Wandering Billy

Wandering Billy

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November 2026

Rising from the Ashes

Forty years after devastation, Davie Street sweeps away the dust

By Billy Ingram

Feature photograph: Photo of buildings destroyed in the Davie Street fire captured by Keith Kolischack in 1976

 

“Anything you lose comes round in another form.” — Rumi

April 13, 1985. The call came into the Greensboro Fire Department around 10:53 p.m., reporting white smoke wisping from Dixie Belle Textile’s storage facility at 321 S. Davie St. Two minutes later, Engine 4’s crew, led by Captain Bob Bost, roared up on a scene where bellowing, black plumes were now pouring out of two adjacent 85-year-old wooden behemoths. Less than half an hour later, fueled by the mother of all backdrafts, overwhelmed firefighters were driven into defensive positions against a blaze so overwhelming orders were given that, should any storefront on South Elm catch fire, battalions were to fall back to the Carolina Theatre. There, they should hold the line, allowing everything to the east to burn unabated.

When morning broke, ashes still smoldering, Gate City residents peeled away rubber bands encircling the Sunday edition of the newspaper and were confronted with horrific headlines about a catastrophic event downtown. Excepting four storefronts and significant portions of Greensborough Court apartments, then under construction, Davie Street’s business district was obliterated. Two blocks of two- and three-story warehouses and commercial establishments dating back to 1900 on both sides of the boulevard — the primary focus of our city’s multimillion dollar urban renewal effort that was nearing completion — all went up in smoke due to a besotted squatter’s neglected cigarette.

Four decades after disaster, Davie Street is lit up again, ignited with entrepreneurial energy no less incandescent. A creative contagion is coalescing around literature, fine art, sassy stitch-ups, speeding steel balls and four-color fun.

Situated in the building next door to where that 1985 blaze broke out, our journey begins at Strange Ways Comics & More. Proprietor Ben (Never Grimm) Roberts’ pop-culture space-time continuum orbits outside the established parameters most associated with typical comic book shops. For one thing, he says, “We have a video store with VHS tapes and VCRs for sale. We can’t keep them in stock, but people are nostalgic for it.” For youngsters coming of age in the 2000s, he notes, “Everything was digital, so the new thing for them is physical media. They have a lot of respect for it.” The latest fad is owning books, CDs and DVDs? Ahead of the curve, we was!

College students, in particular these days, are gravitating toward graphic novels, which Roberts stocks a-plenty, but his racks are stacked with traditional comic books, natch. “Right now Absolute Batman is the highest selling. That’s brought in so many people who have never read comics before, so it’s been fun to show them other things.” Anything other than Marvel or DC is categorized by genre rather than by publisher. “So if you’re looking at Ed Brubaker, it’s next to other [indie] crime books.” Those irrational intersecting indecencies compounding the comical conundrums that comprise Brubaker’s twisted storylines serve as a mystifying deep dive into the world of adult graphic novels. Great stuff!

A gallery wall showcases local illustrators, while one entire room is ringed in retro pinball machines — “Labyrinth,” “Jurassic Park,” “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” “Metallica,” “High-Speed,” “Cactus Jack’s,” “Friday the 13th.” No admission to play, just quarters for the slots. Pinball tournaments flip out here on Fridays.

Bathed in Old World decor next door is Unfettered Books, newest edition — er, addition — on the block, launched last June by GTCC English professor Brian Barbour and wife Lisa Yeager, both reminiscent of those indie booksellers in Greensboro whose discernment nourished my insatiable need to read growing up. There’s a resolute lean here into sci-fi, horror, fantasy and the sexy romantasy sub-genre, where forbidden love (fiction’s favored flavor) flourishes amongst fornicating maidens, gregarious gods and discontented dragons.

Tucked into Unfettered’s cozy coffee lounge, where, apparently, “everyone loves the honey whip latte,” a fanciful selection of kiddie lit awaits little readers. Plus, Yeager points out, “an indigenous children’s section and indigenous nonfiction literature, poetry, new fiction and indigenous horror as well.” Various book clubs, including Unfettered’s own, commune over caffeinated beverages and conduct meetings here.

Kaleidoscopic hanks of handwoven yarn strung across one wall weave people together during Friday evening St*tch and B*tch sessions, an unravelling lasting well after the shop closes. “We usually keep chatting until 9 or 10,” says Yeager, “we have a good time.” Internationally acclaimed singer-songwriter Colin Cutler performed a Folk Fest pre-party in the cafe as did children’s entertainer Sam Hensley. Additional bookings forthcoming, I’m told.

Meticulously reimagined and refashioned in The Farmer’s Wife Antiques’ former longtime hearth emerges PROXY. The avant-art gallery, interspersed with curated collections of unconventional lifestyle accoutrement, is orchestrated by Michael Clapp, locally established architectural romanticist profiled in the March 2019 issue of O.Henry.

Clapp walked me through the concept. “PROXY sort of evolved into this space for housing creation of all types. We do a lot of programming, smaller gatherings. We’ve done film screenings, hosted music artists for First Fridays and have a salon discussion series,” he says. “It’s been really amazing to see the reception that we’ve had.” His wife, Méric Ozgen, is also an architect and artist. “She leads the curatorial aspect of the exhibitions.” Together, they’ve been imprinting their singular architectural style for clients through Schemata Studio, a design practice specializing in adaptive reuse that reflects a harmonious, almost futuristic rusticity.

Clapp’s striking monochromatic, metropolitan deconstructions are on display at PROXY’s current instillation entitled Burn, running through mid-November. Its amorphous motif is that electric esprit one experiences when fully enmeshed in the creative process. He’s inexorably drawn to Matthew Steele’s kinetic wooden compositions that “utilize micropins to construct these very geologic sculptural pieces.” Plus, Clapp is fascinated by the juxtaposition of realism and abstract in Ivan Toth Depeña’s paintings, “the main artist that we were familiar with and wanted to have in this show. You’ll see in a lot of his pieces, he actually includes these little artifacts from the places that he’s depicting.”

Punctuating the surroundings are islands Clapp refers to as “exhibition retail, a way to share some of these little-known companies and products.” Warmly austere B+P lighting fixtures, Danish hardware accents for furniture, eye-catching art books and sleek Swiss mechanical pencils caught my eye.

Circumscribing the block is Davie’s Goliath, largest of the properties, with no imminent expectation of renovation although possibilities abound. Something cinematic perhaps? Clapp, who serves on the board of the Arts Council of Greater Greensboro, envisions this scrappy, compact chorus coursing with creativity as “an extension of the creative corridor that we feel runs all the way up to the Cultural Arts Center.”

One upside of sacrificing those scorched storefronts on Davie back in 1985? A preponderance of parking spaces occupy the empty lots left in their wake.  OH

Billy Ingram has a YouTube channel with loads of local history & mysteries at: YouTube.com/billyingram.

Birdwatch

Birdwatch

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November 2026

A Familiar Call

Northern bobwhite on the rebound

By Susan Campbell

For some of those fortunate enough to live in open piney woods or adjacent to large farm fields, the whistled call of the bobwhite quail may be a familiar sound. As with so many of our bird species, this once prolific songster has diminished across the Piedmont and Sandhills of North Carolina.

Bobwhites measure between 8 and 11 inches beak to tail and have very cryptic brown, black and white markings, which make them very difficult to see in the grassy habitats they call home. The male has a bright white eye stripe and throat and is the one who announces his territory through a repeated “bob-white” call. The female is not only smaller but is drabber with an eye stripe and throat that are a buffy color. This stout bird is well adapted to foraging at ground level for insects, berries and soft vegetation with its short sharp bill, strong legs and feet with sharp claws.

Bobwhite males attract a mate using their loud repetitive calls in the spring. The female will reply with a four-syllable whistle of its own. Following breeding, the pair create a domed nest concealed in tall grasses, and the hen lays up to 20 pure white eggs. There is a period of approximately 25 days of incubation before the young hatch.

