She was fabulous! Extremely attentive to our needs and answered all our questions.
Katie L. Redhead GRI, CRS Broker/Realtor® 336.430.0219 mobile Katie.Redhead@trmhomes.com
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48HFP Global Winners Film Showcase Friday, June 20
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June 2025
MAGAZINE
volume 15, no. 6
“I have a fancy that every city has a voice.” www.ohenrymag.com
PUBLISHER David Woronoff david@thepilot.com
Andie Rose, Creative Director andiesouthernpines@gmail.com
Cassie Bustamante, Editor cassie@ohenrymag.com
Jim Dodson, Editor at Large jwdauthor@gmail.com
Keith Borshak, Senior Designer
CONTRIBUTING EDITORS
Cynthia Adams, David Claude Bailey, Maria Johnson
CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS
Lynn Donovan, Amy Freeman, John Gessner, Becky VanderVeen, Bert VanderVeen, Mark Wagoner
CONTRIBUTORS
Danielle Rotella Adams, Harry Blair, Anne Blythe, Susan Campbell, Jasmine Comer, Ross Howell Jr., Billy Ingram, Tom Maxwell, Gerry O’Neill, Liza Roberts, Stephen E. Smith, Zora Stellanova, Karen Southall Watts, Ashley Walshe, Amberly Glitz Weber
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OWNERS
Jack Andrews, Frank Daniels III, David Woronoff In memoriam Frank Daniels Jr.
Annie McLennon, DDS, Graham E. Farless, DDS, Bill Blaylock, DDS
Like many high schoolers, PHOEBE MURRAY AND ALAN MITCHELL swore they would never return to their hometown of Greensboro after leaving for college. With age, education, and experience, they came to see that Greensboro offers opportunities for families, young professionals, and growing businesses.
Phoebe, a Page High School and UNC Chapel Hill grad, spent nearly a decade in the Triangle and London building her career in consumer insights and brand strategy before moving back in 2020 with her husband to raise their family. Alan, a Greensboro Day School alum, earned his MBA from Vanderbilt and led marketing teams at Google in San Francisco before opening the company’s Durham office in 2016. As he and his wife started thinking about their future, they also felt the pull to return to Greensboro.
After returning home, Phoebe and Alan reconnected over coffee, finding common ground in their belief that Greensboro isn’t just familiar—it’s full of possibility. In 2024, they merged their expertise to launch Ricochet, a marketing and brand strategy company helping Triad businesses define their identity and chart a clear path to growth. Phoebe and Alan share a passion of working to support and grow the community that shaped them.
Greensboro isn’t just a place you left—it’s a place that’s been growing right alongside you. Whether you’re ready to reimagine your career, raise your family, or find a new rhythm, Boomerang Greensboro is here to help you write your next chapter. Our team offers personalized support to make the return feel easy, from finding the right job and neighborhood to building your network and reconnecting with community.
Learn More:
For more info, contact Cecelia Thompson: cthompson@actiongreensboro.org
You Must Be Tripping A whirlwind weekend of misadventures
Our oldest, 19-year-old Sawyer, does not ask for much: a roof over his head, a handme-down clunker of a car and a lifetime supply of Eggo waffles. So, when he comes to me with a request, I listen, knowing I’ll do what I can to grant his wish.
“Mom, wanna go to Boston with me?” he asks, knowing how I, a born-and-raised Bay Stater, am always up for a pilgrimage to my home state. “The Six Invitational is there, but,” he sheepishly adds, “it’s Valentine’s weekend.”
If you’re thinking, “The what?” right now, you’re not alone.
“It’s a tournament for my favorite video game, Rainbow Six Siege,” he says, his blue eyes hopeful while my own glaze over.
Forget what I said about making his dreams come true. “Uh, no. But maybe Dad will go? Ask him.”
A few days later, my husband, Chris, approaches me. This time his blue eyes glimmer as he tries to persuade me to join them. “We can have a Valentine’s getaway while he is at his tournament.”
Sounds lovely, right? Except he’s forgotten one thing — our other two kids. “And who will watch Wilder?” I ask. Right away, he suggests Emmy, our 18-year-old. “So, you’re saying we just leave Emmy behind to watch her little brother, who has been begging to fly on an airplane for two years, while the three of us galavant around a city she adores?”
“Uh, yeah,” he says.
“Not gonna happen. You take Sawyer,” I say. “Or, we all go.”
And so, at 6 a.m. on Valentine’s Day, we set off to make Sawyer’s dream come true and have a little family fun in the meantime.
Since it’s a rather quick trip, we don’t waste a second. We eat
our way across Boston’s North End, aka Little Italy, tour Paul Revere’s home, touch stingrays at the New England Aquarium, and shop up and down Newbury Street. By Sunday morning, even the kids are zonked and ready to return home.
And that’s when Sawyer’s dream trip turns into a nightmare for us. Overnight snowfall has transformed into a mix of sleet and rain, leaving slushy puddles at every street corner. Chris and I brave the elements alone, trudging the half mile to Dunkin’ Donuts with the kids’ breakfast orders in hand.
A true New Englander, I’ve packed waterproof Timberlands, but Chris, born and raised in Miami, is wearing sneakers. By the time we return to the hotel schlepping soggy paper bags, his feet are chilled to the bone and his mood, well, dampened. Wilder takes one look at his breakfast choice —an untoasted bagel, just as he prefers at home — and whines that his bagel is cold.
Frustrated, Chris escapes into a hot shower. Ten minutes later, he emerges from the steaming bathroom, phone in hand, and says flatly, “Our flight’s been cancelled.” And, to make matters worse, the airline can’t get us back to North Carolina until Tuesday night.
With jobs to get back to and a 13-hour drive in front of us, Chris starts dialing rental car companies, juggling both of our phones, desperate for a vehicle with three rows to accommodate us comfortably. No luck. We book what we can. At the rental car counter, however, a small — mini, to be exact — miracle happens. “They have a minivan!” Chris exclaims triumphantly a moment later. At last, we’re hightailing it out of Beantown, wind blowing against the vehicle. For the next several hours, Chris stares straight ahead, navigating us through gusts up to 40 m.p.h., rain, sleet and side-blowing snow. It’s treacherous, but he’s a man on a mission. My job? Keep an eye on the radar and find a restaurant everyone will like. As soon as we are through the last of the weather map’s aqua-blue blob, I select a 4.3-Google starred spot
by Cassie bustamante
close to Scranton, Pa., touted for pizza, pasta and sandwiches.
We’re all famished when the restaurant finally appears in the distance and its lights are out. “Closed,” a sign reads.
“Well,” I say to Chris, “I saw a Waffle House right off the exit.” And it more than does the job — everyone’s happy. Wilder, who’s up until this moment existed on a made-in-the-car peanut butter sandwich and some gummies, scarfs down his first warm meal of the day without complaint.
Carl, our friendly and chatty waiter, is bald with dark, thick eyebrows, reminding me of Food Network’s Duff Goldman. Despite our dining in several Boston tony (and pricey) eateries, he’s the best waiter we’ve had all weekend, tucked away at the most northern Pennsylvania Waffle House. According to Carl, people drive all the way from Maine just to experience the all-night diner, but we’d drive back just for Carl. We’re all overtired, perhaps a little cranky, but his kindness softens us.
Bellies full, we hit the road once again, stopping a couple hours later to check into a hotel.
We say goodnight to Sawyer and Emmy, who have the room next to us. Chris gives Wilder a quick bath and reads him Dog Man while I wash my face, brush my teeth and try to avoid thinking about how we have to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.
I take my turn to tuck Wilder in and kiss him goodnight. “Thanks for being such a trooper, kiddo,” I say.
