Chamblee54

This content was originally published April 30, 2012. … Doug Richards is an Atlanta tv news reporter. He writes a blog, Live Apartment Fire. He was on the scene thirty years ago. There was a riot downtown. Mr. Richards had a bad night.
I was working in the Healey building that day. I ran an RMS, or reprographic management service, in an architects office. I had a blueline machine, and ran jobs for the customer. In my free time, I enjoyed the various events downtown. On April 30, 1992, there was an event I did not enjoy.
The day before, a jury in California issued a verdict. Four policemen were acquitted of wrongdoing in an incident involving Rodney King. The incident had been videotaped, and received widespread attention. The verdict of the jury was not popular. The dissatisfaction spread to Atlanta.
Sometimes, I think I have a guardian angel looking over me. If so, then this thursday afternoon was one of those times. I went walking out into the gathering storm. I was a block south of the train station at five points, when I saw someone throw a rock into a store front. The sheet metal drapes were rolled down on the outside of the store. Irealized that I was not in a good place, and quickly made my way back to the Healey building.
A group of policemen were lined up in the lobby of the building, wearing flack jackets. One of the police was a white man, who was familiar to workers in the neighborhood. A few weeks before the incident, he had been walking around the neighborhood showing off his newborn baby.
There was very little work done that afternoon in the architect’s office. Someone said not to stand close to the windows. Fourteen floors below, on Broad Street, the window at Rosa’s Pizza caught a brick. There were helicopters hovering over downtown, making an ominous noise.
There was a lot of soul searching about race relations that day. The Olympics were coming to town in four years, and the potential for international disaster was apparent. As it turned out, the disturbance was limited to a few hundred people. It could have been much, much worse. If one percent of the anger in Atlanta had been unleashed that day, instead of .001 percent, the Olympics would have been looking for a new host.
After a while, the people in the office were called into the lobby. The Principal of the firm, the partner in charge of production, walked out to his vehicle with me. The principal drove an inconspicuous vehicle, which made me feel a bit better.
I usually took the train downtown. As fate would have it, there was a big project at the main office of Redo blue, on West Peachtree Street. That is where my vehicle was, in anticipation of working overtime that night. The principal drove me to this building. I called my mother, to let her know that I was ok. The Atlanta manager of Redo Blue talked to me, to make sure that I was not hurt.
If I had not gone downtown the next day, I might not have ever gone back. I was back at the West Peachtree Street office, and was assured that it was safe to ride the train into town. The Macy’s at 180 Peachtree had plywood nailed over the display windows. A gift shop in the Healey building had a sign in the window, “Black owned business”. Friday May 1, 1992, was a quiet day. … Pictures today are from Special Collections and Archives, Georgia State University Library. The social media picture is “Undated, but after 1964”. “Marietta Street and Broad Street.” ©Luther Mckinnon 2026 · selah