Hens will renest if the eggs are eaten or destroyed. Upon hatching, the chicks will immediately follow their parents, learning how to hunt bugs and which shoots are the most nutritious. As a group they are referred to as a covey. They will stay together through the winter and may join with other families to form coveys of 30 or more birds. When alarmed at an early age, the young will scatter and freeze to avoid predators. Once they can fly, they will take to the air in a blur of wings if they are startled by a potential predator.

Quail were a very popular game bird throughout North Carolina until the 1980s, when a decline in their numbers made them much harder to find. A combination of factors is believed to be responsible. Not only have open woodlands and agricultural fields with hedgerows become scarcer, but ground predators such as foxes, coyotes, raccoons and free-roaming cats have increased. Also, the timing of rainfall can significantly affect breeding productivity. Too much rain too early may inundate nests and result in abandonment. Dry conditions just after chicks hatch may result in insufficient food.

Currently, quail season runs from late November through early April. Hunters may well find coveys in the forests and fields of state game lands. They also can be found on Fish and Wildlife Service refuge lands in the coastal plain. The vast acreage of longleaf pine on Fort Bragg supports quail as well. It requires a well-trained bird dog and a good deal of patience.

Active quail management in parts of the Piedmont and Sandhills over the past couple of decades has paid off with a gradual increase in the northern bobwhite population. Opening up forested habitat, using prescribed burning as well as replanting undesirable vegetation with quality cover plants are two of the best strategies to help boost the population. If the trend continues, before much longer the whistled call of the bobwhite will be more frequent.  OH

Susan Campbell would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos. She can be contacted by email at susan@ncaves.com.

In Good Taste

In Good Taste

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November 2026

A Toast to Savoring the Season

Skip the Black Friday shopping and soak up a slow morning with this spicy-sweet French toast

Story and Photograph by Jasmine Comer

Pumpkin spice can be a polarizing topic — but, then again, so is the great breakfast debate: pancakes, waffles or French toast? Most people have a preference. Me? I’ll take pancakes, and when it comes to pumpkin spice, I like a gentle whisper over a full-blown blast of fall flavor. So it may seem surprising that this recipe brings together two things I would normally pass over: pumpkin spice and French toast. But thick, buttery brioche soaked in a silky pumpkin custard changed my mind. Golden at the edges, soft and creamy in the center, and finished with, you’d never guess it, bright, tangy raspberries. This French toast strikes a delicious balance — warmly spiced, not overpowering, and worthy of a slow, post-Thanksgiving brunch.

One thing I discovered while perfecting this recipe is that there’s a fine line between custardy and soggy — and French toast can cross it quickly. The secret here is a two-step cooking method: first, just after soaking in custard, the brioche is browned in a skillet to create crisp, caramelized edges; then, it finishes in the oven for a few minutes so the center can gently set. The result is French toast with a luscious, melt-in-your-mouth texture that holds its own, even under a generous pour of maple syrup. Its flavor comes from a rich pumpkin butter made from scratch and seasoned with just the right amount of pumpkin pie spice — enough to taste like fall without overwhelming every bite.

If you are not really a French toast person, this recipe might change your mind. It definitely changed mine.  OH

Pumpkin Butter French Toast

Makes 6 thick slices

Ingredients

4 large eggs

3/4 cup whole milk

1/2 cup heavy cream

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 cup cooled, homemade pumpkin butter (recipe below)

6 thick slices brioche, about 1 1/2 inches thick

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, for cooking

Raspberries, optional

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

In a large bowl, whisk the eggs until completely smooth. Whisk in the milk, heavy cream, vanilla and salt. Add the pumpkin butter from the recipe below and whisk until the custard is smooth and evenly combined.

Pour the custard into a shallow baking dish. Add the brioche and soak for about 1 minute per side.

Melt butter in a large skillet over medium to low-medium heat heat. Add the soaked brioche and cook for 3 to 4 minutes per side, or until deeply golden with lightly caramelized edges.

Transfer the French toast to a baking sheet and bake for 7–10 minutes or until the centers are set but remain soft and custardy.

Serve warm with maple syrup and fresh raspberries.

Note: What you want to put on your French toast is another controversial subject. Definitely try the raspberries with maple syrup. If you’re one of those who can’t get enough pumpkin this time of year, adding some of the leftover pumpkin butter is worth a try. Or just dot it with raspberries and dust it lightly with confectionary sugar.

Pumpkin Butter

Ingredients

1 15-ounce can pumpkin purée

1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar

1/4 cup pure maple syrup

1/4 cup water, plus more as needed

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 teaspoons McCormick pumpkin pie spice

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

Combine the pumpkin purée, brown sugar, maple syrup, water, butter, pumpkin pie spice and salt in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Allow the butter to melt completely, stirring occasionally.

Reduce the heat to low-medium and cook for 20–25 minutes, stirring frequently, until the pumpkin butter is darkened, glossy and thick enough to coat the back of a spoon. If it becomes too thick, stir in additional water, 1 tablespoon at a time.

Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla. Set aside to cool completely. Reserve 1/2 cup for the French toast custard. Refrigerate the remaining pumpkin butter in an airtight container and store up to two weeks.

O.Henry Ending

O.Henry Ending

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November 2026

Faux Money, Mo’ Problems

A case of innocent mistakes

By David Bailey

Illustration by Harry Blair

“Don’t get arrested,” I would teasingly tell my daughters as I handed them the keys to the family car. And now here I was, 25 years later, imagining whether I might use my only call to my wife, Anne, or to my lawyer.

It was in the sixth grade that I began worrying about one day being thrown in jail. That’s when our class was taken to Central Prison in Raleigh, where the the tattooed arms of inmates extended from behind bars like tentacles as catcalls echoed down the bleak and narrow corridor. I almost peed my pants when I realized we were actually being taken on a tour of the gas chamber. These memories were among the thoughts of this law-abiding citizen after I heard these words over the phone: “Mr. Bailey, we need you to come by our office right now.”

There was no doubt in my or Anne’s mind that I had broken the law and might hear the click of handcuffs within the hour. “Go ahead, face the music,” Anne told me.

I never meant to pay for the four tires with “funny money.” Now, the clerk, who wouldn’t take my credit card number over the phone, was saying, “We need to take care of this right now — here.”

It all began as a simple prank. My hiking buddy, Randall, gave me a stack of crisp faux $100 bills his wife bought from Amazon. They looked like the genuine article, real enough that I fooled several friends with them, handing over 10 and saying, “Here’s the thousand dollars I owe you for that bet we made.” Bets are often something we make on the trail when we have a strong difference of opinion and a weak internet signal. For instance, after one hike, I sang Johnny Nash’s famous line, “I can see clearly now the rain is gone” instead of “I can see clearly now Lorraine is gone,” which is what Randall thought it was. “I bet you a bottle of bourbon” indicates that it’s a real challenge, payable without fail on the next hike. “I bet you $1,000” or $500 is a sure sign that the bettor is a bit unsure of his memory, but is relatively certain the other person is dead wrong. All of this to explain how an envelope of five $100 bills, admittedly marked in small letters “For Stage Use Only,” ended up buried under the piles of paper that wind up on our kitchen counter. 

Anne had unearthed the funny money and unwittingly put it in the same drawer where we keep spare cash. The next day when I went to buy four new tires, I took the five bills with me since the tire shop charged a premium for using credit cards.

I paid with what I honestly-to-goodness thought was cash, rolling away on brand-new rubber. But now, as I pulled back into the lot on as-good-as-stolen tires, my clammy palms turning the wheel into a space, I scanned the parking lot for a police cruiser. Or worse, a Secret Service agent.

The clerk from yesterday had the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear as he was typing something into his computer, but gave me a knowing nod. Sweat rolled down my back as he finished the call and turned to me with a big smile. I began my long explanation of why I had given him “counterfeit” money but he waved my explanation off as as I peeled off four real bills.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I bet the mechanics really gave you a hard time.” Again, he brushed off what had been my third apology.

