GHOST POOLS
A brief history of swimming in Atlanta and across America.
Where I live, in East Point, Georgia, there are no public pools.
The huge public pool built by the Works Progress Administration was destroyed sometime between desegregation and air conditioning. In its place, the East Point Historical Society sits in a relocated Craftsman house and the lawn out front bears no trace of the former pool. Across town, the former “Negro Pool” is now a parking lot.
What happened to the pools? I wondered. Were they ever integrated? Did the city fill them with dirt rather than deal with the prospect of “mixed bathing”? These questions were not addressed by the Historical Society. A cloud of nostalgia, suspicion, and shame hung over conversations around the old pool. The museum offered no mention of segregation or explanation for the pool’s demise. The Black experience was missing; the grassy pool looked like a burial and a cover-up.
For the last few years, as I tried to find a place for my kids to swim, I also studied the lost public pools of Atlanta. This research was enlightened by the book Contested Waters: A Social History of Swimming in America by historian Jeff Wiltse. Though Wiltse’s book specifically focuses on pools in the north, the national trends he identifies explained so much about pools of the Jim Crow South—how they were funded, designed, sited, segregated, litigated, defunded, and ultimately abandoned.
I learned that what happened to the pool in my neighborhood was part of a pattern across the nation, a sad but common history. What would happen if we shared an understanding of what happened to these ambitious public spaces? “Ghost Pools” attempts to lay the historical groundwork for this conversation.
This pool was once loud with laughter, shouts, music, and splashing.
What if the pool walls could talk? Would it facilitate dialogue? Jog memories?
Could it inform how East Point reclaims and reactivates formerly segregated spaces in a way that acknowledges the past, while looking towards the future?