Past a forest of white masts, a harbor bell rings in the distance. But the days of riveters and warships, smoky jazz clubs and worker’s unions, are long gone. Now, yachts and skiffs and sailboats bob up and down, tightly packed together, under a clear blue sky. This used to be one of the spots where tens of thousands of African Americans and immigrants came to make their wages during the second world war, turning generations of oppression and hardship…