The G&S Department Store building, like many of Raleigh’s downtown commercial structures, has had a long and evolutionary history. Actually, the “building,” located at 206-210 S. Wilmington St. (or is its proper address 16 E. Hargett St.?) is comprised of four separate 2-story brick structures. Although long-since consolidated into a “single” structure, the earliest two of the four appear on Shaffer’s 1881 Raleigh property map; these are at addresses 16 E. Hargett and 208 S. Wilmington. The Sanborn insurance maps indicate that by 1896 210 S. Wilmington had been built, and that by 1909 206 had been erected. Thus the complex of four, two-story brick buildings was assembled.

The four contiguous buildings that comprise the G&S Department Store are seen in the 1914 property map above. (Image courtesy Sanborn Insurance Co.) Below is the recently revealed facade of the Hargett St. main entrance.

During these early years (1881-1909) the buildings were occupied variously by groceries, dry goods, a restaurant, a liquor store, a barbershop or two, and several clothing stores. Also during this time an emerging Jewish mercantile class was growing to prominence within Raleigh’s business community. Familiar names included Kline, Lazarus, Seligson, Goodman, Horwitz, and Ellisberg. The associated businesses were primarily drygoods, jewelers and clothiers. Among these early entrepreneurs was Jacob Kline.

The bustling business district in the 200 block of S. Wilmington St. ca. 1903. (Photo courtesy N.C. Office of Archives and History)

In 1909 Kline opened a men’s clothing store he called the “Klondike Store,” at 210 S. Wilmington St. His new business was next door to Ike Seligson’s “New York Bargain House,” also a clothiers, which had opened in 1899. By 1914 Kline had formed a partnership with Goodman Lazarus, and the two businessmen opened Kline and Lazarus Co., purveyors of “clothing, dry goods, shoes, men’s furnishings, and ladies ready-to-wear” – or in other words, a department store. The new enterprise consolidated all three S. Wilmington St. buildings (nos. 206-210). Curiously, the main entrance to Kline and Lazarus was as at 16 E. Hargett. Apparently, to reinforce the image of a unified block on Wilmington St., the three individual two-story red brick storefronts were painted a buff yellow*, and a continuous metal cornice (since removed) was installed above the second floor of all three. The Kline and Lazarus department store flourished on Wilmington St (or was it Hargett?) for the next 17 years.

The welcoming mosaic at the main entrance to the Kline and Lazarus Department Store, 16 E. Hargett St., remains in place to this day. (Photo by John Morris)

In 1932 Louis Greenspon and Morris Satisky acquired the former Kline and Lazarus building and opened the G&S Department Store. Again, the main entrance was listed in city directories as 16 E. Hargett, while 206-210 S. Wilmington continued to be designated as the “side entrance.” G&S became a familar downtown Raleigh landmark for the next 25 years.

This is how the Hargett Street showroom of the G&S Department Store appeared in 1948. A dining room of the Brass Grill Restaurant occupies this space today.

However, as larger, “modern-style” department stores such as Hudson-Belk, Taylors, Charles, Boylan-Pearce and Effirds began to dominate Fayetteville St. in the 1930s and 1940s, smaller, old-time, “back-street” businesses such as G&S were being edged out. In 1952, G&S was run by the second generation of the original founders, but sadly, in 1956, the department store closed. In 1958 the storefront at 16 E. Hargett was rented out to a small millinery shop, and the S. Wilmington buildings were occupied by a sewing macine distributor and the Capitol Loan Co., “dealers in furniture, used goods and confidential loans.”  It was probably around this time that the blank, gray metal front, which has recently been removed, was erected to cover the painted yellow buff brick façade*. The Hargett St. building was similarly covered up. Presumably, the purpose of such architectural appendages was to make the aging buildings look more “modern.”

Exposing the facade of G&S last fall.* (Photo courtesy The Raleigh Connoisseur, by Leo Suarez) Below is the view a few nights ago.

Through the decade of 1960s many of downtown’s aging commercial buildings were covered in boring metal or concrete false fronts in an effort to make them look more “modern.” It was a futile attempt to appeal to downtown shoppers, as suburban shopping centers such as Cameron Village and North Hills were growing in popularity at the time.

Many downtown 19th century commercial buildings were covered up in the 1960s. These are across Wilmington St. from G&S.