“Look, it’s no big deal,” he said.

Easy for him to say.   OH

Obviously Scots Irish with a name like Bailey, David does, in fact, buy tires costing less than one hundred dollars each.

Sazerac November 2026

Sazerac

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November 2026

Sazerac November 2026

INDIE SCENE

Since its founding, the University of North Carolina School of the Arts has been a launching pad for remarkable creative talent including seven-time Primetime Emmy-nominated cinematographer Chris Ellison. Ellison’s career in film was hardly a straight line. It had a few detours, a few odd jobs, then, eventually, a whole lot of jungle. Born and raised in North Carolina, Ellison moved from Raleigh to Rocky Mount after graduating from Rocky Mount Senior High School, eventually landing in Winston-Salem in 2006. His reason for moving? Music. Ellison was playing in a band, Sunset Greets the Moon, and soon found himself immersed in Winston-Salem’s arts scene. Apparently, one creative pursuit was not enough.

A few years after settling in Winston-Salem, Ellison toyed with graphic design. “I never really decided to do that. It was something that just happened to me,” he says. Eventually, all those creative side quests pointed him toward filmmaking. In 2015, Ellison enrolled at UNCSA, earning a dual degree in cinematography and creative producing. It was a major change, but one that arrived at exactly the right time. “I was at a point where I wanted to make some changes about my future and it all just lined up.”

After graduating, Ellison did what countless aspiring filmmakers have done before him: He headed west. “I packed up my station wagon and drove to Los Angeles,” he says — with his heading into the setting sun, a fitting and dramatic cinematic gesture. From there, Ellison worked his way up from assistant camera operator on sets to cinematographer on some of television’s most recognizable adventure programs, including The Amazing Race and Survivor. His work has earned multiple Primetime Emmy nominations, including two for outstanding cinematography for a reality program. He has also survived 12 seasons of Survivor, which means he has arguably spent enough time in the jungle to qualify as local wildlife. “I never really traveled much growing up, so this side of the industry has opened up another world that I never really got to see,” Ellison says. His filmmaking career expands beyond television screens. He directed and shot his own short film, Peach Bottom, proving that even after working on massive productions, there is still something satisfying about making personal projects. “It was a fun little exercise to just make something for myself,” he says.

From band practice in Winston-Salem to Emmy-nominated cinematography, Ellison’s story is a reminder that creative careers do not always follow a map. Sometimes, you just go in different directions and see where the road takes you.

 — Joi Floyd

JOI DE VIVRE

Chef Joi-yardee: Dad is a man of many hats: a barber, Bigfoot conspiracy theorist and father to amazing children (myself included, obviously). But it’s his chef’s hat that stands proudest. Known for his delicious recipes, he honed his skills through family recipes and good old-fashioned trial and error. I know what you’re thinking: Joi, you must be an amazing cook as well. Well, I’d be a liar if I let you believe that — and my mother taught me better than to fib. I have been known to burn hot dogs, for goodness’ sake — you can’t be great at everything. That isn’t to say my dad didn’t try to teach me the brass tacks of cooking. He did, but it must have gone in one ear and out the other because, unfortunately, I retained very little of that information. I remember the many hours I would spend in the kitchen with my dad, whipping up dinner while my siblings sat at the kitchen table, praying for an edible meal. I even went as far as saying I wanted to be a chef in my younger years — let’s just say that dream is on the back burner, never to be revived. At the beginning of 2026, one of my New Year’s resolutions was to finally put my apartment kitchen to work. So, unfortunately for my roommates, I stuck to my goal this year. Starting from the bottom with different ramen recipes, I proudly report that I am able to make a full-blown spaghetti-and-garlic-bread dinner — a win in my cookbook. I’m far from the best, but I’m getting better, dish by dish. Could I be the next Gordon Ramsay? The haters, and maybe my roommates, will say no, but my stomach is satisfied. Though I’ve made good progress so far, I think I’ll  refrain from troubling my family with any more experimental recipes — at least for this year. So as Thanksgiving marches in and the rest of the family prepares the feast, I’ll be sure to take my table-setting duty very seriously.

— Joi Floyd

ART TO HEART

“We as humans heal better when we’re in sacred spaces,” says Felicia Reed, a recognized fiber artist who travels the globe with a mission to bring people together through art and shared experiences. For Reed, art has the power to do more than simply inspire — it can help us heal and understand one another. She believes creative expression can create space for connection, conversation and transformation.

Her latest exhibition, PEACE, aims to create a sanctuary for community and unity. Through a thoughtfully curated collection of her own pieces plus juried artwork, Reed hopes to amplify a diverse range of voices while creating a sense of belonging for artists ranging from emerging to established. “I try to create exhibits that remove barriers, break glass ceilings and provide a place where everyone can be included and recognized,” Reed says.

“Art mediums can bring people together,” she says, “where biases can be removed, expressions can be provided, dialogue can be opened, inspiration can be received and understanding can come visually.” Through this kind of artistic transformation, Reed hopes to move humanity one step closer to unity, gathering people together in the sacred space she’s created with PEACE. Art invites us to pause, see the world through another person’s eyes, and discover something new in the process. As French artist Edgar Degas famously said, “Art is not what you see but what you make others see.”

Reed’s PEACE exhibit will be on view in the Central Gallery of Revolution Mill through Jan. 2, 2027. Come expecting meaningful dialogue and leave with a renewed appreciation for the power of art. Info: eventbrite.com/e/peace-art-exhibit-opening-reception-and-networking-tickets-1992674068781.

UNSOLICITED ADVICE

Change is inevitable, everyone and everything must evolve — except when it comes to Thanksgiving favorites. Altering the mashed potatoes or watergate salad is fine, but when it comes to the classics, let’s refrain from any modifications. There is no greater horror for us than sitting down to a plate of creamed-spinach casserole — don’t mess with Great-Grandma’s classic green bean casserole. But gone are the days where turkey shines brightest. Side dishes and desserts are the real stars, so we need to make sure they are decadent and exact each time. We’ve arranged a list of Thanksgiving eats that will definitely cause some family discourse if you happen to meddle with its secret formula.

You can experiment with a lot of different foods, but macaroni and cheese ain’t one of them. Health-conscious troopers look forward to reveling in its richness just this once, so, no, Aunt Sally, we don’t want to try your new veggie-style, dairy-free, gluten-free mac and cheese. Gooey and creamy is the only way to whip it up.

Chopped, glazed then baked, candied yams are an underrated sweet staple to our annual savory feast. There’s nothing like the sugary, sticky syrup from the yams inching its way into the aforementioned macaroni piled on your plate. We couldn’t imagine a feast without them.

A pumpkin pie slice and everything nice is a great way to end the seemingly endless feast. Passed down from generation to generation, it’s a dish not to be tampered with — Great-Great-Great-Grandmother says so.

P.S. Take all of this advice lightly. We just want you to make the best of this day full of gratitude and rejoicing without unnecessary food drama. As always, remember, Thanksgiving isn’t about what you take but about what you give. Spending time with friends and family? That’s the real main dish.

Window on the Past

Photograph Courtesy of Irving Park Art & Frame

Curated by Phillip Humphrey Musselwhite, this shadowbox is more than a collection of keepsakes — it’s a life story, carefully laid out and framed by Irving Park Art & Frame. Honoring his late father, James Earl Musselwhite, the piece brings together handwritten letters, military medals, rank patches and memorabilia from his formative years during World War II. Each artifact offers a glimpse into the man behind the memories, preserving not only where he served, but the lasting impression he left on the people around him.

Simple Life

Simple Life

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November 2026

Something Old, Something to Renew

Third Time Was the Charm

By Jim Dodson

Illustration by Gerry O’Neill

Not long ago, with family and close friends in attendance, my wife, Wendy, and I celebrated 25 years of marriage by renewing our wedding vows in our garden.

