Saturday, January 19, 2019

It happened to Talkhouse

 It's fascinating to talk with others about the old places. You know every town has them, those old haunts given a name in the local vernacular, but seldom recorded on any map. Those places may be large areas or a specific location. Over time the name stops being used for a variety of reasons. The boundaries become blurred and on occasion the location itself lost to time. I don't know of many here in Greensboro, being an outsider and all, I've only lived here twenty five or thirty years. I have heard of " four corners " that's where the stop light is today. It was the hub of downtown back in the day, or so I've been told. And I know if someone says they are going to the Tomb, they are going fishing. A Colonel Richardson is buried beside the river, in a tomb, and that's where you go to go catfishing. Since I've been here the area has been turned into a small park. I remember when it was just a path through the woods to reach the edge of the river. I'm certain there are many more such places that I've never heard of. A housing development was named HOKUM and that supposedly meant, the great bend in the river, in native American tongue. Well, I've noticed that housing developers always seem to find some name like that. I wonder if they don't create them at times. One I recall from my youth was Settlers Landing. I wasn't aware it was a development, I'm thinking that was a rather new concept back then, but remember seeing the sign. I knew people that lived there too. There was an inlet, of sorts, that was a good place to go eeling. When it froze over you could break through the ice and spear them. Ah, the good old days. Directly across the street was a little depression that held some water. That was a place to go ice skating. What I didn't know then, but have since learned, is that depression was a buffalo wallow. That's right, in the late 1800's a small herd of buffalo was kept there. A Mr. Gardiner was attempting to cross breed them with beef cattle. An early attempt at a Beefaloo. I hear that they have them now. I went to Indian rock once with a friend. He knew where it was located and it had water in a hollow on its' top. It was an interesting thing. The water must have been spring fed up through the rock because it was always there. We sprinkled a few drops of Clorox in that water, to purify it, and each drank some. The location of that rock has been lost to me. I wonder if it still exists at all.
 I like talking about these places in time. To me, it is a sort of time travel. It is definitely insider information. In todays world that isn't as true as it used to be. Given the internet, social media and the ease of writing a book it's no wonder. The problem is, that information may not be accurate at all. That happens when information is passed down, like in a game of post office. The original meaning, place, or intent, is lost. I think that is especially true when those places get " resurrected. " I've written about a section of my hometown called Freetown in the past. That name faded from use altogether for a number of years and only recently resurfaced. Other names have remained but the area they reference is questionable. Some areas have expanded while others shrank. Often it is those that do not have any roots in the town that resurrect those names. It is what we call today an appropriation. Cultural appropriation occurs when you wish to fit in, or otherwise sympathize with the locals. You either join them or feel sorry for them. Many times it is presented as an honor or a sign of respect. The truth is those folks just want to fit in. And at other times it is just a means to profit from a heritage you never had. You have heard of Stolen Valor, well that is stolen heritage.
 I don't have a problem with any of that. I think it is great to keep those old names alive. Isn't that what we wish for ourselves as well? I don't want my name forgotten. And I'll tell you I wouldn't mind if the stories, folklore and adventures of Ben were enhanced just a bit either! If someone in the future wants to claim that they knew me, that would be fine. My Great Grandfather claimed he knew a famous gentleman named Stephen Talkhouse. I believed him and he even had a walking stick he claimed had belonged to Talkhouse. Many years after my Great Grandfathers death I did some research. To my surprise Stephen Talkhouse passed away in 1879. Now Great Grandfather wasn't born until 1878 so it's unlikely he would have remembered him. Most likely he heard all his stories from a Miss Pokey. I can just vaguely remember her myself. I was ten when she passed. Miss Pokey, real name Pocahontas Pharahoh, was a friend to Great Grandfather. She worked at the phone company as a janitor. Stephen Talkhouse was a Pharahoh as well. I expect there was a relationship there family wise. But all that is history. Now if you google Stephen Talkhouse the first thing that Pops up is a nightclub! That night club existed when I was young and is still going strong. It is going strong because of its' location, in the Hamptons. Stephen Talkhouse is prominently displayed in a portrait on the wall. At least I believe that is the case from pictures I have seen. I haven't set foot in the Talkhouse in many moons! I was a Jungle Pete, Lions and Sams' kinda guy. The Talkhouse always was a bit trendy for my tastes. I would think Stephen Talkhouse would be pleased that his name is remembered. That it is associated with a night club I can't hazard a guess. I don't know his feelings about that. I don't think Miss Pokey would approve however.
 As the years pass I find there are fewer people I can mention those old names too. I'm talking about names I used as a kid. We had the big hill and the little hill. Go to the head of the harbor, and you knew exactly where to go. It's past Nortons' house. Names and places like that lost to time because the people are gone now. I'll take some names and places with me when it is my time to go as well. Given the amount of writing and recording I do, some may be rediscovered in the future. And then, it's a resurrection. Maybe I'll be appropriated! Wouldn't that be something? It happened to Stephen Talkhouse.         

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