.

Narrator: Bill Turner basically grew up at the stadium.

Turner: I spent as much time in Griffith Stadium from '56 to '59 as I spent anywhere, and that was just part of my life.

Narrator: In the mid 1950s, Turner was living his dream as a batboy for the Senators.

Turner: In my last year there, I pitched batting practice to the pitchers, and I just loved that.

I mean, it was just-- I was actually throwing a ball that Major League players were hitting.

[Crack] Narrator: Turner's pal Edwin Baruch also had what he thought was a pretty plum gig.

I ran the scoreboard at Griffith Stadium the season of 1956.

Narrator: That year, Baruch was chosen to be part of a photo shoot for a story about teen summer jobs in "Life" magazine.

Baruch: "Life" magazine was "Life" magazine back in '56.

I was a hero at the stadium for one huge day.

Narrator: "Life" never published the photo, but Baruch found it recently, showcased along with a lot of other memories of the beloved park.

Griffith Stadium closed in 1965, and in 1973, another sports venue opened its doors... Announcer: Bobby Dandridge for the Bullets.

Hits... [Whistle] Narrator: the Capital Centre, built by real estate developer Abe Pollin, who wanted to move his Baltimore Bullets closer to home.

To make the arena profitable, he also brought in a franchise for another sport, one he knew nothing about.

Announcer: A shot and a goal!

Man: He had never seen a hockey game in his life, but we were successful in getting an expansion franchise.

That enabled us to go forward, design, and build the arena.

Narrator: Jerry Sachs ran the Capital Centre, which had luxury sky boxes and a Jumbotron screen, the first of its kind.

Man: ♪ We got it going on, the Bullets, make no mistake ♪ ♪ We're playing the "D" and getting out on the break... ♪ Narrator: But sporting events weren't the only draw.

Sachs: We had the plant and flower show.

We actually had a boat show.

We had a carnival out on the parking lot.

We were the most aggressive arena in the country in bringing events in and creating them ourselves.

Narrator: And when it came to music... ♪ Well, I was running down the road ♪ ♪ Trying to loosen my load, I got seven women on my mind ♪ Sachs: We had every, every extraordinary act that would play the United States played our building-- Frank Sinatra, Rolling Stones.

We had Elvis Presley a couple of times.

♪ Now see, see what you done ♪ ♪ Well, you made me love you ♪ ♪ N-n-n-n-now your man has come ♪ Woman: What was really amazing, it was affordable.

I remember on one lineup, it was Mother's Finest, the Emotions, and Earth, Wind & Fire for, like, $10.

I mean, you couldn't beat it.

♪ As life begun, you will as one ♪ ♪ Battle with the serpentine fire ♪ ♪ Yeah, yeah ♪ ♪ Oh, yeah ♪ We happened to hit it at the right time.

Paul Stanley: Does everybody feel all right?

[Crowd cheering] Sachs: Pop music was exploding at that particular time, and artists were looking for larger venues, and we were just filled, filled with music and all sorts of events.

[Judas Priest's "You've Got Another Thing Comin'" playing] Narrator: Even the parking lot at the Cap Centre had its moment of glory.

Announcer: Judas Priest explode into the Capital Centre this Saturday.

Narrator: It was memorialized in the 1986 film "Heavy Metal Parking Lot," which followed Judas Priest fans tailgating before a concert.

I don't know about you, but everybody else is definitely dynamite.

Let's rock!

OK!

All right!

Narrator: Just 16 minutes long, the film has garnered a cult following for its compelling portrait of the heavy metal subculture.

Rob Halford: ♪ ...the morning, then I'm gone ♪ ♪ I'm gone ♪ Narrator: By the late nineties, Pollin had built a new stadium in the heart of the city, and in 2002, the Cap Centre... [Explosions] came crumbling down.

15 years after the dust settled, Cap Centre aficionados gathered at the University of Maryland to celebrate the past.

Woman: My dad worked for the Capital Centre for 20 years.

Well, it was a big game day, and we were the number-one high-school team in the Inner High, Wilson was, and we played the number-one Catholic-school team, which was DeMatha.

And then they had that other game, you know, the Bullets and the Seattle Supersonics.

Sachs: It was a very special time for us.

The events were exciting, but the people that we hired, people who joined us, really formed a relationship that you can feel today here.

That was me.

Yeah.

That's a good one.

Ha ha ha!

Sachs: We call ourselves a Capital Centre family.

Narrator: A family with memories from the mundane to the magnificent.

[Rock music playing] ♪ Hey, hey ♪ Narrator: The Cap Centre didn't have a monopoly on A-listers.

Announcer: Mrs. Sargent Shriver, sister of the president... Narrator: Throughout its history, celebrities have always graced this city's streets.

It's not for nothing that some people call the nation's capital "Hollywood on the Potomac."

Announcer: Washington's F Street looks like Hollywood or Broadway on an opening night.

