Hey, everyone. I want to share the first episode of a new podcast from higher ground that I love.

It's called The Some of Us, and it's hosted by Heather McGee. Heather has spent the past year

traveling across America, unearthing stories of solidarity and hope. From rural Maine to the

coast of California, Heather has been talking with ordinary people who've come together across

demographic, cultural, and political lines to shape their communities for the better.

These stories reminded me that we're not as divided as we might think, that they're folks all

over this country who are looking past our divisions to build a better future for all of us.

They tell us it's not easy, and part of this podcast is lifting up some of the complications and

contradictions that we all have to deal with, but I think you'll find the same basic underlying hope

in this podcast that I do. In this first episode of The Some of Us, you'll meet our host Heather

McGee and learn more about herjury. It's the beginning of a remarkable story. If you like what

you hear, subscribe to The Some of Us.

Grass surrounded by remembering old oak trees. The quiet is eerie. It's like it's haunted by

something that used to be here. Barry, 10 feet beneath this wide lawn, is a shell of what once was

a dazzling public swimming pool that could hold over a thousand swimmers.

This kind of grand, resort-style public pool was commonplace in the country.

In the 1920s and 30s, towns and cities tried to outdo on another building the most elaborate

public pools. During the oppressive heat of summer, swimming pools are a haven of refuge or

young and old alike. Hundreds of such pools with well-equipped bath houses have been constructed by WPA

By World War II, there were some 2,000 pools like this across the country. The Montgomery

pool was grand and beautiful, a public work for all, but not really all. Like so many public pools

across the country, the Montgomery pool was reserved for white Sony.

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