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Flashback chronicles the local experience How to submit Flashback photos

March 18, 2006 4:15 am

"THAT'S WHERE I'M going to work."

My dad sat at the steering wheel of the green '54 Ford Victoria, my mom beside him, and 5-year-old me on her lap.

I scrunched down so I could glimpse out the window to the top of the building he pointed to as we drove by.

I'd never seen a big star like that on top of a building, and it made an impression. It was March 1961, nearly spring, time for a new beginning in this new place, the small town of Fredericksburg, near the big city of Washington.

That's why my parents chose it, wanting the best of both worlds after several moves.

My father would work at The Free Lance-Star newspaper at 303 and 305 William St. My mother, who stayed home, had it all mapped out for me, the youngest daughter.

I would walk to the nearby elementary school, go to the local college, and belong to the local Lutheran church.

I did, I did, and I still do.

I must have been an amazingly docile child.

For our first six years here, we lived two blocks from Lafayette Elementary School, now the Central Rappahannock Regional Library.

Then we lived in College Heights. Yes, I graduated from Mary Washington College, Class of 1977.

I was confirmed at Christ Lutheran Church in College Heights, and, detours notwithstanding, found my way back to the faith my mother intended.

As my son said, "You've had the entire Fredericksburg experience."

He should talk. He was born at Mary Washington Hospital, now attends the University of Mary Washington and took his girlfriend to Carl's ice cream stand, that neon-signed Fredericksburg landmark, on their first date.

I love the looks I get.

"You grew up here?" people ask in amazement.

I have two responses, depending on my audience. Response No. 1: I cringe and change the topic as quickly as I gracefully can, imagining their secret thoughts that I must have some handicap of will that kept me grounded in the same spot for life. This is for people who complain about Dead Fred.

Response No. 2: I reply with cheerful energy, "Well, I've thought of moving, but I'd look for a place just like this so I might as well stay."

This is either for people who think Fredericksburg is "cute," or for those who truly love it, as I suppose I do. I love it as I love air. I don't know anything else.

Oh, that's not entirely true. We do get out once in a while, but the people with the amazed looks don't always realize this. I remember one woman who launched into a conversation about Hasidic Jews, then paused, "But you wouldn't have heard of them, living here."

Well, no, I can't say these ultra-orthodox Jews are living next door, but I've heard of them, I've read about them.

It was a passing conversation, but it stuck in my mind. Just as many people ponder their lives, processing where they've been, I ponder mine, processing where I am.

Where I am has become an archaeological site of personal living, with every step I take layered with previous experience if I choose to think about it. I've sometimes described it as the difference between depth and breadth.

I've even had one of those seemingly mystical moments of connection to my place--knowing the air, the landscape, the people, the architecture and so much more are me. It's hard to explain, but anyone who's experienced it knows it.

But I didn't know any of this growing up at 1411 Caroline St. I just lived it. The small town was much, much smaller. Butch the collie dog would meet all the children on the sidewalk as they walked to school--and most children did walk. Butch's house, across from the Rising Sun Tavern, is a neatly renovated bed-and-breakfast inn surrounded by a fence now.

I paid little attention to the tavern, by the way, once owned by George Washington's brother-in-law. The graphic photos of car crashes in the window of an insurance building across the corner held much more interest.

Lafayette Elementary was a school of Misses--the last of the old maid--I mean, single--school teachers, and I'd often walk back home for lunch or across the street for piano lessons with another Miss--Miss Nell Clarke at 1118 Caroline St. Integration was not yet official in the Fredericksburg school system, but it was at Miss Clarke's.

For middle school, I joined the first white students at the Walker-Grant school (now the Old Walker-Grant school, since there's a new one). I didn't realize until many years later the implications that went with finally integrating the schools--at the time I was more impressed that I had a male teacher, my first.

Looking back, I am amazed that I had not a clue about the sit-ins happening at the lunch counters only a few blocks from home, but I lived and played amid a surprisingly diverse population in my little realm--both racially and economically. I tagged along with a neighborhood friend who seemed to know everyone, including the kind, quiet man who raised minnows in a tiny shelter beside the river. Today, he might be called homeless, though his shelter seemed well-equipped with shelves of canned food.

I remember the first shopping center, the first fast-food restaurant, the last department store. You name it. Block by block, building by building, if it happened after 1961, I can bore you silly with what used to be there, and in Fredericksburg, just about everything used to be something else.

Oh, yes, the Star building. That's Garniere, a bridal shop now, next to Hyperion Espresso, a popular coffee shop. I can still remember the nights I'd visit the old newsroom with my father and pore through the microfilm, reading old news. By high school, I was writing "Bygone Days" in The Free Lance-Star's new newsroom at 616 Amelia St., looking through old papers for news from 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 years ago. Some things changed. Ann Landers' advice column did not.

It's beginning to look like I can write quite a few of those "Bygone Days" with no research at all. I'll be helping Gwen Woolf, Town & County editor, with the Flashback column. I'm not sure I'm flattered that she believes me to be uniquely qualified, but I guess I can't argue the point, either.

We encourage Fredericksburg-area readers to submit their vintage photographs for Flashback. The more the photos tie in to the region, the better--local residents, buildings, businesses, fashions, toys, school days, religious gatherings, community celebrations, for example. The more information, the better. The more clear the print, the better. But the Flashback photographs don't have to be ancient--just 15 years or older. Of all the memorabilia out there, I'm partial to "Boomerabilia," given my age, 50.

A half-century, and this is where I am. Not "Old Fredericksburg," exactly. It takes generations to earn that status. Not new Fredericksburg, either, with--well, you know--more uptown expectations. But definitely Fredericksburg.

I don't know who wants to hear my tales, but I'll hear yours.

One more thing, this to the "Come Heres": Thank you. Thank you very much for coming here. To me, you are the Marco Polos bringing tales from the outside world.

JENNIFER STROBEL is a staff writer with The Free Lance-Star. Contact her at 540/374-5698, or
Email: jstrobel@freelancestar.com.