Narrator: By the early 1920s, D.C. was becoming host to scores of movie theaters, vaudeville houses, and entertainment centers, and the venues were often as much a part of the attraction as the screens, theaters like the Palace and the Fox.

Man: People going to movies today wouldn't believe a theater like that.

It's the classic movie palace of the 1920s, It seated somewhere around 3,000 people.

Narrator: Historian Robert Headley quite literally wrote the book on D.C.-area movie palaces.

Headley: You'd go in, there would be doormen and ushers in fancy uniforms.

Narrator: With a bronze staircase and marble columns, the Fox Theatre, which opened in 1927 in the National Press Building, was in a category by itself.

From the moment you entered, you knew you were in for a treat.

Headley: Music would stop, and the lights would go down, and the curtain would open, and that was sort of a magic moment, but nobody has curtains that open anymore.

Narrator: Opulent though it was, the Fox wasn't D.C.'s only theatrical grande dame.

There was the Georgian Revival style of the Tivoli, the Art Deco majesty of the Trans-Lux, and the smooth grace of the Knickerbocker, which opened in 1917 on the corner of 18th and Columbia Road Northwest.

With seating for nearly 2,000 people, the Knickerbocker was one of the best theaters in the city, and the films were not to be missed.

Not even the historic snowfall of 1922 could keep people away.

Headley: There was a lot of snow, but people-- some people were able to get out, especially in the neighborhood.

They could just walk to the theater.

Man: The name of the movie was so peculiar, I'll always remember it from reading about it.

It was called "Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford."

Narrator: But just a few minutes into the show, there was a loud noise.

All of a sudden, there was a creaking sound... [Creak] and then the whole roof gave way.

It crashed down on the balcony.

Then the balcony crashed down on the first floor.

[People shouting] [Siren] Narrator: It was one of the deadliest disasters in Washington history, with 98 dead and scores more severely injured.

[Car horn honking] A year after the collapse, the Ambassador Theater was built on the site.

Only the original facade remained, but it took a while to regain the public's faith.

Headley: People would get very scared when they went to the Ambassador, and there are all kinds of letters that people wrote to the city government saying, "I was sitting in the Ambassador, "and I noticed the balcony was trembling.

Is that a bad sign?"

and they would write back.

"No.

That's normal," you know?

Narrator: Not all of D.C.'s movie theaters had as much drama, either in safety or in style, and many were just a stroll around the block.

We had one movie theater two doors from M Street... and it was called the Blue Mouse.

Narrator: For Mary Brown, who grew up in Foggy Bottom, a trip to the movies with her brothers and sisters was a special treat.

Brown: My father would go by and pay for us on his way home from work, and then we'd hold hands and walk over there.

Narrator: In Brookland, it was the Newton Theater.

In Northeast D.C., it was the Stanton, and in Chevy Chase, it was, and still is, the Avalon.

Headley: If you knew where somebody grew up, you almost automatically knew where they went to movies.

Narrator: Today, many of those theaters are gone, replaced by drug stores and fast food joints, and theaters like the York on Georgia Avenue are now places to find a different kind of spiritual center.

A lot of them became churches.

A church found that a theater was an ideal place because it already had all the seats.

It had a nice stage.

You could put a pulpit up on the stage.

You could have an altar behind it.

It was perfect.

Narrator: There are many ways to move the spirit... and in the first half of the 20th century, there was one part of town that could do just that, a place where the streets were filled with the sound of music, jazz music.

Man: U Street was a jazz mecca.

Narrator: John Malachi is the son and namesake of one of D.C.'s most celebrated jazz pianists.

Malachi: At one time here in Washington, there was a small club on almost every corner on U Street from 7th to 14th.

Narrator: The senior John Malachi was a local legend, performing with the likes of Billy Eckstine, Sarah Vaughan, and Dizzy Gillespie.

[Playing jazz] During segregation, the U Street corridor became a city within the city.

With African Americans barred from establishments downtown, they created their own vibrant center, complete with hotels and restaurants, businesses... ♪ ...I'm stealing has got me falling... ♪ Narrator: and some of the best entertainment in the world.

♪ My heart is rolling, baby ♪ ♪ Never leave me ♪ ♪ Don't deceive me... ♪ Malachi: My father loved to be in Washington, as opposed to being in New York, because he loved the setting here.

Narrator: And what a setting it was.

The U Street corridor was the home of the renowned Howard Theatre.

From the time it opened in 1910, it has been a place where some of the nation's best performers have honed their craft, everyone from Louis Armstrong to Lionel Hampton.

[Playing jazz] Down the street, Republic Gardens was built out of a row house in 1920.

There was Club Bali, one of the area's largest venues, and, of course... Lincoln Theatre.

Well, you can't do a "Bygone DC" show without talking about the Lincoln Theatre... Narrator: Shellee Haynesworth is the creator of the multimedia project "Black Broadway on U."

Haynesworth: Back in the day, it was actually a silent movie theater, and then a new owner came in, added sound, then that's when they started performing here.

