>> I think that there is sometimes this misconception of suffering and victimization.

And that's not to say that everything was perfect by any means, but I can think of my great grandmother, my grandmother, her siblings, just with these, you know, beautiful kinds of party dresses on, and you know, going to see music.

And there was just a culture and a real richness to their lives and a pride in their lives.

And that's something that I just want to make sure that people understand.

It's not Black Georgetown.

It is Georgetown.

It is the old city of Georgetown.

And we are very much part and parcel of the history and the future of this neighborhood.

>> With its bustling streets, distinctive architecture, and cool, sophisticated feel, Georgetown is one of those places, one of simple homes to elegant, landscaped mansions.

A premier university, the Washington Harbor, with its scenic views, unique shops, eateries, embassies, parks and people.

Georgetown was once home to the future 35th president of the United States, John F. Kennedy, and to Robert T. Lincoln, son of the nation's 16th president.

And it's been home to slavery, where buildings on Wisconsin Avenue and O Street held humans who were later auctioned off.

The town of George, as it was first called, was part of Maryland when founded in 1751.

Now, there is some dispute on who it was named for -- King George II, or one or both of its original founders, George Gordon and George Beall.

One thing seems for sure, it was not named for George Washington, who did come to Georgetown often for dinner as he set forth his plans to create Washington, DC, and make it the capital city.

Nonetheless, in the 18th and 19th centuries, tobacco production reigned supreme in Georgetown, where European immigrants, indentured servants, free Blacks, and slaves coexisted.

Like so many areas where slavery was, the coexistence was uneasy.

We can look to Georgetown University.

The school owned slaves.

In 1838, it sold 272 of its slaves into the Deep South to pay off debts in order to keep the university from closing.

Like most, the migration of African Americans to Georgetown was not novel.

After emancipation and the Civil War, especially, they came in search of opportunity, be that work, land, home ownership, access to education.

Where they could not frequent and not be, they established their own, building a sense of community through places of worship, civic organizations, businesses, clubs, schools, and final resting places.

It is a history that shows from the mid-18th century into the first three decades of the 20th, African Americans made up at least a third of Georgetown's population, but that was then.

In the last near century, Georgetown's African American presence has changed dramatically, those changes creating a sense of urgency and a shared purpose to keep a deep, rich history alive.

>> Having grown up in Georgetown, it was like being in a village where you hear about the village.

I had 100,000 moms and dads.

Anywhere you went in Georgetown, your moms and dads were there.

But if you were not behaving, from wherever you were to home before you got home, all your moms and dads had corrected you.

And plus, they had called your mom and dad to let them know that you were not acting right.

Where we live, right on the corner of 26 and Old Street, and right across the street from the playground, around on Old Street, there were maybe 1 or 2 white families who lived in owned houses there.

We were renters in Georgetown.

Our activities were great, you know.

The whole community around what we consider Georgetown.

We considered Georgetown to be from M Street to up here at P and Q Street, and from the bridge, P Street bridge, up to maybe Wisconsin Avenue.

And below M Street, a lot of people refer to that as Foggy Bottom, which now, the Foggy Bottom, you couldn't afford to even walk down there.

And down towards where the canal was.

>> You know, my family has been a part of Georgetown for multiple generations, and one of the things about this house in particular, it was always a dream of my grandfather to own a house up on the hill.

This area was known as Herring Hill, which was a predominantly Black neighborhood in Georgetown.

He had grown up in Foggy Bottom, and so being up on the hill was somewhat prestigious.

And so, he married my grandmother, who was also a Georgetown resident, and her family had lived in multiple places in the neighborhood.

As a matter of fact, her father lived two doors away from here, and when they first got married, they lived with him.

So, they had their eye on a house nearby.

and when this became available in February of 1927, they made the purchase.

And they spent the whopping amount of $3,500 with a $50 a month mortgage.

>> And my family has been in Georgetown for about 100 years.

And I have the honor of continuing the tradition here at 2727 P Street.

My great uncle was a historian and tried his best over the course of his lifetime to pull together documents.

But we didn't have them all in one place.

But one of the things I did find, and I can share that with you, is the original bill of sale for the house.

May 17th, 1927.

And so, it was the purchase by my great grandparents, Carter and Eudora Bowman, who already lived in Georgetown.

But they were renting, I think, at that time, initially.

And so, this purchase was the house that they made to raise their six children in.

And we still have it to this day.

So, one of their children was my grandmother, Doris Bowman Haynes, the mom of my mom.

