When we last left our hero...I mean house...development of what was then called the Perkinson Tract was just getting off the ground. In 1924, the area of development was limited; encompassing only Carolina and College Avenues. It was also the year that the old farmhouse on Carolina had its first new owners in nearly two decades: J. W. and H. J. Keeling.
The Keelings presented me with two invaluable pieces of information regarding the history of the house. One was a building permit, and the other a series of newspaper articles. The building permit, submitted in 1926, listed the addition of a porch with tin roof as well as repairs to the dwelling. Through this building permit (though several years later), I was able to find newspaper articles documenting the sale of the house. One of which stated that the house was "believed to the be the first built in the area" other than the house at 120 College Avenue.
The Keeling Brothers, like J. E. Perkinson, dabbled in real estate. Also like J. E. Perkinson, they seemed to like the area enough to ultimately buy several lots in the neighborhood. Do you know what goes well with the sale of land and property? Insurance. Yep, that's right. They began to sell insurance as well as real estate in the 1920s.
The Keeling's ownership of the house lasted into the Great Depression. In the 1930 census, the house is listed as having seven occupants: J. W. Keeling; his wife, Minnie; two nephews: James Garner and Norman Faylor; his mother, Susan; a nurse/servant, Eula Foster; and a lodger named C. Ashbury Allen. All were employed, however, except Minnie and Susan. J. W. was a real estate agent, James was a salesman, Norman was a filling station attendant, and C. Ashbury Allen was a jewlery engraver.
Perhaps the most amusing thing I saw in my research on the Keelings, however, is that the census referred to the mother as an invalid. She was indeed quite ill, however, as she would die in the home shortly thereafter.
Despite the west end experiencing a housing boom in the late 1920s and early 1930s, the Great Depression still reared it's ugly head. In 1931, the Keelings defaulted on a loan and lost the house they had occupied for the past seven years. I can, obviously, only surmise that it was the Great Depression, but I still hate to think how it felt for a real estate agent to lose his own home.
Of course, as one person leaves, another follows. In short order, a new chapter would begin for the old farmhouse on Carolina Avenue. One that has an interesting twist...
Monday, October 29, 2012
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
History of a House: A Few Owners and The Start of a Neighborhood
Note: I'm consolidating three owners into this post. Two owners I have little to no information about, and the third I have significantly more. The third is a pivotal part of my research, but I have so little on the other two that I see no need for a separate entry on them.
Historical research involving people can be incredibly nerve wracking. It's amazing that you can come across a name so many times and even recognize it, but then realize you are so limited in your resources you don't even know why you know them. Moreover, you have to deal with what I have dubbed the junior syndrome. You see a name several times, only to realize that it's someone's son.
Such is the case with the second owners of Ms. Gott's house. I have heard and seen the name F.X. Burton several times throughout my research on her house and through various other ventures in Danville's history. Imagine my surprise when I saw that name and read the deed to verify that it was, indeed, her house! I may not have believed it, had the deed not referenced it as Robinson Market Gardens.
F. X. Burton and his wife, Alice, owned the house for 10 years. Unfortunately for me, I quickly learned that during that 10 years, he died. Deed book entries in Danville that referenced F. X. Burton must have referred to his son. So, I know very little about him. As I recall, however, he was instrumental in the development of Neopolis (North Danville).
In 1904, Alice Burton sold the house to Mollie E. Mays and her husband. I know absolutely nothing about them, but they are worth mentioning as they established a trend with the house: female owners. Like Blanche Robinson, the land was deeded to Mollie, not to Mollie's husband. Between inheritances and purchases, the majority of the owners of that house have been women.
Mollie Mays owned the house for a year, give or take. If I recall, it was just under a year. As interesting as her purchase of the house was, her sale of the house was piece of information that completed my research.
The year was 1905. That area was yet to be annexed by the City of Danville. The Mount Vernon Villa Company had done very little to the area around Virginia Avenue. It was also the year that a purchase was made that would change the shape of the area forever...just not for another 15 or 20 years. The buyer? J. E. Perkinson: the one man upon whom all of my research hinged.
J. E. Perkinson...a man I have never met, and who left no heirs. Yet, by the end of my research, I felt like I knew him. I could picture what I thought he looked like in my head. All these years of researching him (which, somehow, did not feel stalkerish at all) made me feel a connection with him. He worked in the tobacco industry and owned a house on Main Street which no longer exists, but, ironically, he gave to his wife.
As an interesting side-note, before I get into the importance of J. E. Perkinson. His brother, T. R. Perkinson, built the house at 274 Carolina Avenue in 1916. He, however, lived in the area prior to that. He was first listed as living in the vicinity of Virginia Avenue in 1906, and T. R. Perkinson's name is also on the first piece of evidence of prior owners that I ever found in the house.
T. R. Perkinson moved to Danville in 1901, according to his obituary. He was a farmer who moved from Amelia. Where he lived prior to 1906 is unknown, though I imagine it is possible that he may have rented the house, which sparked his brother purchasing it.
Anyway, back to J. E. Perkinson...
J. E. Perkinson is the man who would make the area from Carolina Avenue to Howeland Circle what it is today. He would eventually buy the land up College Avenue, extend Carolina Avenue to Virginia Avenue, develop Howeland Circle and all of the intermediate streets. He built Avondale Drive and named the entire neighborhood Avondale Park.
This, however, was not until the 1920s. Around this time, Carolina Avenue was officially given its name, and the two houses given their house numbers. It is interesting to note, also, that circa 1920 the taxes on the house at 275 Carolina Avenue was $275 and some change. Maybe it's just coincidence, but I can't think of a better reason for a street to have houses that begin in the 270s rather than 100s.
After 1916, the house was rented. The only known occupant during this time was a local grocer: Frank L. Martin. He and his family lived here around 1920 before moving to Florida. Perhaps I need to do an entry on him as a miscellaneous later...
In 1924, J. E. Perkinson finally put his original purchase on the market. Amidst the selling of bungalows on College Avenue and other houses in the neighborhood, the unique house at 275 Carolina Avenue had it's first new owner in nearly 20 years.
Historical research involving people can be incredibly nerve wracking. It's amazing that you can come across a name so many times and even recognize it, but then realize you are so limited in your resources you don't even know why you know them. Moreover, you have to deal with what I have dubbed the junior syndrome. You see a name several times, only to realize that it's someone's son.
Such is the case with the second owners of Ms. Gott's house. I have heard and seen the name F.X. Burton several times throughout my research on her house and through various other ventures in Danville's history. Imagine my surprise when I saw that name and read the deed to verify that it was, indeed, her house! I may not have believed it, had the deed not referenced it as Robinson Market Gardens.
F. X. Burton and his wife, Alice, owned the house for 10 years. Unfortunately for me, I quickly learned that during that 10 years, he died. Deed book entries in Danville that referenced F. X. Burton must have referred to his son. So, I know very little about him. As I recall, however, he was instrumental in the development of Neopolis (North Danville).
In 1904, Alice Burton sold the house to Mollie E. Mays and her husband. I know absolutely nothing about them, but they are worth mentioning as they established a trend with the house: female owners. Like Blanche Robinson, the land was deeded to Mollie, not to Mollie's husband. Between inheritances and purchases, the majority of the owners of that house have been women.
Mollie Mays owned the house for a year, give or take. If I recall, it was just under a year. As interesting as her purchase of the house was, her sale of the house was piece of information that completed my research.
The year was 1905. That area was yet to be annexed by the City of Danville. The Mount Vernon Villa Company had done very little to the area around Virginia Avenue. It was also the year that a purchase was made that would change the shape of the area forever...just not for another 15 or 20 years. The buyer? J. E. Perkinson: the one man upon whom all of my research hinged.
J. E. Perkinson...a man I have never met, and who left no heirs. Yet, by the end of my research, I felt like I knew him. I could picture what I thought he looked like in my head. All these years of researching him (which, somehow, did not feel stalkerish at all) made me feel a connection with him. He worked in the tobacco industry and owned a house on Main Street which no longer exists, but, ironically, he gave to his wife.
As an interesting side-note, before I get into the importance of J. E. Perkinson. His brother, T. R. Perkinson, built the house at 274 Carolina Avenue in 1916. He, however, lived in the area prior to that. He was first listed as living in the vicinity of Virginia Avenue in 1906, and T. R. Perkinson's name is also on the first piece of evidence of prior owners that I ever found in the house.
T. R. Perkinson moved to Danville in 1901, according to his obituary. He was a farmer who moved from Amelia. Where he lived prior to 1906 is unknown, though I imagine it is possible that he may have rented the house, which sparked his brother purchasing it.
Anyway, back to J. E. Perkinson...
J. E. Perkinson is the man who would make the area from Carolina Avenue to Howeland Circle what it is today. He would eventually buy the land up College Avenue, extend Carolina Avenue to Virginia Avenue, develop Howeland Circle and all of the intermediate streets. He built Avondale Drive and named the entire neighborhood Avondale Park.
This, however, was not until the 1920s. Around this time, Carolina Avenue was officially given its name, and the two houses given their house numbers. It is interesting to note, also, that circa 1920 the taxes on the house at 275 Carolina Avenue was $275 and some change. Maybe it's just coincidence, but I can't think of a better reason for a street to have houses that begin in the 270s rather than 100s.
After 1916, the house was rented. The only known occupant during this time was a local grocer: Frank L. Martin. He and his family lived here around 1920 before moving to Florida. Perhaps I need to do an entry on him as a miscellaneous later...
