The Fall and Rise of Downtown

Everyone knows that the past two decades have been less than kind to downtown Danville. Until recently, very little was left besides vagrants and some businesses. Downtown Danville was a shell of its former self. Until recently, that is. Downtown Danville is on the rise again. I suppose, as Kenny Rorer always said "there's nothing new under the sun. History repeats itself."

I missed the ultimate demise of downtown by about three years. When I was born, in 1987, downtown was nothing special. It's where my dad's office was, there were some businesses, and the library was there. It wasn't until I was older that I began to learn about the prominence of downtown everywhere, not just Danville.

1984, the year Piedmont Mall was built, marked the end of an era for downtown. By the 1960s and 1970s, Riverside Drive was booming with business, and there became less and less reason to go downtown. The mall, however, remained downtown. I, personally, can't tell you anything about it other than Belk Legget was there, since even I remember that ghost sign that I believe was painted over when it became lawyer offices some years ago.

It can be said, however, that some businesses have never left. Rippe's and Abe Koplen Clothing have been staples of downtown for decades. Both family owned businesses, and run by wonderful people who have spent years building a client base that have kept them in business year after year.

I suppose, being a graduate of Galileo Magnet High School, I should mention that, technically, Sears was the last to leave in 1993. But to be honest, I was still 5 years old. And all I remember about it was buying a lawn mower from the little fenced in area that ultimately was closed in and became a history and subsequently theatre classroom. 

You see, downtown was the epicenter of the town prior to expansion across the river. It was not just where people worked, but it was where people shopped. Downtown was teeming with theatres, stores, restuarants, everything. Even car dealerships were scattered along the various streets of downtown Danville. George W. Aron, who sold Mercedes, Jeep, and AMC for years was located on Bridge Street and later Floyd Street. The Renault dealership moved to Wilson Street sometime in the 1960s. Buicks or Fords were sold on Craghead Street. Whatever you needed, you could find it downtown. As Petula Clark said: "Downtown everything's waiting for you."

There was even a period of time where (if I recall correctly) due to traffic flow, Main Street from Ridge Street to Craghead was a one way street and three lanes wide. Just as Patton Street, to this day, travels one way to Craghead, Main Street was one way going from the River.

Union Street

Main Street, May 2009

I think that thermometer still works. I've been meaning to go back in the winter and check it.

Rippe's, along with Abe Koplen clothing, have been a staple of downtown for decades.

To this day, ghost signs still adorn buildings which have lately caused much upset in the city. Go down Lynn Street and you'll still see the sign that once adorned Smith Seeds. Look around on many of the buildings, the old downtown mall still has a sign for Belk Leggett (it must have been the old Downtown Mall sign that was painted over). The thermometer that once adorned the side of the Newspaper building still rests on the building.

Smith Seeds

Ok, so I was wrong. As of 2007 the Belk Leggett sign still existed.

 Associated Coin-Ops Ghost Sign

Why was there even any question regarding whether or not these signs can be restored?!

While I don't think it's worth it in this particular entry to get into details about specific buildings, I will say that many of the buildings that adorn Main Street and the surrounding streets have rich, colorful histories that are worthy of entries of their own. Hopefully, one day I'll get to it. If not, I recommend The Postcard History Series: Danville, VA by Clara Garrett Fountain and Images of America: Danville, VA by Todd McGregor Yeatts.

The ending point of this entry, is a good one. Downtown Danville is on the rise, once again. It's probably somewhat of a struggle, but people are investing time and money into business and buildings. Restaurants are opening (I recommend Jake's on Main, by the way) and new stores are opening. What does the future hold for downtown, other than the demise of the Downtowner? The outlook is bright and I, for one, am thrilled.

We All Know How Much I Love Cars and Why You Can't Always Trust Memories

My mom grew up in Danville. Therefore, a lot of my knowledge of buildings and locations come from what she remembers, as well as other older Danvillians I knew growing up. Admittedly, I was cursed with the title of "you're Joe Taylor's grandson," "you're Louise Taylor's grandson," "oh, I went to school with your mom," or just as frequently (and often in conjunction with one of the above) "Oh, you're Allan's son. I know your dad."

