Black History 

The black history of Fitzpatrick Park and the land’s use for black recreation far predates the park itself. Black lumber workers and their families were integral to the operation of the Ritter Lumber Co. And of Fitzpatrick as a community. The town was intentionally and socially segregated with white families living on one side of Piney Creek and the railroad tracks and black families on the other. A black school and church were constructed to maintain this segregation. Many of these families remained in the area even after the lumber business began to fail, and took up community positions as hospital workers, professional cleaners, and property managers. Extant first-hand accounts of living in Fitzpatrick during the 20s focus on the white experience, but generally seem to suggest that, while segregation was central to everyday life, race relations were generally peaceful. This is certainly not the full story, but black and white lumber workers generally worked the same shifts, and these memoir accounts suggest people would carpool into Beckley together, regardless of race. The town of Fitzpatrick was not only a lumber camp, it was the landscape of many people’s lives, and that included outdoor recreation and leisure time.  

By the early 1930s, the Ritter Company had ceased operation in Fitzpatrick. According to the memoirs of Ms. June Adkins, everything in town shut down before the mill itself, save for the company store. ¹⁰  The lumber business had expanded so rapidly that local lumber sources had been exhausted, and in order to keep mills operational, the W.M. Ritter Company had resorted to importing logs from other states. Because Fitzpatrick was a company town, this effectively stopped the community from being able to support itself and caused residents and their families to either find new employment or leave the area. The W.M. Ritter company retained the land that the Fitzpatrick mill sat on, but the plant itself was abandoned. For nearly a decade, the property was essentially abandoned. A few homes remained inhabited, but the community largely disappeared along with all businesses and resources such as stores and recreational spaces. In this time, the dam on Piney Creek became polluted and many of the buildings fell into disrepair.¹¹  

In the 1940s, recreation and outdoor leisure time became a popular topic with Raleigh County residents and lawmakers. After the devastation of the Great Depression and WWII, America entered an economic boom. More Americans than ever before were looking to engage in outdoor recreation, and they were looking to their governments to make it possible.¹²  Before Little Beaver was a West Virginia State Park, it was established as a Raleigh County park and functioned under county jurisdiction. However, Little Beaver was a white only park. Because segregation was a legal and common aspect of everyday life in the 1940s, black residents were barred from using Little Beaver and its facilities. This left a vacuum for accessible recreation. The need for a sort of “sister park” to Little Beaver was clear, and the answer was what would eventually become Fitzpatrick Park. Beckley’s black community had many vocal and persistent leaders who pushed for investment in space for black recreation, and began to petition for a black park. On May 4, 1946, a Race Relations Forum was held in Beckley, where the need for black recreation areas was presented as a primary concern.¹³  Community leaders expressed black citizens’ need for “recreation areas in the heavily populated areas of Beckley, the same as the white element does.”¹⁴  

Post-WW II America was a place of great social change, and movements towards Civil Rights were becoming increasingly visible. In Raleigh County, this was exemplified by black community leaders’ insistence on the development of a black park. America at this time was operating under “separate but equal” doctrine confirmed by Plessy v Furgeson (1898). However, separate but equal was rarely ever actually equal, and the “myth” of equality wasn’t given much credence.¹⁵  This meant that, without consistent pressure from the black community, there would have likely never actually been a park built for non-white citizens to use. The importance of these black community spaces cannot be understated. Without the tireless efforts of black citizens advocating for their own rights, black Americans would not have been afforded the luxury of recreation that many of us take for granted. A black park meant that black community members had a space free from the mental and physical burdens of segregation and discrimination. These places allowed black Americans to partake in “American” pastimes such as playing baseball, picnicking, swimming, fishing, music-making, and communal celebrations. This was not an instance of bending to Jim Crow laws, but rather an act of transcending the boundaries that Jim Crow placed on what black residents could and could not do. 

