Note: I know I said I would get this posted much sooner, but alas I have been busy. I did, however, have time to research. Please forgive the delay, but I guess it's appropriate since today they announced the cause of the fire as arson.
I remember Hylton Hall well. It, along with the "Home of Dan River Fabrics" sign that used to rest atop the mill, were staples of my childhood. After long trips to Greensboro or Sumter, SC, it was a sign that I was home. I can, and always will, remember sitting in the rear facing third row seat of my mother's 1991 Ford Taurus station wagon and watching the building go by. I can remember long day trips with my father to Sumter, and seeing the "Home of Dan River Fabrics" sign lit up as we merged onto West Main at the split with Memorial Drive, and I can remember passing by the huge brick building, with tall white columns hidden in the darkness across the tracks. This is my ode to Hylton Hall.
Situated just across the train tracks from the ruins of Schoolfield Mill rests a now charred and dilapidated building that was once a mainstay of Schoolfield as a community and as a mill. Named for "Miss Hattie" Hylton, Hylton Hall rose out of the need for welfare, and "Miss Hattie" took to the task of creating a better lifestyle for the workers and community in general.
A brief history of Hylton Hall has already been given by the Danville Register & Bee, so this will be an expansion thereof. My detailed information only goes back as far as 1922, but luckily I was able to find some retrospective articles that gave an in-depth background.
As the Register & Bee stated, Hylton Hall opened it's doors in 1918. What was left out, however, was that Hylton Hall was a pivotal part of the development of Schoolfield.
Originally intended as a dormitory for female mill workers, it's role quickly changed to become essential in the growth of Schoolfield. The building was designed to house 200 women, but quickly grew to fill-in other roles to meet the needs of the mill and the community. As time progressed, Hylton Hall housed not only single women, but single men and couples as well.
As Schoolfield village grew, the needs of the community changed. Hylton Hall was home to a 45' x 15' foot (the largest in the community), which was used to provide swimming lesson to women and children, and a nice place to cool off on a hot, summer day. Hylton Hall also became home to the Schoolfield YWCA -- the YMCA being located in the now razed Schoolfield Recreation Center.
The dining hall and auditorium at Hylton Hall were put to use by both the mill and the residents of Hylton Hall. Dignitaries and other important visitors were treated to meals in the dining room, and Hylton Hall was also the chosen location for the annual meetings...a precursor of the later use of the building as executive offices. The auditorium, as well, became a gathering places for residents, townspeople, and executives alike, to view and perform plays.
Throughout the years, Hylton Hall was also the home to a few churches. The most notable of which is Ascension Lutheran Church. The church we know now, situated on West Main Street, with the huge window where the large Chrismon Tree can be seen is actually a relatively new structure. Prior to that location, it was housed in the small church across the street. But it's very humble beginnings were at Hylton Hall.
Perhaps the most eventful year in Hylton's Hall history (maybe even more so than 2012) was 1930. The economic downturn and after effects of the depression hit hard, and Schoolfield had to make sacrifices. One of which, on September 1st, was Hylton Hall. Money was tight, wages were cut, and within weeks one of, if not the worst, strikes to confront Schoolfield.
It was during this strike that those who were continuing to work were harassed and attacked trying to enter the gates. It was also during this strike that houses, buildings, and yards were dynamited. To counter these attacks, soldiers were brought in to police the village and protect the mill. Hylton Hall, designed to be home to no more than 200 people, ended up housing over 900 soldiers for six months. On March 14th, 1931, Hylton Hall reopened and once again became a home for mill workers and a place for the women and children of Schoolfield.
Following the strike, things seemed to settle down for old Hylton Hall. The auditorium continued to be used for church services, most frequently by Ascension Luthern, the swimming pool remained open for use by the community, and the Mill's annual meetings were still held there. The strike, however, really represented the building's climax, as that appears to be the last big event to center around Hylton Hall until the fire two weeks ago. References to the building in the newspaper throughout nearly four decades following slowly fade from ads for the pool and as living quarters and references to executive offices begin to appear. The last major references to the building come at the time of "Miss Hattie's" death and also during a special bicentennial edition of the newspaper on July 4, 1976. The online archives for the newspaper stop during 1977, so that's as far as my information goes. But considering that even during my lifetime the building was still used for executive offices, I can't imagine too much happened.