In 1924, J. E. Perkinson finally put his original purchase on the market. Amidst the selling of bungalows on College Avenue and other houses in the neighborhood, the unique house at 275 Carolina Avenue had it's first new owner in nearly 20 years.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
History of a House: The Not Swiss Family Robinson
What fascinates me most about researching old houses is the people and their stories. Perhaps it is the Psychology major in me, though some say it's the historian in me. Either way, the more I researched, the more I found myself feeling a connection with these people. Long forgotten families who built a life and memories...these are their stories.
As I researched, I spent countless hours searching for deeds. I'd find myself saying "let's find my dear Blanche," or "my friend J. E. Perkinson." While, sadly, they are simply names printed in black and white, I began to feel like I knew them and knew their stories. So, now, I shall present you with the first family of 275 Carolina Avenue: The Robinsons.
On July 17, 1884, W. P. and Blanche Robinson purchased ~11 acres of the former Wimbish property. Their property was bounded by the former Wimbish property line (where the alley is today), the property purchased by E. H. Miller and J. M. Neal (around Westhampton Avenue), the Southern Railroad, and a new road opened where Carolina Avenue is today. The road, however, ended where the alley is and stretched all the way to West Main Street. In fact, if you stand on Carolina Avenue (just in front of 275) at night, you can see the stoplight at West Main and Howeland Circle.
W. P. Robinson was a Civil War Veteran, ran a dry goods store downtown, and held a pivotal role in the 1883 election in the city of Danville. He was a magistrate for the coalition, which had formed several years prior and helped to enable a biracial state government during reconstruction in the state of Virginia. Following the Danville Riots, he expressed concerns that blacks would not be voting and that acting as a magistrate for the election might be pointless.
Immediately following the purchase of their 11 acres, Blanche Robinson purchased an additional 4 acres from E. H. Miller. On the same day, W. P. Robinson transferred all of his possessions to his wife with her brother, Thomas L. Sydnor (a local dentist) as trustee. Blanche became the sole owner of the original 11 acres and the dry goods store he owned on Main Street. Subsequent deeds would list her as the owner, and W. P. as running the store and acting as her agent.
The following year, in 1885, I believe that the Robinsons built their home. Pittsylvania County landbooks indicate a building worth $600 being on the original ~11 acres. Subsequent deeds refer to the land as "Robinson Market Gardens". The deed for the four acres purchased from E. H. Miller referred to it as the "W. P. Robinson Fish Pond."
Many subsquent trust deeds on the property helped me verify that they not only lived on the land, but that the location was correct. At least one deed from Blanche mentions "my home" and they all mention the surrounding property owners: E. H. Miller, J. T. Watson, and E. H. Mitchell (who had purchased the Wimbish home a few years after the subdivision on the land).
Life, however, was not so great for the Robinsons. They took out a handful loans with their home and store as collateral. By 1894, Blanche owed money to a plethora of people for goods in their store, for work, and for loans taken out. That deed, in particular, was hard to read. The deed was about five pages long and listed everyone to whom money was owed and how much. For example, she was indebted to the National Cash Register Company.
In 1894, pursuant to a trust deed from 1890, the ~15 acres owned by Blanche Robinson was auctioned off. By this point, as best I can tell, they had moved from their home and were renting it out as one deed mentions allowing her to "enjoy rents from the use of her property..."
So, in 1894, the land was purchased at auction by F. X. Burton.
As I researched, I spent countless hours searching for deeds. I'd find myself saying "let's find my dear Blanche," or "my friend J. E. Perkinson." While, sadly, they are simply names printed in black and white, I began to feel like I knew them and knew their stories. So, now, I shall present you with the first family of 275 Carolina Avenue: The Robinsons.
On July 17, 1884, W. P. and Blanche Robinson purchased ~11 acres of the former Wimbish property. Their property was bounded by the former Wimbish property line (where the alley is today), the property purchased by E. H. Miller and J. M. Neal (around Westhampton Avenue), the Southern Railroad, and a new road opened where Carolina Avenue is today. The road, however, ended where the alley is and stretched all the way to West Main Street. In fact, if you stand on Carolina Avenue (just in front of 275) at night, you can see the stoplight at West Main and Howeland Circle.
W. P. Robinson was a Civil War Veteran, ran a dry goods store downtown, and held a pivotal role in the 1883 election in the city of Danville. He was a magistrate for the coalition, which had formed several years prior and helped to enable a biracial state government during reconstruction in the state of Virginia. Following the Danville Riots, he expressed concerns that blacks would not be voting and that acting as a magistrate for the election might be pointless.
Immediately following the purchase of their 11 acres, Blanche Robinson purchased an additional 4 acres from E. H. Miller. On the same day, W. P. Robinson transferred all of his possessions to his wife with her brother, Thomas L. Sydnor (a local dentist) as trustee. Blanche became the sole owner of the original 11 acres and the dry goods store he owned on Main Street. Subsequent deeds would list her as the owner, and W. P. as running the store and acting as her agent.
The following year, in 1885, I believe that the Robinsons built their home. Pittsylvania County landbooks indicate a building worth $600 being on the original ~11 acres. Subsequent deeds refer to the land as "Robinson Market Gardens". The deed for the four acres purchased from E. H. Miller referred to it as the "W. P. Robinson Fish Pond."
Many subsquent trust deeds on the property helped me verify that they not only lived on the land, but that the location was correct. At least one deed from Blanche mentions "my home" and they all mention the surrounding property owners: E. H. Miller, J. T. Watson, and E. H. Mitchell (who had purchased the Wimbish home a few years after the subdivision on the land).
Life, however, was not so great for the Robinsons. They took out a handful loans with their home and store as collateral. By 1894, Blanche owed money to a plethora of people for goods in their store, for work, and for loans taken out. That deed, in particular, was hard to read. The deed was about five pages long and listed everyone to whom money was owed and how much. For example, she was indebted to the National Cash Register Company.
In 1894, pursuant to a trust deed from 1890, the ~15 acres owned by Blanche Robinson was auctioned off. By this point, as best I can tell, they had moved from their home and were renting it out as one deed mentions allowing her to "enjoy rents from the use of her property..."
So, in 1894, the land was purchased at auction by F. X. Burton.
History of a House: Our Story Begins...
Author's Note: Though I have officially finished my research on the house, I decided to write out a detailed history of the 275 Carolina Avenue/The Cottage/Robinson Market Gardens. Rather than one extremely long blog entry, I'm going to write one for each person. Well, some may be joined as I have very little information on them. But anyway...
The main part of my research may be done, but, as with an old house, there will always be little things to do. I'm sure I will continue to "accidentally" dig things up, unearth treasures, and it's quite possible that one day I'll be locked in the crawl space and be forced to tunnel out. So at least there is potential for more learning.
No story would be complete without a beginning. True, you could make a beginning out of any part of a story, but it really wouldn't make sense if you picked some arbitrary point. That being said, I think the best starting point is the subdivision of the land on which the house was built. From there, I can regale you with stories of the people who have owned/inhabited the home for the past 127 years.
To truly begin the history of 275 Carolina Avenue, though, we have to start with a completely different house: 120 College Avenue -- formerly 413 West Main Street. The yellow gothic cottage situated on a tiny parcel of land on College Avenue used to be a farm house located in Pittsylvania County.
Built around 1871 by William P. Graham, the house originally faced West Main Street and rested on roughly 83 acres of land. In 1874, William P. Graham sold the house to his cousin, Abram Wimbish. The 83 acres of land contained all of the area from the current Virginia Avenue to Carolina Avenue, then at a diagonal to South Main Street at the Southern Railroad. From there, it followed the railroad to the outer edge of Howeland Circle and to West Main Street. Beers' 1877 Map of Danville and Pittsylvania County show the property containing a natural spring, a large and small orchard, and even a proposed half-mile race course.
Around 1877, Abram Wimbish sold a portion of his land to the City of Danville "to afford it room enough to lay its water pipes and reach the city reservoir." At this time, the City Reservoir was located on Virginia Avenue. Wimbish reserved a 30 foot right of way for himself around the reservoir, which may still exist in part today.
In 1884, shortly after the death of Abram Wimbish, the vast acreage was subdivided. Abram had left his wife, Fannie, with a fair amount of debt, and in order to settle those debts and allow Mrs. Wimbish to keep her house and outhouse -- yes, the deed actually specified that there was a lien on the house AND outhouse. The majority of the land was purchased by J. M. Neal and E. H. Miller. They purchased everything from roughly Westhampton Avenue to Howeland Circle. J. T. Watson bought the triangular parcel from the intersection of Virginia and Carolina to South Main and back to Virginia. The last parcel, facing a newly opened street (now known as Carolina Avenue) contained 11 acres of land. This parcel, stretching from the alley down Carolina Avenue to Westhampton and back to the railroad, was purchased by W. P. Robinson.
Well, that's it for now. My next entry will begin to delve into the true history of the house and the people. To be honest, my research didn't go much into Wimbishes. Most of what I got comes from Victorian Danville Fifty-Two Landmarks: Their Architecture & History. Except the house and outhouse thing. I actually did read that for myself at the Pittsylvania County Courthouse.
The main part of my research may be done, but, as with an old house, there will always be little things to do. I'm sure I will continue to "accidentally" dig things up, unearth treasures, and it's quite possible that one day I'll be locked in the crawl space and be forced to tunnel out. So at least there is potential for more learning.
No story would be complete without a beginning. True, you could make a beginning out of any part of a story, but it really wouldn't make sense if you picked some arbitrary point. That being said, I think the best starting point is the subdivision of the land on which the house was built. From there, I can regale you with stories of the people who have owned/inhabited the home for the past 127 years.
To truly begin the history of 275 Carolina Avenue, though, we have to start with a completely different house: 120 College Avenue -- formerly 413 West Main Street. The yellow gothic cottage situated on a tiny parcel of land on College Avenue used to be a farm house located in Pittsylvania County.