In August of 1947, the Raleigh County Court authorized a special election wherein Raleigh County citizens would vote on allowing the Court to take out bonds that would fund the construction of an airport, the establishment of a park for black residents, and for improving the facilities at Little Beaver.  The Court had determined the construction of a black park was “commensurate with fairness and… keeping with the needs of the people.”¹⁶  Within the provisions of the election, funding would be allocated for the purchase of land, building recreational facilities, and the construction of a dam. Raleigh County citizens approved the acquisition of bonds, and an elected “Negro Advisory Committee” was established to serve as consultants for the planning and construction of the park. This committee consisted of dedicated black community leaders in Raliegh County, such as prominent attorney James H. Rowland and respected medical Doctor A. D. Belton.¹⁷  The committee’s parameters for the park were to be “accessible, attractive, and have water.”¹⁸  

In October 1948, approximately 140 acres was purchased in Paint Creek. However, less than two weeks later, the residents of Paint Creek petitioned to have the purchase voided.¹⁹  The petitioners attempted to claim that a portion of the land that was purchased was chosen to financially benefit the president of the Raleigh County Court, as it had previously belonged to his wife. However, the land was no longer in her possession, and therefore the sale did not financially benefit her in any way, at the time of the court’s choice of land and purchase. In an ensuing Court session held to address the petition, James H. Rowland of the Negro Advisory Committee did not accept the implied attack on the Committee’s choices and character. He argued that Paint Creek residents “just [didn’t] want negroes” in their town.²⁰  This was unfortunately par for the course in terms of land being acquired for black parks. Most commonly, property for black parks was scouted to be “of ‘marginal economic value,’ ‘worthless for agriculture,’ and that could be ‘purchased for a reasonable price’… In other words, land that was cheapo and whose designation for “Negro use” would do nothing to upset the racial hierarchy.”²¹  Constructing a black park was so outrageous to Paint Creek residents because they viewed it as a devaluation of their own property.  

The presence of an all-black advisory committee involved in the choice of property was a testament to the persistence and influence of Raleigh County’s black community. Rowland furthered, “Every time we select a site for a park, the white citizens say they don’t want us… There is not a member on that county court who can influence my thinking. No member of the court has urged the purchase in any way.”²²   When the petitioners argued that the park site would not have sufficient water for a dam, Rowland’s committee colleague S. E. Warren rebutted, “I do not believe you care too much about the welfare of my people.”²³  Rowland was firm in his belief that the Paint Creek site had enough water, and the Advisory Committee’s primary goal of providing an accessible park for black citizens. The petitioners, undeterred, expressed their desire for “… the Negroes to have a good park—somewhere.”²⁴  The silent “not here” was very clear. 

Raleigh County Court met in December of 1948 to rule on the fate of the Paint Creek tract.²⁵  They ruled in favor of Paint Creek and voided the purchase, effectively undoing the Advisory Committee’s work towards a black park. However, following the emerging racial discrimination from the Paint Creek community, Rowland stated that this voiding of purchase was in line with the Committee’s desires and that a new site would be chosen. 

Choosing a new site was no easy feat. The issue of location was repeatedly pushed back on the court docket, and new park sites were not proposed until January of 1950.²⁶  In mid-February, the Committee had determined Fitzpatrick to be a viable option.²⁷  The land, still retained by the Ritter Lumber Company, was sold to the county. The man-made lake and lumber mill dam were areas of interest, though concerns of water contamination threatened to delay park development.²⁸ The Negro Advisory Committee also gave their approval of the site, and surveys of the land began, along with plans to repurpose abandoned Ritter Lumber Co. Buildings.²⁹  Locals had used the Piney River and a swimming hole on the property as recreation sites for years. The swimming hole, called “Blue Hole” by the boys who had enjoyed it in the 1920s and 30s, was fed by the Piney River.³⁰  However, even then the water wasn’t clean, and the County Court determined that the water would need to be addressed.  

The County’s first plan was to build a large steel swimming pool, circumventing the use of Piney Creek and the dam altogether.³¹  However, the Korean War (1950-1953) was escalating, and the financial ramifications of being in an international conflict were beginning to impact civilians. The war meant a rise in price for consumer goods, materials, and domestic services, and a diversion of attention from a local to international stage.³²  Construction was further delayed by the National Production Authority (NPA) in October of 1950.³³  The NPA, a short-lived government agency under the Department of Commerce during the Korean War, banned the construction of “structure for amusements” as a means to support the war effort.³⁴  

Further, there were several attempts by community members to contest the park land.³⁵  One of these came from Fitzpatrick Farms Inc., a Delaware-based entity that claimed the park land encroached on their property.³⁶   James H. Rowland of the Negro Advisory Committee served as a legal consultant on the side of Fitzpatrick Park, once again displaying the dedication of black community leaders to secure an accessible park. The suit was dropped after being brought to Federal Court.³⁷  