And um, they all grew up here in the house.

And I actually kind of grew up here, too.

It wasn't my primary residence, but it is the family house, and so we all spent lots of time here.

>> Many of the children couldn't afford to buy a home, but we lived here.

Each successive generation, on the third floor, they had their own little apartment, sink, et cetera, you know, bathroom -- we still only have one bathroom in the house, and I never could figure out how my grandmother could raise six children and so many other people here, but stayed here until they could afford their own house, and then they moved.

>> My grandfather bought this house in 1941.

So, this was -- they had a house on Dumbarton Street, as well, but this was the biggest house that my family had.

So, my mother was a little girl when they bought this house.

So, my grandfather eventually lost his sight.

So, a lot of reasons that people came here is because he couldn't see and couldn't get out.

He would be able to walk down the stairs, sit on the bench, and everyone would come by and speak to him.

But growing up, I had my grandmother, my grandfather, my aunt, and my mother.

So, there was a lot of love, and, you know, I won't say a big family, but a tight family.

It was just us.

So, but I would always hear these stories, "back in the day," you know, "we would go to school together, and we would go -- walk together to school."

I didn't have that opportunity.

I had to get driven to Saint Ann's Catholic School at Tenley Circle.

I didn't go to the neighborhood school.

My mother was the first class, one of the first classes, to integrate Western High School, which is now Duke Ellington.

So, that was a significant time for her.

>> I moved to Georgetown in 1990.

I moved with my grandmother, my great grandmother, and her younger sister with my parents.

And from what I've learned, since the early 1900s, my family has always lived in Georgetown in different areas and neighborhoods, and they've always been a strong community, and they move together and always supported each other.

And we didn't have a lot of money, but they were always able to pull together and pool their resources to buy property and do everything that they needed for their families.

I always was embraced by all of my neighbors.

There was a young lady that lived at the end of the block.

We were close.

A young white girl.

We were friends.

We played.

I went to school with others.

and I had many friends that looked different than I did.

And it was still a great experience.

>> The story of epiphany is extremely rich in terms of when it started.

Everything that it went through to get to where it is.

the reason it was built in the first place was because of the atrocities at Holy Trinity.

>> In terms of not being able to sit in the main part of the congregation, having to enter from the back of the church, not being able to be baptized with the white parishioners.

And just they were tired of the treatment.

And so, in 1923, they were like, "We want to start our own church.

We want to establish our own, you know, church community."

And they did that.

>> I have a great sense of pride in how this church was established, what it took to pay the mortgage off and build the rectory.

And the fact that my grandmother was a founding member of this church, that means something to me.

>> With the help of different priests and fathers that helped them with it.

And they raised, you know, money, so I'm proud that they were able to raise money on their own with fish fries, and parties, and fundraisers in order to establish Epiphany Catholic Church.

>> And it wasn't easy.

I mean, they laid the cornerstone in 1925, but also, had to go through the depression years.

And so, it went through a lot of hard times to get to the very successful times when the church flourished and where we had over 400 parishioners and 115 children active in Sunday school.

That was a lot.

>> I remember starting as a 4-year-old in the Sunday school.

My first Communion, Confirmation, and moved on up to become a teacher of the 4-year-olds in Sunday School.

>> Mount Zion is known as the Cradle of Methodism in Washington, DC because it is the oldest congregation, established in 1816, in Washington, DC >> My great great grandmother was a founder of Mount Zion.

>> Right.

>> And I knew my great great grandmother very well.

>> My grandmother is shown here in 1988.

She talked about how proud she is just growing up at this church.

Many of the members of the community walked to this church, as well as other churches at Mount Zion and Jerusalem.

And this was our... every Sunday, this was our... house to kind of get together in fellowship.

>> Mom would grab you by the collar.

You were going to church on Sunday morning.

Myself, and one of my cousins, and another guy, and we got to singing doo-wop in the church downstairs in the kitchen.

As a group, we decided we'd go down to WOOK Radio, and they had a program down there, and we sang a cappella on the air, and the disc jockey there liked the group, and we recorded and we worked some with -- a good friend of ours was Marvin Gaye, 'cause he sang with one of the guys at our church here.

They wanted me to be a... to go into ministry.

Well, I...

I had so much life that the ministry just didn't click right then.

>> My grandmother, my mother, my aunt were Catholic, but my grandfather went to Mount Zion Church.

And so, I would go to church programs there, and activities, and services, and go to my church a couple blocks away.