Built around 1871 by William P. Graham, the house originally faced West Main Street and rested on roughly 83 acres of land. In 1874, William P. Graham sold the house to his cousin, Abram Wimbish. The 83 acres of land contained all of the area from the current Virginia Avenue to Carolina Avenue, then at a diagonal to South Main Street at the Southern Railroad. From there, it followed the railroad to the outer edge of Howeland Circle and to West Main Street. Beers' 1877 Map of Danville and Pittsylvania County show the property containing a natural spring, a large and small orchard, and even a proposed half-mile race course.
Around 1877, Abram Wimbish sold a portion of his land to the City of Danville "to afford it room enough to lay its water pipes and reach the city reservoir." At this time, the City Reservoir was located on Virginia Avenue. Wimbish reserved a 30 foot right of way for himself around the reservoir, which may still exist in part today.
In 1884, shortly after the death of Abram Wimbish, the vast acreage was subdivided. Abram had left his wife, Fannie, with a fair amount of debt, and in order to settle those debts and allow Mrs. Wimbish to keep her house and outhouse -- yes, the deed actually specified that there was a lien on the house AND outhouse. The majority of the land was purchased by J. M. Neal and E. H. Miller. They purchased everything from roughly Westhampton Avenue to Howeland Circle. J. T. Watson bought the triangular parcel from the intersection of Virginia and Carolina to South Main and back to Virginia. The last parcel, facing a newly opened street (now known as Carolina Avenue) contained 11 acres of land. This parcel, stretching from the alley down Carolina Avenue to Westhampton and back to the railroad, was purchased by W. P. Robinson.
Well, that's it for now. My next entry will begin to delve into the true history of the house and the people. To be honest, my research didn't go much into Wimbishes. Most of what I got comes from Victorian Danville Fifty-Two Landmarks: Their Architecture & History. Except the house and outhouse thing. I actually did read that for myself at the Pittsylvania County Courthouse.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Researching an Old House: Finally Completed
It's taken me years, but the origins of the house at 275 Carolina Avenue have finally been discovered. While mysteries of the house still exist, a build date and chain of title have finally been completed. Does this mean I intend to quit writing in my blog? Hardly, as Danville still has many stories left to be retold. But for now, let's focus on today's discoveries.
I've hit so many brick walls in my research that I started to feel like the Kool-Aid man. Every path I took, forward or backwards led me to dead ends or cul-de-sacs regarding the history of the house, the street, and the neighborhood.
Week before last, I had planned a day of research, but ultimately ended up with two. Day one left with me with the same information I had before. But my second day of research was spontaneous, and provided me with new information.
You see, one of the trust deeds on the property was incredibly daunting to read. W. P. Robinson and his wife Blanche -- who actually controlled the personal property and store they owned -- had accrued massive amounts of debts. In this particular trust deed, it listed every single person to whom money was owed and how much. Because of this, I tended to skip over that information because I really didn't care how much they owed to National Cash Register. This time, however, I looked closely enough to notice that the house and land were not included as there was a previous trust deed taken out on the property.
Because of this, I was led to a new name: F. X. Burton.
Unfortunately, I was unable to pursue it anymore. But I knew that the name F. X. Burton had to be my key. After a week at my parents house, I finally got to investigate.
Now we're back to today. I decided that since almost everything pertaining to the house was replicated in Danville, I would just go downtown and get the information I needed there. Unfortunately, after a couple of hours of circular research and dead ends I found nothing. At about 3:00, I decided to head to Chatham. It was pouring down rain when I left the courthouse, but the sun was shining. I took this as a good sign. In any event, it certainly made me happy.
When I got to Chatham, I immediately got to work searching for land that F. X. Burton may have sold around the time he purchased the land which contains Ms. Gott's house, but found nothing.
I had thought to look at land records while in Danville, so I KNEW that J. E. Perkinson had acquired the land by 1906, so I looked him up in the index and found a deed from Molly Mays in 1905. From there, I found that she bought the house from Alice Burton, the widow of F. X. Burton, in 1904.
Re-reading the county landbooks show that in 1885, a building worth $600 was listed on the property. The same value is listed in subsequent landbooks in both Pittsylvania County and Danville.
Thus, the chain of title was completed:
Robinson -> Burton -> Mays -> Perkinson -> Keeling -> Grasty -> Breeden -> Gott
It's interesting, to me, that J. E. Perkinson bought the land the year before his brother was listed as living in the area and 11 years before he would buy the land across Carolina Avenue and sell it to his brother for $10.
My next entry will deal more with the people of the house, how they came to get it and how they came to lose it. For now, though, I shall leave it with this. I've decided that a reward is in order...and I want ice cream! :)
I've hit so many brick walls in my research that I started to feel like the Kool-Aid man. Every path I took, forward or backwards led me to dead ends or cul-de-sacs regarding the history of the house, the street, and the neighborhood.
Week before last, I had planned a day of research, but ultimately ended up with two. Day one left with me with the same information I had before. But my second day of research was spontaneous, and provided me with new information.
You see, one of the trust deeds on the property was incredibly daunting to read. W. P. Robinson and his wife Blanche -- who actually controlled the personal property and store they owned -- had accrued massive amounts of debts. In this particular trust deed, it listed every single person to whom money was owed and how much. Because of this, I tended to skip over that information because I really didn't care how much they owed to National Cash Register. This time, however, I looked closely enough to notice that the house and land were not included as there was a previous trust deed taken out on the property.
Because of this, I was led to a new name: F. X. Burton.
Unfortunately, I was unable to pursue it anymore. But I knew that the name F. X. Burton had to be my key. After a week at my parents house, I finally got to investigate.
Now we're back to today. I decided that since almost everything pertaining to the house was replicated in Danville, I would just go downtown and get the information I needed there. Unfortunately, after a couple of hours of circular research and dead ends I found nothing. At about 3:00, I decided to head to Chatham. It was pouring down rain when I left the courthouse, but the sun was shining. I took this as a good sign. In any event, it certainly made me happy.
When I got to Chatham, I immediately got to work searching for land that F. X. Burton may have sold around the time he purchased the land which contains Ms. Gott's house, but found nothing.
I had thought to look at land records while in Danville, so I KNEW that J. E. Perkinson had acquired the land by 1906, so I looked him up in the index and found a deed from Molly Mays in 1905. From there, I found that she bought the house from Alice Burton, the widow of F. X. Burton, in 1904.
Re-reading the county landbooks show that in 1885, a building worth $600 was listed on the property. The same value is listed in subsequent landbooks in both Pittsylvania County and Danville.
Thus, the chain of title was completed:
Robinson -> Burton -> Mays -> Perkinson -> Keeling -> Grasty -> Breeden -> Gott
It's interesting, to me, that J. E. Perkinson bought the land the year before his brother was listed as living in the area and 11 years before he would buy the land across Carolina Avenue and sell it to his brother for $10.
My next entry will deal more with the people of the house, how they came to get it and how they came to lose it. For now, though, I shall leave it with this. I've decided that a reward is in order...and I want ice cream! :)
 |
| And then I threw two weeks of notes into the air and scared the crap out of my orange cat, Trio. |
Monday, June 18, 2012
Research: Making Connections with Other Historians
I have a million thoughts swirling through my head tonight...or I should say, a million more than usual.
Yesterday, a dear friend of mine read my blog entry about Galileo. She said it was incredibly well written and asked me " are you sure that you don't want to go on to study history/become a historian?" I had to concede that I have toyed with the idea. I chuckled a little, given that she was a fellow Psychology major. More importantly, though, we met through a writing lab senior year. I must give credit where credit is due: if it hadn't been for Dr. Silvia, I don't think my writing would be as good as it is now. Granted, I've always been a good writer, but it was his class that transitioned me from academic writing to professional-esque writing. You'll probably never see this, but thanks Dr. Silvia!
Last weekend, thanks to Micah Robinson, I was able to meet one of, if not Danville's most prominent historian: Gary Grant. Micah mentioned that I had been researching his house for him, and then Gary and I started talking. We talked about the house, the information I had, and the abstract Mary Cahill had written on 1021 Main Street that didn't make it into Victorian Danville: Fifty-two Landmarks: Their Architecture & History. He said he would drop off a copy of the abstract with Micah so I could read it next time I was in town.
As we talked, I mentioned my use of the Sanborn Fire Insurance Company maps, and come to find out that there are only two copies available in Danville. While I have access to all the maps (though without color coding), he hasn't been able to access them. Gary expressed interest in seeing them, and I said I would look into printing out hard copies of each map.
I also mentioned that the Southern Historical Collection at UNC has a copy of a ledger from the Mount Vernon Villa Company that I have been wanting to check out. This seemed to really intrigue him, and he gave me a little more insight into the Mount Vernon Villa Company. Apparently, they were the movers and shakers of the early 20th century. I knew that they were one of the main sources of westward expansion in Danville, but never knew that they had their hands in so many pockets: the power company, the street car company.
It turns out, as well, that Gary is the first person with whom I've spoken who is aware that Ms. Gott's house is the second oldest in that neighborhood. While most people immediately assume the house across the street is, he had absolutely no surprise when I reported that a newspaper article had listed her house as such.
The most important thing he said to me was that he would be very interesting in sharing information if I can get information from the Mount Vernon Villa Company ledger. In fact, this excited me so much that I immediately starting formulating ways I could get a chance to get to Wilson Library to check it out.
Given that I'm required to take a mandatory 30 days off from work -- the joys of being a temp -- I thought that would be a good time to see what I could find. So, I decided I would ask my coworker and my boss if, perhaps, I came down one day during my break around lunch if my coworker could drop me off at the library on his way back out onto campus. It would save the money from parking, and my sister said she'd be willing to pick me up when she gets off of work.
