photo by Ian F.G. Dunn

“The Raleigh Building, the Raleigh Building, that’s all he talks about.” My mother rolled her eyes as she lamented my father’s closing moments. She was right: until he bid his final good night to Raleigh, Bob Wollman was synonymous with the Raleigh Building. It was his dominion, just as it had been his father’s. From leaseholder to secretary, everyone in that building could count on him to cater to their needs and provide for their comfort in every season.

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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 »