Narrator: But perhaps the most famous spot on U Street was the legendary Crystal Caverns, eventually renamed Bohemian Caverns, which operated on and off for 90 years.

Haynesworth: It's a shrine.

It's a jazz music mecca, you know, not just here in D.C., globally.

If you talk to any cool jazz artist that knows where to play or has a desire to play any place, this is it.

[Playing jazz] Woman: I love the energy of the Caverns.

I love that it was a place that anybody could come and hear live music.

♪ Pardon me, honestly ♪ Narrator: Grammy-nominated musician Carolyn Malachi, John Malachi's great-granddaughter, got her start at the Caverns, a place, she says, where anyone could feel at home.

Carolyn: Just didn't matter who you were.

Like, you could come to the Caverns right after a basketball game, or you could come to the Caverns right after having dinner at the White House.

In that space, everybody was on the same level.

Narrator: In 2016, the Caverns closed its doors for the last time, leaving a void for many of the musicians who performed there.

[Playing jazz] Carolyn: Like, you knew when you played at the Caverns, you could not be average.

You could not just wake up and, you know, get out of bed and, you know, roll over in your pajamas and play.

You had to come prepared because there were so many legends that set that standard before you and you knew the expectation of the people that came in there.

Narrator: The expectation of excellence set the standard for these clubs... but even when the clubs were hopping, sometimes, especially in the D.C. summer heat, nothing could beat hearing beats at the beach.

Announcer: Say, how would you like to see all the top recording stars this summer?

Well, you can at Carr's Beach in Annapolis.

Malachi: If you think about the time, Carr's and Sparrow's Beach were the beaches where Black people could go.

People who put on shows and stuff like that saw that, so the people at the beach and the people who promote shows got together, and that's where we spent our Sunday evenings.

Announcer: May the 30th-- James Brown, June the 12th--Wilson Pickett, June the 19th... Narrator: Part of the renowned Chitlin' Circuit, a collection of segregation-era Black performance venues, the adjacent Carr's and Sparrow's Beaches were the hottest destinations in the hottest months.

Getting to Annapolis on the weekend was really a treat.

Narrator: Sparrow's was the more family-friendly option, and Carr's was the place for grownups to play.

Malachi: They would have a show, and not just marginal entertainers, but I'm saying the very best.

I saw Sarah Vaughan with my father at Carr's Beach.

Count Basie's band played at Carr's Beach.

All of the entertainers, they would play so Black people in Washington would have an opportunity not only to go to the beach, but also to be entertained that evening.

Narrator: Back in town, music once sounded from a different shore, right near where the Kennedy Center now stands.

Kelly: In the 1930s, the Park Service built a barge that could sit in the river, and the National Symphony Orchestra would set up on this barge and perform kind of twilight symphony concerts for people sitting on the steps of the Watergate.

[Orchestra playing] Narrator: Featured in the 1958 romantic comedy "Houseboat" with Cary Grant, the Watergate Amphitheater was a very popular destination.

Brown: It was beautiful, and we'd go down 'cause I lived on Virginia Avenue.

We just walked down Ohio Drive and sit on the grass or sit on the steps or whatever and just listen to the music.

Narrator: As the city grew, other sounds began to drown out the big bands.

In 1965, the rumble from the commercial jets flying in and out of National Airport became too much to bear, and the bandshell became a memory, not unlike many other beloved sites.

Rhodes Tavern, the Francis Scott Key House... the Lemon House.

Over the years, many notable and often beloved buildings have come and gone.

Kelly: If you look at old photos of Washington, there's a lot of cool buildings that aren't here anymore.

Brown: It seems like it's a metropolis that has grown up around Washington, D.C. Everything that used to be there is gone.

Narrator: In their place, a new city emerged... Announcer: Did you Garfinckel today... Narrator: creating the spaces and places that now fill our memories... Announcer: in a topcoat?

Narrator: and iconic stores of one generation have become icons of another.

You know, we all see places, and, "Oh, that used to be this restaurant," or, "Oh, that used to be that department store," but the city retains an essential sort of Washington-ness that is recognizable for people who are from here.

Narrator: And sometimes there is surprising history to unearth.

Before this was a manicured metropolis, farms and plantations dotted the land, and in the place of Federal buildings, slave pens once stood.

Man: We're at the intersection of Maryland and 7th Street Southwest in Washington, D.C. At this intersection were two of the major slave pens in the city.

Narrator: In the 1800s, the slave trade was a profitable and booming business in the nation's capital, and it was a common sight to see chained men, women, and children forcibly marched between holding pens in trade markets, but according to historian John Franklin, the history of slavery in the D.C. area has been all too often overlooked.

Franklin: We came up on the roof of this building so that you can see what happened in its entirety.

The enslaved Africans would be offloaded off the ships at the end of 7th Street here, and then they'd be walked down all the way to this intersection of 7th and Independence, where on the right was Robey's private jail and on the left was the Yellow House, where Solomon Northrop of "12 Years a Slave" wakes up in 1841 in chains.