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His little face looks happily up at me and he says, “Today was a fun day!”
His sleepy eyes close and he drifts off to dreamland. “Fun” feels like a stretch, but, only a few months later, the kids are already turning what seemed, at the time, like a huge ordeal into an adventure-filled odyssey back home. One thing I know is that our next family vacation destination will be a short road trip away. OH
Cassie Bustamante is editor of O.Henry magazine.
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The Gift of Nature
And the power of the Earth to heal
by Jim dodson
One morning this past February, I stepped out to assess how my garden had fared from one of the coldest, soggiest winters in memory.
It wasn’t a pretty sight.
New Year dawned, what dump truck ran over me.
The Asian-themed shade garden I’d spent a decade creating in our backyard under towering oaks appeared to be devastated, buried beneath drifts of sodden leaves and dozens of downed tree limbs. The only visible signs of life were weeds and grass creeping over the garden beds like an insurgent army.
I’m no rookie in landscape gardening. I’ve built — and restored — three major gardens in my life, including an ambitious native garden in a forest on a coastal hilltop in Maine, where we lived for two decades.
Hard weather, as they say up in Maine, makes good timber — a theory, I’ve discovered, that’s applicable to human beings as well as gardens.
I remembered this eternal truth as I took stock of my battered garden, wondering if it would ever look as glorious as it did last summer.
After a morning of clearing debris and raking out beds that showed little to no signs of life, I ruefully joked to Wendy, my wife, that our “ruined” garden was the final insult from a winter we were both eager to forget.
It started on All Saints’ Day back in November, with the death of Wendy’s mom, a lovely Irish lady who spent her career teaching children how to love art. In the end, dementia robbed “Miss Jan” of her sparkling wit and even the ability to recognize those she loved. At least she spent her final days on our terrace, warming her face in the late autumn sunshine. The last thing she said to me was, “Look, isn’t the sun beautiful today?” She never spoke again.
For the first time ever, three of our four children, admittedly all grown-ups, failed to make it home for the holidays, which made for a too-quiet house at Thanksgiving and lots of empty stockings. Fortunately, our youngest, Liam, showed up two days before Christmas, briefly brightening the mood before I went under the knife for a full left-knee replacement that left me wondering, as the
I skipped the narcotic painkillers in favor of Tylenol, however, because I was under the intense pressure of a tight deadline to correct and return within a fortnight my editor’s marks on the most important book of my life. As a proud Luddite, I was forced to use a complex digital editing system that left me feeling like a child trying to operate a jumbo jet. Fortunately, in the nick of time, my digitally savvy bride stepped in to get the job done. Printed manuscripts, I learned, evidently went out of fashion with handwriting.
To make things more fun, as I wrestled with a hoisted leg and new technology, a work crew arrived to renovate our Donna Reedera primary bathroom, knocking down walls and pulling up floors — making such a godawful racket, it seemed they were taking out half the house.
Most disturbing of all, amid this clamor and craziness, I lost my longtime gardening pal, Boo Radley, our beloved 14-year-old cat, who suffered a sudden series of seizures that grew more horrifying as the days went along. We finally put him peacefully to sleep on his favorite blanket.
Every family, of course, goes through periods of intense stress and challenge when the chaos of life seems to pile up like snow against the door. That’s just part of making the human journey. To place our winter of discontent in proper context, as my late Scottish father-in-law liked to say, ours were “pretty high-class problems in a world that is full of sorrow and woe.”
It took an unexpected birthday card from a dear old friend to lift my cloud of gloom and remind me of what’s really important in the grand scheme of things.
Ashley Walshe’s clever card amounted to a gentle poke from the universe, depicting an old, gray rabbit nibbling something in the garden. She knows I have a thing for woodland rabbits.
“Another year,” read the card. “Another gray hare — Happy Birthday!”
You may know Ashley from the soulful monthly Almanac she writes for the magazine, and from her many years adding earthy wisdom and wit to our editorial team. Among other things, she is
a gifted poet and a true daughter of the Earth.
Not surprisingly, it was her accompanying hand-written message that reminded me of the lessons in gratitude and joy we’ve shared over the many years of friendship:
“In all seriousness,” she wrote, “thank you for showing me the joy of growing backwards . . . The secret, perhaps, to this wild, wonderful life on Earth.”
The idea of growing backwards is simply our way of describing a life in tune with nature, timeless values (some would call “oldfashioned”) that promote kindness and compassion to all living creatures and a deep reverence for the Earth.
In a year that has already seen apocalyptic wildfires out West, a record number of killer tornados in the heartland and a hurricane that will be remembered for generations, it isn’t much of a stretch to realize Mother Earth is sending us a serious message about our behavior.
Last November, Ashley and husband Alan nearly lost everything they own — including their lives — when their first home on a pretty hillside just outside Asheville was almost washed away by Hurricane Helene.
“At the height of the storm,” she remembers, “we were huddled in our house with our dog, Dirga, watching frightening torrents of water roar down the mountainside, washing away many of the houses around us. I remember asking Mother Mary to please keep us safe.”
Moments later, the couple heard a loud crash of trees that fell
directly in the path of the rampaging waters, diverting the Biblical flood away from their home.
It was, she says, “a miracle. Nature saved our house.”
After escaping for a time to stay with friends outside the danger zone, the couple returned to find their home still intact but surrounded by a world of mud and debris.
“Helene brought me back to a higher level of consciousness, a desire to let go of things that don’t really matter in the course of daily life,” she says. “It also brought out an amazing amount of kindness and support among complete strangers who helped each other through the crisis. I think it changed many lives.”
The good news, she says, is that her bare yard is now a blank canvas awaiting the creation of a “wonderful new garden.”
Days after she told me this, she sent me a photograph of the lone plant that miraculously survived the Great Flood — a single, gorgeous tulip that popped up with the coming of spring. “Nature always gives us a gift,” she wrote.
That same afternoon, I noticed my own garden miraculously springing to life.
By now, it should really be something. OH
Jim Dodson is the founding editor of O.Henry. His 17th book, The Road That Made America: A Modern Pilgrim Travels the Great Wagon Road, is available for pre-order on Amazon. At 5:30 p.m., July 10, he will give a talk and sign books at the Greensboro History Museum.
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"A spirited forum of Gate City food, drink, history, art, events, rumors and eccentrics worthy of our famous namesake"
Just One Thing
“My bond with nature began in childhood with time playing in the woods and helping my grandmother in her flower gardens,” says artist Emily Clare, named for both her grandmother, Emily, and her grandfather, Clarence. Since 1987, Emily Clare’s work has been exhibited in galleries throughout much of the Southeast and has reached as far as Australia. These days, Emily Clare can be found strolling by evening light around her Winston-Salem home or exploring woodlands of the Southeast, where she collects native, invasive and exotic plants she then presses as the basis of her work. Rather than traditional paint and brushes, she uses leaves, vines or blades of grass, and ink, allowing nature to dazzle as it unfurls its wondrous design. “Each one has a message they leave on paper,” she says. For her, creation is meditation. And for us, the observers, her work invites us to be more mindful, to reflect on being stewards of Earth’s natural resources. Seen here, Native Grass 1 depicts tall, wild and free — rather than meticulously mowed — blades printed using Akua ink and accented with gouache, watercolor and iridescent paint on Arnhem 1618 paper. Its shots of neon pink and cerulean blue catch the eye as you take an indoor nature walk through her “Botanical Dreamscapes” exhibit in Revolution Mill’s Central Gallery, on display through June 20. Info: revolutionmillgreensboro.com/events.