Among the structures so-masked were the Raleigh Times and the Carolina Trust buildings, the Ambassador Theater, and the Masonic Temple building (thankfully the street floor only). Now, in the 21st century, urban preservationists and sensitive developers are looking beyond the false fronts and seeing the remnants of Raleigh’s early architectural history which lie hidden behind them; such is the case with the current rehab of the G&S Department Store. Many thanks to Empire Properties for taking the lead!

As a personal footnote, your correspondent was privy recently to a behind the scenes look at the renovation in progess of the G&S Department Store building. Here are a few images of what I saw. I hope to return this summer after the work is complete and provide an update on the project for our readers. (Special thanks to Ben Steel and Empire Properties)

Reno in progress! And revealing the future.

Hundreds of discarded coat hangers in the basement.

*Interestingly, when the 50 year old metal cladding on G&S first began to come down, the exposed surface first appeared to me as buff-yellow brick.  Not until after I began photographing the building did I realize the color was not brick at all — it was paint. Beneath the paint is red brick. My guess is that this paint is the only coat, as there appear to be no underlying layers. So, perhaps the yellow paint dates from the Kline & Lazarus conversion in 1914, or perhaps G&S applied the surface treatment in 1932. And perhaps if its historic authenticity can be confirmed, Empire Properties will consider restoring this feature of the building, as well.

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I am sure that by now everyone in Raleigh is aware of the Hillsboro St. reconstruction project currently underway along NC State University’s primary business thoroughfare, all the way from Oberlin Rd. out to Brooks Ave.  For the past year, cars and pedestrians alike have navigated broken pavement and a clutter of orange and white traffic cones, barrels and barricades, all the while dodging giant earthmoving equipment.  However, most people probably are not aware that until the late 1920s that stretch of street was primarily a residential district. In 1939 Hillsboro’s first major commercial building — the ManMur Bowling Center — was erected in the 2500 block.

The ManMur Bowling Center in 1940, when it was new. Notice how sparsely built up the block was then. (Photo courtesy the NC Office of  Archives and History, State Archives.)

Designed in a vernacular interpretation of the then fashionable ‘art moderne’ style and faced with polished glass panels, it was built on the vacant block formerly occupied by the main building of the state fairgrounds. Hillsboro St. lore holds that the name ‘ManMur’ was derived from the supposed fact the structure sat on the geographic spot exactly midway between Manteo and Murphy — the eastern and western extremities of North Carolina. The principal tenant of the large one-story brick building — we would call it a strip shopping center today — was the bowling alley, and was flanked by four store fronts and a restaurant. Among the first tenants were the ManMur Shoe Shop and ManMur Barber Shop. The State Beauty Shop and the ManMur Soda Shop soon joined the assemblage of businesses.

Another view of the ManMur Bowling Center in 1940. Notice the barber pole standing in front of the ManMur Barber Shop. The Town House Restaurant is on the right. (Photo courtesy the NC Office of  Archives and History, State Archives.)

ManMur became a familiar Hillsboro St. landmark for twenty years. Then, on March 4, 1959, a devastating fire destroyed the Bowling Center. The N&O reported at the time that the fire was “first discovered … by an unidentified little boy who said he smelled smoke…” The manager told the reporter “‘ [I] looked under the seat next to the wall and it looked like someone had thrown a cigarette under the seat. I got a bucket of water and poured it under the seat and when I straightened up, fire was coming through the walls.’” The 200 or so people inside “got out of the building quickly, [and] within minutes after the alarm was turned in, the blaze [had] spread” to the adjoining businesses. Nearby residents hosed down their roofs “as a precaution against flying firebrands being carried by the wind. …The fast-spreading” conflagration threatened the entire block, as the fire department “battled the blaze, cheered on by thousands of State College students, for two hours before bringing it under control.” The building was a total loss, with damages estimated from “several hundred thousand dollars to over a million.”

Western Lanes bowling alley (recently renamed ’The Alley’) was built in 1960 on the site of the ManMur Bowling Center. I find it somewhat ironic that, as the 1939 building was designed in the art moderne style fashionable then, its replacement is a vernacular interpretation of the modernist style popular during its own era.