Uh!

Uh!

Woman: 1, 2, 3.

Narrator: 155 years after emancipation at the location of some of the most notorious slave pens, a sign was installed commemorating the people who, against their will, helped to build the beautiful city we know today.

Franklin: We know that the Capitol is built, to great extent, with slave labor.

The Washington Monument was slave labor.

The White House was slave labor, but we can walk by these places every day and not realize how deeply ingrained slavery is in many aspects of our nation but particularly in Washington, D.C. Kelly: That's the thing about Washington, is, everything is in the shadow of the White House, so it makes for these delicious ironies, whether it's a strip club or a punk venue or a slave market.

Narrator: John Kelly is a columnist for the "Washington Post."

He has been covering the city's history and quirks for almost 30 years.

Kelly: This is Downtown Washington.

It is office buildings now, but there was a time when, if you were really rich in Washington, this is where you lived.

You lived on K Street in a mansion.

It wasn't a place for lobbyists and lawyers.

It was a place for businessmen and magnates and captains of industry who wanted a presence in the U.S. capital.

Goode: All that was wiped out in 20 years by developers.

Narrator: Historian James Goode has published six books on D.C. history, and he is often credited with making sure that more of that history doesn't disappear.

Goode: The preservation movement really picked up steam in the 1970s, and now we have 30 historic districts, so we're one of the best-protected cities in the country today.

Narrator: The movement put a halt to the rapid destruction of historical sites, but in the eyes of some Washingtonians, there were other structures that couldn't be destroyed quickly enough.

Kelly: During World War I and again during World War II, basically any bit of green space in the city would be covered with some sort of temporary building, and they were known as tempos.

Announcer: To provide working space for boomtown's expanding production forces, temporary office buildings have mushroomed up all over the city wherever there is spare land.

They even threaten to crowd out temporary buildings still standing from the last war.

Narrator: Ugly, uninsulated, and often infested with rodents, for decades, these so-called tempos housed thousands of military workers, but long after the wars were over, the temporary office spaces were becoming permanent eyesores.

Goode: Richard Nixon actually worked in the main Navy building in World War II, and when he became president, he couldn't believe they were still here, so he ordered them all torn down.

Narrator: But not every remnant of war was unwelcome.

In the 1960s, surplus military equipment was put to peaceful use.

Kelly: In the 1960s, you could go and play on decommissioned military equipment that now you would never let some kid climb on the sharp edge of a airplane or, you know, crawl all around the tank or something.

Narrator: At Kennedy Playground in Shaw, there were training jets and a tugboat, and parks like Wheaton, Watkins, and Cabin John had jets of their own.

While war has sometimes given the city a particular style, there have been plenty of stores that have kept the inhabitants looking just fine.

In 1880, the city's first department store opened its doors, thrilling customers with clothing selections, china, and Christmas displays.

Woodies was a beautiful place.

Everyone used to come from Maryland, Virginia, and the farther places to watch those windows, to stand and see the animation going on, and it was beautiful.

Narrator: For over a century, Woodies sold us everything from panties to Play-Doh, but they were far from the only game in town.

Kelly: Like a lot of cities, we had homegrown department stores.

I mean, it's hard to imagine.

You know, we had three or four big stores that were our stores.

Narrator: Hecht's, Kann's, Garfinckel's, Lansburgh's.

All fixtures in D.C. for decades, they disappeared one by one.

We lapped up ice cream at Gifford's, browsed the shelves at Olsson's, got pills to pop at Peoples, and picked up hammers at Hechinger's.

And at stores like Lambda Rising, one of the first gay bookstores in the country, we did more than just shop.

Man: Lambda Rising was a very important institution in this city.

It was a community center.

It was a safe place.

It was a place that gay and lesbian people and people who were friends of gay and lesbian people could come and feel at home.

Narrator: Deacon Maccubbin was its founder.

Maccubbin: I started Lambda Rising because I went looking for gay and lesbian books at the library, and couldn't find any.

Narrator: Back then, Maccubbin was a self-proclaimed hippie who knew little about the world of books, but he had a good sense for what the community needed.

Maccubbin: The very first Saturday that we were open, somebody came in from Baltimore, and he walked to the center of the store, and he just slowly turned 360 degrees around looking at everything in the store, and then he gave a big sigh.

He says, "Wow.

Home at last."

Narrator: The store was a home for a lot of people.

Over the years, it became a symbol in D.C., ground zero for a burgeoning gay rights movement.

Maccubbin: We were a catalyst for a lot of things that happened in the community.

When people would want to get an organization started-- didn't matter what it was; it was a garden club; it was a bridge club, a gay youth group, D.C. switchboard, or the gay switchboard-- all of these different things kind of grew out of Lambda Rising.

Narrator: Deacon's husband Jim Bennett helped manage the store.