Throughout the past century, Danville has been a host to many businesses that are oft overlooked. For the purposes of this blog, we'll focus on Car Dealers. Long before the days of "Robert said sell 'em" and VIR, the automotive scene in Danville was nothing like it is today. Where most people travel to Greensboro, Roanoke, or Lynchburg to buy fancier cars or foreign cars that just aren't sold in Danville, in the 1950s and 1960s most everything you could imagine was available in Danville...most of which in downtown, believe it or not. Renault, Peugeot, Fiat, Volkswagen, and Mercedes (just to name a few) were all sold in Danville at one time.

What sparked this entry, however, is a very certain automotive manufacturer that isn't even available in the United States anymore: Renault (pronounced Reh-noh for those aren't familiar). My grandmother had two Renaults which she loved dearly. For those of you who knew me in high school, her Renaults were to her what my Accord was to me. She would talk about those cars until shortly before her death. And I don't mean the crappy ones imported by AMC in the 1980s. Oh no, I mean the crappy ones (sorry, Grandma) that were available in the United States in the 1950s-1970s.

My mom once or twice spoke of the Renault dealership being located downtown, where the bus depot is today. I decided to do a little research through the Register and Bee archives, but found nothing alluding to this. I did, however, learn something very intriguing about the Renault dealership. It seems that it was actually, at least in the early 1960s, located not in downtown, but on West Main Street. 

Next time you're on West Main Street, at the intersection with Howeland Circle, look at the brick building next to Swicegood Funeral Home. Perhaps you may have noticed at some point in your life, there is a little driveway going below the building. That little driveway has intrigued me for as long as I can remember. I even once had a dream where I went down there -- don't ask why I remember that dream, it's a long story. Well, the reason that driveway is there is because that building used to be a car dealership. Older Danvillians know this building for the Soda Shop and later a florist that occupied this building. I think it's dentist offices now.

Next door, on the tract of land that Huffman's Car Wash now occupies rested a group of buildings. One of those buildings was the Coca Cola bottling company, at least in the 1920s. In the 1960s and 1970s, the soda shop occupied one of those buildings. Another one was occupied in the early 1960s by the Renault and Peugeot dealership. I believe, though I'm not 100% certain, that based on my the Sanborn Maps the buildings that Huffman's Car Wash occupy now are the storage buildings once occupied by the Coca Bottling Company. The car wash holds the same shape as the storage buildings did in the old maps.

I must admit, it's the frailty of the human memory that sparked this entry. You see, I vaguely recalled some connection between the First Citizens Bank Building downtown, the bus depot, and the Renault dealership. Following a phone call with my mother today, I realized it was my own fault that I misremembered. I, for some reason, though the Renault dealership was where the Bus Depot is now. I was wrong. What my mother had told me was that the First Citizens building was the old Greyhound or Trailways Bus Depot. We must have been talking about the Renaults at the time or something, I don't know. But it makes sense that the parking spaces in that lot could have easily been for busses prior to the little cement barriers that now separate the spaces.

Anyway, that's my soapbox about old buildings and car dealerships.

While we're on the subject of trains...

There is a wealth of information and stories involving trains in Danville as far back as my access to the Register & Bee archives reaches. In the 1920's, trains were still the preferred method of long distance travel and delivery of goods.

I grew up within ear shot of the train tracks. For 22 years, in fact  -- save for a month where I lived with friends in Woodberry Hills at the end of 11th grade after my parents moved to Topsail Island. When I was born, we lived at Sutherlin Place, the townhouses on Holbrook Avenue. Then we moved to Southwyck Farms, and finally to Forest Hills. Plus, my grandmother lived at Stratford House. In fact, when I moved to Greensboro to go to UNCG, I lived right by the train tracks. During my junior year, people who lived in the same building as I did complained about the sound of the trains at night. To which I replied: "what trains?" I never really noticed them. In fact, on the rare occasion I do hear them at night, it always makes me tired because I grew up hearing them late at night when everything was quiet, and I knew it was time for bed.

In the 1920's, however, trains were a constant presence in Danville. They travelled to the mills, lumber yards, coal yards, and brick yards, and brought people in and out of town from great distances. Cars were still relatively new and safety measures such as crossing signals did not exist yet. The basic principle when arriving at a train crossing in a car was to "stop, look, and listen."

Though it was a pretty simple concept, it did not always work. Especially at one particular railroad crossing: Stokesland Avenue. For those who don't know street names, this is the train crossing that is closest to the Hardee's on West Main Street. When approaching this crossing from Stokesland Avenue, going towards West Main Street, you're going up a hill and it wasn't always possible to see the trains coming. Many people who approach the crossing, see the train, and try to gun it across the tracks before the train arrived; thus stalling out their engines. Others would simply panic and throw the car into high gear at a low speed, thus stalling the engine. This is one of those stories.