Within a year of the fire, a new bowling alley, renamed “Western Lanes,” was rebuilt on the same site.  Also in 1960, the ManMur Shopping Center reopened down the street in a new building near the corner of Hillsboro and Gardner streets — the ManMur Shoe Shop and ManMur Barber Shop relocated to the new site, and remain there to this day.

ManMur Shopping Center was built in 1960.

Now, I don’t know whether the original ManMur Bowling Center was really the actual geographic mid-point between the eastern and western extremities of North Carolina, or not; but one thing I do know for certain is that ManMur is now a couple blocks closer to Murphy.

The ManMur Shoe Shop

The ManMur Barber Shop

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Squeezed onto a narrow lot between the monolithic Baker Sunday school wing of Christ Church and the five story Capital Apartments on New Bern Avenue is Raleigh’s oldest surviving brick building — the State Bank of North Carolina.  When erected in 1813, it was the only structure on this block. In order to save it from demolition when the Baker wing was built, the venerable old building was moved 100 feet to its current location in 1968.

The top photo shows the State Bank in 1966 on its original, solid granite block foundation. The bottom photo shows the building in 2009 at its current site.

The State Bank building was constructed in 1813 as the central office for the first state-sponsored banking institution in North Carolina, which had been founded in 1810. It was modeled in the Federal architectural style with imposing matching neo-classical porticos attached to the east and west facades. Access to the banking rooms was gained through  an entryway on the street-side of the building.  It continued to function as a banking facility until the Civil War.

Christ Church, Raleigh’s definitive Gothic Revival masterpiece, was built adjacent to the bank building in 1853. Twenty years later, in 1873, the church acquired the old bank for use as its rectory. Over the course of the next 50 years, additions were made to Christ Church, including a parish house and chapel in 1913, and a Sunday school wing in the 1930s. This created a small enclosed courtyard, of sorts,  on the small lawn that separated the bank, the church parish house and the church itself. Narrow brick walkways crisscrossed the verdant and quiet spot.

The courtyard as it appeared in 1965.

When my family attended Christ Church in the 1960s, the building was being used as a Sunday school classroom facility. It was during these years that I became enamored with the old State Bank. My best friend in Sunday school and I loved to explore spaces one was not supposed to go into, and the bank building was no exception. We climbed the creaky wooden spiral staircase to the attic once and poked around, but scampered out when we heard voices coming from the floor below. [Note: I have added a photo of the attic stair at the end of this post.] We went back one other time time but found the door had been locked. On another occasion we ventured into the dark and dank, stone-walled basement — there was an old steam-heat boiler furnace down there — but we got spooked in the darkness and fled back up the stairs, unfortunately cutting short our exploratory foray.

The east portico in 1965.

Then, in the late ’60s, the church decided it needed to expand its physical plant in order to accomodate a growing congregation. In order to do this, the old 1930s Sunday school addition and my beloved State Bank had to go. The plan created an uproar among many in the congregation, and the debate dragged on for months. Ultimately, the pro-expansion faction prevailed and site preparation for construction began. The building committee worked hard to find a buyer for the State Bank building so that its demolition might avoided. North Carolina National Bank acquired the building and moved it 100 feet to its present location in 1968. Although their adaptive restoration would probably not meet the standards of preservationists today, at least the noble structure had been spared. The State Employees Credit Union now occupiis the building.

These are some of the photos I took with my trusty Kodak Instamatic of the State Bank before and after its move.

After the move in 1968, State Bank being stabilized at its new site. Capital Apartments building in the background.

Demolition of the old (Haywood) Sunday school wing. The original site of the State Bank was in the extreme right foreground of this view. The house in the background, itself, was eventually moved to a new site in the 200 block of New Bern Ave., across from Haywood Hall.

Another 1968 view of stabilzation.

This is the New Bern Ave. facade, showing the street-side doorway which had been bricked up since 1873. The lunette windows in the pedimented gable are characteristic of the Federal style.

Same view in 2009, with the doorway restored.

The north facade after the move.

North facade today. The shortened window resulted from the installation of a drive-through bank window (since bricked up) by NCNB in 1968.

The Baker wing as it looked when new. The State Bank originally stood exactly in this spot

The Baker wing today, with the relocated State Bank to the right.

The east portico as seen from a balcony of the Capital Apartments.