For 35 years, the shelves and the space inspired authors and readers alike, showing the world that a store focused on LGBTQ literature could be a success, but in 2009, Bennett and Maccubbin felt it was time to close up the shop.

Maccubbin: That was our goal, to prove that bookstores should carry books-- gay books and lesbian books and bisexual books and transgender books-- and now they do.

That's a good thing.

Bennett: It was something that's made us very proud.

Yes.

It did.

It really did.

Mwah!

Stop.

Narrator: And if stores like Lambda Rising helped to define a culture, the record stores of the D.C. region definitely set a tone... Where do we get our records?

Crowd: Music Box!

Music Box.

That's the place, Washington's favorite record shop at 427 10th Street... Narrator: and by the 1980s, record stores were everywhere... Man: As the saying was back then, you couldn't, you know, twirl a cat without hitting a record store.

Announcer: Waxie Maxie's puts the area's largest... Narrator: stores like Waxie Maxie's, named for a time when records were made of wax.

You could get bootlegs at Penguin Feather.

For rare records, Melody was the place to go... Announcer: Kemp Mill Records breaks its own record.

Narrator: and there was Kemp Mill.

Announcer: Remember, at Kemp Mill Records, it's $5.99, and it's all the time.

Narrator: In March 2017, Kemp Mill shuttered its last remaining shop, but for over 40 years, with 36 stores, it was at the center of the local music scene.

Danny Lamb was the co-owner of the last Kemp Mill standing.

Lamb: Just the fact that it's a homegrown, local chain and not a corporate chain across the country, we've always been able to stay in touch with what's going on locally.

Narrator: From jazz and R&B to rock and reggae, this location was the mainstay for a lot of local music... [Go-go music playing] and it was the place to go to buy recordings of D.C.'s indigenous sound-- the funk and soul of go-go.

Grooving to great music can work up an appetite, and while it hasn't always been the restaurant town it is today, D.C. does have a history of serving up some delicious dishes.

Who doesn't long for that juicy steak from Blackie's, a bag of burgers from Little Tavern, the China Doll's Cantonese-style chicken chow mein, or how about a taste of one of President Lincoln's favorite dishes?

He loved Harvey's oysters, and Harvey's lasted a hundred years after that, always referred to Lincoln's visit as the turning point for the restaurant.

Narrator: John DeFerrari runs the blog "Streets of Washington."

His love of local lore runs deep.

In the 19th century, there were oyster houses on every block, practically.

There were ads in the newspapers that sounded like we would-- you know, pizza or fried chicken now.

"Bring home a bag of oysters and keep--make your family happy."

Narrator: But as the city changed, so did the cuisine as well as the scene.

DeFerrari: Restaurants have a lot of historical richness to them because restaurants represent what people idealize in terms of a social setting.

It's not just the food.

Narrator: Of course not, because in this powerful town, we're known for a special kind of lunch.

DeFerrari: One of the genres of Washington restaurant is certainly the power lunch spot.

Washington has had several really notable ones, and perhaps one of the most colorful places was Duke Zeibert's on Connecticut Avenue at L Street.

Some people call-- say, "Duke Zeibert's, it's an institution."

I've only been here 50 years, and they say an institution, and I tell them that-- that a crazy house is an institution, too.

Narrator: Duke's humor and comfort cooking attracted some of the most powerful people, like at this 1993 event honoring Al and Tipper Gore.

Duke Zeibert is sort of like the Washington Monument.

He's here.

He's a monument.

He's not even a person anymore, and so if it wasn't for Duke, I don't think there'd be a Duke Zeibert's.

Narrator: And if it weren't for J. Willard Marriott, there wouldn't have been that beloved place for a family-style meal.

Announcer: And at Hot Shoppes, we cook our chicken so they're always tender, juicy, and delicious.

Narrator: What started as A&W Root Beer stands, Marriott's Hot Shoppes became one of the most popular restaurant chains in the area... Kelly: There were Hot Shoppes everywhere, so in the forties, fifties, sixties, this was the place for teenagers to hang out, at the Hot Shoppe, and it had its own hamburger, was the Mighty Mo.

Haynesworth: The Mighty Mo preceded the Big Mac.

I mean, it was the real deal.

You had, you know, those two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickle, onions, but it was legit.

I mean--I mean, it was serious.

Narrator: But the real special sauce for many people was in the memories it created.

Just ask Joyce Flick.

She met her husband there in 1963.

Flick: Some show-and-tell here.

The Hot Shoppes made a cookbook, which is very much in demand after it closed.

At some of my high school reunions, I duplicate the hot fudge sundae.

Narrator: Steak, onion rings, a Teen Twist-- whatever item you chose, it was always an experience...

The one that I used to frequent often was at 14th and Rhode Island.

You had the little tray on your car.

this little box, the speaker.

They spoke to you.

Then they came out with your food, and I just remember, that Orange Freeze, if you drank it too fast, you know what happened.