When I broached the idea with my coworker, he was fine with it. I figured my boss would be okay with it, but I felt it better to ask. I must say, I really do have an awesome boss! He didn't even hesitate and said it would be fine. I'm sure he knows if I'm there while Bryan is unloading the truck, I'll certainly help. Not necessarily to expedite the process of getting to the library, but to thank them both for helping me. Now, all that's left, is more me to figure out when would be best for me to come back to Chapel Hill from Danville and spend an afternoon reading a 100 year old ledger.
The ledger should prove to hold key information on the westward expansion of Danville, and if at all useful, might give me reason to document and perhaps write a book based on that and the knowledge I've already gained from newspaper archives.
A more pertinent blog entry should be soon following. Next Monday I fully intend to spend an entire day research deeds and building permits on Ms. Gott's house and on 1021 Main Street. Hopefully, having all an entire day and making some detailed notes of what I need to research will allow me to get some answers on Ms. Gott's house. Until then, however, I will be living with excitement and anticipation of what comes next.
Yesterday, a dear friend of mine read my blog entry about Galileo. She said it was incredibly well written and asked me " are you sure that you don't want to go on to study history/become a historian?" I had to concede that I have toyed with the idea. I chuckled a little, given that she was a fellow Psychology major. More importantly, though, we met through a writing lab senior year. I must give credit where credit is due: if it hadn't been for Dr. Silvia, I don't think my writing would be as good as it is now. Granted, I've always been a good writer, but it was his class that transitioned me from academic writing to professional-esque writing. You'll probably never see this, but thanks Dr. Silvia!
Last weekend, thanks to Micah Robinson, I was able to meet one of, if not Danville's most prominent historian: Gary Grant. Micah mentioned that I had been researching his house for him, and then Gary and I started talking. We talked about the house, the information I had, and the abstract Mary Cahill had written on 1021 Main Street that didn't make it into Victorian Danville: Fifty-two Landmarks: Their Architecture & History. He said he would drop off a copy of the abstract with Micah so I could read it next time I was in town.
As we talked, I mentioned my use of the Sanborn Fire Insurance Company maps, and come to find out that there are only two copies available in Danville. While I have access to all the maps (though without color coding), he hasn't been able to access them. Gary expressed interest in seeing them, and I said I would look into printing out hard copies of each map.
I also mentioned that the Southern Historical Collection at UNC has a copy of a ledger from the Mount Vernon Villa Company that I have been wanting to check out. This seemed to really intrigue him, and he gave me a little more insight into the Mount Vernon Villa Company. Apparently, they were the movers and shakers of the early 20th century. I knew that they were one of the main sources of westward expansion in Danville, but never knew that they had their hands in so many pockets: the power company, the street car company.
It turns out, as well, that Gary is the first person with whom I've spoken who is aware that Ms. Gott's house is the second oldest in that neighborhood. While most people immediately assume the house across the street is, he had absolutely no surprise when I reported that a newspaper article had listed her house as such.
The most important thing he said to me was that he would be very interesting in sharing information if I can get information from the Mount Vernon Villa Company ledger. In fact, this excited me so much that I immediately starting formulating ways I could get a chance to get to Wilson Library to check it out.
Given that I'm required to take a mandatory 30 days off from work -- the joys of being a temp -- I thought that would be a good time to see what I could find. So, I decided I would ask my coworker and my boss if, perhaps, I came down one day during my break around lunch if my coworker could drop me off at the library on his way back out onto campus. It would save the money from parking, and my sister said she'd be willing to pick me up when she gets off of work.
When I broached the idea with my coworker, he was fine with it. I figured my boss would be okay with it, but I felt it better to ask. I must say, I really do have an awesome boss! He didn't even hesitate and said it would be fine. I'm sure he knows if I'm there while Bryan is unloading the truck, I'll certainly help. Not necessarily to expedite the process of getting to the library, but to thank them both for helping me. Now, all that's left, is more me to figure out when would be best for me to come back to Chapel Hill from Danville and spend an afternoon reading a 100 year old ledger.
The ledger should prove to hold key information on the westward expansion of Danville, and if at all useful, might give me reason to document and perhaps write a book based on that and the knowledge I've already gained from newspaper archives.
A more pertinent blog entry should be soon following. Next Monday I fully intend to spend an entire day research deeds and building permits on Ms. Gott's house and on 1021 Main Street. Hopefully, having all an entire day and making some detailed notes of what I need to research will allow me to get some answers on Ms. Gott's house. Until then, however, I will be living with excitement and anticipation of what comes next.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
From School to School to Sears to School: A History of Galileo Magnet High School and the corner lot at Ridge and Loyal Streets
(Author's Note: I suppose this could be considered my tribute to the 10 year anniversary of my high school: Galileo Magnet High School. As well as a tribute to the teachers, the staff, Mr. Lawrence, and the friends that helped make it three of the best years of my life.)
Geeks, nerds, dorks....whatever you wanted to call us, we embraced it. In fact, which of three we were was once of great debate as we gathered on the pews of the Common Area and cafeteria, and amidst echoes of Bohemian Rhapsody in the hallways. Later, it became a long running inside joke amongst a rag-tag group of misfits who found their place within the walls of a former department store.
Galileo was a unique entity where the stereotypically popular people were outcasts; set aside within their own clique. And the outcasts? Well, they were the cool kids...the ones at the top of the hierarchy of high school socialization. What most of us had common, and what made us unique, was that we were all a bit strange, and we embraced it.
The site on which Galileo now stands is no stranger to education. Some 120 years prior to the school's inaugural year, on that very lot, stood Danville's very first public school. In 1880, on the site of Stratford College's first campus, a four story brick building was erected to educate all of Danville's youngsters. A total of 49 students attended the "Loyal Street School" that first year, from elementary through high school. The high school being confined to the second floor with it's own principal.
For 87 years, the young people of Danville were limited to private schools and home education. It was a legislative act in 1870 that finally brought free public education to Danville. Yet it was another 10 years before the city could get a grant and community support to build the school.
Robert E. Lee Elementary spent it's beginning years rather quietly. In 1925, there were complaints about stagnant water in the branch (or ravine) noted above creating an unpleasant odor. Promises were made that by the beginning of the school year the situation would be remedied.
Geeks, nerds, dorks....whatever you wanted to call us, we embraced it. In fact, which of three we were was once of great debate as we gathered on the pews of the Common Area and cafeteria, and amidst echoes of Bohemian Rhapsody in the hallways. Later, it became a long running inside joke amongst a rag-tag group of misfits who found their place within the walls of a former department store.
Galileo was a unique entity where the stereotypically popular people were outcasts; set aside within their own clique. And the outcasts? Well, they were the cool kids...the ones at the top of the hierarchy of high school socialization. What most of us had common, and what made us unique, was that we were all a bit strange, and we embraced it.
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| People like this guy. |
The site on which Galileo now stands is no stranger to education. Some 120 years prior to the school's inaugural year, on that very lot, stood Danville's very first public school. In 1880, on the site of Stratford College's first campus, a four story brick building was erected to educate all of Danville's youngsters. A total of 49 students attended the "Loyal Street School" that first year, from elementary through high school. The high school being confined to the second floor with it's own principal.
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| The original Loyal Street School. I wish I had brought my printer/scanner with me. |
For 87 years, the young people of Danville were limited to private schools and home education. It was a legislative act in 1870 that finally brought free public education to Danville. Yet it was another 10 years before the city could get a grant and community support to build the school.
The first embodiment of Loyal Street School lasted for 31 years. The building, as was written in the Danville Bee, "continued in use for some years despite
a number of small fires – (mostly attributed to youthful
incendiaries) – and as a measure of precaution, fire escapes were
added.” (Any part of that quote sound familiar Galileans? :-p) At the turn of the century, it was the only school for whites in Danville, whereas there were two small schools for African-Americans.
By all written accounts (at least that I could find), Loyal Street School existed as one building for 31 years. It appears, however, that isn't so. On the Sanborn Fire Insurance Company map from May, 1894, there exists two buildings on that lot. One listed as "Old Public School" and the other listed as "New Public School." The latter, it appears, is the one pictured above.
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| Note the ravine in front of the two houses (where the compass arrow is pointing, actually). It will come up later. |
By 1910, Loyal Street's final year, the old building had disappeared. Between make shift fire escapes and changing times, the school board decided it was time for a new building. In 1911, the school was razed to make way for a nice, new building. Only this time, it had a new name: Robert E. Lee Elementary.
Robert E. Lee Elementary spent it's beginning years rather quietly. In 1925, there were complaints about stagnant water in the branch (or ravine) noted above creating an unpleasant odor. Promises were made that by the beginning of the school year the situation would be remedied.
The following year, the area surrounding the school began to change. Seeing a need for an expanded business district, enterprising landowners J. T. Watson, Grasty Crews, and Henry Lee began preparations for a Loyal Street business district. If you've been following my blog, two of those names should be vaguely familiar. J. T. Watson, for whom Watson Street is named, owned and operated a brick yard near the train tracks just off of Watson Street. Grasty Crews is one of the former owners of Ms. Gott's house.
Within two years, Robert E. Lee started to face the burdens an expanding business district, as well as an expanding town. In 1928, parents, especially those in the West End, began to worry about sending their kids to school so near the business due to increased traffic. Enrollment dropped, as parents removed their children in favor of John L. Berekely School on Grove Street.