So, to have that experience and to know that church community along with my community.

Because growing up, my church was... very few Black families were still attending Epiphany Catholic Church at that time.

So, I like to hear the gospel choir in Mount Zion, and you know, go over and go to their activities.

>> Bingo was a big thing here.

And it was never for money.

It was always prizes.

The bazaar, which was an annual event, it was a big fundraiser, but it always had a child's activity and it attracted a lot of antique dealers.

They would be standing around the corner.

>> We used to also bring in the homeless for a whole week.

And a different family would come in and feed them every evening.

>> And that's the other thing about this church.

I mean, it was built so that when you came here, you worshipped freely.

But at the same time, it had so many outreach activities.

And I mean, that's where I learned my sense of giving.

>> I was a member of the Angelic Choir under the leadership of Beulah P. Lax.

I also sung in the youth choir under the leadership of... Mrs. Bailey and Mrs. Fleming, and these women that were just a strong pillars of the church and the community, and they poured into me as well as the church Sunday school.

Mrs. Saunders and many other women and men of First Baptist Church, Georgetown.

>> I used to hang out at Rose Park, which, famously, was one of the... integrated playgrounds in the city.

There was a time before my time when there was an attempt to segregate it, and the neighborhood wouldn't allow that.

>> Whites and Blacks always played together.

We knew the Kennedys.

They came to the same park.

>> We'd have dances at the playground, and all of the nice little young ladies would be there and all the nice young men.

And that was usually on Friday night, cost a quarter.

You saved all week to have that quarter so you could be at the dance.

>> Mama was a formidable tennis player.

And while she was playing tennis, I'm doing something else at the playground.

Some of the other parents may have been sitting at the playground house, knitting, I mean... >> And my father was the referee when they had baseball.

>> Right!

>> He was the ump.

>> Right!

>> He stayed behind the plate, and I stayed close by so I could hear.

>> Yes.

>> He'd say "strike!"

>> For me, it was a place where I thrived.

My best friend was a white kid that lived a couple of doors away, and we would play in the back of the house in an alley, and that was like our imaginary playground.

And we had baseball games, football games, basketball, whatever.

>> Black residents weren't allowed to go to Montrose Park on our street.

So, Rose Park was our park.

And so, having the ability to go down and be with other Black kids, I didn't have that.

I did get -- I was fortunate to be able to take tennis lessons with Margaret and Roumania Peters, the infamous, you know, tennis sisters, which, I always say would be the Venus and Serena of their day, if they had been able to play and compete in different tournaments like Venus and Serena have been able to do.

One even beat Althea Gibson.

People always think of the Black families being domestic workers, where they were not all domestic workers.

>> My granddad, Carter Bowman Sr., he worked at the Government Printing Office, which was a wonderful place to work because he had a government job that he had to supplement that with another job, which he had at night, to take care of the six kids.

And my grandmother would wash and iron, but she'd bring it home.

He didn't want her working in a white woman's house, which is really interesting.

So, he'd bring the laundry home and the silverware home to polish because she was not going to stay in the house, she would do it.

>> I think, um, the hope and dreams were to make a difference, to be homeowners, to be business owners, to make sure that your family was able to go to school, you're able to get a job.

And it was a sense of community where everyone came together.

Every Black Georgetowner knew the other Black Georgetowner.

>> I was here when there were cobblestones and the street car.

We had a watermelon man.

We had a guy who came by and sharpened scissors.

We had -- It was a whole commerce.

The stores were owned by Black people.

The dentists were Black people.

The lawyers were Black people.

The doctors were Black people.

>> We had a Black pharmacist, Doctor Smith's Drugstore.

We had, uh, Mr. Warren, and he had a shoeshine stop.

Mr. Brooks had the barber shop, and beauty parlors, you know, were all around.

>> I mean, we had our own commerce.

I mean, we did bartering.

People had like, we call it the meat man.

And so, we exchanged a lot of money in between us.

They had their own civic association.

We had our own mayor who was a Black mayor.

Dr. Marshall, who owned half of the street.

Across the street, in terms of real estate, you were talking about, he owned at least five homes, and his sister owned homes because they realized that real estate was a source of wealth, and they had a real sense of financial literacy, which they taught all of us as young people.

We learned it from our neighbors.

We learned about the value of real estate.

We learned about the value of being able to give something to the community.

And they were all very philanthropic in their own ways.

We were happy, especially in the '60s, very optimistic about our future because the world was opening up.