Another Candle on the Cake
Last of the late-1950s Rockabilly stars, Billy “Crash” Craddock turns 86 years old this month. A lifelong resident of Greensboro, he was 18 years old in 1957 when he recorded his first 45 single locally on the Sky Castle label, named after the teenybopper hangout on High Point Road known for its elevated WCOG-AM DJ booth. He was signed by Columbia Records a year later.
In 1959, he became a bonafide teen idol in Australia, where, during his first tour there, screaming fans greeted him everywhere he went.
“Boom Boom Baby” rocketed to No. 1, the first of four top-10 platters down under. “I was excited just to be in the business and nervous at the same time,” Craddock told me in 2009. “The record company took a picture of me combing my hair on top of a building in New York. When it came out in a magazine they called me ‘pretty boy.’ I didn’t like that.”
the Billboard country chart. “Wow, what a feeling riding around Greensboro,” he recalled. “Seemed like every time I’d move the radio dial, it was playing. Every station, ‘Knock Three Times’ was either getting started or ending. I thought, Is this for real? ” His followup country radio release, “Ruby, Baby,” cruised into the No. 1 spot.
Hits mostly eluded him stateside in the ’60s, but that changed in a big way after his 1971 “Knock Three Times” hit No. 3 on
A string of chart-toppers followed, culminating in his biggest smash in the summer of ’74, “Rub It In,” which not only landed in first place on the country chart, but also hit No. 16 across all musical genres on the Billboard Hot 100. Still rockabilly to the roots, country to the core in his 80s, Craddock thrilled the studio audience on Country Road TV in 2024, covering a Tammy Wynette tune, “Darlin’ Take Care of Yourself.”
A bridge over the rail lines on 16th Street is dedicated to Billy “Crash” Craddock, but locals who knew him before he began mining gold records remember him as the down-to-earth guy who hung sheet rock in their homes during those lean years before he began mining gold records. Rub it in, why don’tcha? — Billy Ingram
Window on the Past
This photo, taken in the 1940s, is part of the Abraham H. Peeler collection held by the Greensboro History Museum. Peeler, longtime principal at the historic J.C. Price School, was heavily involved with Camp Carlson, one of the first camps in North Carolina created for Black Boy Scouts. These 10 lads are definitely dressed for adventure with the classic campaign hats and official-issue field uniforms, complete with kerchiefs and knee-high socks with garter flashes. Obviously trustworthy, loyal, helpful, courteous, kind, obedient, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent, they were on their honor to do their best to help other people at all times and to keep themselves physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.
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Unsolicited Advice
June is chock-full of celebrations, some we’ve already marked in our planners — Father’s Day, Summer Solstice, Juneteenth, Pride Month and the highly anticipated National Accordion Awareness Month. (This is not a joke. Nor is Bed Bug Awareness Week. Look it up.) In 2014, June was also designated as Alzheimer’s & Brain Awareness Month, so we thought we’d share some of our favorite ways to boost brainpower:
Brain teasers: Ever play The New York Times’ Connections? You have to find the common bond between several words. Try this: safety, candy, DJs, home ownership. Answer: They all have their own national month in June.
Board games: Our fav? The one where someone puts bits of cheese and fruit all over the board and challenges us to eat it all. Haven’t lost yet.
Crossword puzzles: Like Katy Perry, you’re up then you’re down — but never clueless. Amp up your cognitive flexibility and reserve, short- and long-term memory, and problem-solving skills.
Sleep: Catching Z’s is vital for brain restoration and repair. But maybe you lie awake at night already fully aware of bed bugs. Let a Calm app celebrity-narrated “Sleep Story” lull you to slumber. Because the last voice you want to hear at night isn’t your partner’s. It’s Matthew McConaughey’s.
Learn a new skill: Think languages or instruments. Accordion, anyone? OH
June at Weymouth Center
Saturday & Sunday, June 14 - 15 10:00am - 4:00pm
· Reenactor encampment · Family-friendly · · Live demonstrations · Hands-on activities · And more!
Also, this month at Weymouth Center:
June 7: Sandhills Pridefest
June 16 - 20: Kids Camp Storycraft
June 24 - 27: Kids Explorer of the World Camp
June 28: Vision 4 Moore presents Billy Joel/Elton John Face 2 Face Tribute Show with local band Pocket Change
June 17: James Boyd Book Club
Scan the QR code for tickets and additional information!
• O.Henry LIVE JAZZ! Every Thursday from 6-9 PM and Select Saturdays from 7-10 PM in the Social Lobby. See the schedule at ohenryhotel.com
• LIVE Music Every Wednesday at Lucky 32! AM rOdeO (Jessica Mashburn & Evan Olson) 6-9 PM lucky32.com
• Romance, Jazz and Getaway Offers at O.Henry & Proximity Book online at ohenryhotel.com or proximityhotel.com
• Artist-in-Residence Chip Holton at L32! Live painting Wednesday – Sunday 12-2 PM and 6-8 PM. Stop by!! lucky32.com
• Weddings | Meetings | Retreats | Events | Group Accommodations Learn more ohenryhotel.com or proximityhotel.com
Mad Hatter Tea
June 22 11 AM Learn more & tickets: greenvalleygrill.com
Gemini
(May 21 - June 20)
Perhaps you know that butterflies have taste receptors on their feet. But did you know they drink mud? Communicate through flight patterns and pheromones? As the social butterfly of the zodiac, you’ve learned to flit your way out of foot-in-mouth moments with charm and grace. That skill will come in handy this month. And on June 11, the full moon in Sagittarius just might rock your world with an unexpected romance. Do try to avoid mud, flightiness and unnatural fragrances.
Read that last line again.
Tea leaf “fortunes” for the rest of you:
Cancer (June 21 – July 22)
Ignore the critics.
Leo (July 23 – August 22)
Operation Digital Detox. Capeesh?
Virgo (August 23 – September 22)
Pack an extra set of clothes.
Libra (September 23 – October 22)
It’s just not that serious.
Scorpio (October 23 – November 21)
No need to force things.
Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21)
Remember to pause before you speak.
Capricorn (December 22 – January 19)
Your song is somebody’s medicine.
Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)
Gift yourself a quiet moment.
Pisces (February 19 – March 20)
Tune into a different channel.
Aries (March 21 – April 19)
Don’t let your ego call the shots.
Taurus (April 20 – May 20)
Write this down: baking soda and vinegar. OH
Zora Stellanova has been divining with tea leaves since Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup mishap of 2019. While she’s not exactly a medium, she’s far from average. She lives in the N.C. foothills with her Sphynx cat, Lyla.
www.randymcmanusdesigns.com @randymcmanusdesigns
by m aria Johnson
Great Googly Moogly
Inquiring minds want to know some weird stuff
If there’s one thing that internet search engines can confirm about human existence, it’s this: You’re not alone in your musings, no matter how offbeat.
Which is comforting. Sorta.
I became aware of this phenomenon a few years ago, when I broke my collarbone. The treatment included wearing a crossbody sling on my right arm, and I was struck by how much of a load that put on my left shoulder.
“I wonder how much my right arm weighs?” I thought to myself.
Pre-Google I would have had to settle for a guess. Either that, or I could have pulled out a scale and tried to weigh my arm, which would have been too painful and would have brought me back to guessing.
Well, no more.
I started typing my question into the Google machine.
“How much does a woman’s . . . ”
Autofill offered several disturbing ways to complete that search phrase, along with the relatively innocuous words “arm weigh?”
Clearly, others had wanted to know the heft of a lady-wing.
Who are these weirdos? I wondered . . . before proceeding to the answer, which is:
About 5% of her body weight.
I glanced down at my 6-pound appendage.
No wonder it felt like I was lugging around a small dumbbell. I was.