You had a headache.

Narrator: But the dining experience Haynesworth says she misses the most was in an entirely different part of town.

Home to one of the nation's oldest open-air fish markets, the Waterfront has since undergone redevelopment... and while a few favorites remain, some of the old standby restaurants are sorely missed.

Haynesworth: The whole experience going to the Waterfront, it was incredible, you know, because you still could purchase you know, fresh seafood, and then you had Flagship.

You had Hogates.

You had Channel Inn, and they were just all right there.

Narrator: The best part of the meal often came toward the end-- those famous, savory, beloved rum buns at Flagship and Hogates.

Haynesworth: The rum buns were amazing.

They would come with the bun, and they would take, you know, the sauce, you know, and just put it on top right at your table.

It was always warm and gooey.

It was an experience and especially for the family.

It was a family experience.

Narrator: While food filled our bellies, the whirls and twirls of D.C.'s amusement parks could make a stomach lurch.

Woman: ♪ Fun is where you find it ♪ Man: ♪ Where do you find it?

♪ Both: ♪ Glen Echo Amusement Park ♪ Narrator: In its prime, Glen Echo Park was one of the premiere amusement parks in the Mid-Atlantic, complete with bumper cars, a Tilt-A-Whirl, and a carousel that still exists today.

But in 1960, that carousel was the site of a sit-in protesting the park's pervasive segregation because from its inception, African Americans were barred from enjoying the rides.

It was totally segregated, and, in fact, Maryland was segregated.

Narrator: Dion Diamond is a civil rights activist.

In the early 1960s, he was part of a group of Howard University students who were working to desegregate establishments around the D.C. area, including lunch counters like this in Arlington, Virginia.

That summer, Glen Echo became a central focus.

Diamond: And we did not know exactly how to go about it, but after trying to get into the park on more than one occasion and being refused, we decided to put up a picket line.

Narrator: The picketing continued through the summer, with local residents marching alongside the students.

The change didn't happen immediately, but the following year, the park opened its doors to everyone.

Diamond: And it's always gratifying to know that something that you participated in, something that you helped to initiate, met with success.

Kelly: Glen Echo might be the amusement park that a lot of Washingtonians think about, but, you know, African Americans had their own amusement parks when places like Glen Echo wouldn't allow them to come.

Narrator: Parks like Suburban Gardens.

Woman: Suburban Gardens was an amusement park built in Deanwood that opened in 1921.

It was the only amusement park of its type within the Washington city limits, and it was for Blacks, not that they kept Whites out, but it was built, designed, run, managed by Blacks.

Narrator: Patsy Fletcher is a historian who studies former African-American leisure destinations.

She says Suburban Gardens offered up attractions that rivaled other parks of the day.

One of my favorite stories is about the Caterpillar, which was kind of at the top of the hill, and, you know, the Caterpillar is sort of a round piece of equipment that goes around a track, and then you have this canopy that comes up over certain points so that it does look like a caterpillar... but that was really popular with, like, the teens because then they could sneak in a kiss or two when the canopy went up.

Narrator: And when it came back down, people could dance to some of the biggest names of the day.

The park closed in 1940, but a short boat ride down the Potomac, there was more fun to be had.

Announcer: Remember, for a barrel of fun every Saturday and Sunday, it's Marshall Hall.

Narrator: Originally a segregated park, by the mid 1950s, Marshall Hall opened its doors to everyone.

Located directly opposite Mount Vernon, it was an escape for Washingtonians.

Fletcher: Every imaginable amusement ride that you could think of was there at Marshall Hall.

I mean, they just were jubilant to go there.

Being in D.C., you know, it was--you know, it was a city.

It was urban.

It was raw.

It was gritty.

It was noisy, and so going out to Marshall Hall, it allowed you to experience the joy of an amusement park and not too far from a major, urban city.

I would say my favorite rides were probably the Ferris wheel.

Riding the Ferris wheel, for me, always felt like just being on top of the world, you know, having a view of the world.

Narrator: Done with whirling on rides?

How about a whirl around town?

In Washington, D.C.-- whether it's music, comedy, or even burlesque-- the club scene has long been a vibrant part of the city's culture.

Kelly: If you lived in Washington in the fifties, sixties, or seventies, into the eighties and you wanted to pay to see naked women, this is where you would come.

This was the Casino Royal, which started out as a burlesque house and then ended up showing X-rated movies.

This was the Butterfly Club.

This was Benny's Rebel Room.

Here was a place called This Is It?, and there were dancers.

There were topless and bottomless dancers who performed here, you know, every night of the week.

Narrator: At one point, 14th Street may have been the epicenter for nocturnal fun, but in D.C., a rocking nightlife has long been part and parcel all around town.

You could meet a mate at Rumors, be jamming at Kilimanjaro, or you could laugh yourself silly at places like Garvin's.

Man: Garvin's opened January 1979.

When that opened, that was the first paying comedy club outside of California, paying comedy club.

