This chapter may disappoint some gung-ho Atlanta boosters who may ask: Where are the pretty pictures of the skyline at sunset and lovely, leafy neighborhoods?

To them, I say get one of those pricey enameled coffee table books assembled by Norman Shavin and revel to your heart’s content in splendid civic mythology.

It’s just my particular and somewhat skewed vision that’s on display here. I was the “white boy with the black press” and saw the different visions in my viewfinder as I wandered through the wonderment that was Atlanta on the make in the post-King decade.