We all know the rest of the story...the mill closed, Hylton Hall was vacated and boarded up, and was left as a reminder of what used to be. It sat lonely and empty, watching as the mill to which it was partnered, was slowly torn down until so little remained that it's almost just an empty shell. Then, on a beautiful, breezy Sunday afternoon in April, 2012, the building went up in flames; engulfing Schoolfield village in smoke. I know I probably shouldn't be refererring to the building in the past tense, as it's technically still standing...but God only knows what's to become of it. And it's sad to think that lot may soon stand empty. I can only hope that it is somehow, in some way, salvagable. Lest we lose another important piece of Danville history.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
It's Funny How Things Can Change but Not Change at the Same Time
I know I said my next post would be about the history of Hylton Hall,
but I simply haven't had the time to do the research. Work has been
keeping me busy and wearing me out physically, but I will get to it.
Maybe tonight before I go to bed, who knows.
This post, however, isn't necessarily historical. A few thoughts have merged in my mind tonight and it reminded me of something I feel worth sharing.
A year or so ago, I red an article in the Register & Bee about residents in Forest Hills complaining about the projected extension of the Riverwalk Trail through Ballou Park. I've mentioned before, I'm sure, that I grew up in that part of Forest Hills. Ballou Park was my backyard. In my younger days (God, am I really referring to 15 or so years ago as my younger days...eek!), I would have been thrilled at having access to the Riverwalk trail from my backyard. I mean, I used to ride my bike from my house all the way to the train station and get on the trail there. Retrospectively, I'm surprised I didn't die. But that part of Ballou Park is logical for a trail considering the network of roads that exist back there.
What the article was about, however, was reminiscent of a story I've heard many times over the years. Residents on Linden Drive were complaining about the trail bringing, essentially, unwanted traffic behind their houses. I can understand that...sort of. Those old, worn out, closed off roads provided peace to my street. And you can be sure we'd all go running for houses if we saw a car back there. Sure, people would wander through, but there was relative peace most of the time. My friends and I would play back there on fallen trees, ride our bikes on the road. If we were lucky, we could ride our bikes on "The Circle." That, however, was the farthest we were allowed to really explore. Mainly because it was the farthest away that we could get where we could be seen from my house. My neighbor's mom covered the upper part of the park.
I got some amusement out of the article, though, because something incredibly similar happened around 1980. You see, there is a reason why there are roads back there. When Ballou Park opened, some 100 or so years ago, they were open to traffic. On Sunday afternoons, people would take leisurely drives through Ballou Park in what was dubbed "the Sunday Motorcade."
By 1980, the residents of that side of Linden Drive were getting into their 60s and 70s. The noise of the Sunday Motorcade was becoming a nuisance. My father said the first time he ever went to my grandparents house in the late 70s, it was a constant succession of cars all afternoon. And, so, the residents petitioned to have the roads closed to traffic...and the rest is history. Well, at least until recently.
I could not, for the life of me, figure out why no one made that connection. But then it dawned on me: not a single person on Linden Drive whose house backs up to the park has lived there for than 15 years or so. It was the same argument, but a different time and different people. And it seems that no one even knew that the deteriorating pavement was left unkempt for some 30 years because no one on that stretch of Linden Drive wanted to deal with a disturbance.
There is my little random tid-bit for the night. It's nothing special, nothing important. Just something I wanted to write down.
This post, however, isn't necessarily historical. A few thoughts have merged in my mind tonight and it reminded me of something I feel worth sharing.
A year or so ago, I red an article in the Register & Bee about residents in Forest Hills complaining about the projected extension of the Riverwalk Trail through Ballou Park. I've mentioned before, I'm sure, that I grew up in that part of Forest Hills. Ballou Park was my backyard. In my younger days (God, am I really referring to 15 or so years ago as my younger days...eek!), I would have been thrilled at having access to the Riverwalk trail from my backyard. I mean, I used to ride my bike from my house all the way to the train station and get on the trail there. Retrospectively, I'm surprised I didn't die. But that part of Ballou Park is logical for a trail considering the network of roads that exist back there.
What the article was about, however, was reminiscent of a story I've heard many times over the years. Residents on Linden Drive were complaining about the trail bringing, essentially, unwanted traffic behind their houses. I can understand that...sort of. Those old, worn out, closed off roads provided peace to my street. And you can be sure we'd all go running for houses if we saw a car back there. Sure, people would wander through, but there was relative peace most of the time. My friends and I would play back there on fallen trees, ride our bikes on the road. If we were lucky, we could ride our bikes on "The Circle." That, however, was the farthest we were allowed to really explore. Mainly because it was the farthest away that we could get where we could be seen from my house. My neighbor's mom covered the upper part of the park.
