Photo by Bryan Regan

I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then. — Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

On Saturday, June 22, the quiet solitude of 1920s-era Pullen Park Terrace was unequivocally broken.  Shattered were the usual neighborhood superlatives – quiet, tranquil, hidden.   Rather than the usual crop of neighbors walking dogs, gardening, or strolling, there was a mob.  Not just any mob, but a mob of rowdy party-goers, dressed in costumes ranging from the Queen of Hearts to the Cheshire Cat.

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The author and wife’s circa 1940 home

There are those who see what could be, the ones we call visionaries; those who see what is, we call realists.  Then, there are those, like me, who see the traces of history all around us. 

Despite five years spent within a mile of Pullen Park Terrace, earning an Engineering degree from NCSU, my first visit to the neighborhood was to pick up a date.  Turning off Western Boulevard, I still remember my first thought — “Bilyeu Street?  Who or what is a Bilyeu?“  Then, I began noticing the houses.   Each was unique, no two remotely the same. Read more »

In my neighborhood is this quadruplex which has been vacant for years.

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