Our original wedding took place in late June 2001, but we decided a day this past September was more appropriate for renewing our vows because ours was an autumn romance that led to a summer wedding three years later. As I noted back in July, the way we met and fell in love was something out of a madcap romantic comedy.

Briefly, it involved three blind dates during a major October fundraiser weekend where I was the featured speaker, two of which were comic dating disasters followed by a third that transformed my life in the most unexpected and wonderful way.

Her name was Wendy Anne Buynak, a gifted baker and beautiful mother of two small boys who was in the process of divorcing her husband. After a quiet afternoon first date to a local park, we decided to take our budding romance out of town and motored along New York’s beautiful Cayuga Lake on a beautiful November morning and lunched at a winery, where we met a minibus full of five young, married couples who invited us to join them on a tour of the Finger Lakes wine country.

On a lark, trailing their bus, we joined them for three wineries in a row. At each stop, the couples toasted us and demanded to know more about our romance and my intentions. 

“I have a great idea! You guys should get married today,” one of the young wives blurted out, prompting cheers from her tipsy companions. “We’ll even find a minister!”

We politely demurred, pointing out that we had a dinner reservation at a legendary  restaurant in Ithaca, but thanked them and wished them well. Also, a safe journey home.

On the way to the restaurant, we passed an old-fashioned roadhouse called Glenwood Pines, set charmingly in the woods above the lake, and decided to stop for a cold longneck beer. We had such fun talking to the owners and playing shuffleboard bowling that we decided to skip the restaurant in favor of a cozy Glenwood Pines supper for two. At one point, Wendy wiped away a tear and I asked her if all was well. “I’ve never felt so happy,” she simply replied.

A full harvest moon was shining and the owners told us about a great spot by the lake in Ithaca where they courted once upon a time. An hour or so later, we were doing what couples in love do by a beautiful lake under a full moon when a cop tapped gently on our steamed-up window with a flashlight.

“Are you OK, ma’am?” he politely asked Wendy.

“I’m fine, officer,” she replied. “We’re just talking about our children and what a lovely November day it’s been.”

“She’s in danger of being proposed to very soon,” I chipped in.

“In that case,” he said with a smile, “you folks have a nice evening — and great life together.”

A few weeks later, we met once again at a historic inn in Williamstown, Massachusetts, for our official third date. I read Wendy a poem I’d written inspired by our wonderful day in wine country.

•

Three years later, on what would have been my parents’ 58th wedding anniversary, we got married on a rainy June afternoon in Maine, only Wendy’s parents, my widowed mom and two dear friends from Georgia in attendance, Susie and Rick Berta. Susie, who sang with a famous Atlanta chorale, did a beautiful version of John Lennon’s  “Grow Old with Me,” with its perfect lyric: Grow old along with me. The best is yet to be.

We postponed our reception until early September 2001 — a lobster roast under the stars with an Irish fiddle band for 100 friends and family who were coming from everywhere.

I was buying flowers for the party that clear, blue Tuesday morning, however, when the World Trade Center’s towers fell and America stood still in grief and disbelief. Since air travel was cancelled nationwide, we cancelled our lobster roast. Besides, the American Red Cross had reserved a thousand lobsters for a major fundraiser in New York. All the available local lobsters were spoken for.

Two days later, however, something wonderful happened. Susie and Rick phoned to say they planned to drive all the way to Maine, wanting just to be with us at such a sad time for America. Their call opened a cosmic floodgate. The phone never stopped ringing with friends far and wide who wanted to do the same, including the lobster guy, who called to say the Red Cross fundraiser was postponed and he had several hundred lobsters on his hands that were already paid for. We could get them for a dollar apiece.

The lobster bake was suddenly back on.

Locals in town who’d planned to go away for the week also called to ask if they might come and bring friends and children. Naturally, we said yes.

Instead of 100 guests, we had almost 200, including kids and dogs. Wendy’s amazing wedding cake vanished before I could even get a taste. Because none of our guests except Rick and Susie had been at our wedding, we did a brief repeat of our wedding vows plus a blessing  for the victims and families of 9/11. The music, the dancing and the tears went on until midnight.

•

This past September, as our grown children, new granddaughter, and a dozen or so close friends gathered in our front garden on a balmy evening, I marveled how quickly time had passed. Susie was there despite having suddenly lost Rick last January after 46 years of a extraordinary marriage. When I told her she wouldn’t have to sing “Grow Old with Me,” she laughed and said, “I’m not sure I could!” Her simple presence was the perfect gift.

I surprised my bride of Irish heritage with a small, gold necklace featuring the Celtic symbol of eternity, and she surprised me by appearing in a gorgeous new wedding dress — an upgrade from the one that was ruined in the rain at our first wedding ceremony.

Before Rev. Ginny Inman conducted her short but beautiful renewal of our vows, I told our gathered friends about our first three dates 26 years ago and read the poem I proposed with. They seemed to dig it.

Maybe the third time really is the charm. This time, I finally got to taste Wendy’s marvelous wedding cake.  OH

Jim Dodson is founding editor of O.Henry.

Where Life Takes You

Where Life Takes You

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November 2026

Where Life Takes You

How a young architect found home in an old Fisher Park bungalow

By Ross Howell Jr.

Photographs by Liz Nemeth

Emily Hinton welcomes me into the gleaming Revolution Mill offices of Lindsey Architecture, a firm founded in 2008 by president/principal Rod Lindsey. Emily — honored as a 2026 Triad Business Journal Top 40 Under 40 professional — serves as vice-president/principal/lead architect at the firm.

But I’m here to interview her about the renovation of her home.

It’s a craftsman bungalow located in the Fisher Park Historic District, a few doors from the namesake park.

When Emily first moved to Greensboro in 2010, she rented an apartment downtown for a couple of years. Then she purchased a comfortable townhouse north of town and lived there for a decade.

“I had a great little townhouse, but I was ready for a vibrant, walkable neighborhood near the center of downtown,” Emily says.

So she started looking. She visited real estate websites, attended open houses, scheduled showings with agents, got into a bidding war or two, but nothing worked out.

“I was being picky and there was no urgency,” she admits.

Then, scrolling one day, she came across the Greensboro Historic Building Trust (GHBT, formerly Preservation Greensboro Development Fund) website and saw properties that hadn’t appeared on any of the real estate websites she’d previously consulted. She spied the charming but forlorn bungalow. Turns out, GHBT had purchased the home in 2022 as an endangered property.

“I learned it was a selection process,” Emily explains. “Not a bidding process.”

When GHBT acquires a property like the Fisher Park bungalow, the intent is usually to protect it from possible demolition with the understanding that the new owner will restore the property while acknowledging its historical significance. When buying from owners, the trust negotiates a price below market value that in effect subsidizes the significant additional investment a new buyer must make to rehabilitate a property. The new owner may also qualify for federal historic rehabilitation tax credits.

Because of these financial advantages, the selection process tends to be competitive.

Emily signed up for an appointment to see the Fisher Park bungalow and was met by Cheryl Pratt, a neighborhood representative for the trust. Not much was known about the bungalow’s history at the time, other than it had been built around 1913 by Whitt and Bessie Stone. The intervening years had taken their toll.

“The house was really rough,” Emily says with a sigh.

While the bungalow’s façade with its chalet-style dormer was inviting, its symmetry was marred. Half the front porch had been closed in and covered with aluminum siding. The gutters drooped and water damage was visible. The lot was badly overgrown. A retaining wall facing the street had crumbled.

Inside, what was once a 1,770-square-foot, single-family dwelling had been chopped up into three apartments, each with its own small bathroom and kitchen.

“It smelled like a cat litter box and there was stuff piled everywhere,” Emily recalls.

But she could also see bits and pieces of the craftsman wainscoting, a built-in pie safe and other details. Despite the squalor, she remembers thinking, “I could live here.”

Emily realized that the original bungalow wasn’t gone. It just needed someone to love it back to life.