I can remember when Walter Washington was elected, the first mayor.

My grandmother was so excited.

We were a self-sufficient community, and I think that's probably...

I mean, because... we did not need the white world to help us.

We helped ourselves.

>> The path Black families traveled along these cobblestones in pursuit of their hopes and dreams for a better life for them and generations to come has sadly been redirected.

>> Georgetown was...

It had...It was a microcosm of everything.

It had middle-class Blacks, poor Blacks, well-to-do Blacks, as well as well-to-do whites.

And I think, too, when I started probably noticing the change was after JFK was assassinated.

Jackie Kennedy moved back into Georgetown.

>> Some parts of Georgetown were slum areas, and you wouldn't believe it now, but the landlords wanted Black families out.

So, what do you do if you don't own the property?

You let the conditions of the property go down where it's almost deplorable to live in.

And that was one way to get the Black families out.

There also was a law established called the Old Georgetown Act, where you were not allowed to sell to Black families.

And I would say, when you look at the history of DC, Georgetown was probably one of the first neighborhoods to be gentrified.

And you really saw that wave of Black families starting to leave, like, in the '40s and '50s, I would say definitely in the 50s.

>> I do remember, um, a predominantly Black congregation, but I also remember when certain things changed and we started seeing more white people come to the church.

We also had a French community that came to the church.

It wasn't until a little later on in the '60s when we got our first diocesan priest.

Up until that time, we had all josephites.

And then when we got our first diocesan priest, he stood in front of the congregation, and said to them, that people who no longer lived in Georgetown, he preferred that they would go to the churches in their neighborhood because he was not accustomed to being around this many colored people.

He paid dearly for that because then he realized, he didn't really get his way because the Black people who stayed at this church worked at this church, and, um, he sort of had to deal with it.

For me, when the change occurred, to my knowledge, is because of gentrification and an uptick in property taxes.

>> But also, it was they offered the owners of the houses in Georgetown more money than they even paid for them.

That gave them a chance to get a larger home, better themselves, and still have money left over.

So, that was before the taxes went up, though.

Okay?

And once the taxes started going up, then they did move out because then they taxed them too high.

>> I remember when people started moving out and that was a really hard thing to see.

Um, and I knew why they were moving out.

I mean, when you buy a house, what was it, $9,000, and some-- $7,000 for this house, first of all, when you, you know, even when growing up, when they went up to 100 or 200,000 or 300-- now they're all, no matter, whatever the condition is, are over $1 million.

They can't afford the taxes.

It was really difficult for a person who had a GS-5, who made maybe $25,000 or $50,000.

We all pitched in as a family to pay the taxes on this house as it went up and up and up.

>> Now, I think so many people say, "Gosh, I really wish we understood things differently."

And now, of course, the market is such that it's very difficult to come back into the market for most of us.

I mean, the cost of repairs, the... the structures in terms of the historical preservation that you have to adhere to, make any repair in Georgetown so much more expensive than just any regular repair.

>> So, we just sort of got together and did some smart things economically so that we that we could do wealth transfer.

Um, and I think, again, a lot of people didn't understand that there were vehicles, economic vehicles.

We knew some of the techniques and things to keep the house in the family.

Things that, "they didn't let us know."

And so, we were able to avail ourselves of some of those advantages.

So, it was very important for our history not to be lost.

>> Um, I have family members that I wish that I wasn't the only one still here.

That I wish I could just go to.

I remember when my uncle that I loved, the Jackson family, my grandfather's family, lived down the street, and I would, you know, run up and down the alley and get to go to my cousins.

And so, I just truly miss that experience.

Now, they're in Maryland or throughout the city that I could hear my mom and aunt talk about that I just did not have.

And so that's, you know, really sad.

And it's sad that every time a family member would have a death, I was like, "Oh no, there's another... house gone that's owned by a Black family."

>> And as the Black presence dissipates, somehow, the whispers from the ancestors ring loud.

And that is for this generation to tell the story.

>> Every year, we celebrate our, um, our founding, our Founder's Day on October 5th.

And we just started a Georgetown history walk where we partnered with Mount Zion and we just started here on the corner of 27th and Dunbarton.

We walk over to Mount Zion, and we have people that just share their experience of Georgetown, the history of Georgetown, and the history of Mount Zion Church, because that is the oldest Black congregation in Georgetown.

Um, from there, we also walked over to the Mount Zion Cemetery, where we learn about the rich history there.

And every single time that I talk to someone about the Mount Zion Cemetery, I'm always learning more history and something I had not known before.