Parents and townspeople began suggesting that the school should be closed, and the building re-purposed for the growing business district. As the city was in dire need of an armory and public auditorium, it was suggested that the location would be ideal. It was also suggested that the building/land be used as a city market, due to easy accessibility and it would be "emminently suitable for Danville
housewives."
Parents were also requesting that a new school be built on the west end. Three lots were considered for this: one on Howeland Circle, one off of Randolph Street, and a third situated between Averett College and Forest Hills. I think we can safely guess which location was ultimately chosen.
For the next two years, school superintendent G. L. H. Johnson would push for the sale of the school to the city. Ultimately, despite the city sending a letter to inquire the price of the property, the would ultimately chose the corner of Spring Street as the location for the city armory and auditorium.
Despite dwindling enrollment, Robert E. Lee Elementary chugged along. It should be noted, however, that for some reason no newspaper articles appeared for the 1940s. I'll go back later and investigate this.
By 1955, Robert E. Lee had run its course. Grove Park School was in the process of being built, and the decision was made to finally close down the old school on the corner of Loyal and Ridge. In January of 1956, Robert E. Lee students were sent to the new Grove Park School to finish out the school year before being dispersed to other schools. By February, the demolition of the old school had already begun.
The land at the corner of Loyal and Ridge was sold to the Danville Housing Authority for the sum of $175,000 following a 1954 proposal. Danville Housing Authority had plans to clear out slums that existed around the school, and plans were set in motion for the building of a new street, improving existing ones, and updating electricity and utility lines to the area.
A few months later, Danville Housing Authority sold the land to Sears, Roebuck, and Co. for $275,000 for them to build a (then) modern store on the lot. The store was to be a big change from the former location on Main Street: it boasted a ~200 car parking lot, a full automotive service center, and garden center. Construction was completed in October, 1956, and the building we now know opened it's doors on October 17th.
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| Not too dissimilar from what they built, no? Photo taken from the Danville Bee. |
Sears was one of the first department stores to break away from Main Street. Conversely, it was the last to leave. Sears remained in business on that lot until 1993, when it moved to the then 9 year old Piedmont Mall. Many in my generation remember visiting the store with their parents.
The old building sat mostly empty for nine years. People who worked for the city used the parking lot, at one point RCATT occupied part of the building.
Then, in 2002 with the aid of an 8 million dollar grant, the old building was brought back to life as a high school. Walls were built, Gateway computers and laptops were bought, and students recruited. Students who would take history, math, and astronomy in the old Auto Center; history and drama in the now walled former outdoor garden center.
Was it small? Certainly. Was it awkward? No more than we were. Was I the only one that once or twice zoned out in class and thought about the washer and dryer set that was probably once on display where I was sitting? Probably not. Was Mr. Lawrence the best principal of all time? No doubt. Was the boys bathroom locked too many times? Definitely.
The point is, the memories were just as important as the education we received. That, and everything came full-circle. What started out as Danville's ONLY school, expanded and grew, became a department store for a few decades, and then returned to its original purpose: developing the minds of Danville's youth.
Loyal Street School may be forgotten, and Robert E. Lee may be but a memory to some, but both were just as pivotal to Danville's educational advancement as Galileo.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Past Residents: Finding a Connection with an Old House Based on Personal Connections
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| Lefty Wilson Photo courtesy of Virginia Sports and Museum website. |
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| George Washington Highschool ca. 1951 (There wasn't a map from 1930). |
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| Rison Park School ca. 1920 for comparison. |
Monday, April 30, 2012
Hylton Hall: History in Flame Part II
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.
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.
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. |
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Researching an Old House: Efforts and Methods
I have spent so much time focusing on the facts that I haven't even taken the time to try to documents the methods I've used to gain the information I've used in this blog.
As a child, I was fascinated by the wreck of the old 97. To this day, I still have my copy of the book written by Clara Garrett Fountain. I even read it to the children when I worked at the YMCA Afterschool Program in Wilmington. I'm sure most children in my generation who grew up in Danville owned the book or at least read it once. Written in 1977 and illustrated by children at Grove Park Elementary School, I don't believe there is any better way to begin a fascination with the history of your hometown.
It's that same story that lead me to explore even further in middle school. When my father worked at the Chamber of Commerce, I used to go into the archive folders and read the newspaper articles and, if I recall, a copy of the telegraph sent on that cold September day. Through those archives, I ultimately found a copy of the 1965 city plan book. Which fascinated me to no end.
Also in middle school, I got copies of the postcard history book and the Images of America book which I always enjoy flipping through and reading.
Then, in high school, my interest was renewed yet again. I moved into my first apartment, which was in an 1870s farm house. For my 17th or 18th birthday, a friend's mother gave me a copy of Victorian Danville: Fifty-Two Landmarks, Their Architecture, and History. Included in that book was the house in which I lived.
Through college, I loved reading that book and exploring the attic and "dungeon" of Ms. Gott's house. But it wasn't until after college that I realized I could make use of my mother's Ancestry.com account to get information on the house. I then learned that the Register and Bee were archived through that.
Within the past year, I finally got the opportunity to do real research at the courthouses in both Danville and Chatham. There, I was reading the actual deeds to the house. Most were typed, but others were handwritten. As Mr. Gott said, I was getting my hands dirty.
The hardest part, I think, of researching an old house is the more historical documents. When researching the newspaper online, you have to be able to account for typos. That can make searching online hard when the exact thing you need could be in any given article, but one typo means the search won't pull it up. I've lucked out a few times by a necessary article being on a page I was taken to for some other reason. It's daunting, to say the least.
When it comes down to doing the dirty work, though, deed searches are about as tedious as it gets. It's only been within the past 100 or 110 years that deeds were typed. In 1800s, the deeds were handwritten. Not only is it time consuming to decipher 130+ year old handwriting, but using indexes to look up which deed book and page to go to requires a lot of back and forth.
It's fun, though. I can honestly say I enjoy the time I spend doing this research, even if I come up empty handed. I may not find what I need, but every time I try, I learn something new and find another interesting story. And isn't that what it's all about?
As a child, I was fascinated by the wreck of the old 97. To this day, I still have my copy of the book written by Clara Garrett Fountain. I even read it to the children when I worked at the YMCA Afterschool Program in Wilmington. I'm sure most children in my generation who grew up in Danville owned the book or at least read it once. Written in 1977 and illustrated by children at Grove Park Elementary School, I don't believe there is any better way to begin a fascination with the history of your hometown.
It's that same story that lead me to explore even further in middle school. When my father worked at the Chamber of Commerce, I used to go into the archive folders and read the newspaper articles and, if I recall, a copy of the telegraph sent on that cold September day. Through those archives, I ultimately found a copy of the 1965 city plan book. Which fascinated me to no end.
Also in middle school, I got copies of the postcard history book and the Images of America book which I always enjoy flipping through and reading.
Then, in high school, my interest was renewed yet again. I moved into my first apartment, which was in an 1870s farm house. For my 17th or 18th birthday, a friend's mother gave me a copy of Victorian Danville: Fifty-Two Landmarks, Their Architecture, and History. Included in that book was the house in which I lived.
Through college, I loved reading that book and exploring the attic and "dungeon" of Ms. Gott's house. But it wasn't until after college that I realized I could make use of my mother's Ancestry.com account to get information on the house. I then learned that the Register and Bee were archived through that.
Within the past year, I finally got the opportunity to do real research at the courthouses in both Danville and Chatham. There, I was reading the actual deeds to the house. Most were typed, but others were handwritten. As Mr. Gott said, I was getting my hands dirty.
The hardest part, I think, of researching an old house is the more historical documents. When researching the newspaper online, you have to be able to account for typos. That can make searching online hard when the exact thing you need could be in any given article, but one typo means the search won't pull it up. I've lucked out a few times by a necessary article being on a page I was taken to for some other reason. It's daunting, to say the least.
When it comes down to doing the dirty work, though, deed searches are about as tedious as it gets. It's only been within the past 100 or 110 years that deeds were typed. In 1800s, the deeds were handwritten. Not only is it time consuming to decipher 130+ year old handwriting, but using indexes to look up which deed book and page to go to requires a lot of back and forth.
It's fun, though. I can honestly say I enjoy the time I spend doing this research, even if I come up empty handed. I may not find what I need, but every time I try, I learn something new and find another interesting story. And isn't that what it's all about?
Monday, March 26, 2012
Researching an Old House: Did I Find My Answers?
Highway 29 is the perfect road to drive when researching an old house. If you have to drive between two places, I can't picture a better road to take. The route between courthouses takes you by a number of historic buildings and houses that just seem to set the mood for researching an old house.
I immediately got to work. My first task was to find the old map located in Deed Book Q on pages 602 and 603. I had no idea whether these pages would be of use, but it was sure to be a start. The map shows how the land of Abram Wimbish was subdivided in the 1880s.
Abram Wimbish owned the house at 413 Greensboro Road, which became 413 West Main Street, and then 120 College Avenue in the 1920s. The beautiful yellow Gothic cottage was the starting point for my quest. Although the house now sits on a small parcel of land, in 1877 it sat on 81 acres land that extended from Howeland Circle to just past Virginia Avenue. There will be a more detailed entry on the house itself soon, but for now I'm going to stick to what is relevant to Ms. Gott's house.
While I was at the Danville Courthouse, I thought to snap a picture of the F.W. Beers Map of Danville and Pittsylvania County from 1877 that hangs on the wall just inside the record room. Ms. Gott's house doesn't appear on the map, but it's important when combined with the later map that a deed pointed me to.