They paid comics from New York and L.A. to come in and perform there.

Ritch Shydner came of age on the D.C. comedy circuit.

His first big break-- Garvin's opening night.

Shydner: The first show, I think, was David Say and Richard Belzer, and I sat and watched it, and Harry, the owner, came over to me, and he said, "What are you doing?

"I thought you normally on a Friday or Saturday night are working."

I said, "I have to come see these guys."

He says, "Do you want to be the MC?"

I said, "Sure."

Narrator: At a time when stand-up was a burgeoning craft, D.C.'s scene was at the forefront of it all, which Shydner wrote about in his book about the eighties comedy boom "Kicking Through the Ashes."

Shydner: D.C. was one of the first comedy scenes back in the seventies.

There weren't comedy clubs everywhere, and Washington, D.C., Paul Brookman, his dad had a bar El Brookman's down in Southeast in Anacostia on Pennsylvania Avenue, and he put a ad in the "Washington Post-- "You want to do comedy, come to this bar," and within, I mean, weeks of us start doing comedy there, word got out.

Somebody from the local news came and did a little report on us, and the place became packed.

Narrator: Some of today's biggest acts got their start there, stars like Silver Spring native Lewis Black.

Narrator: Not only was D.C. an important hub for comedy, but it was an incubator for musical acts, as well.

Bono: ♪ New direction, I know ♪ ♪ Oh, no, no, no, oh, no, no, no ♪ Narrator: When U2 came on the scene, one of their first U.S. performances was at the Bayou in Georgetown.

McCartney and George Harrison: ♪ Shake it up, baby ♪ Narrator: And right on the heels of their appearance on the "Ed Sullivan Show," history was made.

Lennon: ♪ Come on, come on, baby, now ♪ ♪ Come on, baby... ♪ Kelly: The Beatles played their first U.S. show February 11, 1964.

Lennon: ♪ You twist, little girl ♪ Kelly: They're meant to fly to Washington, but there's this incredible snowstorm.

They can't fly.

They have to take the train.

Lennon: ♪ Twist a little closer now ♪ Kelly: They perform at Washington Coliseum, this big, barrel-ceilinged ice arena where they cover over the ice to play basketball and to have concerts.

The Beatles performed in the round.

Their stage was in the middle of the Coliseum, and so every few songs, they would get up and face another direction.

McCartney and Harrison: ♪ Shake it up, baby ♪ Tickets were $2.00 and $4.00.

Lennon: ♪ Ah... ♪ McCartney: ♪ Ah... ♪ Harrison: ♪ Ah... ♪ Kelly: And what's amazing is how great they were.

Narrator: But where D.C. music really stands apart is the legacy of the local scene.

Man: As a 12-, 13-year-old, I would take busses to the Howard Theatre on Saturday afternoons and see James Brown or Otis Redding for, like, 75 cents, and the bus ride was 25 cents and tell my parents I was going to the Bethesda Theater to see a double feature horror movie, and that allowed us enough time to get down there and back.

Narrator: As a teenager, musician Mark Wenner's love of music transcended some of the city's social and cultural divides.

Wenner: And we never had any tension, any problem.

They thought we were kind of cute.

There'd be two or three little, white boys with little greaser pompadours and pointy shoes and obviously into the music.

It set a lot of standards for me.

[Playing harp] Narrator: When Wenner graduated from college, he started his own band The Nighthawks, a melting pot of all the D.C. sounds-- blues and roots, funk and soul.

Wenner: The first time we played the Bayou, they kept one of their top-40 bands, and we alternated sets, and our people were so rude to this top-40 band, yelling, "Nighthawks!"

during their, you know, Doobie Brothers' set that we almost became not friends anymore.

Narrator: By the 1970s, the D.C. music scene was booming, and progressive radio stations like WHFS were turning local talent into stars.

Wenner: Every Sunday night, we'd be at the Psyche Delly for a dollar.

Legal capacity was 84.

We'd have about 130 in there.

Half of the people in there must have been underage 'cause so many people have told me, "Oh, I was at the Psyche Delly when I was 17, 16, blah, blah, blah."

Narrator: But camaraderie, not competition, was the name of the game, and one warm August night in 1978 was, to some, the apex of it all when The Nighthawks' Jimmy Thackery and The Destroyers' George Thorogood decided to switch places in their bands a couple of times.

I had some of my hoodlum biker friends literally block all six lanes of traffic on M Street, and George came out of the Cellar Door and Jimmy Thackery came out of Desperados.

They met in the middle of the street.

Thorogood came into Desperados for just a few minutes playing with The Nighthawks, and Thackery went into Cellar Door, and then they came back and switched back.

Narrator: It even made the style section of the "Washington Post."

They called it "The M Street Shuffle."

[Playing harp] 40 years later, Wenner keeps on performing, and the D.C. music scene is still going strong.

Man: One of the reasons D.C.'s so special about music or for all of the different genres of music is because everything's here.