Since then, I’ve noticed that no question is so esoteric, so arcane, so flippin’ odd that other people haven’t wondered the exact same thing.
Here’s a small sampling of the questions I’ve searched in the last several months, along with a little context about why I wanted to know, and the readily available answers.
Question: Why does Amal Clooney hate George Clooney’s dye job?
Why I wanted to know: Because I’m a big fan of Guilford County native and legendary World War II-era newsman Edward R. Murrow (hello, Murrow Boulevard), and because George Clooney darkened his hair for his role in the Broadway show Good Night and Good Luck, which is about how Murrow exposed McCarthyism.
Answer: Amal hates her husband’s dye job because she believes that nothing makes a man look older than using hair coloring, which, in my humble opinion, is a double standard — and also very true.
Question: Are crows attracted to bones?
Why I wanted to know: My younger son was at a friend’s apartment recently when they discovered what appeared to be a fragment of a deer jaw lying on a cushion. Huh? The best explanation: The friend’s dog had dragged in the fragment from the balcony, where . . . a bird had dropped it. (Let’s hope.)
Answer: Yes, crows are attracted to bones and other bright objects. They have been known to leave bones as “gifts” for people they like. Or want to terrorize. That part is unclear, although another Google search confirmed that crows can hold grudges against particular humans. This led me to wonder about something else that, apparently, other people have pondered, too.
Question: Do crows laugh at people?
Answer: “There’s no evidence to suggest they find human actions humorous.”
Tough audience. Caw-caw-caw.
Question: Why do male tegus have two reproductive organs?
Why I wanted to know: OK, stay with me for a minute. I was talking to a veterinarian-friend about the most unusual pets she has ever seen, and she mentioned tegus, which are a kind of lizard. Then she mentioned in a by-the-by way — you know, how friends do when they’re discussing lizard genitalia — that male tegus have two, um, cold-blooded thingies, which led me to make a crude joke about how I know a few guys who might want to become reptiles.
Answer: Nature loves a Plan B. Sorry, human dudes.
Question: What does Cali-sober mean?
Why I wanted to know: I heard it on a podcast, natch.
Answer: Cali-sober (short for Californiasober) means swearing off all intoxicants except weed, which, if you think about it, makes sense only if you’re high.
Question: Where does the phrase “great googly moogly” come from?
Why I wanted to know: Because it’s a phrase I know, but I’m not sure how I know it.
Answer: No less an intellect than author Stephen King has wondered the same thing. He traced the phrase back to 1950s bluesman Willie Dixon. Others point out that rocker Frank Zappa used the phrase in his 1974 song “Nanook Rubs It.” And apparently Grady uttered the words on the 1970s TV show Sanford and Son in clear anticipation of the internet age way before Lamont and the rest of us “big dummies” saw what was coming.
Question: How do dryer balls work?
Why I wanted to know: In case you haven’t noticed, dryer balls — which are balls that you put in a dryer; let’s hear it for the occasional obvious answer that is also correct — are on store shelves everywhere. I’d dismissed them as a gimmick until a veteran appliance repairman recommended them as a way to increase the efficiency of a clothes dryer.
Answer: Dryer balls work by “aerating” the clothes, creating more space between laundry items as they tumble, thereby cutting down drying time. I wouldn’t have believed it, but it seems to be true. The balls also soften clothes by beating the snot out them (my words, not the words of the dryer ball industry). And as an added bonus, your dryer will sound like a collegiate drum line, which should keep the crows from leaving deer bone fragments around your house. It works out. OH
Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry magazine. Email her at ohenrymaria@gmail.com.
A Day at the Beach
When everything goes wrong
By A nne Blythe
If you’re one of those people who likes to walk on the beach and dream up scenarios for what might be happening in some of those homes looking out over the ocean, Kristie Woodson Harvey has a whale of a tale for you.
In Beach House Rules, the Beaufort-based author takes readers inside a massive two-story oceanfront home enveloped by “the salt air and rhythmic shush of the waves” in fictional Juniper Shores, North Carolina. Harvey’s 11th book, which she describes as “an ode to female friendship,” also has mystery, a touching exploration into what makes a family and, of course, a love story or two — many of the elements for a breezy, easy beach read.
Inside Alice Bailey’s massive beach house is the “mommune,” an intriguing co-living situation that — because of a variety of individual crises — brings a cast of women and their children together. Charlotte Sitterly and her teenage daughter, Iris, are the newest “mommune” residents, having found themselves in need of shelter, hugs and support after being locked out of their five-bedroom, four-and-a-half bath shorefront home by the FBI.
Bill, husband of Charlotte and dad of Iris, is in the local jail, accused of a white collar crime that thrusts their family into the glaring spotlight of an anonymous gossipy Instagram account that revels in “sharing bad behavior and delicious drama in North Carolina’s most exclusive coastal ZIP code.”
Charlotte, Bill and Iris came to Juniper Shores during the height of the pandemic, refugees from a locked-down New York City. While snuggling on the wide-open beach during what was supposed to be a temporary visit, soaking up the orange glow of a Mayflower moon and watching their daughter make friends with a neighbor girl, Bill suggested they build a house there,
miles and worlds away from their hectic and confined city life. Charlotte leaned into her husband and quickly said yes.
Fast forward to Charlotte’s meltdown in the lobby of Suncoast Bank, three days after coming home to a swarm of police cars and FBI agents combing through her dream house. With the family’s financial assets seized, Charlotte needed a job. Her work history was in finance, so she thought she would try the local bank, but convincing a bank or investment firm to take on the spouse of a man accused of stealing large sums of money from his clients was a tough sell.
Alice, known around town as the woman with three dead husbands in 12 years, offered Charlotte a supportive ear and refuge at her former bed-and-breakfast, where women and their children facing hardships comprise the “mommune.” With only enough cash to afford two more weeks at a modest hotel, Charlotte agreed. Her mind raced as she walked into the Bailey house. What if Alice was a creepy killer who’d offed her husbands? Was she a lunatic or a saint? And always in the back of her mind, what if Bill had, indeed, committed the financial crimes he was accused of? Charlotte tamped down those questions as Alice took her through the unlocked door into a haven with a chef’s kitchen, an open-plan dining room, a living room that stretched across the entire house and an array of comfortable bedrooms.
Through the alternate narratives of Charlotte, Iris and Alice, Harvey weaves in the many side stories. We learn about Julie Dartmouth, Alice’s niece and a dogged reporter who was the
first woman to take up residence, along with her children, in the Bailey house. Before Charlotte and Iris arrived she “seemed to absolutely revel in writing about Bill’s arrest.” But “beach house rules” changed that.
Grace, Julie’s best friend and an Instagram influencer who has gained a large following sharing her recipes on “Growing with Grace,” was the second mom to join the so-called “lost ladies club.” She moved in after her husband split to Tokyo, leaving her with a mortgage to pay and children to raise, one of whom is a star high school quarterback and heartthrob, an added bonus for Iris, a 14-year-old navigating the highs and lows of teenage years.
Elliott Palmer, Alice’s former boyfriend who wants to reignite their love story, has the potential to upend this makeshift family. He’s not deterred by Alice’s wake of dead husbands or other claims that she’s cursed. “You’re not going to kill me,” he tells her over a bottle of Champagne and a remote table for two overlooking the water.
Harvey weaves all these storylines together, thread by thread, mystery by mystery, to an end that reveals whether or not Alice — who, not coincidentally, had taken a financial hit from the whitecollar crime Bill is accused of — had ulterior motives when she invited Charlotte and her daughter to stay with her.
While there are dark clouds that hang over the many mysteries within this mystery, the romance and light fun make it more about community and the friendships that can unexpectedly occur when it seems like everything is falling apart.