The west portico. At the far left can be seen the bricked-up former drive-through bank window.

This is the spiral staircase I climbed to the attic from the second floor. The photo was taken in the early 1960s, when the State Bank was being used for Sunday school classes. The door on the left leads to the upper level of the east portico. (photo credit: HABS)

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300 block of S. Wilmington St., 1926. The four storefronts seen left to right are the same ones seen in the photo below. They were built in the late 1870s. (Image courtesy N.C. Division of Archives and History)

300 block of S. Wilmington St., 2009. (Image credit: John Morris)

Nowadays the first two blocks of Wilmington St. are undegoing a resurgence and rehabilitation, while the 300 block remains gloomy and virtually deserted.

Image credit: John Morris

Many years ago, during the period when I worked a string of blue-collar jobs before returning to school, I became a regular client of the Reliable Loan Co. Money was tight back then, and many times my roommates and I could barely pay the utilities or the $100 per month rent on our house in Boylan Heights. I was the only one among the three of us who had any ‘property,’ so on those occasions when quick cash was needed, I would ride my bike downtown, across the Martin St. viaduct, and head straight to Reliable Loan.

I remember the shop was crammed full of guitars, electronic equipment and glass cases packed with jewelry which I passed by on my way to the pawnbroker’s cage at the back of the store. There I would plop down my worldly goods — my high school class ring, my grandfather’s gold pocket watch, my camera, a couple gold coins and a few scraps of sterling silver.  The amount I received for the pawn was always the same — $50. And I always felt slightly guilty for pawning my grandfather’s watch, but doing so provided me with the incentive to return in a month’s time and buy back my possessions out of hock. And although the power and water at our house were shut off on occasion, we always had the money to pay the rent.

300 block of S. Wilmington St. — today a mere reflection of its former self . (Image credit: Raleigh Boy)

Whenever I pass by Reliable Loan these days, I always think of that experience from that time so long ago. I am a little saddened, too, when I think Raleigh may be erecting yet another monument to architectural banality in the form of the Edison, which, if built, will wipe out what remains of this historic block, taking with it, yet another small, and irreplaceable, uniquity of our city’s past.

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Mr. and Mrs. Thomas stand in front of their grocery store, The Thrifty Food Market, in 1972.

A few weeks ago I attended a First Friday event at Rebus Works, a small art gallery in Boylan Heights. As I walked through the crowded room inspecting the artwork, glass of wine in hand, my footsteps across the creaky, worn wood floors started to echo in my ears. The chit-chat of the crowd seemed to fade away, and my mind began to drift back to a time that existed more than 35 years ago when the gallery space was occupied by a neighborhood grocery called The Thrifty Food Market. It was a simpler, different sort of time.

Mr. and Mrs. Thomas had owned and operated the little grocery store at the western terminus of the Martin St. viaduct since 1937. I lived in Boylan Heights for several years in the early 1970s and got to know the Thomases well. They were a kindly older couple whom I always thought of back then as the grandparents of Boylan Heights. In those days I lived with a group of friends in a house that many of our neighbors regarded with disdain as a “hippie house.” But not the Thomases. They took a liking to us, — well, actually, there was no one they didn’t like — and we certainly liked them.

This is a view of the back of the Thrifty Food Market as seen from my front porch. The Martin St. viaduct is on the right and the old Boylan Ave. bridge can be seen in the background on the left. The painted wall sign reads: “Long Meadow Milk.”

The Thrifty Food Market possessed a certain nostalgic charm that has long-since passed from Raleigh’s urban scene. Upon entering the store through the screen door, being careful not to let it slam behind you, Mrs. Thomas would  greet her customers from behind the linoleum-topped wooden checkout counter on which sat one of those old-fashioned mechanical cash registers. Usually the delivery boy, Kenny, would be stationed by the counter, ready to make his deliveries on his bicycle with a large wire basket affixed to the front. Mr. Thomas managed the meat counter in the back of the store. An oversized wheel of ‘hoop cheese’ always sat on top of the big glass-fronted enameled metal counter.  Mr. Thomas would cut generous slabs from it and wrap them up in white butcher’s paper. Open shelves of canned goods lined the walls. There was also a small produce bin with offerings such as onions, potatoes and collards. The Thomases stocked all the basics — flour, milk, bread, eggs, and the like. But, as Mr. and Mrs. Thomas were devoted Southern Baptists, the one thing you couldn’t buy at the Thrifty Food Market was beer — you had to walk up to Hillsboro St. to the Friendly Fruit Store to get that particular beverage.