Narrator: Johnny Castle plays bass guitar for The Nighthawks, one of more than a dozen bands he's played with in his 40-year career.

He's seen a lot in his time, but one moment he'll never forget?

It was 1967, the night before he left for college, when his friends took him to the Ambassador Theater to take in a show.

Castle: We knew the opening band.

We'd seen them before, but we never heard of the headliner, and it turned out, it was Jimi Hendrix.

Hendrix: ♪ Excuse me while I kiss the sky ♪ ♪ Purple haze... ♪ And we went the opening night.

It was a Wednesday night.

There was, like, maybe 50 people there, hardly anybody there, and it was mind-blowing, to say the least.

[Cheering and applause] Narrator: Castle's college career didn't last, but his music career did.

Upon dropping out, he started his first band Crank, and within a few years, he was opening up for Hendrix himself.

But one of his most memorable performances?

a show at that 1960s hotspot dubbed "the P Street beach."

Castle: I remember being on stage and looking as far as you could see.

There is nothing but bodies all the way up to the corner of 22nd and P Street, you know, and that was a lot of people.

I'd never played to that many people before.

Narrator: People in D.C. had an appetite for music, and back then, it could easily be fed.

Castle: Every night of the week, depending on where you go, you know, you could find it.

You could go out and hear bluegrass, or you could hear country.

You could hear heavy metal.

You could hear whatever there was.

It was all here.

[Rock music playing] Man: I would say up until the late eighties that there were plenty of clubs for bands to play.

And that meant that if somebody wanted to play music, they actually had an incentive to put a band together, practice, knock on doors, and try to make a demo tape so they could get into some of these places.

Narrator: Chris Biondo is a local musician and composer.

He's played and recorded with musicians of almost every genre, but perhaps his greatest collaboration was with D.C.'s soulful songbird Eva Cassidy.

Cassidy: ♪ Somewhere ♪ ♪ Over ♪ ♪ The rainbow, way... ♪ Biondo: Lot of the places we played were restaurants that moved a few tables, and unfortunately, we had a hard time competing with the people who were talking in the room.

I would say that we weren't knocking 'em dead, but every once in a while, we'd get in a room, and there'd be enough people that knew Eva and would listen where we actually connected, and it was very impressive.

I was very happy to be a part of it.

Narrator: In 1996, Biondo introduced Cassidy to one of the most revered native sons of the D.C. music scene, the father of go-go-- Chuck Brown, and it was that collaboration that started to get her some notice.

Today the videos from Cassidy's final recorded performance have been viewed millions of times, and her records have hit the top of the charts, but Cassidy never got to know the extent of her success.

Just months after this D.C. concert, just 33 years old, she passed away.

Cassidy: ♪ Someday ♪ ♪ I'll wish upon a star... ♪ Biondo: Thing I always thought was that when Eva was gonna go out and we were gonna have this band go out and sing, we'd go out, and we'd play a gig, and all of a sudden, the word would get out about Eva, and then there'd be a line down the street, and she'd be huge, and we'd be flying around in planes and, you know, hanging out with Paul McCartney and stuff, but the fact that she has a legacy now lets me know that I wasn't crazy.

♪ If happy ♪ ♪ Little bluebirds fly... ♪ Narrator: It is legacies like Cassidy's and Chuck Brown's, who died in 2012, that make D.C.'s music history unique.

♪ Why can't ♪ ♪ I?

♪ Chuck Brown: ♪ Hey-ey-ey-ey ♪ ♪ Hey-ey-ey-ey ♪ ♪ Hey-ey-ey-ey ♪ ♪ Hey-ey-ey-ey ♪ Narrator: No matter the genre, there's no denying the District's musical influence runs deep.

♪ Hey-ey-ey-ey ♪ Castle: The flame's been burning for 40 years.

Ever since I got to town, it's been burning.

♪ My kids don't mind, but that's OK ♪ ♪ 'Cause late in the evenings when I start to play... ♪ Narrator: For Castle, those flames are still burning, and for others, it is the ones that have been extinguished that inspire the most.

Haynesworth: I think it's important for us to go back and discover who came before us, the shoulders that we stand on.

Malachi: Knowing our history, it puts it all in perspective.

Narrator: In a town built on history, bygones often stick around, and on good days, the past propels us forward.

Diamond: If you don't know your past, you're gonna get bitten in the future.

Narrator: And while the denizens of the District have always been shaping history, history continues to shape us, as well.

[Upbeat jazz music playing] Kelly: We think about places that were here for a long time that are gone, and we miss them, but they live in our memories, and they remind us what the city was like and what we were like.

Brown: Some people disagree with me, but I would not live anywhere else.

Shydner: To know where you're going, you have to know where you come from, days bygone, bygone, by gosh.

♪ 444, 444 ♪ Yo.

[Cheering and applause] Castle: Thank you.

Narrator: To learn more about "Bygone DC," visit weta.org.