According to the Beach House Rules, setbacks can be blessings in disguise. OH
Anne Blythe has been a reporter in North Carolina for more than three decades covering city halls, higher education, the courts, crime, hurricanes, ice storms, droughts, floods, college sports, health care and many wonderful characters who make this state such an interesting place.
A
Established as a family-owned and -operated home care agency, our mission is to enable individuals to remain in the comfort of their own homes. In 2010, Lisa Clapp Hmiel made the difficult decision to leave her family’s nursing home following a devastating race car accident that paralyzed her son. This pivotal moment inspired Lisa and her youngest son, Tyler, to open Home Helpers Home Care of Jamestown in 2013. Our goal is to offer everyone the same compassionate and loving care provided to her son, Shane.
The Mummification of Leapy the Lizard
And the love language of science
By K Aren South All WAttS
Note from the editor: This was our 2024 essay contest second place winner.
One of the ways my late father connected with us was by indulging our love of little critters. We had an elaborate aquarium setup where hundreds of mollies and swordfish lived, plus a series of cats, including one named Cedric who had his own small castle my father had built for him in the basement. Despite his decorated plywood castle, Cedric preferred to spend nights outside, where he collected mice. He would line them up on the front porch for my mother to find when she came home from work.
Once, we were allowed to bring home a huge bucket of frog eggs and hatch them. Unfortunately, we left the lid off the aquarium and hundreds of baby frogs escaped into my brother's bedroom. Years later when we moved out of that house, we were still finding tiny, desiccated frog bodies in the cracks of the wood floors. Obviously, not all our pet experiments turned out well, which leads us to Leapy the lizard.
Leapy was an anole, which some people mistake for chameleons because they can change from green to brown, though they aren’t truly part of that family. He lived in a small, plastic cage, having been spared the huge aquarium that had seen the deaths of three iguanas. Henry I, Henry II and Henry III, all of whom, though indulged with lots of fruit-and-veggie treats, probably
perished due to the lack of a heat lamp in an upstairs, suburbanMaryland bedroom. So, Leapy got smaller quarters that could be moved around.
He was green and cute, and we could not keep our little hands off of him. It should come as no surprise that this led to Leapy’s demise. The exact cause, revealed through tearful answers to adult questioning, seemed to be my little sister deciding that his red throat pouch was an injury that she needed to push back in. As yet another lizard went to the great beyond, my father looked for a way to distract us from the loss.
He told us we could mummify Leapy by following the stepby-step instructions that were, oddly enough, in the 1948 World Book Encyclopedia set my mother had inherited. Not having a source for a prime ingredient, natron, the mineral salt used by the ancients, a cough drop tin filled with Epsom salts sufficed. After a few days covered in salts, Leapy was ready for the next step. My father spray painted him gold and then mounted him on a small board he had lacquered with several layers of shiny, black paint. Then, Dad covered him with a plastic shell, making him immortal.
Just because Leapy was dead didn't mean we stopped playing with him. He was taken to many show-and-tell days and incorporated into backyard games. Sadly, this last activity meant his golden, princely state was ended by an encounter with the lawn mower.
Many years later when I had my own children, I told them the story of Leapy the lizard. What I didn't realize was that, when my youngest was in second grade, he retold the story at school for a Family Day activity and drew a picture to go with it. This was the first time I realized that my child was correcting his science teacher. On his class project, she had changed
the pleasures of life
the word natron to nitrogen, telling my son that the first word didn't exist. He was livid. So, on the night of the parentteacher conference, I had to explain to his teacher that natron actually did exist and was a mineral salt, and it was, in fact, the substance used by ancient Egyptians to mummify the dead. She was not amused; nor was she amused several weeks later when my son corrected her in class because she didn’t realize that bats were mammals. Second grade was tough.
Over the years, I used the same types of strategies and science-driven activities my father had to connect with my own children. I’m sure our neighbors will never forget the archaeological dig in the yard, complete with perfectly square holes, measuring strings, and the happy accident of a long-forgotten cow bone.
Now, I’m a grandparent who routinely has to shampoo spider webs out of her hair. Recent adventures have included photographing dozens of mushrooms, fungi and insects, as well as befriending several worms and snails. Sure, I’m not as flexible as I was in my younger days, but I can still catch a toad when necessary. And, yes, it’s almost always necessary. I was well into adulthood before I understood that my father’s unconventional parenting was the result of severe abuse and neglect. He had no memories of a happy childhood, and no example of decent parenting to guide him. He was making it up as he went along and used the part of his life where he’d found acceptance and success — science — to connect with his kids. It turns out that science can be a love language, perhaps the only one my father had. And while Leapy may not be truly immortal, his story has connected three generations of curious minds in my family. OH
Karen Southall Watts is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee for poetry whose work spans genres from lyrical verse to short fiction and business writing. Based in Alamance County, she also empowers entrepreneurs as a dedicated business coach.
By Cynthi
Our rescue — let’s call him Max — has a record. I worry he might be sent to juvenile hall. Or reform school for troubled terriers.
Max
The making — and unmaking — of a miscreant
I’ve changed our wire-haired fox terrier’s name to protect his identity should an overzealous public servant decide to pursue any of his perceived crimes.
Max has never gained a firm grasp on boundaries. Now, skittering around on the margins of civil society, he is a wanted canine. Why? He bit the hand that feeds him.
But first, a little background: Max, a “high-energy” dog, was foisted off on me in the paint department of a Lowe’s at the North Carolina coast. His owner, a bedraggled looking mom of children of various ages, said he stole the little ones’ rubber ducks. He had been banished to a pen in their backyard, where he had been confined for four years. She produced a picture on her cellphone: Max, a tan-and-white beauty, looked straight at me from the photo with the saddest of eyes.
From another picture, he pants breathlessly out of a passenger window, beckoning me with a “please” look in his eyes.
I later learned that two large labs lived indoors while little Max, just 14 pounds, was penned alone in the backyard. Was he underfed, too?
When we brought him home Max was so jubilant, given his newfound freedom — a dog door and fenced yard to roam — it took him weeks to settle down even a little. As forewarned, he was petrified of storms after years of suffering through them alone. Is it possible for a dog to be phobic about rain yet adore water if it doesn’t fall from the sky? Inscrutably, he loves to splash and play in water but dashes in through the dog door at even the gentlest rain.
Max was not only jealous of our smaller, younger dog, he was a thief, stealing any toys from man or beast.
But with time, effort, consistency and affection, Max possessed moments of calm that gave us a glimpse of his future self. He gained a few pounds, showing a taste for carrots and fresh apple.
Even so, five years later, he remains neurotic to the point of terror with the slightest threat of a storm, near or far. Soft jazz helps. Medication doesn’t. He tunnels underneath the sofa, shivering until the storm passes. And yet, the mere glimpse of a water
hose sends Max into a rapturous, manic, playful frenzy.
He is a creature of the morning; by evening, he prefers to be left alone in his bed, more curmudgeonly.
Yet he is exceedingly smart, able to reason and anticipate. When Max sees me sorting glass, he anticipates a car ride to the recycling center and is sent straight into a an ecstatic, hyper state.
One late afternoon when Don and I were walking him, he suddenly lunged for something on the ground. “That could be a chicken bone!” I cried, given fast-food remnants littered the area.
Don pulled Max’s leash in, hurrying to open his mouth and fish out the foreign object; Max clamped down firmly on the soft tissue between his thumb and forefinger.
When Don shouted in pain, Max clamped harder in resistance. He was not surrendering his prize.