“I felt like I had a responsibility to do that,” she adds.

Her sense of purpose was years in the making.

“I grew up in Elon, and my dad was really hands-on when it came to repairs and renovation work around our house and church,” Emily says.

Her grandfathers — both held engineering degrees — also knew about the art and science of building things.

And there was her great-uncle, a High Point architect.

“He passed away when I was young, but I remember going to his house,” Emily continues. She felt the midcentury-modern design home “was very different, very cool.”

From a very early age, Emily sensed that her family’s interests were pointing her in a direction, but she wasn’t quite sure what that direction might be.

“As a kid, sure, I built things with Legos, but I was really interested in creative things,” Emily says.

“Music was a non-negotiable thing that our parents felt strongly about,” Emily reflects. She and her siblings were expected to learn to play piano and violin, and they did.

In high school, she developed an enduring passion for visual art.

“I did some photography, etching and a little bit of watercolor,” Emily says. “Mostly, I did acrylic painting, charcoal drawing and sketching.”

When it came time for her to consider college, the direction she’d vaguely sensed as a girl became clear — architecture.

With the help of Elizabeth Wertz, her art teacher at Walter M. Williams high school in Burlington, she put together a portfolio to support her applications.

Emily attended the architecture school at UNC Charlotte.

“It just fit my personality,” she explains.

She liked that all the architecture students were on a first-name basis with the professors. She appreciated the small studio size and the fact that the school was doing meaningful research on environmental issues and sustainable building materials.

And while the program offered cutting-edge technology and state-of-the-art design software, there was a softer, low-tech aspect that Emily especially enjoyed.

Instead of pounding a computer keyboard, first-year students constantly sketched and executed all their architectural drawings and models by hand.

“These days, I go quickly into computer modeling, because it’s so much faster and easier for clients,” she says. “But I still do hand sketches and drawings first. I see more clearly that way.”

There were just 22 students in Emily’s architecture class who graduated together from the 5-year program in 2009.

“We were very close,” Emily recalls. “It was a special experience.”

Problem was, the new grads were entering the job market in the Great Recession that had begun in late 2007.

“Some of my classmates never found a job in the profession at all,” Emily says.

Unable to land a position herself, Emily moved back into her parents’ home in Elon.

At the time, First Presbyterian Church in Burlington — the Hintons’ house of worship — had signed a contract for a renovation project. A representative of the Greensboro architecture firm contracted for the job, Moser Mayer Phoenix Associates (now CPL), was scheduled to meet with congregants and provide information about the renovation process.

Emily’s parents attended the session. The firm’s representative turned out to be Bill Moser, one of the principals.

“So my parents walked up and said, ‘Hey, our daughter’s at home with an architecture degree and she needs something to do!’” Emily says, laughing at the thought.

Moser agreed to speak with her. He explained that because of the recession, the firm had laid off several staff but could use supplemental help on projects.

So Emily moved to Greensboro.

Emily describes her Moser Mayer Phoenix experience as “trial by fire.” She worked long hours — sometimes 60- or 70-hour weeks — performing whatever tasks were asked of her.

“I was probably managing some projects that I really had no business doing with my level of experience,” Emily says. “But they held me accountable and I held myself accountable.”

Plus, she adds, “There were some really great architects there that mentored me.”

As she saw the positive impact that her projects were having on the community, she began to sense that maybe Greensboro was where she was meant to be.

Then the opportunity to become a principal at Lindsey Architecture presented itself.

“For me to buy into a firm in my early 30s was a big step,” Emily says. “But it was the right step. We’ve been able to build a great team of people here.”

Despite her experience and achievements, Emily doubted that GHBT would take her application to purchase the Fisher Park bungalow seriously. She was young and single. Surely, other applicants would be more established. But there was no application fee. What did she have to lose?

Two weeks after she submitted her application, the trust emailed to inform her that out of six applicants, Emily was selected as the one deemed best to see the renovation through successfully.

After special covenants and historic preservation easements were written and Emily had secured her financing, the deal was done.

The Fisher Park craftsman bungalow became Emily’s property on July 5, 2022.

But it wasn’t yet her home.

Emily reached out to a good friend, Brandon Hill, who’d just gone out on his own as a general contractor, starting LRC Construction Services.

“Brandon hadn’t done a historic renovation before and he was looking to build his portfolio,” Emily recalls. Since she had worked with him as a client in the past, she knew that they communicated well with each other and that she could trust him to do the job right.

So she asked him to be her contractor for the Fisher Park renovation.

“I’m not sure he would say yes again in hindsight, but he did say yes then,” she says, smiling.

While they were waiting for permits, Emily went to work on the floor plan.

“It was so hard to visualize,” she notes.

There were no original drawings. The first floor, single-family living space had essentially been divided right down the middle to form two separate tenant spaces. Upstairs was a third apartment altogether, with one of the original bathrooms converted into a kitchen.

“In some historic renovations, the footprint is still very apparent when you get there,” Emily says. “In this case, it was not.”

And she wanted to create a floor plan that would match to the extent possible how the bungalow had been built originally.

All this while devising ways to stay within her renovation budget.

Emily decided to remeasure the entire house and draw the existing floor plan. That way, she could then draw a functional, single-family plan based on craftsman style, while being strategic about preserving space where possible and reallocating space as needed.

“From a cost standpoint, I didn’t want to be running new plumbing across the whole house, not unless it was absolutely necessary,” she explains.

Emily felt much better once she finally had the floor plan drawn.

But to select paint and finishes, she says, “I had to go through the whole plan again with color palettes and materials palettes.”

And then she adds, “As an architect, I help people make decisions about their spaces all day long, but for my own space, it took forever. Man, did I have analysis paralysis.”

On the budget side, sometimes, she was lucky.

When a section of lathe and plaster in a kitchen corner was removed, a brick furnace chimney was exposed. The brick was in good shape. Rather than having the labor and expense of removing the chimney from basement to roof, she simply left it in place. The exposed brick adds a nostalgic touch to the new kitchen.

Another happy event was finding that the aluminum siding had in fact preserved the original wood siding quite well.

“We had to patch places here and there,” Emily says. “But we only had to replace three boards in all the wood siding on the house.”

The roofing crew delivered another lucky stroke to Emily’s budget, though the roofers would probably describe it in more colorful language.

As the crew began to scrape off the old asphalt shingles, they discovered original cedar shakes underneath.

“There were a lot of unhappy roofers up there prying off those shakes, but the cedar had really protected the roof sheathing, which we worried would have a lot of water damage,” Emily comments.

As for the aesthetic of the craftsman bungalow?

“My design tendencies are modern,” she says. “I prefer the light and simplicity of Scandinavian design, but I wanted to be respectful of the original house. So I tried to balance the two — not just aesthetically, but also functionally.”

“While history is incredibly important to save in a house like this, I didn’t want to simply replicate what had been here originally,” Emily continues. “I wanted the house to be relevant to the way people live today — the way I live today.”

When Emily completed her renovation, but before she moved in, the GHBT threw a housewarming party for her.

The trust had learned quite a bit about the bungalow. The original owners were Whitley Robert “Whitt” Stone and Elizabeth Ella “Bessie” Eller Stone, who bought the property in 1911. They were first listed at the address in 1913. Whitt served as vice president of Joseph J. Stone, printers, bookbinders and engravers, a company founded by his brother. Bessie, a Nebraska native, served as regent in the Greensboro chapter of the DAR and as a director of the YWCA. Subsequent owners, including Waldo Porter, a cousin of the author and our magazine’s namesake, O. Henry (William Sidney Porter), made the house a rental property. The bungalow was purchased by a real estate agent, Ella Bumgarner Ward, in 1950 and divided into three apartments. She lived in one of the apartments until her death in 1995.

During the housewarming, the trust presented Emily with a plaque, now mounted on the side of the bungalow, inscribed “The Whitt and Bessie Stone House, circa 1911.”

