Our investigation of thousands of pages of internal-affairs documents raises questions about reform at the beleaguered department.
After dropping out of college—first UGA, then Georgia State—and a stint in California, Cooley managed a pizza joint on Roswell Road. It wasn’t doing well, so he brought in doo-wop performers, but it still went bust. A few months later, driving to Miami, he heard a radio station announce the Miami Pop Festival. He went and was blown away. Back in Atlanta, he and seventeen partners started the first Atlanta International Pop Festival. Janis Joplin showed up and said to him, “I want a drink and a fuck. In that order.” In July of 1969, weeks before Woodstock, she, Chuck Berry, and Led Zeppelin performed for more than 100,000 at the Atlanta International Raceway. Cooley later launched the Electric Ballroom and the Roxy, started Music Midtown with partner Peter Conlon (now president of Live Nation Atlanta), and was instrumental in saving the Fox. Last year he consulted on the renovation of the Buckhead Theatre. “Music,” he says, “has been my life. Now rock is respectable, though, which takes a little something away from it.”
There’s a generational divide between Black Democrats. How will that play out at the polls—and at home?
Nationally, the political divide between younger and older Black voters is more vast than the divide between younger and older white ones. According to national polls conducted late this summer, white “likely voters” between the ages of 18 to 29 were more likely to support Biden than those over 65, but the opposite was true of Black voters: Biden had stronger support from older Blacks than from younger ones, with a wider margin separating them compared to their white counterparts.
Five years ago, Donald Albright was feeling burned out, struggling to find his place as an underappreciated player in Atlanta’s cutthroat hip-hop scene. As it turns out, the hustle he honed in the music business served him even better in the podcast one.
Going into the relationship, Dave and Jessica knew they had their differences. He’s Black, and she’s white. He’s a 50-year-old Gen Xer; she’s a 38-year-old Millennial. But to many people, the difference that’s most surprising isn’t any of these: It’s that he’s a Republican, and she’s a Democrat.
Laura Phelan sees her small friend group as a microcosm of her church family—and perhaps a microcosm of the country, politically. One woman casts her vote according to convictions related to social justice and climate change; another is fiscally conservative and supports whichever party’s tax plan makes most sense for her family.