By morning, Don’s hand was purply and swollen. Our physician was away, so he visited a clinic. The attending physician shook his head, returning with a clipboard. An official dog bite report was made to Animal Control even though Don’s injury only required precautionary antibiotics, a cursory look and rebandaging. No stitches.
State law requires that a dog who has bitten a human — even their owner — quarantine for 10 days for rabies observation. (This includes fully vaccinated canines.) Guidelines require the animal sequester at a veterinary hospital, animal control facility, or, possibly, the owner’s property. There is no exception for firsttime offenders like Max.
I gasped: How would Max survive should they order confinement at the shelter? Or the vet? This was a dog whose spirit had only been restored after years of effort. He had suffered banishment once. He might not have the resilience to handle such isolation again.
Home confinement looked wonderful by comparison.
We chewed our nails, waiting for Animal Control to knock at our door. In desperation, I displayed a published article I’d written for this magazine about Max’s first year with us. In it, he was sitting happily at his master’s side, flashing a cheery doggy smile.
We eventually resumed walking him, strictly on a shorter leash. We reasoned it was a bad idea to come between food and Max, who had possibly been underfed those many years of confinement.
Weeks, then months passed. We exhaled. Thankfully, Mad Max got the third chance he deserved. OH
Cynthia Adam is a contributing editor to O.Henry magazine.
The Black Crows
The same music but different lyrics
By SuSA n CA mpBell
Everyone knows what a crow is, right? Well, no. Not exactly. It is not quite like the term “seagull,” which is generic for a handful of different species found near the coast. When it comes to crows, you can expect two species in central North Carolina in the summertime: the American crow and the fish crow.
Telling them apart visually is just about impossible. However, when they open their beaks, it is a different matter. The fish crow will produce a nasal “caw caw,” whereas the American will utter a single, clear “caw.” That familiar sound may be repeated in succession, but it will always be one syllable. Young of the year may sound somewhat nasal at first, but they will not utter the two notes of their close cousin, the fish crow.
Both crows have jet black, glossy plumage. They have strong feet and long legs, which make for good mobility. They walk as well as hop when exploring on the ground. They have relatively large, powerful bills that are effective for grabbing and holding large prey items. Crow wings are relatively long and rounded, which allows for bursts of rapid flight as well as efficient soaring. The difference between the two species is very subtle: Fish crows are just a bit smaller. Unless you have them side by side, they are virtually indistinguishable.
Fish crows are migratory in our part of North Carolina. By the end of the summer flocks of up to 200 birds will be staging ahead of the first big cold front of the fall. Most of the population will be moving eastward come October. For reasons we do not understand, some fish crows will overwinter in our area. Other small groups are being found on Christmas Bird Counts
each December across the region. Not surprisingly, the number of fish crows along our coast swells significantly by mid-winter. Visiting flocks do not stay long and are our earliest returning breeding birds, arriving by early February for the spring and summer. Almost as soon as they reappear, they begin nest building. Their bulky stick-built platforms are hard to spot, usually in the tops of large pines. Furthermore, crows tend to be loosely colonial, so two or three pairs may nest close together in early spring.
Although fish crows are often found near water, they wander widely. They are very opportunistic, feeding by picking at roadkill, taking advantage of dead fish washed ashore, sampling late season berries, digging up snapping turtle eggs, or robbing bird feeders all with ease. But they are also predatory. Even though they are large birds, they can be quite stealthy. It is not uncommon for these birds to hunt large insects in open fields, or frogs and crayfish at the water’s edge. Unfortunately, fish crows are very adept nest robbers and take a good number of eggs and nestlings during the summer.
These birds, as well as their American cousins, can become problematic. They are very smart and readily learn where to find an easy meal. At bird feeders, they will quietly wait until the coast is clear, especially if savory mealworms or suet can be had, and polish off every scrap in no time. Southern farmers, years ago, found an effective deterrent: hanging one of these birds in effigy to keep flocks from decimating their crops. Recently I acquired a stuffed crow from my local bird store in hopes this method would work around my feeding station. I have also been concerned about both species of crow preying on nearby nests. Amazingly, it does work, though I do move it regularly to keep the attention of passing would-be marauders. And it’s quite the conversation starter as well! OH
Susan Campbell would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos. Her email is susan@ncaves.com.
Filmmaking on the Frontlines
And screenwriting in a Greensboro bar
By Billy ingr A m
“I am a typed director. If I made Cinderella, the audience would immediately be looking for a body in the coach.” — Alfred Hitchcock
Hunched slightly over in the darkened outer reaches of Corner Bar on Spring Garden, writer, producer and director Phil Blattenberger is pecking away at finessing his latest screenplay. Forbes anointed him as “Cinema’s Every Man” and says he “is reshaping the industry in his workingclass image.” Launched from Greensboro, this young filmmaker managed to wrap two acclaimed feature films in the last two years alone. His 2024 release, Laws of Man, stars Jacob Keohane (Halloween Kills), Jackson Rathbone (Twilight), Dermot Mulroney (My Best Friend’s Wedding), Keith Carradine (Nashville) and Harvey Keitel (Reservoir Dogs).
“I was in grad school at UNCG” recalls Blattenberger. A baby step back in 2017 is what prompted this improbable journey. “As a fun little side project, I wrote a Vietnam War movie. I’m going to shoot this thing in the woods of North Carolina with my buddies to get investors involved.” As it turns out, he raised enough money behind it to ship production overseas to Cambodia. The result was Point Man, an unflinching deep dive into racial tensions during the Vietnam War, racking up nominations for Best Screenplay and Best Director at the Sydney Indie Film Festival, ultimately winning Best Film among other accolades. Sony secured DVD-distribution rights for the 2018 wartime drama.
His second feature, Condor’s Nest, came out a full five years later, and was more ambitious. A WWII adventure about a downed American B-17 bomber crew thwarting Nazis, it stars a platoon of familiar pros including Arnold Vosloo (The Mummy), Michael
Ironside (Starship Troopers), Academy Award-nominee Bruce Davison (X-Men, 1923) and Jorge Garcia (Lost). While some scenes were filmed in South America (doubling for Germany), most of the production was shot in North Carolina, including right here in town, even a day lensing at the former Cellar Anton’s site, underneath what is now Havana Phil’s. I’m told it looked exactly as it did when the last meal was served there some four decades earlier. (I wrote about that project in my March 2023 column: ohenrymag.com/wandering-billy-76.)
Blattenberger set sights even higher for his follow up, the aforementioned Laws of Man. “Next step up is a bigger budget, bigger names,” he says about an explosive period piece pitting a suited duo of 1960s-era U.S. Marshalls manhunting a fleeing fugitive. “If we’re going to justify that expense, we’ve got to have the soft money. So we set up shop in New Mexico.” That decision was made primarily due to the state’s generous financial incentives for filmmakers, i.e. soft money. “All of the Condor’s Nest financiers came in so we got Keith Carradine — the first time I’ve worked with an Academy Award winner.” Laws of Man scored Best Film at the Tangier Film Festival in 2024.
“Jacob Keohane, who starred in my first two movies, plays the lead in Laws of Man, just a phenomenal guy.” Blattenberger met the actor while working as a bartender prior to filming Point Man. “His audition came across, I watched the tape and I was like, ‘Where the hell do I know that guy?’ I realized he was DJ Jake the Snake at Club Fifth Season, my first bartending gig in its final days, circa 2009.”
Blattenberger’s fourth feature, Ascendant, is likely to lift off as you’re reading this, but the financing landscape in 2025 is a great deal more fraught than it was even just a couple of years ago.