The worn, creaky oiled-wood floors of the Thrifty Food Market were shiny from the thousands of feet that had trod upon them over the decades. An old oil heater used for winter warmth sat in the middle of the room. There was no air conditioning in the summer, but somehow the store seemed always to be cool inside, even on the hottest days. It was not unusual to find Mrs. Thomas engaged in casual conversation with a neighborhood resident or two. There was never any hurry at the Thrifty Food Market, and it seems to me now as if time were standing still.

But, as we all know, time does not stand still. Time moves relentlessly forward as it rushes into unforgiving memory. After 35 years of service to the community, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas retired from shop keeping in 1972. Another neighborhood grocery subsequently occupied the space for a few years, but that too, is now long gone.

As I continued to meander around the art gallery the echo from my footsteps began to mingle with the chattering voices of the people in the room, and my mental images of the Thrifty Food Market faded into the works of art hanging before me on the walls. Or maybe it was just the wine talking to me, as I glanced down and saw that my glass was empty.

This is the front door of The Thrifty Food Market, now home to Rebus Works art gallery. The screen door, canvas awning, and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas are long gone.

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Located across Blount Street from the historic Richard B. Haywood house is a sprawling, 4-acre state government surface parking lot. I can tell you, though, one of Raleigh’s most exuberant and impressive 19th century structures once occupied this site. I am speaking of course, of the main building of the erstwhile Baptist Female University, now known as Meredith College. The four-story, many-gabled and turreted, solid brick Chatauesque, Queen Anne-styled building was designed by Raleigh’s enigmatic 19th century architect Adolphus Gustavus Bauer. After its completion in 1899, Meredith College occupied this site for the next quarter century. Over this time the College added 4-story Faircloth Hall, and annexed four adjacent residences to accommodate the growth of its student body. Even so, the 1899 main building itself continued to preside majestically over the 100 block of North Blount Street.

When Meredith relocated its campus to its current home on Hillsboro Street in 1926, the Blount St. building was sold and re-habbed as the Mansion Park Hotel. During the hotel’s 25 year occupancy the seven extant brick piers were erected at the driveway entrances. Following WWII the out-dated hotel fell out of favor with the travelling public and within five years it closed. In 1951 the state bought the property and used the aging behemoth as an office building until 1966. Sadly, it was demolished the following year.

I became enamored with the imposing brick edifice in the early 1960s when it was still being used as a state office building. By then the distinctive 2-story wrap-around porches had been stripped away, and the entire structure was covered in drab, state government white paint. Nontheless, the old Meredith Building still presented an awesome profile on North Blount Street. My family drove right by it every Sunday on our way to Christ Church, just a block away. After I entered junior high school at Hugh Morson, the city bus took me by there every day. It was about this time I began to refer to the old Meredith Building as “The Castle.”

During my years at Morson, a couple pals and I used to go downtown on Saturdays to explore and roam about — and I, of course, always had my trusty Kodak Instamatic camera in tow. My friends and I would go into and explore the grand homes that were being demolished on Blount St. at the time. My favorite exploration, though, was The Castle. We covered every inch of it from top to bottom. I vividly remember the long, wide hallways and the floor to ceiling windows. I also remember the place was totally trashed, as if the occupants had been forced to make a hasty departure. To me, the sight evoked the image of an elegant, WWII era European palace that had been ransacked by fleeing Nazis.

Nowadays, whenever I drive by that city block of asphalt, I think…why? Why did one of Raleigh’s most beguiling landmarks have to be so wantonly destroyed? In recent years I have located five photos of The Castle that I took prior to and during its demolition in 1967. Now I wish I had taken more.

And I still wonder to this day — what ever happened to all that brick!