>> So, the Black Georgetown Foundation is a nonprofit that oversees the two oldest Black cemeteries in Washington, DC -- the Mount Zion Cemetery, and the Female Union Band Society cemeteries here in Georgetown.

For the longest time, people called this Mount Zion Cemetery because that's all they knew.

But when they were trying to sell it to developers, they found out the other half was the Female Union Band Society, and that, too, had its own history.

So, in 1808, it started out actually as the Old Methodist Cemetery, and that is that side of the cemetery.

And it was about one and a half acres.

The Old Methodist Cemetery was purchased by the then Montgomery Street Methodist Church.

It is now called Dumbarton United Methodist.

They purchased the cemetery and the church itself was 50% white, 50% Black.

Of the Black people, half were enslaved and the other free.

The church had started in 1772, so by 1816, they wanted their own church.

They weren't getting the same benefits as the other Methodists, and they really argued for their space.

And the Methodists said okay.

And they got them their own church, which was really about 500 meters from where we're standing right now, behind us.

And they worked very closely on the Underground Railroad.

Mount Zion Church has a long history of doing that, and they utilize the cemetery in the same way.

There is a holding vault here on the cemetery's land where people used to hide and wait to seek freedom, and all they had to do was follow Rock Creek.

So, it was very easy.

Then, come in 1842, a group called the Female Union Band Society.

They were a mutual aid society.

So, when you were free, you had to worry about what was going to happen to you.

When you were enslaved, you didn't have to worry about being buried because they were going to bury you where they wanted to.

But being free, you had to figure it out.

So, these mutual aid societies, after manumission or emancipation, was started so that free Black people could take care of each other.

They would pay in a certain amount, and then if you couldn't afford health care, got sick, couldn't work, they were there for you.

And in this case, they also had an opportunity for you to have a burial plot, which was to die with dignity.

>> You know, back in the day, everybody couldn't afford a headstone.

So, those are those were markers, grave markers from the Mount Zion Female Union Band's cemetery.

And you know, when you hear the word Female Union Band Cemetery, a lot of people think that was, you know, a band of women or what have you, but it was really like circles because the Black churches, and like, here in Mount Zion, they had what they called circles and they were the ones who kept the churches going.

They were the ones who had to nickel and dime and chicken dinners and those kinds of things to support the Black church.

These were not folks who were doctors, and engineers, and what have you.

These were folks who were doing laundry for folks and who were working in the vineyards for folks, you know, and cleaning the houses, and who, uh, who were getting hand-me-down clothes to bring home for their kids and what have you.

And so, those are the folks who carried the Black community.

>> And so, that's 1842.

And so, we're here together.

But then there's another cemetery that comes into our history, and it's the next cemetery on the other side, and that is Oak Hill Cemetery.

That's a 22-acre cemetery that was started by William Corcoran, who was a Confederate sympathizer.

And it's the same William Corcoran that everybody is familiar with, with the gallery and all of that.

And so, that was a white-only cemetery.

The Methodists, the white Methodists, here in the Old Methodist burial ground started to disinter or dig up their relatives and reinter them in white-only cemeteries beside us and around the city.

There are about 7 to 8 white families that are still here in the cemetery, and they have their own stories.

But this is how Mount Zion becomes predominantly African American.

So, the condition of the another cemetery...

So, we'll start at 1930 when down at the end of this cemetery, we hit Rock Creek.

We went all the way down to the water in ownership.

But in 1930, the National Park Service took a half acre to create a horse trail, which is today's multi-use trail here in Rock Creek.

And so, a section of that was dug up.

However, nobody can tell me what they did with the headstones nor the bodies.

But what we have found out in the last two years is that there was 10 tons of dirt dropped on top of the cemetery where the federal government took the land by eminent domain.

The part that they didn't use, they just covered it with a lot of dirt.

And so, we're not -- we're... we're pretty sure that it's underneath there.

Then, in the '60s, the cemetery was closed down by the health department because of the many policies going on in Georgetown that basically pushed Black families out of Georgetown.

There was no longer people here to take up the cemetery, keep it up, everybody was older, so they were ready to sell, and developers swooped in.

Uh, thank goodness.

Neville Waters, it was his grandmother who told his father that she did not want to sell.

>> My personal connection to, uh, the Mount Zion Female Union Band Society Cemetery, has been a source of a great deal of pride and passion as we work to preserve and maintain that property and tell the stories of those who... really, in many ways, this city, this country, this community has been built upon.

