There was good reason for concern: eleven-hundred Union soldiers from the Eleventh Pennsylvania Cavalry raced towards them to destroy the bridge they were defending. Within moments the sharp crack of musketry and Spencer carbines filled the air. Realizing they were outnumbered, the Forty-fourth did what Americans do when the odds are stacked against them: they stood their ground.
As “minie ball” and rifled bullets pierced the hot June air, the Forty-fourth fought steadily and with great conviction, returning fire for over an hour against repeated Union assaults; holding the bridge until the cartridges in their haversacks ran dry. Entirely surrounded, the company was captured to become prisoners-of-war. The bridge, so valiantly fought and died for, fell victim to Union torches from above and below, and collapsed burning into the South Anna. Today no record or edifice remains of the sacrifice made against such overwhelming odds.
I am a native of Winston-Salem, and from an early age enjoyed the foresight made by city leaders who considered historic preservation a priority. My playgrounds were incredible: summers spent exploring Reynolda Gardens on my bicycle, attending “Music at Sunset” concerts at the Graylyn Estate, visiting Old Salem as a first-grader; and savoring the sights and smells of Christmas “Candle Tea.” Although just a boy, I keenly felt a sense of belonging — proud to know I could tangibly point to a building or location and say: “I’m from HERE.” A sense of ownership permeated every experience.
Does the Hugh Chatham Bridge warrant saving? How prepared are you to fight for her? Forty years ago children across this great state saved their pennies to bring a proud “Showboat” home to Wilmington. The battleship U.S.S. North Carolina now links my children to their late great-grandfather Goley Marlette of High Point in a very tangible way. As a naval ordinance technician stationed at Pearl Harbor, he repaired many of the 40 mm anti-aircraft guns bristling across her decks. I have an old Kodachrome photograph of me as a little boy standing with granddaddy next to one of the guns he worked upon. Granddaddy has passed on, but soon I will take my five-year old son and daughter to this very gun and show them the photo of granddaddy and me.
Many years ago I visited Columbia, S.C. As a youngster I grew up listening to my mother describe in vivid detail many historic places she had visited. During my visit it puzzled me to find so few historic homes within the city. I called her on the telephone to ask why this was so. I will never forget her amused reply: “Darling, General Sherman burned them all down.”
Do you remember the Pavilion at Myrtle Beach, S.C.? Generations of us spent lazy summer evenings there riding the rides, playing games in the arcade, dancing the shag; wrapped within a warm Atlantic breeze. A dripping ice-cream cone in hand, you pushed a stroller through the throng as your children soundly slept. It’s all gone now. Bulldozed to “make room” for a few high-dollar condos most likely owned by Yankee investors up north. The opportunity to share these simple joys with my children is now forever lost.
Or consider the Ocean Forest Hotel. Another priceless jewel of Myrtle Beach history demolished for the sake of “progress.” As a boy I remember it being grandly illuminated at night and visible for miles. This priceless example of early 20th century architecture reduced to rubble; replaced by that scourge of contemporary modern life: the condominium. It was bad enough having General Sherman burn his way to the sea. Myrtle Beach now inflicts these wounds upon herself.
One of the joys my wife and I savor when visiting Elkin is dining at Twenty-One & Main Restaurant. Formerly the Elevator Café, the property has changed owners over the years. Many of you may remember it as a hardware store. Aside from the superb cuisine, what makes the dining experience there so enjoyable is being able to sit in a historic building. The squeak of hardwood floors welcomes you as you walk to your table. The large antique elevator is impossible to ignore. Delighted by this brief gift of time travel, you sample local vintage and ponder your dinner selection. Imagine the joy of taking an after dinner stroll along the lighted bridge to cap off the evening.
Just a bridge? A derelict? An eyesore? Perhaps. But the memories she creates are yours forever; linking generations through time. Before you condemn her to a watery Yadkin grave, at the very least explore ways to repair or rebuild her as a pedestrian bridge. Of course it is impossible to live in the past and time does move on. But some things are worth saving. You’ll miss her once she’s gone. Quit uttering the words “we can’t.” The fine folks of Elkin and Jonesville deserve a chance to explore their options regarding her preservation. We’re a nation of explorers aren’t we? A great achieving soul will not clog itself with a cowardly thought or a cowardly watchword. “Impossible,” Napoleon is quoted as saying, “is a word found only in the dictionary of fools.”
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