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Holiday decorations on Fayetteville Street, Christmas 1965

A few nights ago John Morris and I visited Fayetteville St. and were bedazzled by the glittering Christmas lights lining the street. I reminisced with John about the annual Raleigh Christmas parade which was held at night back in the 1960s (rather than on Saturday morning as it is now). My family would all head downtown for that event, and while Mom went shopping, Dad took my brothers and me to watch the parade. We always staked out the corner at the Olivia Raney Library and Capitol Square. From that vantage point we could enjoy the parade as it made  its way up Hillsboro St., passed in front of the library before heading around the Square and then down Fayetteville St. Afterwards, we would walk down Fayetteville St. to meet up with Mom. I remember being awestruck by the shimmering spectacle of the thousands of colored Christmas lights.

I related to John how I attempted back in 1965 to photograph the view down Fayetteville St. of the Christmas decorations at night. I found, however, that to my dismay, trying to capture all the colored lights on film was beyond the scope of my Kodak Instamatic camera. Ultimately, the photograph ended up among the shuffle of the hundreds of photos I cranked out with my Instamatic back then. I only just recently ran across it again after all these years.

Holiday decorations on Fayetteville Street, Christmas 2008.

When I joined the Goodnight Raleigh team as a contributor about six months ago, I knew very little about digital photography, and even less about shooting photos at night. In order to bring me up to speed as far as taking photos for this blog, John has been instructing me in the craft of nighttime photography. So, the other night when we were on Fayetteville St., I set up my tripod and took this present-day shot, trying to replicate the viewpoint of my earlier attempt of more than 40 years ago. Not bad for a novice, but I think I have a few more lessons ahead of me, don’t you?

In the coming newyear be sure to look for future posts by Raleigh Boy on Goodnight Raleigh. I will be featuring, among other topics, the old Meredith College Building site, the demolition of Hugh Morson High School, moving the old State Bank building and my early years at Christ Church. All these posts will showcase my old black and white (and a few in color) Kodak photos of these sites, and will be accompanied by my 21st century nighttime recreations.

Happy Holidays, bloggers and fellow Raleighites!

The State Capitol at Christmas, 2008

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Not long ago I wrote about the Boylan wye, and described what remains of that former downtown train switchyard and industrial district. Its most prominent relic can be easily seen from the Boylan Ave bridge: a rusted cement hopper towering over the site. But virtually invisible to most observers today is the weed-choked and debris-strewn sunken area that is the footprint of the former Smith Coal and Oil Co. coal yard.

This is a view of a portion of the Boylan wye from the bridge in 1970. The concrete plant is on the left and the coal yard is just right of center, below the two box cars. The present-day photo at the top shows the tracks the boxcars were parked on in 1970. The remnants of the coal yard are just to the right of these tracks.

In the winter of 1972-73 I drove a delivery truck at the coal yard, which was then owned and operated by Mr. Norwood Smith. I had dropped out of college after my sophomore year and worked a series of blue-collar type jobs until I decided to return to school a few years later. I must say working in the coal yard was the most memorable experience of them all.

The coal yard was about 10-15 feet below track level and encompassed an area of probably several hundred square feet. It was located across Hargett St. from an abandoned ice plant, and a gravel driveway led down into the site. The office and weigh station were near the entrance gate. In the yard itself was a Civil War era brick structure where the trucks were parked and coal was bagged and stored. Jutting into the yard was the trestle of an overshot loading system. The trains would back a coal car in from the main track and position it above the bins located below the trestle. Coal was graded according to its intended use (e.g. stoves, fireplace or furnace, etc.) and the particular grade was released into the bin. From there it was shoveled onto delivery trucks or into 50 pound bags.

This is the ruin of the overshot coal loading trestle.

I made my deliveries in a 2-ton pickup, the bed of which was divided into three half-ton sections. Most often my shotgun was Leroy, a grizzled, one-eyed black man of about 60 or so. Some of the workers in the coal yard shied away from me, suspicious probably, of why a young white kid would want to engage in such gritty work. But for some reason Leroy liked me. As we drove around the city delivering coal, he would occasionally reminisce about what Raleigh was like when he was young. Sometimes while making deliveries we’d drop in on friends of his and stand around a radiant coal stove, taking swigs from a pint bottle of MD 20-20. But as a rule, Leroy didn’t talk much, so I was kind of surprised one day as we drove over the Boylan Ave. bridge when out of the blue he announced: “See over yonder,” motioning to the now demolished state penitentiary. “I done time there.” Before I could think, I blurted out “For what?” “Killed my wife; caught her in bed with another man.” I don’t know why Leroy chose to share that bit of information with me; but he never mentioned it again, and I sure wasn’t going to bring it up. I never did find out how he lost his eye.