>> They did save the cemetery, and in saving the cemetery, the judge ordered that the property be reseeded.

So, volunteers -- Western High School, UDC, Howard, the Police Athletic League all do-gooders helped seed the property.

They moved the markers into piles, but then, they realized that they were too fragile to move back.

And there they have sat since 1974.

And so, now we're at a point, we've also had ground-penetrating radar done in the whole flat surface of the cemetery.

We're about three acres total, each side being almost equal.

And we've done all the ground-penetrating radar to tell us what's going on underneath.

We know there are about 8,000 to 10,000 bodies.

We know that people were buried 3 to 5 deep.

We left no space.

People are buried head to toe.

The thing that's really interesting and makes both the cemeteries unique is that they are buried differently.

So, the rows are different on each side.

So, they had a different pattern on each side of the cemetery, making them, again -- they're individual cemeteries.

And so, people are buried all the way down, what used to be terraces that haven't been up-kept, so all the way down, and if you walk down here, you'll see fragments of headstones, um, and a lot of them are sunk.

They haven't all been moved, but a lot of them are underneath us.

And every dip you see is a person.

And we know that in less than 10 inches, you could hit something.

So, we're working to preserve this land.

We don't want to talk about this like we talk about other cemeteries that were in Washington DC.

This whole cemetery is a testament to history and DC history.

When the judge saved this property from developers, he mentioned and made a statement that this was the last monument to free Black people in DC, particularly Georgetown.

Where else are you going to find us all?

This is the reminder that Georgetown was Black.

What we're trying to do now is restore and preserve and create a historic memorial park.

Create a center that you can come to, a place you can start with where we're connected to the rest of Georgetown.

We are.

We're connected to everyone.

And I'm working with people like Tudor Place, a plantation that was owned by Martha Washington's granddaughter.

Dumbarton House.

Georgetown University, visitation.

We're working with all these places to make sure that we can tell these people's story.

And that's what we're going to do.

>> From the ground to glory, the responsibility of these Georgetowners whose love and pride for what once was is well worn.

The work is plenty.

The fight is hard.

But the reward... all will know the history.

>> There are times when we come to church and we see people we have never seen before, and you don't see them the next week.

Now, right now, we have a new pastor who's really trying to build.

Um, we have a new women's guild.

We haven't had, you know, a club or an organization in the church for quite some time, but there is an attempt to build a sense of community.

But it's different.

And how it's different is because now, since it is predominantly white, sometimes, people come in and maybe see us 2 or 3 times, and there's curiosity.

You know, "Who are those Black ladies?"

[ Laughs ] And then, when they find out, "Oh, they are members of one of the founding families," then, you know, then you get a different response.

But we get that from time to time.

We're getting ready to celebrate 100 years next year.

And so, we are putting in print all of the communities, the history of the church, and putting it in books so that people will have that information.

I just think that anytime a church is going to change or grow, or whatever is going to happen in a church, you don't know how to change, you don't know how to grow, if you don't know how it started.

But I'm always going to tell them, we built this.

We paid for it in 25 years.

And so, it will always be... my church.

May not be the same, but it's mine.

>> Mount Zion was really more of a family church.

And we have pictures where you can see it looks like this church was packed with people, packed with programs, young and old.

And now, we're having... the same kinds of times that most churches are having today, of trying to get people back in the church.

>> So, the congregation has dwindled down quite a bit.

We don't have those large families that we once had that were in the neighborhood, and then even much later, in the '80s and '90s, that would commute.

Um, so a lot of our membership are, again, fifth- and sixth-generation Georgetowners, but they're not as active or not as involved, and they're not able to come every single Sunday.

So, our congregation is a lot smaller, but we still are very much connected and a family.

And I wish we could have members of the current community join us, but that has not been the case.

>> So, when I was 16, my mother was a part of contributing to the book "Black Georgetown Remembered," which Georgetown University Press put out, and she helped bring different Black families together to be videotaped, to be in the book.

So, even though I was young, I was able to be a part of that, so I understood very young the significance of keeping the story going and passing it down generations and generations.

So, now we have...

I'm here.

There is five Black families that are in Georgetown, so three lined up here.

The Waters family, the Bowman family, and then we have the Marshall family across the street, and then we have the Burnett family.

And then, Ramona Green purchased one of the Marshalls', which was an African-American family's home, but she's a new addition to the African American community.

>> I am a realtor.

So, I was out looking for properties in as-is condition.