He characterizes current conditions as the biggest crisis the motion picture industry has faced since the advent of television. “Distributors have chopped their minimum guarantees because
they overspent, basically.” Recall that onslaught of intriguing new TV series and big budget pictures bombarding us on streaming platforms beginning around five years ago (thanks to COVID)? Notice how that practice has cooled considerably? Turns out there was some illogic behind that. Amazon, Hulu and Netflix leveraged — and blew through — billions of dollars developing jaw-dropping content with maximum star power, believing that newbies like Peacock and Paramount+ would wither away in their wake, leaving just a few players dominating digital media.
“It just didn’t happen,” says Blattenberger. Posting billions in losses, streamers reversed course, eschewing new acquisitions. “They stopped buying the indie films that hit Cannes and then Toronto. Nobody is getting post-theatrical deals.” The (new) old paradigm was that a movie would have an initial run, get picked up by a top-tier streamer for three months, followed by a Hulu run, then a Tubi exclusive and a cable deal. “That used to be the waterfall.”
I find that comforting, in a perverse way, knowing the movie business hasn’t changed significantly since I walked away 30 years ago. The bobbleheads tucked into top floors are still running things with reckless fecklessness.
As preeminent entertainment essayist and film historian Peter Biskind once wrote, “ . . . the independents who are really passionate always find a way to make their films.” Embracing this unprecedented distribution dynamic, for his next production, Blattenberger set aside an elaborate concept, which was already in the works, in favor of a more scaled-
“Because B-budget action thrillers require huge names, you’ve got to make your money back on a $1.5 million budget,” argues the auteur. “The exception has always been horror — I hate the word ‘horror,’ so I’m going to call it a psychological thriller — that lets you bring in a genre star who costs you pennies on the dollar compared to your A-listers. Horror turns out a hundred times at the box
office what you could possibly expect with low-budget action.”
In pre-production when we spoke, Ascendant is centered around a doomsday cult no doubt up to devilish dealings while on a retreat in Eastern North Carolina. “You’ve got to make your location interesting if you’re going to hold an audience hostage for 90 minutes in what’s effectively a single location. You’ve got to go for broke on the design.” What will be a creepy encampment situated inside what is effectively a 3-acre crop circle is being constructed from the ground up in Rocky Mount. Blattenberger is no Cecil B. DeMille on an elevated perch barking orders through a megaphone. “I’m out there with dirty hands, picking splinters out of my fingers, building sets,” he says of his activity earlier in the week.
“Film it and they will come” may not sound like a solid marketing strategy to a banker or lawyer, but it’s business as usual for indies and major releases alike. When a long shot does hit the mark — take Blair Witch Project, for instance — the money spigot sprays in all directions. “I’m in a weird position where I’m over halfway financed, but, in my experience, once you attach a name, that’s when people really start throwing cash in.” As luck would have it, he's just signed Rob Zombie collaborator Richard Brake (The Munsters), who also appeared in Laws of Man.
“As producer, all of my pre-production work can be done from a laptop.” As such, Phil Blattenberger has discovered what other local creatives have: You can go Hollywood without living the nightmare. “I sit here in this exact chair at this exact corner at Corner Bar and do half my work. This is effectively my office at this point. I can shoot in Cambodia or New Mexico or Rocky Mount, but, until I need to be on set actually building or directing, I can center myself in a place like Greensboro, North Carolina.”
Born and raised in Greensboro, for a 10-year period in the 1980s and ’90s, Billy Ingram was part of the Hollywood design team the ad world enshrined as “The New York Yankees of motion picture advertising.”
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The Ferry from Ocracoke to Swan Quarter
Laughing gulls hover: a story below, their shadows slide and crux across the deck of the Silver Lake — painted white by convicts from the Hyde County camp — bound over the slick-cam Pamlico, past a dredge-spoil island where cormorants in black frock coats congregate, exiled, penitent, eyeing the ferry with Calvinist reproach.
— Joseph Bathanti
Joseph Bathanti is a member of the North Carolina Literary Hall of Fame. His novella, Too Glorious to Even Long for on Certain Days, will be released this summer by Regal House Press. His next volume of poetry, Steady Daylight , will be published in 2026 by the Louisiana State University Press.
continues planting for the future
By Ross Howell JR. PHotogR aPHs By lynn Donovan
Gail Hill is proud that the Greensboro Council of Garden Clubs, where she now serves as a trustee, has been active in our community for 95 years. Not a bad run for a local civic group.
But because of changing family structure and lifestyles, Hill is concerned about its future.
Soft-spoken as Hill is, you’d probably never predict that she would have one day become president of the Garden Club of North Carolina.
But she did. And she’s played a key role in the GCGC’s longevity.
“I grew up on a tobacco farm in southern Guilford County,” Hill says.
Her grandmother “could poke a stick in the ground and it would grow,” she tells me. And her father inherited his mother’s green thumb.
“Dad was always out working in the garden, propagating some flower or other he’d started from seed,” she says.
While she enjoyed farm life, Hill spent enough time pulling suckers from tobacco plants to know that she didn’t want to marry a farmer.
So she married a businessman — her husband, Wayne, now retired. They moved around a good bit regionally for his career.
And Hill found herself becoming more involved in garden club leadership.
Back in 2005, Hill — along with the council historian and council secretary — compiled an award-winning history of the
Greensboro Council of Garden Clubs to commemorate its 75th anniversary.
She was especially drawn to the history of the council, because her father — the man who’d inherited the green thumb — served in the U.S. Army Air Forces in WWII. He had been stationed where the Greensboro Council of Garden Clubs had been very active — the O.R.D. (Overseas Replacement Depot), where troops trained, awaiting orders to ship out to war.
While Hill was working on the council history, she was also serving as council president pro tem and director of District 5, the South Atlantic Region of the National Garden Clubs — comprising Kentucky, North Carolina, South Carolina, Virginia and West Virginia.
She was elected president of the Garden Club of North Carolina in 2015.
“I served two terms as president,” Hill says. “It was a lot of work and travel.”
Hill explains that, as president of the state garden club, she was responsible for eight geographical districts. Her duties included personal visits to each of those districts once a year.
Think of it. Our state comprises 100 counties reaching from the mountains to the sea.
“So I saw a lot of North Carolina,” Hill says with a wry smile. “But everywhere you went, the people were so enthusiastic.”
“It was wonderful,” she adds.
But times change.
In 1930, there were 11 neighborhood garden clubs that met together to create a citywide council with the objective of creating “A More Beautiful Greensboro.” While there are several neighborhood garden clubs today, there are just three clubs that participate in council meetings.
Hill believes that even neighborhood garden club memberships have fallen. The traditional model of afternoon meetings during the work week just isn’t practical. In most young families today, both husband and wife are often working, and if the couple have children, they must devote big chunks of time to their kids’ activities as well.
“We encourage young people just starting garden clubs to have meetings at night, have them on weekends,” Hill says.
These days, there are two types of fundraising programs that are the GCGC’s staples.
First, there are the ever-popular spring garden tours.
This May, the council’s “2025 Garden Tour” included home
gardens in Irving Park, Fisher Park, Westerwood, Sunset Hills, Starmount Forest and Hamilton Forest, along with a tour of the hospice garden at Beacon Place on Summit Avenue.
“This fall, we’ll be finalizing our plans for the spring 2026 tour,” Hill says.
The second staple is a day of public educational seminars — one program in fall and one in spring — held at the Greensboro Science Center.
In March, the “Spring Gardening Seminar 2025” was held in the Sail Room at the Greensboro Science Center. Presentations included “Edible Landscapes” by Jeanne Aller, Master Gardener; “Flower Designs for Your Lifestyle” by Clark Goodin, owner and floral designer of Plants & Answers in Greensboro; and “Favorite NC Plants” by horticulturist Mike Trivette of Statesville.