This is a view of the state penitentiary as it appeared from the Boylan Ave. bridge in 1970. All the structures seen here are gone.

Another denizen of the coal yard was Jimmy. Tall and dignified, he wore black horn-rimmed glasses and was always smoking a pipe (which never seemed to be lit). Jimmy was the go-to man if anyone ever needed advice on anything. He also served as arbiter in any dispute that might arise among the other workers. Jimmy had worked for Mr. Smith for many years and by this time in his career he didn’t drive a truck anymore, and he didn’t shovel coal. Jimmy was just Jimmy — the stabilizing force in the yard. He would accompany me on service calls to the handful of customers who still heated their homes with coal furnaces. He was the stoker. Jimmy knew I wasn’t experienced enough to handle that job, so he would stoke the glowing fire pit and I would shovel in the coal. I admired and respected Jimmy, for by his example I learned the dignity of work.

Then there was Junior. He was a short wirey man, probably about 30 years old, and had worked in the coal yard since he was a teenager. Junior didn’t have a driver’s license, so his main job was shoveling. Jimmy also assigned him various tasks around the yard to keep him busy, as he was somewhat of a lay-about. Unfortunately, he was also a drinker, and it was not uncommon that he would reek of alcohol at nine o’clock in the morning. One time he showed up for work intoxicated and was causing a ruckus among the other workers. Mr. Smith came down into the yard and confronted him, whereupon Junior, swaying unsteadily back and forth, protested: “I ain’t drunk Mr. Smith!” He was sent home and told to sober up and come back to work. As far as I know, Mr. Smith never fired anyone.

I believe Mr. Smith had “married into” the coal business, but I was never quite sure. Before it became Smith Coal and Oil Co. in the mid-1950s, the company had operated for decades as Merritt Coal Co. The motto “coals and oils of merit” was emblazoned on all the company trucks. Mr. Smith was of the “old style” brand of Raleigh businessman: paternalistic, yet genuinely benevolent toward his employees. I know — for he helped me out of a jam or two during the time I worked for him. His son, who handled the fuel oil end of the business, was in his late-twenties. He had just recently been discharged from the army after a tour in Vietnam. He didn’t really associate with the coal workers and seemed to keep pretty much to himself. And I know for a fact he didn’t want to take over the coal business from his father.

I think Smith Coal and Oil went out of business 25 or more years ago. I really don’t know: It seemed to just sort of fade into oblivion. Nowadays when something sparks a memory of my stint at the coal yard I always think of Leroy, Jimmy, Junior and Mr. Smith and his son the Vietnam vet, and wonder what ever happened to them. And even though the old Boylan Ave bridge and the old state pen are long gone, whenever I drive across the bridge there now, I never fail to recall Leroy’s confession to me that day so long ago — And I and still wonder to this day how he lost that eye.

Once bustling with activity, this is how the coal yard looks today.

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The Relocation of Raleigh’s Merrimon-Wynne House

On Saturday movers will relocate the historic Merrimon-Wynne House to a site about two blocks from where it has rested for more than 130 years. This will be the largest structure in Raleigh to be moved since the 3-story, solid brick Raleigh and Gaston  (later, Seaboard) Railroad office building made a similar trip in 1976. (The Seaboard building was relocated to accommodate construction of the Halifax Mall — but that is another story.)

Although it had been awkwardly sitting up on blocks for the past few weeks, the boldly-ornamented Italianate villa still maintained a grand presence over the surrounding area. When it was originally built in the early 1870s the Merrimon House commanded the entire block and presented itself as a symbol of gracious Southern living. Even as Blount Street developed into a neighborhood of large, stylish Victorian homes during the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries, the Merrimon House continued to exert its elegant prominence.

The Merrimon-Wynne House as it appeared in1968, in its original setting under a canopy of magnificent oaks.