I came across this one and I did research and I said, "Oh, this is interesting," because I was never curious about Black Georgetown.

But when I learned about it, I said, "Oh, I really want it now."

We were auctioned off at the old Dean and DeLuca building down on 32nd to 33rd, M Street.

We were auctioned off in the basement.

So, what I tell the students who tour, that's how we started.

That is not how we ended up.

You are in control of your destiny.

Take control.

I have two generations here now.

Um, my kids, Jessica and Javon.

I'm also a block captain here with the Citizens Association of Georgetown.

That same group that didn't admit Blacks many years ago.

I'm a block captain with them.

So, I'm here by choice.

And wen I get ready to move on, I plan on leaving the house to Javon and Jessica.

We are Black.

We are here.

We are happy.

And we'll go when we want to go.

>> I would say that, um, on P Street, and certainly this block, we pretty much all know each other.

And when new people move here and they start trying to... act some kind of way, we make sure they understand that that's not how we do things on P Street, that we very much work together as a unit, really.

And so, there are a lot of new people who have come here, but I know most of them.

And some of them are still some of the older people.

There's a few left.

But even as the younger, um, mostly transplants, if you will, I mean, they're not from Washington, DC, but we make sure they understand that no, we're not just visiting.

We live here.

This is our house.

This is our neighborhood.

This is our history.

And you would do well to learn a little bit more about this neighborhood.

This is who Georgetown is.

This is the history of Washington, DC And it's not a unique neighborhood.

It's one of many neighborhoods that are vibrant and that have history, even before you arrived, You didn't just arrive and create this neighborhood.

You know, we don't mind welcoming you, but you also need to understand just the history and respect.

>> My grandson said something to me which really upset me, he said...as she said... she told him, she said, the youngest one, she said, "Go take the trash out."

And he says, "Will they think that I don't belong here?

And will they arrest me?"

Because her kids were raised overseas and they found out what happened to young Black people in "DC."

And obviously, when we get up, especially, she has five children, when we get up, they see these young Black men standing out front.

People are looking at us like, "Why are they there?"

And we make sure that they do know this is our home.

>> One thing that I would see growing up, my mother would go to the door and they'd ask her, "Is the lady of the house home?"

And she'd be like, "nope!"

and slam the door in their face.

And so, as I, um, you know, finished college and came home, I would go to community meetings.

And people would look at me, "Well, who is that?"

"Who is that?"

"Oh, who are you?"

And "How long have you lived here?"

And I'd be like, "Longer than you!"

I've been here, you know, all my life.

And they'd be like.

"Oh, oh, and where do you live?"

So I said, you know what?

I'm going to make myself known in Georgetown.

I'm going to get involved.

You're going to see me at every community meeting.

And someone, one of my neighbors said, "You should run for office.

Do you know what an advisory neighborhood commissioner is?"

I was like, "No, you know, what's that?"

And they were like, you know, you run for office.

It's a volunteer position, but you're an advisor to the mayor on issues and community issues.

So, I decided to run.

It was a very interesting campaign.

I ran against a woman in the community that had been very active, very involved.

Saved my money, got my donations, and one hot day, I went all through Georgetown, starting Wisconsin Avenue, putting all my signs up, having all my friends help me.

Two days later, every single one of my signs were ripped in half and hers were not touched.

It actually helped me because all of a sudden, I was getting calls.

"It is obvious what has happened to your signs.

What can we do to help?"

And some very active community members hosted meet and greets for me.

Helped me raise money to pu-- 'cause there's a limit to how much you can give.

But helped me have fundraisers with people who could just get the word out.

It wasn't even about the money as it was, "You need to get out and vote for Monica."

And you know, I'm sure there were discussions, you know, behind closed doors, and I was able to raise money and get my signs back up.

And I blew the election away and won.

And I was actually able to do...

I ran, I was active for two terms.

I won for two terms.

And so, that was my contribution to make sure that you knew.

And so, in my role, I was able to have the playground tennis courts renamed for the Peters sisters, was one way to contribute and have the city recognize them.

And just to make sure that people really understood the history and locations throughout Georgetown that were Black-people-owned businesses, or Black people would meet and have civic meetings, and just how important the church community was for Georgetown.

>> Well, one of the things that I really want to happen, and I do think that everybody in this church needs to know the history like we know it.

I mean, the real history.

Because I think, knowing it, you appreciate this very elegant -- I mean, it's a simple elegance in this church that you just love how it looks when you come in.