With Emily’s renovation, the façade of the house has been completely restored. The right hand side of the porch that had been closed in was torn out. Since the original pilaster on the left hand side remained, Emily was able to have a copy made and installed on the right side.

In the living room and the dining room, she was able to return to a craftsman floor plan with traditional moldings, built-ins and details.

The kitchen, where a great deal of renovation had to be completed, is a modern space.

“I love to cook, so it’s my favorite room!” Emily exclaims. It’s open, features modern olive-green cabinetry and all the conveniences, including a wine rack and cooler, stainless steel appliances and expansive countertops — the paint colors blending traditional craftsman with modern finery. A bar setup at one end features a large-scale birds-of-paradise leaf wallpaper while white mosaic backsplash tile lends a reflective shine to the other kitchen walls.

Here and there are touches unique to Emily’s life and career.

On a shelf, a pair of her great-uncle’s gold cufflinks are nestled next to his ’60s-design ashtray — “He smoked like a furnace,” she confides. In a corner sits a modern, low-slung chair from his High Point home.

The living room sofa sat untouched for years in the home of aging neighbors of Emily’s parents, who cared for them until the childless couple passed away. Emily had the sofa recovered by Seabolt Upholstery in ivory fabric.

While the dining room table, chairs and light fixture are modern, the colors of the rooms are craftsman-era earth tones. Emily delights in entertaining her fellow supper club members when it’s her turn to host.

A handsome Boston upright piano graces the sitting room. Some evenings, she’ll come home and sit down at the keyboard to play.

“It’s good stress relief,” she says.

Emily has lived in her Fisher Park craftsman bungalow for three years. It’s safe to say that it is now very much her home. But is it forever?

I ask if she thinks she’ll live here for a long time.

“Who knows where life takes you?” she responds.

“But yes, I’ll be here,” she continues. “I’ve put down roots. I have a great network of friends and colleagues. I love the house. I love the neighborhood. It’s all part of the fabric of Greensboro.”  OH

Ross Howell Jr. is a contributing writer.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

xx

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November 2026

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Departures from the norm arrive at greatness

By Billy Ingram

During the ’80s and ’90s, I was a Hollywood movie poster designer and key member of an award-winning team at Seiniger Advertising, churning out high concepts like fresh buttermilk. Our team, headed by the late Tony Seiniger, aka “The Godfather of Movie Advertising” created some indelible images for festive features synonymous with the yuletide: Christmas Vacation, The Ref, Scrooged, The Nutcracker, Lethal Weapon and Die Hard. Yes, it’s been decided, Lethal Weapon and Die Hard are Christmas movies!

We’d produce a hundred or more designs for each motion picture before whatever studio muckety-muck eventually signed off on the finished art. One of my fav projects during the summer of ’87, from a creative standpoint, was Planes, Trains and Automobiles. That memorable one-sheet, featuring John Candy and Steve Martin uncomfortably seated too  closely to one another, was the brainchild of my mentor, late art director Olga Kaljakin. 

In contrast to the turmoil Martin’s and Candy’s characters endure while trying to get home for Thanksgiving, my experience returning home for the holidays in 1987 was pure relaxing satisfaction, flying LAX to GSO on Piedmont Airlines, whose slogan, “A Model of How Good an Airline Can Be,” was the very definition of truth in advertising. I arrived easily in time to attend the cinema with my family at Four Seasons Mall Grand Theater. Lo and behold, prominently displayed were framed rows of posters I had worked on earlier in the year including Throw Mama From the Train, The Running Man, Three Men and a Baby, Overboard, Wall Street, Moonstruck and Fatal Attraction (another holly, jolly gem).

In the spirit of holiday travel, often problematic even under ideal circumstances, I sought out a trio of exemplary individuals infusing their own individual aesthetic flair when portraying, or embodying, America’s favorite modes of transportation.

In Plane Sight

In 1988, David Rawlins earned a degree in art with a concentration in painting from East Carolina. After graduation, he immediately put down his brushes and didn’t apply paint to canvas again for another two decades. “I had actually given all my paint away to my grandmother and, when she died in 2005, I got it all back. Because it’s oil paint, it was still good.” It wasn’t long before Rawlins began collecting accolades for his realistic depictions of all manner of aircraft. His masterworks followed in the grand tradition of American Society of Aviation Artists (ASAA) founding members Keith Ferris and Robert McCall, who rendered those iconic scenes of the future Apollo moon landings for LIFE magazine in the early-1960s as well as the seminal movie poster art for 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Rawlins shares a special affinity for Piedmont Airlines, originally a regional carrier out of Winston-Salem whose first scheduled flights in 1948 were on Douglas DC-3s, aircrafts built during World War II as C-47 transports. By the 1970s, Piedmont was recognized by pilots and passengers alike as the finest carrier in the nation, and later named Air Transport World’s “Airline of the Year” in 1984 before disastrously merging with USAir just five years later.

In the early 2000s, Rawlins fortuitously connected with Robert Newman, who flew B-17s during World War II. “He had a couple of pictures of the Winged Warrior,” Rawlins recalls. Using those, he created a CGI computer model to paint from. Winged Warrior won first place for the military category in ASAA’s annual juried exhibition in 2011. Afterwards, Rawlins gifted that canvas to Newman, who cried when he saw it. “I rarely sell these paintings. There’s not a huge market for original aviation art these days and I’m a horrible salesman, so they just clutter up my house.”

Since 2008, Rawlins’ sky-high scenics are, “painted here in Greensboro at my high school art teacher Jane Averill’s studio near Guilford College.”

In 2018, says Rawlins, “I decided I should do smaller paintings because you can finish them quickly and there’s no storage problem.” Rawlins’ 6-inch-by-12-inch painting of an Alaska Airlines 737-900 scored second place in ASAA’s commercial aviation category the very next year. That was followed by another first place win in 2022 for a 48-by-24-inch painting of a Canadian North 737-200. In 2024, though, says Rawlins, “I thought I should enter something new.” The resulting SkyWest 5395 depicts a United Express Embraer arriving at Piedmont Triad International Airport. That painting landed in first place for the commercial aviation category.

These days, Rawlins prefers “to get paid for painting,” and is in his 30th season of applying his talents as scenic artist for Cape Fear Regional Theatre, which is presently undergoing a massive expansion and renovation in Fayetteville. Let’s hope Rawlins’ vibrant oils will once again soar across taut canvases, producing just the kind of “clutter” I, for one, would love to see more of.

Eastern 727

“My dad was an air traffic controller, at first in Greensboro and then Tampa.” During the ’80s, while visiting his father in the tower at TPA, Rawlins recalls, “I stepped out and there were two Eastern Airlines 727s on the tarmac and the air stairs were down. I could have walked right up.”

DCA

First place winner in 2017’s American Society of Aviation Artists’ competition in the category of commercial aviation: “That’s an Air Canada Embraer 175 landing at Reagan National Airport in Washington.”

N44V

“This is a vintage 1942 Douglas DC-3 painted in historical Piedmont Airlines livery. Its actual display name is the Thomas H. Davis Pacemaker.”

Greased Lightning

A Convair B-58 Hustler, the United States Air Force’s first supersonic bomber, considered inefficient and therefore remained operational only from 1960–70. “I met a guy named Fred Gunther in 2008, he was in the Air Force serving at Bunker Hill [now Grissom] Air Force Base. He worked on B-58s and they have one at Grissom Air Museum. I drove up there to take pictures and measurements in 2013 — all you have to do is ask. They gave me a ladder so I climbed all over. I could actually step across the fuselage from one wing to the next.”

Winged Warrior

“A B-17G of the 95th Bomb Group, piloted by Robert Newman on nine of his 29 missions during WWII.” Winged Warrior survived the war intact but, not long after, was relegated to the scrap yard in Kingman, Arizona.