For reference, the area that says "LARGE ORCHARD" is roughly where
Howeland Circle is today, and the "Danville Water Reservoir" is, as best
as I can ascertain, where Virginia Avenue and Mount Vernon Avenue
intersect. Another reference point would be the small stream, that runs through the property. I read of a swamp or marsh that was once at the bottom of Avondale Drive. So, I would assume where the stream crosses the train tracks is somewhere near Southampton Avenue and Stratford Place. In fact, now that I look at it, the proposed half mile race course may have become a reality. In looking at Google Maps, the curve of Westhampton Avenue seems to mimic that of the race course, but that could just be coincidence.
In the 1880s, Abram Wimbish passed away and his family was left with massive amounts of debt. In 1882, an agreement was made so that his wife, Fannie, could keep the house if the property was subdivided and the land sold at auction to satisfy the debts.The Wimbish property was divided into 5 parcels. J.T. Watson bought a triangular piece at the outer left edge of the property, extending from about the intersection of Virginia Avenue and Carolina Avenue to the train tracks, down to South Main Street, and at an angle back to Carolina Avenue. J.M. Neal and E. H. Miller bought the land that now makes up Howeland Circle, Westhampton Avenue, Stratford Place, Brockton Place, and Southampton Avenue to the train tracks. Mrs. Wimbish was left with land that extended to back to Carolina Avenue, east to Virginia Avenue, and west to about halfway to Westhampton Avenue.
The last parcel of land, which encompasses the upper part of Carolina Avenue, parts of College Avenue, and Avondale was sold to W. P. Robinson. It is he who bought the land which now contains Ms. Gott's house.
.JPG)
.JPG)
Unfortunately, the revised Wimbish Property is entirely in the margin on the book, and thus nearly impossible to make out. The road that runs through the center of the area is part of Howeland Circle and then follows a straight line to Carolina Avenue and ends where the alley is today. In fact, it wasn't until 1920 that Carolina Avenue was extended to meet Virginia Avenue.
This map was made in 1882. I could, unfortunately, find no evidence of a house on the land that W. P. Robinson purchased. In fact, the first mention I could find of anyone living there was 10 years later, when his wife was suffering the same fate that Mrs. Wimbish did. She was in debt from payments on her house, merchandise for the Dry Goods Store she and her late husband ran on Main Street, and other things.
So, did I get my answers? Not entirely. I know that there was someone living in the general area of Ms. Gott's house in 1892, and I know that in 1924, only 32 years later, the newspaper suggested that Ms. Gott's house was the oldest house in the neighborhood, other than 120 College Avenue (the Wimbish property). But, I still have questions...many questions. My search did not yield any information about how J. E. Perkinson, who sold the property in 1924, came into possession of it. Nor did I find out why I found his brother's name on a book cover in the attic.
For now, I will have to guess that the house was built in the mid 1880s. Perhaps building permits can be found. I, personally, won't have time to do anymore research at the courthouse until this summer. I might be able to get someone to be a proxy for me, but I don't know. The house still has many stories to tell, and I hope to one day be able to recant them all.
I immediately got to work. My first task was to find the old map located in Deed Book Q on pages 602 and 603. I had no idea whether these pages would be of use, but it was sure to be a start. The map shows how the land of Abram Wimbish was subdivided in the 1880s.
Abram Wimbish owned the house at 413 Greensboro Road, which became 413 West Main Street, and then 120 College Avenue in the 1920s. The beautiful yellow Gothic cottage was the starting point for my quest. Although the house now sits on a small parcel of land, in 1877 it sat on 81 acres land that extended from Howeland Circle to just past Virginia Avenue. There will be a more detailed entry on the house itself soon, but for now I'm going to stick to what is relevant to Ms. Gott's house.
While I was at the Danville Courthouse, I thought to snap a picture of the F.W. Beers Map of Danville and Pittsylvania County from 1877 that hangs on the wall just inside the record room. Ms. Gott's house doesn't appear on the map, but it's important when combined with the later map that a deed pointed me to.
.JPG) |
In the 1880s, Abram Wimbish passed away and his family was left with massive amounts of debt. In 1882, an agreement was made so that his wife, Fannie, could keep the house if the property was subdivided and the land sold at auction to satisfy the debts.The Wimbish property was divided into 5 parcels. J.T. Watson bought a triangular piece at the outer left edge of the property, extending from about the intersection of Virginia Avenue and Carolina Avenue to the train tracks, down to South Main Street, and at an angle back to Carolina Avenue. J.M. Neal and E. H. Miller bought the land that now makes up Howeland Circle, Westhampton Avenue, Stratford Place, Brockton Place, and Southampton Avenue to the train tracks. Mrs. Wimbish was left with land that extended to back to Carolina Avenue, east to Virginia Avenue, and west to about halfway to Westhampton Avenue.
The last parcel of land, which encompasses the upper part of Carolina Avenue, parts of College Avenue, and Avondale was sold to W. P. Robinson. It is he who bought the land which now contains Ms. Gott's house.
.JPG)
.JPG)
Unfortunately, the revised Wimbish Property is entirely in the margin on the book, and thus nearly impossible to make out. The road that runs through the center of the area is part of Howeland Circle and then follows a straight line to Carolina Avenue and ends where the alley is today. In fact, it wasn't until 1920 that Carolina Avenue was extended to meet Virginia Avenue.
This map was made in 1882. I could, unfortunately, find no evidence of a house on the land that W. P. Robinson purchased. In fact, the first mention I could find of anyone living there was 10 years later, when his wife was suffering the same fate that Mrs. Wimbish did. She was in debt from payments on her house, merchandise for the Dry Goods Store she and her late husband ran on Main Street, and other things.
So, did I get my answers? Not entirely. I know that there was someone living in the general area of Ms. Gott's house in 1892, and I know that in 1924, only 32 years later, the newspaper suggested that Ms. Gott's house was the oldest house in the neighborhood, other than 120 College Avenue (the Wimbish property). But, I still have questions...many questions. My search did not yield any information about how J. E. Perkinson, who sold the property in 1924, came into possession of it. Nor did I find out why I found his brother's name on a book cover in the attic.
For now, I will have to guess that the house was built in the mid 1880s. Perhaps building permits can be found. I, personally, won't have time to do anymore research at the courthouse until this summer. I might be able to get someone to be a proxy for me, but I don't know. The house still has many stories to tell, and I hope to one day be able to recant them all.
Researching an Old House: The Quest for Answers
"To truly preserve history, you have to know the history. To know the
history, you have to read the history. You can clean up an old house or
building and call it preserved but without the knowledge of the past,
you've done nothing but fix an old building." -- Me
In the quest for information about an old house, you are often left with more questions than answers. Some may be easily answered with a little digging, and others may require spending hours on end reading hand-written documents from hundreds of years ago. I found the latter out the hard way.
Last Friday, I finally got my opportunity to go to the Pittysylvania County Courthouse to research Ms. Gott's house. There, I was certain, would be a deed mentioning the selling of that particular parcel or more importantly, the selling of the land with a dwelling. After two and a half hours, I uncovered nothing more than a handful of documents referencing deeds that were recording in the Danville Courthouse. Deeds did exist in the county deed books, luckily, but most mentioned that a more detailed reference could be found in Danville. I didn't walk away entirely empty handed, though. I was left with the location of a map, a vague story about how the area was subdivided, and a name: W. P. Robinson. It wasn't what I had hoped, though.
So, rather dejectedly, I closed the windows and sunroof on my car, and then got into Mr. Gott's truck and headed back into Danville. The next three and a half hours would lead me to some marginally useful information that may hold the key to unlocking the history of 275 Carolina Avenue.
In the quest for information about an old house, you are often left with more questions than answers. Some may be easily answered with a little digging, and others may require spending hours on end reading hand-written documents from hundreds of years ago. I found the latter out the hard way.
Last Friday, I finally got my opportunity to go to the Pittysylvania County Courthouse to research Ms. Gott's house. There, I was certain, would be a deed mentioning the selling of that particular parcel or more importantly, the selling of the land with a dwelling. After two and a half hours, I uncovered nothing more than a handful of documents referencing deeds that were recording in the Danville Courthouse. Deeds did exist in the county deed books, luckily, but most mentioned that a more detailed reference could be found in Danville. I didn't walk away entirely empty handed, though. I was left with the location of a map, a vague story about how the area was subdivided, and a name: W. P. Robinson. It wasn't what I had hoped, though.
So, rather dejectedly, I closed the windows and sunroof on my car, and then got into Mr. Gott's truck and headed back into Danville. The next three and a half hours would lead me to some marginally useful information that may hold the key to unlocking the history of 275 Carolina Avenue.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Researching an Old House: Hidden Chambers
This post is somewhat of a subpost of the previous entry. It's along the same lines, but didn't really fit into entry.
For years books, TV, and movies have depicted a scenario: someone moves into an old house and finds a secret passageway or hidden chamber. The house in Clue, for example, is full of secret passageways, hidden doors, and concealed chambers. It's fascinating to think that it could happen, and unbelievable when it (almost) does.
In the summer of 2006, Ms. Gott, Cat, and I were cleaning out the cement basement. It's become somewhat of an annual task, and somehow the mess always seems to end up being my fault. I really need to stop agreeing to take stuff down there from the house...but I digress. It was during that cleaning that something absolutely amazing happened, if only for a brief second. I'll get to that shortly.
The cement basement has always had a bit of mystery surrounding it. Between the faux stained glass window, odd paneling, and writing in crayon on the walls its previous uses are relatively indeterminable. There are names written into the wall in crayon, obviously done by children. Almost as if it was a little clubhouse at one point. The son of a previous owner, Robert Grasty, carved his name into the paneling. Worst of all, during the cleaning of basement that summer, a swastika was discovered carved into the paneling as well.