After many delays, the park officially opened to residents on June 7, 1952.³⁸  John Henry Marsh was named as the park’s first director.³⁹  No swimming pool was ever funded, and so one of Marsh’s primary goals was to address sanitation at the park.⁴⁰  However, the public were disillusioned by the unfulfilled promises of a swimming spot, clean water, sewer system, and facilities.⁴¹  All the amenities that had been promised to black citizens were either lacking or non-existent, and efforts to raise more money for improvements didn’t go over well with the public, who felt previous money from tax levies were mismanaged. At the same time, Little Beaver was boasting “better facilities than ever.”⁴²  Park Director John Henry Marsh continued to work towards improved facilities and park experience as the park moved into its second year of operation.⁴³  By June 5, 1953, Fitzpatrick Park was offering picnic spots, fishing, boating, swimming in the man-made dam under the watch of a lifeguard, and swings for children.⁴⁴  

With the establishment of park facilities, including a functional sewer system, Fitzpatrick began to serve as an important communal gathering space. Fitzpatrick Park often partnered with community organizations to meet the needs of its public. These organizations were often run by women, who exercised their power in the community through civic organizations and service projects. The Beckley Women’s Improvement League purchased playground structures for very young “tiny tots” and in turn, the park hosted events and maintained the equipment for families with small children to enjoy.⁴⁵  In a bid to raise money for park improvements, Fitzpatrick established the “Miss Fitzpatrick” popularity contest, wherein votes for contestants were bought through contributing to the park’s playground fund.⁴⁶  The Novelettes Club, a women’s civic and social club, initially sponsored the event, which became an annual staple of the park until 1970.   

Community dances, picnics, reunions, ball games, and tennis matches were all held in the park regularly, with hundreds of people using the park each week. With the park becoming a well-loved community entity, higher budgets were approved by the County Courts for improvements.⁴⁷  Despite these increased funds, there was still a clear disparity between money being allocated to Fitzpatrick and funds that were allocated to Little Beaver.⁴⁸  

Marsh planned to use the funds to pave the road leading to the park, construct s bridge to a spring for drinking water and a bridge to provide a full circuit around the lake, and to build a pavilion.⁴⁹  He also planned to build a baseball diamond, to enlarge the swimming area and beach, and to repair and modernize buildings already on the property. The road to the park was a vital issue to address. As the Beckley Register described, “travel to the Fitzpatrick Recreation Park is confusing as well as dusty. Cars must travel part of the way on an unpaved road and the drivers must trust their sense of direction, since no signs mark the proper route…”⁵⁰  White community members were also concerned about the road conditions, expressing their frustrations to the Post Herald and Raleigh Register.⁵¹   

Further, Fitzpatrick became a park that was frequented by both black and white members of the community. In 1954, Brown v. Board of Education ruled that segregation of public spaces was unconstitutional, and the existence of segregated spaces—including outdoor recreation and leisure spaces—infringed on black Americans’ constitutional rights.⁵²   While Little Beaver remained staunchly segregated, even after the illegality of park segregation was established, Fitzpatrick was frequented by both “first-class” (white) and “second-class” (black) citizens.⁵³  To many white Americans, the integration of parks and the sharing of outdoor recreation spaces “[triggered] deeply held anxieties over interracial mixing and intimacy.⁵⁴   Allowing black bodies into white spaces meant relinquishing control over “… the movement of Black bodies in public life…”⁵⁵  The integration of white residents into black spaces did not stir up the same kind of anxieties, in part because white citizens who entered into black spaced did so cognizantly, and in part because white use of black spaces was still an exertion of control.  

Despite Fitzpatrick’s increasing presence in the lives of Raleigh County citizens, the park fell into disrepair over the next half-decade. Marsh was replaced as park supervisor, first by Chirstopher Hall and then by Glen Boyden, who some residents worried was ill-suited for the position due to lack of experience.⁵⁶  By 1961, concerns about the pollution of Piney Creek, which fed the lake and supplied drinking water for the park, were becoming more apparent. While this pollution had previously been addressed by a water filter, there was no money to replace it. Further, the County had failed to provide proper park maintenance the previous winter, leading to pipes bursting during the winter freeze.⁵⁷  This neglect led many white citizens to call for Fitzpatrick’s closure. However, black community members recognized that closing Fitzpatrick held far more weight. Black workers employed by the park would not be hired by other recreation sites like Little Beaver or Lake Stephens, which was under construction. Further, closing Fitzpatrick would eradicate one of the only spaces where black community members weren’t subjected to the racial prejudices and segregation that permeated all other areas of public life.   

