The story below is from our December/November 2015 issue. For the DIGITALLY ENHANCED VERSION, download our FREE iOS app or view our digital edition for FREE today!
The Goldilocks principle doesn’t apply better to many things than it does to downtown Roanoke. C’mon along for a stroll through a perfectly sized urban area.
The mayor of a small southern city once told me that the health of any metropolis can be found in the pulse of its downtown. It is what people will feel for when deciding whether or not to move to an area.
I love downtowns. Downtown is where art, music, history, food, shopping and open spaces become threads of a story. From the hands of citizens with vision, the threads weave into a beautiful tale unique to the region and its residents.
As I’ve measured the mayor’s words against my own experiences, I see that not all downtowns tell their stories well. The only way I can think to explain how this happens is through the eyes of the discerning little Goldilocks, whose impeccable tastes drove her to search and search until she found that which was “just right.” That which made her want to stay.
You see, some downtowns are just too big. They are too loud with too much traffic. The buildings are too tall causing claustrophobia. They are expensive, causing one inner turmoil about the efficacy of paying $15 to park so you can go pay $15 for a museum’s new exhibition. And then have to buy lunch at the museum’s cafe (overpriced fast food) because of all the extra time you will spend driving, parking and walking to the far end of the museum on the third floor to see the exhibit…some downtowns are just too big.
But then, some downtowns are too small. The stores are too few and spread too far apart. Each one might be filled with the right measure of chintz and kitschy to fresh and pop, but probably not. Even if they are, they will inevitably be seven blocks apart with five pawn shops and three nightclubs positioned in-between. And forget about museums. The downtown is too small.
Then there is Roanoke. Downtown Roanoke is not too big. Nor is it too small. I can shop from the Taubman to the end of Market, or Williamson to Jefferson and the many blocks between, all before noon. Or, I can spend an entire day (usually a Saturday) following multiple threads of Roanoke’s tale. I mosey between street vendors and storefronts. I visit the Taubman’s new art exhibit and on my way, I look for some interesting piece of architecture or painted wall sign I haven’t yet noticed. I enjoy an outdoor lunch (probably at City Market) while I watch people and listen to live music. I might even walk through Elmwood Park and admire the outdoor sculptures—though I’ve seen them before—on my way to sit under the Japanese Magnolia that has been growing in downtown Roanoke since 1856—before Roanoke was Roanoke or downtown was even downtown.
I will sit in the magnolia’s shade and notice the knots and hollows in the elderly tree’s trunk and branches. I will imagine Roanoke before earth movers and concrete. I will watch more people and notice they move faster than those at the Square. They are part of the downtown scene and story, but in a different way. I will have time to think about this and appreciate it, because downtown Roanoke is not too big, and it is not too small. As far as size goes, downtown Roanoke is just right.
Size isn’t the only thing that matters in a downtown space. There is quality and diversity to consider. Some downtowns are too high-end. If there are no scarves under $50 or wall art under a hundred, one becomes discouraged, indignant even, that she has to choose between paying her bills or buying new pumps. Conversely, some downtowns are too chintzy. If all one can find is cheap unimaginative knick-knacks common to any supercenter in the suburbs, she feels cheated and resigns herself to living in a town without personality or local artisan pride.
Fortunately, Roanoke suffers neither extreme. I can cross the threshold of any downtown shop and find something I like and can afford. I also know whatever mood I’m in (or wish I were in), downtown Roanoke will have a fix for it. When I want southern gentry I visit 310 Rosemont. When I want bohemian I shop La De Da. Chic urban homemaker? Ladles & Linens. Tribal? Trades of Africa. Art? The Taubman, The Market Gallery, and simply meandering around downtown. Upscale tourist trap and gifty fun? The Gift Niche. Timeless and classy with a flare for the bizarre? Appalachia Press. Eclectic with an impish tooth? chocolatepaper. Watcher of people? A window seat at Mill Mountain Coffee, or metal picnic table in the Market Square. Quiet sitting while feeling the grass between my toes? Elmwood Park’s amphitheater.
And then there is Tink’s. Oh my. Tink’s is downtown Roanoke’s newest thread adding beauty, whimsy and angel wings (literally—they are hanging on her walls) to downtown Roanoke’s story. On one of her sidewalk signs she has written, “If you like Restoration Hardware, you will love my store!” Tink’s owner sells herself short. Restoration Hardware could not possibly bring the depth, authenticity or simple pleasure to Roanoke’s tale the way I believe Tink’s can. Which is the point. All the stores and spaces I mentioned, and even those I didn’t, are weaving and working Roanoke’s threads. They are creating a place that is not too expensive, but not too cheap; not too much of one thing, and not enough of another. In the ways of quality and diversity, downtown Roanoke is just right.
One day not long ago, I decided to view Roanoke from the rooftop of Center in the Square. From the highest observation deck, I could see the old smokestacks and factories on the other side of I-581. I could see railroad tracks cut lines between Norfolk and Shenandoah, separating the Hotel Roanoke from the rest of downtown. I could see the copper top of the Wells Fargo Tower up close, and notice the Taubman Museum trying to take flight. I could see Roanoke’s iconic symbols: the Star, and the backs of the Dr Pepper sign and H&C Coffee sign. I could see walkways and bridges connecting sides of the city. I could still hear the music from Market Square below; still smell the donuts being freshly made. And encircling it all—the Appalachian Mountains.
There it was, Roanoke’s story, Roanoke’s pulse; strong and good. History, modernity, post-modernity. Architecture, art and icons. Artists, day laborers, farmers, shop-keepers, visionaries—master craftspeople—through their work they tell Roanoke’s story. A story told in the weave and waft of its downtown. It is the story of a place not perfect, mind you. But, it is just right. It is a place I want to stay.