In the midst of that summer cleaning, something amazing happened. When it came time to rearrange the shelves that were in there when Ms. Gott bought the house, I was tasked with physically moving them. I pulled a tall, white, metal shelving unit away from the back wall. As it moved, there was a collective gasp from all three of us. Followed or preceded by a "holy crap" from yours truly, I'm sure. The shelf had completely blocked a large, rectangular hole in the wall. We all seemed to think that we must have uncovered something amazing....but only for a brief second. For once the shelf was completely away from the wall, there was a resounding groan and probably followed or preceded by a "damnit!"
Sadly, there was no secret room or anything amazing in there. Just the brick that once supported the rear wall of the house, a pipe, and some interior shutters. Ms. Gott and I later determined that was probably where the water heater was once kept, given that there is a pipe in it. I'll always remember, though, the way my heart seemed to stop beating when I saw that gap behind the shelf. In the years since, I've occasionally made references to "my little hole in the wall," but for now, it sits empty and useless. Although I'm sure many times over the years (and probably now, too) Ms. Gott and Cat have wanted to put me in there and find a way to close me in. But, *knocks on wood* as of yet, it still hasn't happened.
For years books, TV, and movies have depicted a scenario: someone moves into an old house and finds a secret passageway or hidden chamber. The house in Clue, for example, is full of secret passageways, hidden doors, and concealed chambers. It's fascinating to think that it could happen, and unbelievable when it (almost) does.
The cement basement has always had a bit of mystery surrounding it. Between the faux stained glass window, odd paneling, and writing in crayon on the walls its previous uses are relatively indeterminable. There are names written into the wall in crayon, obviously done by children. Almost as if it was a little clubhouse at one point. The son of a previous owner, Robert Grasty, carved his name into the paneling. Worst of all, during the cleaning of basement that summer, a swastika was discovered carved into the paneling as well.
 |
| Betty R., Tom B., Susan G., Sandy (?) W. |
 |
| No idea what any of that is supposed to mean. |
 |
| Betty, Susan, Mommy |
 |
| Robert Grasty |
 |
| Plastic sheet mimicking stained glass |
In the midst of that summer cleaning, something amazing happened. When it came time to rearrange the shelves that were in there when Ms. Gott bought the house, I was tasked with physically moving them. I pulled a tall, white, metal shelving unit away from the back wall. As it moved, there was a collective gasp from all three of us. Followed or preceded by a "holy crap" from yours truly, I'm sure. The shelf had completely blocked a large, rectangular hole in the wall. We all seemed to think that we must have uncovered something amazing....but only for a brief second. For once the shelf was completely away from the wall, there was a resounding groan and probably followed or preceded by a "damnit!"
 |
| The shelf to the left once obscured that hole in the wall. |
Sadly, there was no secret room or anything amazing in there. Just the brick that once supported the rear wall of the house, a pipe, and some interior shutters. Ms. Gott and I later determined that was probably where the water heater was once kept, given that there is a pipe in it. I'll always remember, though, the way my heart seemed to stop beating when I saw that gap behind the shelf. In the years since, I've occasionally made references to "my little hole in the wall," but for now, it sits empty and useless. Although I'm sure many times over the years (and probably now, too) Ms. Gott and Cat have wanted to put me in there and find a way to close me in. But, *knocks on wood* as of yet, it still hasn't happened.
Researching an Old House: Buried Treasure
Finding buried treasure is always an amazing experience. Be it money found in an old pair of pants, a childhood relic found in a box, or a piece of history from an old house. The latter shall be our focus here. For it is little trinkets that not only vocalize the history of an old house, but help to pin point the era in which the house or part of the house was built.
My fascination with scrounging for buried treasure was not always as e're present as it is now. As a child, there was a cement retaining wall encircling 3/4 of my yard, and where it met the sidewalk at the right of the property, there was a gold 'x.' Part of me, as a child, believed in "x marks the spot" and wondered if there might be buried treasure under the cement. But as time passed and I grew older, I forgot about the 'x' and years later I realized it, as with time, had faded into a memory. In middle school, however, I had my first experience with "buried treasure..." well, sort of. There were random dips in the grass in my backyard, and one evening I took a shovel and tapped the ground. The shovel met resistance and a now familiar thunk was heard. I had no idea what I'd hit, but I sure as hell investigated. One week later, I had unearthed slate stepping stones that led from the old back stairs to the old back gate. I can still recall my mother saying "there used to be stepping stones back there." She never paid enough attention to them for it to occur to her that they had been buried under years of mulched grass. It is the things we see every day for years, such as the 'x' on the wall, that we take for granted until years pass and we suddenly realize they're gone. I did, however, in the process find an old Hot Wheels car that no one knows how it came to rest in the middle of my backyard. It certainly wasn't one of mine.
Again, though, my desire to find buried treasured waned. But it returned years later, and completely by accident...
One day, for one reason or another, I grabbed a flashlight and entered the crawlspace under Ms. Gott's house. As I clicked on the flashlight, bent over, and began to enter the crawlspace, the flashlight reflected off of something under the front of the house. I walked, back bent, another 10 feet or so and then began to crawl. Soon enough, I was on my belly, inching toward the object. As I maneuvered through old foundation supports I began to see the object: a glass bottle.
Nestled against a random pile of dirt, and the corner of the front porch as an old blue bottle. It was dirty, but between the flashlight and slivers of light coming through the foundation vent that I would later knock out in a fit of claustrophobia, I could clearly see the beautiful blue, and barely make out words on the label. With the flashlight in one hand, and the bottle in another, I inched my way back to the crawlspace door. Covered in dirt from my shoulders down, I climbed the stairs into the house to present my find. That night, after letting the bottle soak, we learned it was a "Rumsford Chemical Works" bottle and, through the helpful resource of the internet, I found out that it was made and used around the turn of the century.
Some people would have been thrilled with the find, and they probably would have stopped there. But not me. It was summer, I was bored, and so day after day I inched my way to the front of the crawlspace. Between the rafters, I could sit hunched over, but couldn't move much at all without whacking my head. While, overall, my efforts were relatively futile, I did find a few interesting things: a blue glass insulator and a ceramic disk that may have been an insulator. In any event, it was something to do with electricity. I can't remember where I found the former, and the latter is long gone. Probably reburied under sifting dirt. I do, however, remember exactly where and how I found it: under the front porch after removing a broken piece of cinderblock.
The crawlspace was not the only treasure trove I would come to find in that house that summer. It seems that anytime something needed to go into the attic, it was automatically my task. The house has two attics, separated by the center of the house. One is accessed via a door on the landing, and the other through a tiny door in the bedroom that I have, at least once, liked to the door to Wonderland. For whatever reason, if any, I decided to remove a loose plank in the landing attic and took a splinter of wood and sifted through the insulation. Through that, I unearthed some of the most random things: a deterioring book cover, an old Ligget Cigarette pack, an old condom box, a burlap sack, and random pieces of newspaper. While I was perplexed by the burlap sack and amused by the condoms and empty cigarette pack, I was fascinated with the book cover. For on the inside cover was written a name: T. R. Perkinson...a name that would be pivotal in my search, and already mentioned in this blog.
The attic from the upstairs bedroom was much less intriguing. It's narrower, and with less of a planked area to store stuff. It was in this attic, however, that I found some shards of china. Once retrieved, and glued together by my friend, Cat, it was revealed to be a doll teacup.
On cool days, I yearn to go back into the attic, remove the board, and sift once again. Unfortunately, the presence of Ms. Gott's kitten and my two kittens makes that task difficult as I'd have to shut myself in. One day soon, however, when I have a free Saturday, I do intended to search for that book cover again. Maybe even don a pair of gloves and sift by hand. Who knows what other treasures may lurk in the fluff yellow stuff between the ceiling plaster of the den, and the planks that floor the attic.
My fascination with scrounging for buried treasure was not always as e're present as it is now. As a child, there was a cement retaining wall encircling 3/4 of my yard, and where it met the sidewalk at the right of the property, there was a gold 'x.' Part of me, as a child, believed in "x marks the spot" and wondered if there might be buried treasure under the cement. But as time passed and I grew older, I forgot about the 'x' and years later I realized it, as with time, had faded into a memory. In middle school, however, I had my first experience with "buried treasure..." well, sort of. There were random dips in the grass in my backyard, and one evening I took a shovel and tapped the ground. The shovel met resistance and a now familiar thunk was heard. I had no idea what I'd hit, but I sure as hell investigated. One week later, I had unearthed slate stepping stones that led from the old back stairs to the old back gate. I can still recall my mother saying "there used to be stepping stones back there." She never paid enough attention to them for it to occur to her that they had been buried under years of mulched grass. It is the things we see every day for years, such as the 'x' on the wall, that we take for granted until years pass and we suddenly realize they're gone. I did, however, in the process find an old Hot Wheels car that no one knows how it came to rest in the middle of my backyard. It certainly wasn't one of mine.
Again, though, my desire to find buried treasured waned. But it returned years later, and completely by accident...
One day, for one reason or another, I grabbed a flashlight and entered the crawlspace under Ms. Gott's house. As I clicked on the flashlight, bent over, and began to enter the crawlspace, the flashlight reflected off of something under the front of the house. I walked, back bent, another 10 feet or so and then began to crawl. Soon enough, I was on my belly, inching toward the object. As I maneuvered through old foundation supports I began to see the object: a glass bottle.
Nestled against a random pile of dirt, and the corner of the front porch as an old blue bottle. It was dirty, but between the flashlight and slivers of light coming through the foundation vent that I would later knock out in a fit of claustrophobia, I could clearly see the beautiful blue, and barely make out words on the label. With the flashlight in one hand, and the bottle in another, I inched my way back to the crawlspace door. Covered in dirt from my shoulders down, I climbed the stairs into the house to present my find. That night, after letting the bottle soak, we learned it was a "Rumsford Chemical Works" bottle and, through the helpful resource of the internet, I found out that it was made and used around the turn of the century.