Looking up the hill at the Stokesland Avenue railway crossing

On July 13, 1923 one man saved the life of a woman and her child after their car stalled on the train tracks. Robert Lester Shaw, a 23 year old who operated the card room at Schoolfield Mill was walking home from work when he encountered Captain Will Wilson working on a car near the Stokesland Avenue crossing. Shaw, who formerly worked for the railway, knew Wilson and stopped to speak with him. While the men were chatting, Mrs. C. A. Gillispie and her four year old daughter, Iris, were on their way to the mill to pick her husband. Her view of the tracks was obstructed by a bank and she was unable to see an on-coming train. She began to cross the tracks in a low gear, panicked, threw the car into high gear, and stalled the engine.

With adrenaline pumping, Shaw sprung into action. He was about 15 feet away from Mrs. Gillispie's car when it stalled out and, seeing the on-coming train 45 to 50 feet away, ran to the car. He grabbed Mrs. GillIspie and pushed her behind him before turning around and grabbing the child from the car. As he cleared the tracks with the girl, the train struck the car. Shaw recalled being 5 feet away when the train struck and seeing part of the car's engine high in the air and hearing the squeals and groans of the train's brakes. Through the ordeal, Mrs. Gillispie was concerned with her child, screaming "save my baby! save my baby!" as she was removed from the car.

When the train was finally stopped, some 200 yards away, the conductor approached the group of people who have gathered and demanded the name of "the man that saved those two." He collected the names of witnesses and upon arriving at the train station reported the incident and indicated a "desire to shake the hand of the man who saved those two."

Mr. Gillispie was notified at work and immediately went to the scene. The Bee noted that Gillispie had Shaw over for dinner and a friendship was forming that was "sure to last."

The Bee made an investigation, followed-up with witnesses, and submitted the story to the Carnegie Foundation in New York to nominate Shaw for a Carnegie Award. Mr. Gillispie, as well, wired the foundation in support of Shaw.

Of all the stories I've encountered about Danville in researching the house, this is one that I wish had not been lost to time. It's such an amazing story of unbridled heroism, and has since been lost and forgotten.

A Strange Occurance At...Red Alley Railroad Crossing?!

In the early 1920's, the old west end of Danville was just beginning to come into it's own. By old west end, I'm not referring to the Old West End Historic District, but rather to the area around Averett. Forest Hills was just beginning to come into being, and Virginia, Carolina, College Avenue area was experiencing a housing boom. Howeland Circle was just being created, and Ballou Park Shopping Center was still nearly half a century away. Many of the streets we know now didn't exist as they do today, and others had completely different names.

In 1925, the area opposite Ballou Park on West Main Street was nothing like it is today. While we all know the half-empty shopping center, what my generation doesn't realize is that that land was once a baseball park. Indeed, Ballou Park Shopping Center rests atop what was once known as Schoolfield Baseball Park, and before it was even a baseball park, it was the city fairgrounds. Actually, it wasn't until the 1960's or 1970's that Ballou Park Shopping Center came to be.

What did exist, in a way, is the road known today as Wooding Avenue. Obviously (for Danville natives), Wooding Avenue is named after former mayor, Harry Wooding. But that was not always so. I've yet to pinpoint the exact time of the name change, but it was once known as Red Alley. One of the Sanborn Fire Insurance Company Maps lists it as Ferguson's Alley, but the newspaper archives do not support that fact. This street, and the train crossing it includes, were the center of attention in January of 1925. For it was at this railway crossing that three people meet their fate within two weeks.

Wooding Avenue as it is today.

Red Alley was a narrow street that ran beside the fairgrounds to the train tracks where, as it is today, the road is angled to where you begin to cross. If you've ever driven across these train tracks, you probably know what I mean. You basically turn slightly as you cross the tracks. Once across the trains into what was then Almagro Village, the road was wider and known as Sixth Avenue.

Curve at the crossing.

It all started on Sunday, January 18, 1925. Around 7:00 pm, a man by the name of C. P. Warf was struck and killed by a southbound train about 100 yards from where Red Alley met the train tracks. His body was discovered by the conductor of a passing freight train and authorities were notified once it reached Stokelands. The man worked in a cloth room at Dan River Mills. It was pretty much an open and shut case. The man was either crossing the tracks or walking along side of them, got hit by a train, and died. Life, in Danville, did not stop for it.

