Opinion
A Virginia city burdened by history seeks a better future By
Theodore R. JohnsonContributing columnist|Follow authorFollowApril 9, 2024 at 6:15 a.m. EDT
Follow this authorTheodore R. Johnson's opinionsFollow
It’s already a place where people have bet their lives. That alone gives it character and meaning. But a better future requires more. It needs people more interested in fighting together for things rather than over them. It’s as true for Danville as for the South and for the whole United States.
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There’s a grand white building in the center of town. It sits on the riverbank beside a beautiful cascade of rock and rushing water. Once the prize textile mill, its neon red sign — “Home of Dan River Fabrics” — became a local monument. The building was sold and long vacant, but now it is being restored to anchor an office and shopping complex wrapped in a public park. Condos with windows for walls and water views will fill the upper levels. Across the way, on the other bank, is a sparkling new community center of brick and glass. The first word of that old sign has been preserved, repurposed and placed a couple of blocks away. At night, it is neon red again — “Home” aglow, as a declaration for today, and an aspiration for tomorrow.
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The river runs deep through Danville, Va. It holds the town’s history and its promise for tomorrow. Winding back and forth across the border with North Carolina, it stitches together a particular story of the South and of a nation. Tales of heritage and of renewal that seem to be at a perpetual crossroads.
On a recent trip there, the past and the future were inescapable. There was optimism about the waterfront district under construction, the world-class advanced learning institute and the new casino. Mixed in, though, were somber recountings of its Bloody Monday in 1963, when police and deputized sanitation workers took fire hoses and batons to Black protesters seeking municipal jobs. And conversations often expressed regrets about the oversize Confederate flag that, until just recently, soared at the foot of the river’s Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Bridge.
Danville has always hosted the nation’s biggest questions about race and capitalism and democracy. From before the Civil War and well into the 20th century, it was a powerhouse in the tobacco industry and world-renowned for its textile manufacturing. A millionaire’s row of Victorian mansions still tell of the concentrated wealth that once powered the region’s economy. Shotgun houses and old duplexes for mill workers are everywhere, a peek at how the have-nots lived. It’s a city of churches, too, more per square mile than anywhere else in the state. Today, chic coffee shops fill spaces where brightleaf tobacco once hung to dry. New buildings and manicured subdivisions and ambitious business plans point to the restoration of an old glory. And to the remaking of the place many have called home.
This delicate dance is seen in the town museum, housed in an ornate private manor built in the late 1850s by a tobacco tycoon. Confederate president Jefferson Davis escaped to it in April 1865, governing from the imposing residence when he received word of the surrender at Appomattox. By the late 1920s, Jim Crow had moved in, turning the mansion — the “Last Capitol of the Confederacy” — into a Whites-only public library. When Black residents protested this in 1960, the city closed the library before begrudgingly reopening it — desegregated, with tables and chairs removed. Now, neo-Confederates protest outside the museum with flags every Saturday morning; inside, visitors are greeted by a feature exhibit on Danville native and famed Black opera singer Camilla Williams, who sang the national anthem before King delivered “I Have a Dream.”
History is glorious and inglorious everywhere. Places make choices about what from their past will become central to their future. It’s a question not just of how something built yesterday will be purposed for tomorrow but also of what beliefs and customs from previous generations will be passed on to posterity. Wherever there are people looking to find or make a home, there are people who want to keep home the way it was. A city — a nation — is defined by who is welcome there, who can belong.
This is why the Confederacy and Bloody Monday loom over the region’s potential. They represent an unwelcoming way of life. Those searching for a genteel Southern town to raise families of various colors and kinds want to be sure intolerance doesn’t still reside there. Professionals with metro-area salaries seeking a slower pace where the dollar goes further might be less inclined to make the move. People born and raised there also want to know which aspects of the heritage will be left to the past and which will be restored to prominence. They all want to know if there’s a place for them.
The signs of prosperity give promise, offering evidence that the worst has passed. There are unquestionably signs of progress. The mayor and more than half of the city council are Black. Housing demands have soared, civic engagement is on the rise, and transformation is in the air. A public planning process was created to incorporate ideas from all residents into the town’s comprehensive planning, for now and for 20 years from now. A massive casino under construction captures the town pitch: Bet the house on Danville; it’s a sure thing.
It’s already a place where people have bet their lives. That alone gives it character and meaning. But a better future requires more. It needs people more interested in fighting together for things rather than over them. It’s as true for Danville as for the South and for the whole United States.
There’s a grand white building in the center of town. It sits on the riverbank beside a beautiful cascade of rock and rushing water. Once the prize textile mill, its neon red sign — “Home of Dan River Fabrics” — became a local monument. The building was sold and long vacant, but now it is being restored to anchor an office and shopping complex wrapped in a public park. Condos with windows for walls and water views will fill the upper levels. Across the way, on the other bank, is a sparkling new community center of brick and glass. The first word of that old sign has been preserved, repurposed and placed a couple of blocks away. At night, it is neon red again — “Home” aglow, as a declaration for today, and an aspiration for tomorrow.
A Virginia city burdened by history seeks a better future
14
8
09.04.2024
Opinion
A Virginia city burdened by history seeks a better future By Theodore R. JohnsonContributing columnist|Follow authorFollowApril 9, 2024 at 6:15 a.m. EDT Follow this authorTheodore R. Johnson's opinionsFollowIt’s already a place where people have bet their lives. That alone gives it character and meaning. But a better future requires more. It needs people more interested in fighting together for things rather than over them. It’s as true for Danville as for the South and for the whole United States.
Advertisement
There’s a grand white building in the center of town. It sits on the riverbank beside a beautiful cascade of rock and rushing water. Once the prize textile mill, its neon red sign — “Home of Dan River Fabrics” — became a local monument. The building was sold and long vacant, but now it is being restored to anchor an office and shopping complex wrapped in a public park. Condos with windows for walls and water views will fill the upper levels. Across the way, on the other bank, is a sparkling new community center of brick and glass. The first word of that old sign has been preserved, repurposed and placed a couple of blocks away. At night, it is neon red again — “Home” aglow, as a declaration for today, and an aspiration for tomorrow.
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