История чернокожего пригорода Крестмонт: как расизм и выживание сформировали уникальное сообщество

Crestmont is the product of American racism and Black survival People around here know Crestmont, but not why it exists. There is much to be learned by understanding how the unincorporated community in Abington Township came to be. Before you can understand Abington Township’s historically African American unincorporated community of Crestmont, you have to understand Willow Grove Park. Not the mall with that name, but the Willow Grove Park that predates it: One of the largest and most famous amusement parks on the East Coast. It opened in 1896, built by the Philadelphia Rapid Transit Co. It had roller coasters, a lake, restaurants, concerts, a massive music pavilion, and crowds pouring in. It shaped the entire local economy and brought thousands of people out to the suburbs every week. A place like that needed labor. Real labor. Constant labor. And that’s where Crestmont’s story begins. I didn’t grow up in Glenside or Willow Grove. I came out here for work, almost 15 years ago, and eventually I moved here. Eight years living in these suburbs gives you time to notice things, to ask questions, to wonder about the layout of the place. And one question kept coming back to me: Why is Crestmont, a mostly Black community, sitting right in the middle of overwhelmingly white suburbs? If you know the area, you know exactly what I mean. Roslyn, Glenside, Willow Grove, Abington … they’re all majority white, and have been that way for generations. Then suddenly, right next to the Willow Grove Mall parking lot, there’s Crestmont. Houses closer together. A different feel. A different history. A different story. I started talking about Crestmont to people who grew up here. I started learning about Willow Grove Park, looking at the geography, thinking about the era, and the truth became impossible to ignore. It’s a truth all of us need to hear, because it shows exactly how racism shapes the places we live. Willow Grove Park opened only 31 years after slavery ended. That was the same year Plessy v. Ferguson legalized segregation. Old newspaper coverage, township references, and public history written about the park all describe a large-scale operation with ties to the trolley company, township officials, police, contractors, and local business owners. A machine like that needed workers who could show up every day, early, late, and in all seasons. Black workers came to fill Willow Grove Park jobs and stayed because the work kept coming. In line with what the public record shows, people with long family histories in Crestmont talked to me about how common it was for their relatives and neighbors to all work at the park. But many of those workers didn’t have cars, and walking through certain neighborhoods wasn’t safe. Black people weren’t welcome. Renting was restricted, and loans for home purchases were denied. Still, the workers needed to live close. Close to the park, close to the trolley line, close to the commercial strip that fed the park. Exactly where Crestmont is. Once a few Black families moved in, the neighborhood took shape. Word spread. More families followed. White buyers stayed away. Black buyers were directed toward the same area. The lots stayed small. The houses stayed close. The community grew through necessity, connection, and resilience. People who grew up here remember the tensions between high schoolers. They remember buying packaged goods in Crestmont because they couldn’t get them elsewhere. They remember the social boundaries. They remember how Crestmont stood out from the surrounding suburbs. None of that is random. It’s the long-term result of how the neighborhood began. Crestmont exists because Willow Grove Park existed. Segregation created the boundary. The park created the need. Together, they created the neighborhood. Crestmont isn’t unique. Across the country, Black neighborhoods formed near major employers because segregation blocked housing everywhere else. In Ardmore, Black families lived near the railroad and the estates they worked in. In Bryn Mawr, the Black neighborhood grew beside the service corridors of the Main Line mansions. In Atlantic City, Black workers lived near the Boardwalk hotels they kept running. In Pittsburgh’s Hill District, Black families settled near the steel mills and rail yards. In Baltimore, Black neighborhoods formed beside the shipyards and factories. Wherever a big employer needed labor, and wherever white neighborhoods refused to open their doors, a Black community formed in the one pocket where the pressure made it possible — and they look the way they do today because of their origins. Crestmont’s density, the layout, the architecture, the vibe, the community identity — all of it comes from early working‑class development, limited access to loans, limited access to improvements, township decisions, generational continuity, racial boundaries, economic exclusion, and the strength of the people who lived there. It’s not a mystery. It’s not random. It’s not accidental. It’s a product of American racism and Black survival. People around here know Crestmont. But they don’t necessarily know its origin or see in it an example of how racism shapes geography and how Black communities build life anyway. Once you see that, you can’t unsee it. DJ Atkins is a Philly‑area DJ, radio host, and cultural writer. He also works in poetry, blending storytelling, music, and community history in his creative work.