The very next night, another man died roughly 100 yards from where the body of C. P. Warf was discovered. It was not, however, until Tuesday morning when an African-American named John Anderson was riding a horse on Red Alley and discovered the body. Authorities were notified and rushed to the scene from both Danville and Schoolfield. Schoolfield authorities ascertained that that man, completely covered in mud, had tried to drag himself out of the mud puddle. No identification was found on the man, but a pint of whiskey was. Foul play was not suspected because he had money in his pockets. The belief was that, due to the depth of the mud puddle, the man had either drowned in it or succumbed to the cold. It was later discovered that he had indeed drowned, and that the liquor was not involved as the whiskey flask was filled to the stopper.

The body was removed from the scene to F. W. Townes and Son to be prepared for burial where a note, postmarked in Danville and signed by a Mrs. Betty Jones and family was found. The body remained at F. W. Townes and Son Funeral Parlor for nearly 12 hours before the body was identified. Hundreds of people visited the funeral parlor. Many people thought they recognized the man, including a hotel manager who believed the man had inquired about the price of a room. Two people were so convinced of the identity of the man that they had to contact relatives to make sure their kin was still alive.

Finally, Tuesday afternoon, a man named R. C. Davis was able to positively identify the man as his brother, Thomas Davis who was delivering a load of tobacco to Danville. R. C. Davis trekked to Danville to inquire about his brother after having not heard from him in a day.

Two days after Thomas Davis' body was found, a horse dropped dead in its tracks at that very spot.

Then, once again, on Thursday night another man was killed at the Red Alley crossing. Lee A. Ligon, a local merchant, was struck by a train. His body was not discovered for some time later, when two African-American men were turning their car around in the alley and discovered the body as their headlights swept past. Authorities arrived on the scene in short order. Schoolfield, being closer to scene arrived first, followed by Danville. After questioning and releasing the men who discovered the body, authorities quickly deemed the man had been struck by a train, presumably the Piedmont Limited or possibly train number 46. His body was thrown clear of the tracks, his skull knocked in, and his wrist and leg broken by the impact.

The next morning, it was learned that Mr. Ligon had travelled to Red Alley alone that night. His son explained that he had gone to meet with William Cobb about "the endorsement of a note and other business matters." His son also disclosed that his father had been "unduly nervous about himself and about business matters." It seems that Mr. Ligon's health had been in a decline in the weeks and months prior to the incident. Just a few days before his death, Mr. Ligon confided to a friend that he was suffering from a bout of insomnia and he heard a roaring in his head "like a train," and again to another that he thought he was "going crazy." Mr. Ligon had also been trying to straighten out his business affairs; settling debts from a previous business endeavor.

It was this incident that led Schoolfield and Danville police officers to begin as thorough an investigation as possible.

The last story intrigues the Psychology major in me. It is evident that Lee Ligon was suffering from a deep depression. The roaring in his head, the insomnia, and straightening out his affairs clearly indicate that he's in a deep depression and was possibly considering killing himself. I'm not saying that he intentionally walked in front of a train, but we'll never know what thoughts crossed his mind as he traveled from his home on Grove Street to Red Alley that evening. It's never mentioned how he arrived there that evening, so there's no telling if he took a cab, or a street car (which I believe Danville had at the time, will check later and edit this as necessary), or if he walked. If he walked, it's possible he walked along the train tracks that evening. Mr. Ligon never arrived at his meeting with Mr. Cobb that night. It's likely he never heard the roar of the train through the roaring in his head, but how he didn't see the headlight of the train remains a mystery.

What we do know, however, is that  during the final weeks of January, 1925 Danville was plagued with mysterious deaths that all centered around one location: Red Alley railroad crossing.

Hand Laid Bricks: Unearthing the Past

I forgot to mention that there will be no specific chronology in this blog. Unfortunately, the time for chronographing my efforts to find the build date of my second mother's house is long past. So my entries on it will be as things come to me and as I remember them.

My latest discovery at my second mother's house comes from a bout of super impulsiveness and a five year desire. Before I get to my discovery, though, I have to give you a little background on the backyard as that is where the discovery was made.