I got some amusement out of the article, though, because something incredibly similar happened around 1980. You see, there is a reason why there are roads back there. When Ballou Park opened, some 100 or so years ago, they were open to traffic. On Sunday afternoons, people would take leisurely drives through Ballou Park in what was dubbed "the Sunday Motorcade."
By 1980, the residents of that side of Linden Drive were getting into their 60s and 70s. The noise of the Sunday Motorcade was becoming a nuisance. My father said the first time he ever went to my grandparents house in the late 70s, it was a constant succession of cars all afternoon. And, so, the residents petitioned to have the roads closed to traffic...and the rest is history. Well, at least until recently.
I could not, for the life of me, figure out why no one made that connection. But then it dawned on me: not a single person on Linden Drive whose house backs up to the park has lived there for than 15 years or so. It was the same argument, but a different time and different people. And it seems that no one even knew that the deteriorating pavement was left unkempt for some 30 years because no one on that stretch of Linden Drive wanted to deal with a disturbance.
There is my little random tid-bit for the night. It's nothing special, nothing important. Just something I wanted to write down.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Hylton Hall: History in Flames, Part I
Note: As I do not have time to adequately research at the moment, consider this a prologue to my next entry. When I return home this evening, I will research the background of Hylton Hall and, hopefully, do a good write-up on the building.
Fire has a fascinating ability to bring people together. Whether gathering around a fire for warmth or to investigate a burning building, people seem naturally drawn to the comfort and destruction that fire brings.
Situated on Lanier Avenue, just across the train tracks from Schoolfield Mill, Hylton Hall was a staple of the Schoolfield scenery for decades. That is, until April 15, 2012. At around 3:35 pm, a fire was reported in the grand building that once, I believed, was home to the administrative offices of Schoolfield Mills.
Shortly after 4:00 pm, I had gone to Mt. View Cemetery to visit my grandparents' grave. As I left, I smelled something burning. I quickly shrugged it off having not seen smoke. Then, as I turned onto Surry Lane, I could see a light cloud of smoke over Maple Lane in Forest Hills and assumed it was just someone having a cook out. That is, until I got on West Main Street to get gas. I could smell smoke and see it billowing from somewhere in Schoolfield and decided to investigate.
I proceeded up West Main, and was greeted by a wall of smoke when I got to the building where the Dan River Outlet Store used to be. As the smoke thinned, I could see cars parked in the old mill parking lot, and a wall of black smoke obscuring Hylton Hall. I pulled over and joined the crowd of people taking pictures and talking. After 10 minutes or so, a police officer came and told everyone to leave because the fire fighters were worried about something exploding and harming people.
I left for about an hour and visited a former neighbor before returning to the scene. The road was closed from Baltimore Avenue up, so I parked and walked to the overpass for another 10 or 15 minutes. The roof of the building appeared to have been destroyed by the fire, but smoke and trees obscured everything.
Fire has a fascinating ability to bring people together. Whether gathering around a fire for warmth or to investigate a burning building, people seem naturally drawn to the comfort and destruction that fire brings.
Situated on Lanier Avenue, just across the train tracks from Schoolfield Mill, Hylton Hall was a staple of the Schoolfield scenery for decades. That is, until April 15, 2012. At around 3:35 pm, a fire was reported in the grand building that once, I believed, was home to the administrative offices of Schoolfield Mills.
Shortly after 4:00 pm, I had gone to Mt. View Cemetery to visit my grandparents' grave. As I left, I smelled something burning. I quickly shrugged it off having not seen smoke. Then, as I turned onto Surry Lane, I could see a light cloud of smoke over Maple Lane in Forest Hills and assumed it was just someone having a cook out. That is, until I got on West Main Street to get gas. I could smell smoke and see it billowing from somewhere in Schoolfield and decided to investigate.
I proceeded up West Main, and was greeted by a wall of smoke when I got to the building where the Dan River Outlet Store used to be. As the smoke thinned, I could see cars parked in the old mill parking lot, and a wall of black smoke obscuring Hylton Hall. I pulled over and joined the crowd of people taking pictures and talking. After 10 minutes or so, a police officer came and told everyone to leave because the fire fighters were worried about something exploding and harming people.
I left for about an hour and visited a former neighbor before returning to the scene. The road was closed from Baltimore Avenue up, so I parked and walked to the overpass for another 10 or 15 minutes. The roof of the building appeared to have been destroyed by the fire, but smoke and trees obscured everything.
I don't know the condition of the building, but I doubt it will survive the night...if it's still standing now. As a friend said on Facebook, it "
 |
| Firemen breaking in. |
 |
| Still on fire, but under control enough for firemen to enter. |
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