I want people to appreciate Epiphany like I do, which means they need to know the history.

And I'm, you know, more than happy to provide that information any and every time.

But that's how I feel.

This is still my church, and I want everybody to learn it, and know it, and appreciate it the same way that I do.

>> It's great that WHUT-TV is here because that's an avenue for keeping our history alive.

And we appreciate that.

And I just look forward to...

I know I won't have much longer, but I feel comfortable that this building and this church at 208 years will be 408 years at some point.

>> There are things that are very surprising and disappointing.

As an example, the Female Union, or the Mount Zion Female Union Band Society Cemetery wasn't on a map.

The fact that the storm water is causing such environmental damage, and it's the only area in Georgetown that doesn't have, a storm water sewage management system.

Things like that, that sort of neglect, whether it's, uh, benign neglect or not, or conscious neglect, are small things that have such a huge impact on the future of these... properties and institutions and awareness.

And those are things, you know, that's not just money.

And certainly, you know, providing financial assistance to, again, whether it's the churches, or a production about, uh, the Black Georgetown, the cemetery I speak of... are certainly things that are... worthwhile, valuable.

But um, again, just like I said, things like infrastructure, investment would mean a lot so that these things can be preserved into the future.

I am quite delighted that there is a sense of purpose about Black Georgetown, and manifesting itself through the efforts of many, and I've really been impressed by some of the institutions here.

Holy Trinity Catholic Church, which was a source of some issues back in the day, segregating the Black congregation.

The multiple Black churches that are here.

The work that we are doing with the Mount Zion Female Union Band Society Cemetery, are very important, and uh, I am... as I say, delighted that we have garnered support from these... multiple institutions, and places, and people.

And I think that, uh, through their support, we'll be able to continue raising awareness about the value of Black people in Georgetown.

My grandfather always insisted, don't sell the house, and I certainly have adhered to that.

I've always wanted to get to the point where we had owned it for 100 years, and that will be coming up relatively soon.

I don't have the wife or kids, so I don't necessarily have some individual or specific family members to leave the house to.

So, think about how to preserve the... legacy, the will, the desire of those that came before me, particularly my grandfather and great grandfather, and contributing to, whether it's the Black Georgetown Foundation, the cemetery, in particular, the local churches.

'cause even though people may die and pass away, the institutions are still alive.

>> It's funny, when we talked about the house, and people said, "What are you going to do with the house?

What are you going to do with the house?"

But the other thing, you know, when you do an Airbnb, 'cause my son is in Florida and he thinks about things, they tell you to make it neutral.

Well, we decided not to make this house neutral.

If you look around, it's Black art.

There's a book that says "Black Georgetown Remembered."

They see that house and they'll say, Bowman...

They don't, maybe, know Bowman, but my mom's in there.

My grandmother, Monica's in there, Mr.

Waters and everything.

They get to see -- that's the first book they get to see, "Black Georgetown Remembered."

And when they come in this house, there's African art, there's Black art, and there's Black history.

Not necessarily personal things, but we wanted them to know this is a Black person's house.

>> There's always going to be an awareness of the fact that... Black people in Georgetown were integral to the... beginnings, the growth, and the extension of this area to be what it is now, a, if you will, ritzy, attractive, appealing place to live.

>> Unfortunately, I think it will not be, um...

I think it won't be us here, unfortunately, I think that after this current generation, that will probably be the last generation, or the last residents here.

Um, I don't have any kids.

My mom has passed.

My aunts passed.

So, I'm the only child of my mother, so I inherited this house.

I just have a fear that what can we do to just maintain and maybe make these homes into museums?

Um, and we've talked about that.

We've talked about -- the three of us that are here, have talked about how we can do like they've done in, like, Harlem, and some parts of New York where they've turned into, like, Airbnbs and museums or visitor centers, or somehow, like, finding grants to be able to maintain our legacy that way.

But I just, I really feel like after us, that will be the end of the long term residents, unfortunately.

>> Change is always good, like, with anything, you embrace change with a positive manner and you just make the most of it.

You lean into those memories of those fond memories you have of your community, and you know everyone kind of looking like you, but you also... just love on those around you, regardless of what they may look like or what their culture or background is.

>> Life in Georgetown was what you classically read about as the African Village for us.

And it gave me a sense of grounding.

You know, as I look back in my life, it gave me a sense of grounding, a sense of purpose.

The legacy will be that... it's been a community and will continue to be a community.

It may not be the community it started out... to be, but...

I think it will survive here.

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