The Merrimon House will join two other historic Raleigh landmarks that were moved to Blount Street when the entire neighborhood between Wilmington and Salisbury was cleared for the state government Mall (Again, — another story!) These are the antebellum Lewis-Smith House (ca 1855) and the fanciful Queen Anne-styled Capehart House (1898). At their original sites, the Lewis-Smith House and Merrimon House faced each other across Wilmington Street, and the Capehart House was just up the block. There is a certain irony here, for after more than 30 years of separation, these three architectural jewels will once again be neighbors. I just hope the magnificent oaks that remain in the Merrimon House yard can be preserved, as they certainly can’t be moved, too!

The Lewis-Smith House, being moved to Blount Street in 1974.

A view of the Merrimon House, across the street from the just-moved Lewis-Smith House. You can see the remains of its stone foundation in the foreground.

The Capehart House at its original location on Wilmington Street. This view is from about 1972.

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This is how Ravenscroft School looked in 1972, right after the seniors complex was built. It had remained virtually unchanged since my days there in the 1950s. The buildings were converted to office use shortly after this photo was taken. Below is the view today.

Last week I attended the Blogger Bash hosted by Ginny Skalski and Wayne Sutton at the Edge Office over on Glenwood Avenue. Afterwards, John Morris and I stopped in at a nondescript bar on Tucker Street around the corner from Solas. As we were sitting on the outdoor deck sipping our brew, engaged in heady conversation, John asked me if I remembered Glenwood South when it was primarily a commercial and industrial area. (He relocated to Raleigh just four years ago, so he knows the area only as the entertainment district it has become in recent years.)

Well! It just so happened that the deck we were sitting on is across the street from what is now Glenwood Towers, a subsidized housing complex for seniors. I pointed to the old stone buildings adjacent to the high-rise, which serve as offices for the Raleigh Housing Authority. That, I said, is where I went to kindergarten in 1956-57, when it was the Ravenscroft (Episcopal) School. At that time the school occupied the entire block. The two-story stone classroom building adjoined the stone church, where we kindergartners attended daily chapel. The headmaster lived with his family in the stone house next door. On the Johnson Street side an open creek ran the whole length of the block. A WW II-era Quonset hut on the grounds served as the 6th-grade classroom. And the sprawling playground was where the high-rise itself now stands. With its tubular-steel jungle gym, swing set and see-saws, ball field and “merry-go-round,” this playground was a 5-year-old’s fantasy land!

As I recall, that end of Glenwood Avenue was still all residential in the ’50s— except for the Pine State Creamery across the street. I was beguiled by that building back then, with its tall, yellow-brick corner tower lording over our playground. Seems like my class got a tour there once, and we were even treated to a sampling of ice cream. The low-lying area between the Norfolk Southern train trestle and the Seaboard tracks to the east was all houses. That part of town was known as Smokey Hollow. Back then it was a blue-collar neighborhood whose residents worked primarily for the railroad and other industrial businesses in the vicinity. Sometimes, when my Dad picked me up from school we would drive through there on our way home. I recall vividly the pall of smoke hanging over the place in the wintertime. Raleigh’s minor league baseball park, Devereaux Meadow, was located across Peace Street from Smokey Hollow. That venerable sports facility was demolished in 1979, and the city’s sanitation department occupies the site today.

Just beyond the Norfolk Southern trestle in this shot is where Smokey Hollow used to be located.

During the mid-1950s, Glenwood Ave. from Tucker south to Hillsboro Street, had begun transitioning from residential to commercial. Businesses such as auto garages, tire shops, upholsterers, plumbers and typewriter and TV repair shops occupied the storefronts along the street.

By the early 1970s the transformation was virtually complete, although a handful of houses and apartment buildings intermingled among the small businesses. At that time I was working as an awning technician and picture framer at Clark Art Shop, located at the corner of Lane Street, which dead ends at the tracks. During my lunch break I would often walk down the block to the Milk ‘n More Store for a pint of chocolate milk and maybe a pack of Nabs or a Honey Bun. The Milk ‘n More was sort of an outlet store for Pine State Creamery across the street. The TexMex restaurant on the corner occupies that store building now.

I can hardly visualize those days now, what with all the traffic and entertainment activity going on there, and with high-rise condos and apartment buildings sprouting literally on every block. A major entertainment hub now occupies the old Pine State building. Clark Art is still in business, though I think they no longer make awnings. And across from the no-name bar on Tucker St. is the Ravenscroft playground, where, in my memory anyway, a 5-year old Raleigh Boy still plays to his heart’s content.

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