When my second mother moved into the house, there was an old, rotting stump in the almost in the middle of the backyard. At the time, she had three dogs: Brownie, Dougie (pronounced Doogie), and Draco. Draco was the youngest of the three, and went on a digging spree for a period...much to my chagrin as I had to mow the yard and did not appreciate twisting my ankle. That is, until one day when I came across three bricks that Draco uncovered in his digging spree. Just three bricks, in a line, about a foot and a half away from the old stump.Over the next few years, I'd occasionally take a shovel and just press stick it onto the ground, trying to figure out what the bricks were. There was a dip in the ground next to the three Draco uncovered, but I was wondering if maybe there had been a walkway or something. Over the next few years I would occasionally take a shovel and walk a straight line back from the three exposed bricks trying to find how far back they went. Still, I was never allowed to actually dig anything.

Late last fall, I was clearing out grass that had grown in front of the basement door and accidentally uncovered a brick walkway leading away from the basement door. I asked for permission to continue uncover the walkway if I could find somewhere to put the displaced dirt. That particular walkway only went about three feet as it curved into the present stairs leading from the back door into the backyard. It was three bricks wide, and was obviously laid into the ground by hand. The were, as I found them, perfectly level and seemed painstakingly laid. 

Hard to see, but there are old bricks still with a coat of surface dirt, but you can clearly see how deeply they had been buried.

The next Friday I returned from a particularly bad day at work (I was staying with my second mother while working a temp job in Chapel Hill) and borrowed an axe from a friend. I had tried taking a chainsaw to the stump about a month before, but I didn't want to dull the chain by going into the dirt. Armed with what I assumed was a decent axe, I went to town on the stump. Apparently, the axe was duller than a butter knife. Still, momentum prevailed. Slowly, but surely, and with the assistance of the hatchet I used six years earlier, I began to break through roots.

Ok, so what? I started to get the stump out and then it came out, right? Hell no! That thing put up a huge fight. There were places that actually sparked when I hit them with the tools. By the time the sun began to set, the stump was nearly root free. So I grabbed two shovels and began to try to leverage it out, only to find more places that needed to be cut through. Finally, around dusk, I had the stump broken free of all but the tap root. I had also managed to break both shovels. So, being the MacGuyver want-to-be that I am, I went to my car and got my jack. I stuck it under one side of the stump, and began to jack it up. I placed some pieces of cement, rocks, and bricks and braced where I had jacked and moved to another place.

Finally, around 6:30 I had the entire stump raised into the air; suspended only by the tap root. After hours of cursing at the stump, trying to rationalize with it (yes, I went so far as to say "don't you want to join everyone who ever enjoyed you? Don't you want to join the rest of your body?") I was on the verge of giving up. Exhausted, thirsty, and ready to just give up forever I walked over to where I originally jacked it up, grabbed two roots, and pulled. Then, nothing. I don't know if it was because I felt so weak or what, but I couldn't even feel myself pulling on the stump, until...creeeeaaaaakkkkk, creeeeaaaaakkkkk, CRACK. The stump flipped out of the hole.

Me: 1, Stump: 8 (6 years, two shovels)

Once a thriving three, now a garden decoration. No joke. It now sits like this in a garden.

Well, now that I had the stump out of the ground, I needed dirt to fill in where it had once been. So, the next day, I began to dig around those three bricks. What I found was more than I ever could have hoped for...well, other than money. I found a beautiful, hand-laid brick walkway that led right to the back stairs. The reason why I could never trace it before? It curved. I also couldn't pin point anything because the three that Draco uncovered were just three bricks behind each other, unlike the rest of the walkway that were three bricks wide!

My friend, and son of my second mother, who took took pottery classes at Guilford College and is amazing with clay identified the bricks as handmade, low-fired. Someone, sometime, made these bricks himself (I'm assuming it's a male given the likely hood that these bricks predate 1900) and then made a pathway out of them. Some had quartz and feldspar showing. Others, a purple hue indicating a high sulfur content (if I recall).

Since uncovering the bricks, I have completely removed them from the ground in small groups, put sand below them for drainage, and reset them. I also modified the area at the bottom of the stairs to make it match the width of the stairs (see photo). Currently, bricks have been set on top of the ground to extend the walkway a little further and then into a round patio (pictures to come later).

I added a fourth row at the base of the stairs to make it match the width of the stairs.

There is no telling where this walkway once went or exactly why it was buried. My best guess is that years of grass clippings and leaves buried the long forgotten walkway. The same thing happened to slate stepping stones at my old house.

Moral of the story: if you have stepping stones or a painstakingly made walkway: bag your grass clippings or at least make sure to clean them!