All Aboard

Mike Small has been expressly devoted to capturing trains in motion and repose over the last 50 years. Positioning himself for flawless framing in optimal conditions, Small will often drive to some remote location then, when the road ahead narrows, pedal his 3-speed the rest of the way. “It can be challenging,” he admits. “I once ran into a ditch chasing a train, another time into a creek.” Yet he won’t be derailed. “If I somehow get that one shot no one else has attempted, all the better.”

Among our nation’s preeminent railroad photographers, Small’s tenacity and technical expertise have resulted in his indelible images gracing covers and spreads in numerous national publications over the last 50 years.

One memorable yet formidable photograph required repeated attempts before fruition. “Two Southern Crescent passenger trains meeting at the depot in Greensboro that could only converge if the southbound train was almost precisely one hour and 15 minutes late. I finally got the perfect shot only eight days before the trains switched over to the Amtrak system in February, 1979.”  That fog-enveloped mise-en-scène capturing cross-country travel from a bygone era was published in a 1979 issue of Trains magazine in 1979, a 1984 calendar, as a Vanishing Vistas glossy print and even in a September 2018 O.Henry feature on Small’s images.

“A Winston-Salem to Greensboro General Electric ES44AC cruising into Pomona Yard — the woman is probably the conductor as they only have a two person crew.”

The Bicentennial American Freedom Train visiting Greensboro in October 1976; an ex-Southern Pacific, a GS-4 Daylight type parked at Guilford Courthouse National Military Park allowing public viewing of original historical documents like the Constitution, Emancipation Proclamation and Bill of Rights. “Sitting on what is now known as the A&Y Trail, I recall going through the train to see the exhibits on moving walkways installed to hustle people in and out so they couldn’t spend too much time standing and gawking.”

“At Pomona Yard in the snow, a southbound BNSF diesel, to the right is a dark-green-and-cream BNSF.”

Performance and Perfection in People’s Need For Speed

Photographs by Mark Wagoner

Cruising down Industrial Avenue off South Elm-Eugene, where a surprising number of artists practice their crafts, I arrive at Whitby Motorcars. Jeff Collins and his team are living the dream (mine anyway!), restoring classic cars and assembling custom-made Shelby Cobras for racing enthusiasts. An original Cobra, produced in the ’50s and ’60s, will sell for over a million bucks; replicas, a fraction of that. “It’s a 1950s design, but it still looks contemporary — it doesn’t look like an old car,” Collins points out. “I always thought the Cobra would die out with people my age.” But, he says, there’s a whole new generation who may not know the history of Carroll Shelby, but are familiar with his iconic race car, thanks to video games. The 2019 movie Ford v Ferrari solidified that speedster’s iconic status among younger jet setters.

Touring Whitby’s vast, side-by-side facilities, Collins points out a 1965 Falcon that, at first glance, appears to be a typical retro resto, “but it’s got modern mechanicals, modern drive line, transmission, brakes and a digital dash that looks vintage but is all electronic.” That’s trending among gearheads, “taking classic cars and installing modern equipment to make it more street friendly.” In for minor tweaks is a Vermilion Red 1955 Thunderbird once belonging to Anita Jones, Whitby’s office manager for 47 years. “It sat in her garage for about 30 years. We got it going again, she drove it for about a year before passing away,” Collins recalls. “It was lead car in her funeral procession.”

Surrounded by majestic muscle cars — Super Snake ‘Stangs, bitchin’ Camaros, dodgy Plymouths, racetrack roadsters, modified mid-century Chevy pickups, even a rare 1962 Ford prototype Mustang assemblage — I attempt to impress my host with a story about meeting George Barris and sitting in the original 1966 Batmobile he designed. Collins counters by leading me to his very own ’66 Batmobile, currently under construction. Holy oneupmanship, Batman!

•

Fastest way home? While roaring home in a 1966 Batmobile may be tempting, turbines for speed after all, you’d never make it past Guilford County Sheriff Deputies, who notoriously have zero tolerance for jokers on the road, especially those jettisoning parachutes to slow their roll.

If you’re traveling this season, whether by air, rail or in a panel van with a polka band à la Home Alone, let your goal be arriving safely and sanely. And don’t forget to pack a spare washcloth.  OH

These Cobras can go from zero to 60 in six seconds.

Possibilities at Pearman’s

Possibilities at Pearman’s

Home
November 2026

Possibilities at Pearman’s

A dream is brewing in a once-beloved Bethany community hub

By Cynthia Adams

Photographs By Betsy Blake

Farm-loving renovator Margie Benbow turned her attention to a new project: the historic Pearman’s Store, inspired by the possibilities of a country store and its place in the tiny Bethany community.

Margie Benbow is an admitted dreamer. Kenny Mackovic, her contractor and right-hand man, is a realist. She compares them to the bickering duo John Wayne and Katherine Hepburn in Rooster Cogburn. In truth, they’re long-time friends who met in high school in Winston-Salem.

While Benbow is naturally enthusiastic, Mackovic balances that inclination with pragmatism. Both like a challenge, whether a down-on-its-luck barn, ramshackle log cabin, or farmhouse, all of which they’ve tackled.

A long-vacant country store, the most public-facing part of a property Benbow bought six years ago, needed attention. Not quite derelict, but declining.

Originally the Baynes Store, it was known as the Pearman Store. Prominently located inside a highly visible, elbow-sharp curve at U.S. Highway 65 and Bethany Road, the store closed in the 1960s.

Purportedly dating to 1917, the two-story, weatherbeaten building with a covered stoop had rough-hewn Southern vernacular appeal. The store’s double front doors, distressed surfaces, original floors and shelving, and atmospheric rusticity appealed to Benbow. She grew to envision the former store as a private studio space, a place to make art, as that pursuit has taken a larger place in her life.

“I fell in love with the look. I thought it was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” she recalls. “One thing I’ve always been able to do is see possibilities.”

Long left unpainted, the walls bore the ghostly imprint of commercial signs.

“In its prime, it was painted a light color, with dark trim and adorned with many advertisements, including Coca-Cola, Gulf and Super Cola,” says Benbow. Somehow, it was miraculously dry inside, despite a precarious roof. And to her, the parapet wall above the entrance recalled stores in old TV westerns.

She envisioned a dusty farm truck pulling in for a fill-up, and the countless work boots that had crossed the stone threshold.

Inside, the wooden floor and shelf-lined walls whispered of the past, when farmers lingered around a potbelly stove for gossip and checkers.

It stood, despite benign neglect. “I fell in love with the building,” she says, with the helpless shrug of a romantic.

That is classic Benbow.

Benbow is a polymath — a scientist, educator, lawyer and farmer. Add artist to the list. She nears completion of an art degree at Guilford College while approaching the age when many look longingly at retirement. She continuously challenges herself to learn new skills — sometimes for a project, sometimes just for fun — including welding, sculpting, stained glass making and pottery. When fly fishing piqued her interest, she learned to make ties.

Along the way, she attended auctioneering school, becoming licensed. This led her to serious temptation, especially in October 2020 when a 50-acre Bethany farm appeared on an auction site.

The property on offer featured a lake and four remaining buildings. The showstopper, for Benbow, was the iconic store. “I looked at it like a blank canvas. Wouldn’t this be fun?” 

Although known as Pearman’s Store, local historians later told her that Jonathan Baynes was the original owner, and the store predated 1917. Recently, Baynes’s descendants unearthed a record for the purchase of the store’s safe dating 1904.

The store was subsequently acquired by the Pearman family. John David Pearman, who died in 1946, and his son, John William Sr. (aka J.W.), and then his son, John William Jr., succeeded him as owners, as well as that of adjacent lands.

Benbow’s best estimate is that the store remained permanently closed in the 1990s. In the years the store operated, it carved a big place in the small community’s history.

By November 2020, both the farm and store were Benbow’s. Before the closing, a storm destroyed the pond dam, meaning costly repairs. A house and some outbuildings had previously been burned by vandals.