Due to the intervention of community members, the filter was eventually replaced, and Fitzpatrick was allowed to remain open. However, the threat to black spaces remained ever-present. 1961 was still in the Jim Crow Era of American history (c.1890-1965), where racial segregation governed all public spaces.⁵⁸  Outdoor spaces were no expectation, and the right to leisure, recreation, and nature were not guaranteed to black Americans. Spaces like Fitzpatrick Park were the result of years of purposeful and persistent action from black communities and their representatives. As a National Park Service study on black recreation points out, “More than made to feel unwelcome and unsafe, across the United States throughout much of the period under study, Black people were formally excluded from accessing and enjoying beaches, parks, campgrounds, playgrounds, and other recreational spaces designated for whites only. This included national parks. Throughout its first half-century of existence, National Park Service administrators adhered to Jim Crow policies and practices in national parks.”⁵⁹  

Black spaces needed to be intentionally established and continuously defended in order to exist and resist the whitewashing of place. Further, many outdoor spaces were marked by danger for black Americans in the Jim Crow Era. Rural and scenic locations that would otherwise be ideal for recreation always held the potential to become venues for violence.⁶⁰  Racially motivated crimes and altercations often played out in secluded areas like parks, the woods, and near bodies of water. Despite West Virginia’s identity as an Appalachian state, practices of racial violence fell into the same patterns as states in the Deep South, including the tragic and violent practice of lynching.⁶¹    

However, West Virgina was markedly different from the American South in many other ways that allowed for black citizens to establish their own spaces, such as Fitzpatrick. West Virginia was a state of confluence, bridging the gap between the North and the South, the East and the ever-expanding West, politics, society, and the economy were unlike anywhere else in the nation. In post-Civil War America, black West Virginians had access to better education, expanded voting rights, and economic opportunities that were unheard of in other parts of the country.⁶²  In the coalfields, black laborers could make equal wages to their white counterparts, though their jobs were often even more dangerous.⁶³  Within this context, black West Virginians were able to dedicate more time and resources to building up their communities, including recreation.  As such, Fitzpatrick was not only important as a physical place of recreation and community development, but also a symbol of black resilience and excellence. 

Despite this lack of maintenance from the county, Fitzpatrick Park remained a social and cultural hub for black residents through the next half-decade. The 4th of July was a particularly significant holiday in Fitzpatrick. Black citizens used Independence Day to fight for their Civil Rights and freedoms year after year.⁶⁴  The Miss Fitzpatrick Pageant also continued with great popularity, inspiring young black women to participate in community events and fundraising.⁶⁵  The event also provided an annual space for black civic clubs to support their wider community, for a communal dance to take place, and for celebrations of black beauty to take the forefront of a public pageant. 

In 1964, the Men’s Civic Club successfully petitioned to take over the lease of the park when the County Park Board once again threatened to close Fitzpatrick, keeping the park operational through the summer of 1967, when operations were limited to weekends.⁶⁶  The sustained efforts to keep Fitzpatrick open were largely overlooked by white community members in 1967, some of whom were attempting to turn the site into an industrial park.⁶⁷  With the opening of Lake Stephens in the summer of 1966, an officially integrated park, many community members didn’t see the value in continuing operations at Fitzpatrick. However, petitions to ensure equal employment for black residents at Lake Stephens failed to be addressed by the county, and the black community was unconvinced that Little Beaver and Lake Stephens would provide the same opportunities for community development and support.⁶⁸  Despite best efforts, the County determined they would close Fitzpatrick Park in the summer of 1971.⁶⁹  Even as the Men’s Civic Club requested to continue taking responsibility for operations of the park, the Court denied the motion, citing the mounting cost of repairs.  