Some people would have been thrilled with the find, and they probably would have stopped there. But not me. It was summer, I was bored, and so day after day I inched my way to the front of the crawlspace. Between the rafters, I could sit hunched over, but couldn't move much at all without whacking my head. While, overall, my efforts were relatively futile, I did find a few interesting things: a blue glass insulator and a ceramic disk that may have been an insulator. In any event, it was something to do with electricity. I can't remember where I found the former, and the latter is long gone. Probably reburied under sifting dirt. I do, however, remember exactly where and how I found it: under the front porch after removing a broken piece of cinderblock.
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| Glass insulator Frisbee unrelated |
The crawlspace was not the only treasure trove I would come to find in that house that summer. It seems that anytime something needed to go into the attic, it was automatically my task. The house has two attics, separated by the center of the house. One is accessed via a door on the landing, and the other through a tiny door in the bedroom that I have, at least once, liked to the door to Wonderland. For whatever reason, if any, I decided to remove a loose plank in the landing attic and took a splinter of wood and sifted through the insulation. Through that, I unearthed some of the most random things: a deterioring book cover, an old Ligget Cigarette pack, an old condom box, a burlap sack, and random pieces of newspaper. While I was perplexed by the burlap sack and amused by the condoms and empty cigarette pack, I was fascinated with the book cover. For on the inside cover was written a name: T. R. Perkinson...a name that would be pivotal in my search, and already mentioned in this blog.
The attic from the upstairs bedroom was much less intriguing. It's narrower, and with less of a planked area to store stuff. It was in this attic, however, that I found some shards of china. Once retrieved, and glued together by my friend, Cat, it was revealed to be a doll teacup.
On cool days, I yearn to go back into the attic, remove the board, and sift once again. Unfortunately, the presence of Ms. Gott's kitten and my two kittens makes that task difficult as I'd have to shut myself in. One day soon, however, when I have a free Saturday, I do intended to search for that book cover again. Maybe even don a pair of gloves and sift by hand. Who knows what other treasures may lurk in the fluff yellow stuff between the ceiling plaster of the den, and the planks that floor the attic.
Friday, March 2, 2012
From Randolph-Macon to Stratford House: A Brief Narrative on 1111 Main Street
As it is getting late and I should really be asleep, I will try to keep this brief. This will not be a formal history of Stratford College, as that already exists in many shapes through books and other blogs. I do, however, want to share my memories.
21 years ago, Stratford House opened it's doors as a retirement home. My grandparents, Joe and Louise Taylor, were some of the very first residents. As a child, I was a permanent fixture; roaming the halls and playing in the dining room. Even in high school, on a return visit with my church youth group, I was greeted by a woman sitting on the patio saying "I know you! You're..." then she used her hands to signal a young person. "You used to play under the tables in the dining room." I simply smiled, and said "yes, that was me."
In 1991, Stratford House was nothing like it is today on the inside. While change is enevitable, it's still hard to grasp. For that reason, it became increasingly hard for me to return to visit those I knew so well in my childhood. As the pages of the calendar fell, there were fewer and fewer of the elderly people I used to visit and whose days I would brighten with my youthful presence.
One of my earliest memories of Stratford House comes before my grandparents ever moved there. I remember vividly driving by there after they had signed up, and seeing two cars parked at the huge gates that used to lead onto Eager Street and into the college. Never again would I see that, as there would no longer be a road there leading onto the former college campus. For whatever reason, to this day, I still look at those gates as if I expect them to be open or for vehicles to be parked there again.
I spent most of my childhood at my grandmother's apartment. I knew every inch of that building, knew where I could and couldn't go, and wandered as I pleased. The staff didn't care, nor did the residents. Well, save for one, but I don't think she approved of ANYTHING. I even spent much of my time wandering the corridors of Carrington Hall and the old Main Hall. I used to love climbing the old stairs that rest at either side of the back of Main Hall. Walking from the first floor to the second, and past the portraits of past presidents. The watchful eye of Mr. (Dr.) Simpson watching my movements. I was always a little scared of that portrait. I always felt like I was being scowled at for my wandering around.
John Simpson was the first president of Stratford College. A man I never knew, but come to find out, I knew his daughter: Rosa Gray. A very sweet elderly lady with whom I attended Epiphany and who my mother would see frequently at the Belk Leggett Restaurant. Just a few months ago, I ran into at Food Lion and relayed the story about how I was always unnerved by it, and she laughed. Her father never wanted that portrait done, and that's why he looked so miserable. She very happily said her father would have liked nothing more than for young blood to be exploring the college over which he presided.
By the time Stratford House was built, all that was left was Carrington Hall, Main Hall, and the Cafeteria. I used to spend hours just sitting on the bridge over the duck pond, watching the world go by and feeding the ducks. When the nursing home was built, however, the cafeteria and beautiful brick walkway that meandered back from the bridge back to the parking lot were razed: replaced by the nursing home and a crummy asphalt path. I shall never forget the beautiful tree lined brick path, however. And even as a child, was outraged that they would removed something so beautiful and awesome.
The last relic of Stratford College, that may not even exist anymore, is the sign. Behind Kennedy Hall, just outside the side door of Stratford House, was an old metal sign that directed students to various buildings. I cannot, for the life of me, remember what they were although I must have looked at it 10,000 times. Long gone are the benches that were built on the middle of the bridge over the duck pond, and the residents who were always happy to see me, and I, in turn, happy to see them. It would be years before I would truly understand that I was such a joy in their lives, and it would take the staff who watched me grow to point it out to me.
While it would be easy for me to bemoan the fact that I spent my childhood around the elderly, or speak of how much I miss my grandmother, I shall do neither. For I will always cherish the memories of my days at Stratford House and exploring the older parts of it. Part of me believes that Main Hall, with it's beautiful views from the fourth floor, long elegant stair cases, and tall windows began my fascination with old buildings. And I know for a fact it is the staff and residents of Stratford House who helped make me into the man I am today.
21 years ago, Stratford House opened it's doors as a retirement home. My grandparents, Joe and Louise Taylor, were some of the very first residents. As a child, I was a permanent fixture; roaming the halls and playing in the dining room. Even in high school, on a return visit with my church youth group, I was greeted by a woman sitting on the patio saying "I know you! You're..." then she used her hands to signal a young person. "You used to play under the tables in the dining room." I simply smiled, and said "yes, that was me."
In 1991, Stratford House was nothing like it is today on the inside. While change is enevitable, it's still hard to grasp. For that reason, it became increasingly hard for me to return to visit those I knew so well in my childhood. As the pages of the calendar fell, there were fewer and fewer of the elderly people I used to visit and whose days I would brighten with my youthful presence.
One of my earliest memories of Stratford House comes before my grandparents ever moved there. I remember vividly driving by there after they had signed up, and seeing two cars parked at the huge gates that used to lead onto Eager Street and into the college. Never again would I see that, as there would no longer be a road there leading onto the former college campus. For whatever reason, to this day, I still look at those gates as if I expect them to be open or for vehicles to be parked there again.
I spent most of my childhood at my grandmother's apartment. I knew every inch of that building, knew where I could and couldn't go, and wandered as I pleased. The staff didn't care, nor did the residents. Well, save for one, but I don't think she approved of ANYTHING. I even spent much of my time wandering the corridors of Carrington Hall and the old Main Hall. I used to love climbing the old stairs that rest at either side of the back of Main Hall. Walking from the first floor to the second, and past the portraits of past presidents. The watchful eye of Mr. (Dr.) Simpson watching my movements. I was always a little scared of that portrait. I always felt like I was being scowled at for my wandering around.
John Simpson was the first president of Stratford College. A man I never knew, but come to find out, I knew his daughter: Rosa Gray. A very sweet elderly lady with whom I attended Epiphany and who my mother would see frequently at the Belk Leggett Restaurant. Just a few months ago, I ran into at Food Lion and relayed the story about how I was always unnerved by it, and she laughed. Her father never wanted that portrait done, and that's why he looked so miserable. She very happily said her father would have liked nothing more than for young blood to be exploring the college over which he presided.
By the time Stratford House was built, all that was left was Carrington Hall, Main Hall, and the Cafeteria. I used to spend hours just sitting on the bridge over the duck pond, watching the world go by and feeding the ducks. When the nursing home was built, however, the cafeteria and beautiful brick walkway that meandered back from the bridge back to the parking lot were razed: replaced by the nursing home and a crummy asphalt path. I shall never forget the beautiful tree lined brick path, however. And even as a child, was outraged that they would removed something so beautiful and awesome.
The last relic of Stratford College, that may not even exist anymore, is the sign. Behind Kennedy Hall, just outside the side door of Stratford House, was an old metal sign that directed students to various buildings. I cannot, for the life of me, remember what they were although I must have looked at it 10,000 times. Long gone are the benches that were built on the middle of the bridge over the duck pond, and the residents who were always happy to see me, and I, in turn, happy to see them. It would be years before I would truly understand that I was such a joy in their lives, and it would take the staff who watched me grow to point it out to me.
While it would be easy for me to bemoan the fact that I spent my childhood around the elderly, or speak of how much I miss my grandmother, I shall do neither. For I will always cherish the memories of my days at Stratford House and exploring the older parts of it. Part of me believes that Main Hall, with it's beautiful views from the fourth floor, long elegant stair cases, and tall windows began my fascination with old buildings. And I know for a fact it is the staff and residents of Stratford House who helped make me into the man I am today.
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