The Schoolfield-Kemper Road Area Connection

It is a well known fact by all Danville natives that Schoolfield existed as its own entity until the 1950s -- 1953, if I'm not mistaken. That was the year that the city of Danville was finally successful in annexing the village from Pittsylvania County. It was not, however, for lack of trying. Danville tried for years to annex the mill village from the county. After all, there's an economic boost in them thar mills! The problem with annexing Schoolfield came from the city's unwillingness to agree to the county's terms.

Before you can fully understand the terms which the city ultimately agreed to, you have to realize the geography of the city at the time.

For many years, the city ended at the south bound train tracks. Across the train tracks was a village known as Almagro. Almagro was a primarily African-American community. In many ways, Almagro Village was much like it is today, sans DCC, although Danville Military Institute (DMI) occupied part of the area where DCC is now.

In 1953, when Danville tried once again to annex Schoolfield, the county agreed on the condition that Almagro Village also be annexed by the city. Given that this was during the pre-Civil Rights era, it was quite a proposal to make.

Thus, in 1953 Danville extended itself past the train tracks and finally gained the much coveted Schoolfield Mill.

What's in a Name?

When researching a house, the easiest way to get information is from names. If you know the names of past occupants, you can find out almost anything. Almost anything meaning you can easily find detailed family histories, but not necessarily useful information pertaining to the house. If you're really lucky, former occupants will have repeated graffitied the house in some way.

In the case of this house, it was done repeatedly. Writings on the basement wall that are not entirely useful and carvings in the brick posts in front of the house yielded the names of former occupants.

Basement Wall

Betty, Susan, Mommy

 

 

Robert Grasty, the son of a former owner

His name again, but carved in the bricks.

Through family trees, old census records, and newspaper articles I have discovered the relationship of all who carved their names into the brick, except for perhaps one. Robert, Louise, and Jimmy were all children of a woman who lived there in the 1930s and 40s. Craige, a neighbor. The name that baffles me, however, is Frank. Unless it is Frank Martin, who lived there in 1920, according the 1920 census.

But the name that has been the most fruitful was not carved into anything, but rather discovered buried in insulation in the attic: T. R. Perkinson. For six long years, that name plagued me. You'll recall from a previous post that the property being developed in the area was that of J. E. Perkinson. Well, on that map, the property opposite of my best friend's mom's house was listed as that of T. R. Perkinson. So why on earth was his name on a book cover in the attic, buried in insulation?! Why was it in the same place that I found an old trojan condom package, an empty pack of Liggett cigarettes, and a burlap sack?!

After six years, I think I got my answer. Thanks, in part, to the Danville Register archives, some time spent in the City Deed office, and my access to the Sanborn Fire Insurance Company maps. T. R. Perkinson, the brother of J. E. Perkinson and father of business partner T. R. Perkinson, Jr. did not build that house until between 1915 and 1920. I believe, if I recall, they purchased the lot in 1914. The cost? $10.00. The best part of that find, however, were the words "with all the love" written in the deed to the property.

The question is, where did T. R. Perkinson and his family live before they built the house? According to his obituary, he moved to the area in 1901 -- seven years before the area was annexed by the city. Another hint of his occupancy of that house came from another deed, which revealed that J. E. Perkinson began buying the land in that area in the late 1800s. The biggest hint, however, is entirely on speculation.

According to the 1910 census, there were three families living on Virginia Avenue at the time. While the house is technically on Carolina Avenue, the majority of that area was completely unsettled in 1910. The oldest listed name I could actually find for Carolina Avenue is, believe it or not, West Virginia Avenue. Of the three families listed, one was M. R. Perkinson, who I am assuming is related to J. E. and T. R. Perksinon based on the last name, and the fact that they were the first to own a house in the neighborhood (based on the 1910 census). The other, T. R. Perksinon, and finally a mulatto family by the name of Kernodle. 

 

The house in which M. R. Perkinson and family lived still exists today, and backs up to the alley alongside of the house in question. The house other two families, however, I can only speculate. By using the 1915 map of Danville by the Sanborn Fire Insurance Company, there are but two houses on Carolina Avenue. My second mother's house, and a small square house. So, given the way of the world in 1910-1915, I surmise that T. R. Perkinson lived in the house opposite of the one he built in the late 1910s, and the Kernodles lived in the house down Carolina Avenue which has not existed sine the mid to late 1910s.