Afterward, she and Mackovic were lunching at Three Sisters Café in Reidsville when a man named Chester Comer approached. “He asked if we were going to fix up the store,” she recalls. 

“By the time I paid the check and walked next door to the filling station, three more people said they’d heard I was restoring the store.” Given Bethany’s tiny population, their interest struck her. “That’s pressure,” she laughed. 

Later, Benbow found a photo of Comer with J. W. Pearman at the old store. Comer was a Pearman cousin and store employee “when he was a lad.” Like his cousin, he became “a community champion.”

But the ever-practical Mackovic pointed out that if she intended to save it, the store needed a new roof. Benbow acted. “Even though I wanted to preserve my cash flow, he called in a crew and put on a fresh roof.”  The walls needed stabilizing, too, so he replaced them with cypress.

The interior held truckloads of debris. While helping empty the worst of it, she studied the contours of the building. She imagined a wall at the rear of the store once demarcating a speakeasy, as rumor held. It squared with the store’s earlier life, with Prohibition dating from 1920–1933. Behind the wall was a stairway, also out of view. She nicknamed the area “the rat hole,” given it held dirt and detritus, rather than bootlegged whiskey.

“The whole back ‘speakeasy’ was filled with old tires.” Tires in the rear and moldering canned goods in the front.

After the store closed in the 1950s, over 200 jars of green beans had sat, forming a noxious brew. “As they threw them onto a truck, they smelled like something between roadkill, burning tires and a toilet.” Benbow laughs helplessly. Then she recalls a genuinely funny moment.

“The Pearmans used to raise horses,” she shares, setting the scene. “When cleaning out the store, I found these little thermoses about this big” — she says, indicating the size. “I said, ‘Oh, these will be perfect for soup and things.’” A bubble of laughter erupts before she can continue.

“The city slicker that I am, I offered it to another person who told me, ‘That’s for artificial insemination!’”

Benbow took time considering a creative reinvention for the store. In the meantime, she resumed work at a Charlotte law practice, where she worked on site a day or two weekly after COVID “forced all work online.” 

With the store spared from further decline, other projects began, with Mackovic building a horse barn. But Benbow always planned to devote attention to the store’s full restoration.

While working on the store as time allowed, the curious routinely appeared, often claiming to be Pearman relatives. Regardless, they hungered for the renewal of a gathering place, once central to a rural community. Like Comer, others shared stories, remembering when the store was a source of treats for schoolchildren and where adults mulled over local happenings.

Humorist Rick Bragg writes that he bought everything from Orange Crush sodas to Converse tennis shoes at such a store near his Alabama home. He praises such places, where men gathered to talk about “dogs, Black Angus cattle, snakes, or rain.”

Country stores provided more than staples. They were cultural anchors. They served as community centers, “where decisions were made, judgments rendered, and local needs discussed . . . a place for news, a local treasure, and a small business that rarely made money but offered much in outreach, social interaction, and community spirit,” according to Farm Press.

The corporate-owned gas stations that replaced them were not the same.

Applying to the North Carolina historic preservation office for potential inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places, Benbow wrote that the store was central to 20th-century Bethany life. She pored over photos that surfaced. One showed J.D. Pearman behind the store counter with a well-fed Calico feline nicknamed “Fat Cat” standing atop a glass case, amusing Benbow, who rescued cats on both her farms.

The blurry outlines of the store’s inventive past slowly took form.

“J.W. Pearman used to put sand outside for volleyball,” Benbow learned. “His daddy, J. D., was a genius. He hosted vaccinations for Rockingham County, so people would get kids vaccinated there and get a piece of candy.”

Rumor held that “J. D. bought the first television in Rockingham County,” she says, and invited the community to watch his small black-and-white set. A Facebook post by his nephew, Harold Pearman, confirmed the rumor. He described Thursday nights at 7 p.m., perched on a nail keg in his uncle’s store, enjoying The Lone Ranger.

Harold correctly recalled the show’s sponsor, Merita Bread. It was just as Benbow imagined.

During this past summer, she hand-sanded and refinished the original floors in brutal heat, discovering hand-forged nails as she worked. It was dirty, hot work, which Discovery Channel’s Mike Rowe would appreciate. As August sweltered, she oiled the floors with three successive coats of linseed, often working alone.

“There’s a tide of reasons pushing me to do this,” she says. “And every time I do something, I don’t get discouraged; I get energized.” 

With renovations completed, she now envisions the fun part-her vision of a private studio for artmaking and crafting.

Benbow plans to paint and putter upstairs. She created a partial stained-glass wall to break the long expanse, adding exterior windows for better light. She will invite friends to create art projects downstairs, like a group of six (playfully called The Hookers) who hook rugs together. Eventually, she may invite others, in the community spirit of the Pearmans.

“My dream as an artist is to do community art projects. It’s a “pie-in-the-sky dream,” she acknowledges. 

The curious predictably continued to show up during the building’s renovation.

Benbow had planted the field beside the store in wildflowers. One day she saw someone in the middle of the field. She approached the woman and asked, “May I help you?” with Southern politesse, polite but firm.

The contrite woman pointed out the butterflies in the field. Her best friend had recently died, and she had stopped, viewing the beauty of it all as symbolic. “Her mother and the best friend’s mother were [waiting] in the car,” Benbow says. They stood together amid the flowers. Benbow, widowed in 2013, understood grief. She gave her a handful of seeds to plant and a bouquet of wildflowers to take home.

Yet another woman told her, ‘If everybody planted flowers in the front yard, we wouldn’t want to kill anybody. We’d be kinder to one another.’”

When a Bethany resident died, Benbow was inspired to dedicate a field of flowers to her memory. “Flowers heal,” she says. “There are so many illustrations of why planting those flowers is my largest artistic statement.” 

With only a couple of credits to go before completing an art degree, Benbow somehow carved out hours in a studio at Guilford College. After cutting hundreds of pounds of clay into tiles for a mosaic installation for the store, she hand-paints and fires each. She hesitates to estimate how many finished tiles will comprise her design, called “It’s Raining Cats and Dogs.”

Pearman’s Fat Cat naturally comes to mind.

With the store’s renovation just about complete, other projects are underway, including restoring three log cabins on the Bethany farm.

As for Mackovic, he remains counterweight to Benbow, the conceptual thinker and idealist. Their good-natured bickering and collaborations continue.

He jokingly accused her of being “100 pounds of feathers,” she says, admitting that he “is 100 pounds of lead.” Benbow points out that he is the one who gave her a plaque with the Walt Disney quote: “It’s kind of fun to do the impossible.”

“Maybe he is feathers, too,” she muses.  OH

Tea Leaf Astrologer

Tea Leaf Astrologer

Home
November 2026

Scorpio

(October 23 – November 21)

Know what’s sweeter than overseeing karmic justice? Redirecting that soul-piercing energy back to your own life. The first half of the month will bring opportunities for some tending and mending, especially when it comes to financial dealings and joint ventures (read: no bridge-burning required). And when Mercury and Venus station direct on Nov. 13, try letting things feel easy for a while.
You deserve the break, darling. 

Tea leaf  “fortunes” for the rest of you:

Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)

Drink more water.

Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)

Run your own race, darling.

Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)

You’ll laugh about it later.

Pisces (February 19 – March 20)

Wear thicker socks.

Aries (March 21 – April 19)

Explore lumbar support.

Taurus (April 20 – May 20)

Two words: candlelit dinner.

Gemini (May 21 – June 20)

Honesty is a grace.

Cancer (June 21 – July 22)

Try adjusting your lens.

Leo (July 23 – August 22)

Can you let it be simple?

Virgo (August 23 – September 22) 

There’s nothing to prove.

Libra (September 23 – October 22)

You can’t fix what’s not broken.  OH

Zora Stellanova lives in the N.C. mountains with her wolfdogs, Venus and Lilith. Although she prefers divining with loose-leaf pu-erh, she recommends a mugwort and passionflower blend for those seeking wisdom and clarity from dreams.