Black community leaders protested the decision immediately, with more than a dozen representatives appearing in front of the County Court to oppose their ruling.⁷⁰  They argued that “the park has been a gathering place for residents of Fayette, Raleigh, McDowell and Wyoming Counties for many years…” and that “the court had been unjust in not letting the Black community in on the decision to close the park. They said the park was a “safety valve” for releasing tensions…”⁷¹  The concept of a “safety-valve institution” is a well-documented sociological term that describes specific cultural practices or organizations to act out their discontent with the dominating system in ways that do not directly interact with normalized society. These expressions of discontent are used to “blow off steam” and “release tensions”, particularly minority and marginalized groups. In this case, retaining a black park where black sociocultural norms could thrive, without the input or fear of white culture dominating or overshadowing them, allowed black citizens of Southern West Virginia a dedicated space where their community and values were prioritized—something that was impossible in daily life and white-dominated spaces. In having a dedicated space of expression and community, black residents were able to release the tensions they felt in other aspects of public and communal life. 

The Raliegh County Recreation Board had other plans and began the process of deeding the park land to the city of Beckley, even as budgets were dwindling nationwide for parks and recreation in the early 70s.⁷²  Language surrounding the decline of conditions at Fitzpatrick were kept intentionally vague, with one councilwoman saying that “somewhere along the line someone is letting Fitzpatrick Park go down,” removing the City Council and Court from direct blame, even as they held direct financial power over the conditions in Fitzpatrick.⁷³  The same councilwoman took the opportunity to also recommend that the site be converted into a municipal swimming pool.⁷⁴  This positioning of the city as a paternalistic entity, willing to take on an ailing park and transform it into something new, was a purposeful and calculated move to paint the dissolution of a black communal space in a positive light.  

Even as black community members were still mourning and protesting their lost space, the Post Herald released an article supporting the County “[assuming] financial responsibility for the development to benefit the entire community.”⁷⁵  The article went on to promise that “…in a nutshell, it will mean for the county, if Fitzpatrick Park is transferred, [that] countians will have a swimming pool, tennis courts, shuffleboard courts, riding trails, nature hike trails, picnic areas, and many other recreational facilities… Piney River flows through Fitzpatrick Park, so if it becomes part of the overall larger park plan, canoeing and other water sports could be implemented…”⁷⁶  Despite these optimistic ideas, the Fitzpatrick Park deed was denied transfer, and would remain in the hands of the county until November of 1972.⁷⁷  Fitzpatrick was trapped in a kind of purgatory as the city decided what would become of their new property. Members of the public still used the grounds, but there were no major developments for nearly a decade.⁷⁸  However, several notable black cultural events took place in these interim years, including the John Henry Memorial Blues and Gospel Festival, which ran annually from 1973-1986. This festival, which included live performances, folk art and music, and a cornrow competition, was held to celebrate cultural folk heritage with an emphasis on black Appalachians, their traditions, and their practices.⁷⁹  

Largely, the park and its structures sat abandoned, becoming a hotspot for non-violent crime and, tragically, drowning deaths in the unmonitored pond.⁸⁰  Without maintenance from the city and with the park’s previous caretakers scorned by the county, many parts of Fitzpatrick fell into disrepair. The water became increasingly polluted from surrounding septic tanks, even as locals continued to fish in the pond and creek.⁸¹   The promised improvements from the city were continually pushed back, with property disputes and funding impeding progress.⁸²  Time was running out for the city of Beckley, whose rights to the land hinged upon the stipulation that it be used for a public park within 10 years of being acquired. By early 1977, the City Council passed a motion to revert ownership back to the County, effectively shutting down all existing plans for the park.⁸³  The County continued to stock trout in the pond, but otherwise, Fitzpatrick continued to be neglected.  

Raliegh County, without proper funding, was unsure of what to do with the property. Proposals for a juvenile detention center were floated, as well as leasing the property for mining during the late 1970s or using the space to build I-64.⁸⁴  The property was leased as grazing grounds for cattle in the meantime, as plans for a mini golf course, energy-efficient housing, and other commercial developments were pitched.⁸⁵  These plans failed to come to fruition, though the cattle enjoyed their continued grazing. Fitzpatrick was eventually revitalized by the county, with the construction of softball fields, repairs to the fishing pond, and a trail drawing visitors back to the park. However, Raleigh County’s black community has never regained the same communal and cultural space once enjoyed in Fitzpatrick Park.  

The importance of remembering Fitzpatrick’s cultural and social history can be seen in the way recreation and the use of parks is seen today. We do not think of outdoor spaces as ones charged with social and political power, but they have always been tied to larger American narratives. Efforts to revitalize and preserve the histories of black recreation sites has seen a surge in popularity since the 1990s, and one such project is the NPS’s African American Heritage Auto Tour.⁸⁶