On a quiet stretch of White and Lawton streets, in southwest Atlanta, there’s no marker. No sign. Just a patch of sidewalk, cars passing, and weeds curling from a cracked curb that offers no clues to its past.
But in the summer of 1911, this is where Lizzie Watts was found — her throat slashed, her body dragged and hidden in a tangle of bushes. Today, few know her name.
Atlanta is a city that remembers. Civil rights legends, Olympic torchbearers, and hip-hop architects live on in murals, street signs, and monuments. But beneath the concrete, beyond the beltlines and broken sidewalks, is a history that whispers through the soil. It is a history without plaques. A history of blood. A story of forgotten Black women…