Plans for the “Fall Gardening Seminar 2025” are currently underway.
Hill believes that educational opportunities hosted by the council are essential to the future of garden clubs.
“When we have these seminars, we have lots of young people come,” she says. “We can see that they love to plant and they love to grow flowers,” Hill adds. And often, she tells me, she signs up new members.
She reflects for a moment.
“A lot of us older members are just aging out,” Hill says.
“In the spring, my husband and I like to ride down Dogwood Drive to see the blossoms,” she continues. “And I think about the Greensboro Council and the Jaycees.”
Some of those trees were planted in 1954 during “Operation Dogwood,” a joint effort by the GCGC, the Jaycees and neighborhood garden clubs to plant 10,000 dogwoods throughout the city.
“Now the trees are too old,” Hill says. “We need to plant new seedlings.”
Then she smiles.
“The council is a wonderful organization,” Hill says. “It’s done itself proud.” OH
Ross Howell Jr. is a contributing writer.
For more information, check out the Greensboro Council of Garden Clubs social media feed at www.facebook.com/gcgcinc.
Greensboro Council of Garden Clubs
The lovely urban environment we take for granted has been shaped by years of dedication and selfless hours of service by generations of GCGC members. Noted here are a few of the markers in a timeline of achievement. Unmentioned are the sustaining funds provided to landmarks like Blandwood and the Greensboro Science Center; gifts to parks, gardens, schools and museums; and scholarships and community programs for young gardeners and gardeners who are young at heart.
1930 GCGC founded, Mrs. Charles (Anne) Hagan named president
1930-1932 First civic planting, Japanese cherry trees on E. Bessemer Avenue
1934-1935 Assisted development of Latham Park
1942 Called for “adequately housed farm produce market,” 12,000 people petition city
1943-1944 Gift to Red Cross for blood plasma at O.R.D. (overseas replacement depot)
1945 Planted 8,000 pansies on O.R.D. hospital grounds
1950 First home and garden tour
1954 “Operation Dogwood,” 10,000 dogwood seedlings planted in neighborhoods
1960 Planted Coliseum Memorial Court and purchased fountain
1967 Began sustained funding for City Beautiful (now Greensboro Beautiful)
1968 One of the founding sponsors of Greensboro Beautiful
1971 First Christmas tree display at Friendly Center auditorium
1971-1972 500 rose bushes planted in Anniversary Garden
1974 Major gift for creation of Bicentennial Garden
1980 Purchased sundial for Bicentennial Garden
1983 Major gift to Greensboro Beautiful for arboretum landscaping plans
2001 Construction and landscaping completed for GCGC building, Lawndale Drive
From “The Greenboro Council of Garden Clubs, Inc. History 1930-2005,” Gail Hill, president and Inez Ryals, historian.
High school cool kids conquer all, even Carnegie Hall
By Billy ingR am
ot long ago while attending my high school reunion, discussions with former (resisting using the word “old”) classmates inevitably circled back to how fortunate we were to have had an abundance of high-caliber teachers at Page, back in what is euphemistically referred to as “the day.” There was Jean Newman, an English teacher who instilled in me a love for creative writing. Without her encouragement, you wouldn’t be rolling your grapes over these words right now. Elizabeth Bell’s art class taught fundamental artistic methodologies and rendering techniques that, a decade later, proved crucial for a career in the arts that didn’t exist when I graduated high school. So many influencers . . .
There’s an infamous malapropism uttered on the 2000 campaign trail by the world champion of the slipped lip, George W. Bush: “Rarely is the question asked, is our children learning?”
Recalling that quotation a quarter of a century later prompted me
to pondering . . . is our kids learning today?
To quell that query, I made an appointment to see Principal Whitney Sluder at Weaver Academy for Performing & Visual Arts and Advanced Technology (granted it’s not your typical high school). Welcoming its first students in 1978, Weaver Academy (originally Weaver Education Center) offers an opportunity for public high schoolers to explore multiple artistic avenues and grow proficient in specialized, in-demand skills that typical schools don’t usually have room or resources to tackle.
“Generally speaking, we are an open campus downtown and I love our location,” Principal Sluder tells me as I’m ushered into her office. “We can walk everywhere. The art scene is very much present downtown, which I love. That’s grown even in the last 15 years since I was here as a student.”
Principal Sluder graciously leads me on a tour of this buzz -
PHotogR aPHs By BeRt vanDeRveen anD Becky vanDeRveen
ing hive and, honestly, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I might not have believed it. I see kids running to class. No one is YouTubing on their iPhones. Every classroom we dropped in on, students are fully engaged, wide-eyed and awake, displaying an obvious yearning for learning. Did I inadvertently overlook a Red Bull concession in the lobby? Turns out, populating a learning environment with young people who actively want to be present, smaller class sizes and teachers just as enthusiastic as the students leads to wondrous results.
Weaver’s curriculum is divided into two distinct disciplines. PVA (Performing and Visual Arts) students attend Weaver for the entire school day, where, in addition to their chosen creative focus, they also study traditional academics like math and science. CTE (Career and Technical Education) attendees are bussed in part-time from their districted high schools to master more conventional skills like culinary arts, carpentry, drafting and diesel technology.
I’m introduced first to Masonry instructor Dean Lamperski, who is busy teaching proper methods for framing homes using cinder blocks. “It’s the biggest thing now in the industry,” he explains about an increasingly popular approach that mitigates damage caused by severe storms. He likens it to construction in Florida, “where you build houses out of block then put whatever exterior material you want on it.”
Rounding the hall, James Adkins is teaching Construction Technology and Carpentry in a cavernous workshop that opens up to the outdoors. Previously a general contractor, Adkins’ teaching toolbox is packed with practical knowhow. “I got into commercial construction, ran my own business for 15 years, then I retired. That did not go well at all.” His wife, a school counselor at the time, suggested he look into teaching “because I was lost. That was 17 years ago and I’ve loved every minute.”
Masonry, carpentry and HVAC students graduate with an NCCER (National Center for Construction Education and Research) certification. “We also do OSHA 10 certification,” Adkins points out. “So they can leave here and go into the GAP [Guilford Apprenticeship Partners] program or go straight into the workforce.” Plus, he says, a lot of his graduates head to Guilford Technical Community College or East Carolina University to study construction management. Of his charges this year, “All of mine are high flyers. Almost all of them have a plan for what they’re going to do next. These last few years, I’ve been very impressed, I could leave them alone and they’ll just keep on working.”
Each year Adkins’ students assemble two tiny houses, one for Tiny House Greensboro and another, funded by GCS CTE, is assembled atop a trailer. These projects involve substantial collaboration between other Weaver curricula. For instance, “Drafting is involved in the design,” Adkins says. “Our trailer is built by Kevin Crutchfield’s Diesel Technology class. It goes over to Collision Repair, where they’ll paint it, and then we frame the house upon
it. Heating and Air will do the HVAC units.”
“We used to build an entire house,” Principal Sluder explains as we walk further. “We haven’t done that for quite some time. It’s hard to move a large house — that takes a lot of time and permits. The kids get excited about the tiny houses because everywhere you turn, there’s a TV show about it or they see them in their communities.” Internships over the summer between 11th and 12th grade are made available so that when Weaver students graduate, they can enter a high demand field at a greater rate of pay, thanks to certifications and years of experience already behind them.
Traversing the hallways, Principal Sluder greets each passing student by name, stopping to ask how studies are going before we enter another enormous workspace, this one overseen by Ray Dove. Dove has been teaching Automotive Repair at Weaver for almost two decades. His domain consists of a fully equipped vehicular maintenance facility spilling out onto a garden-sized salvage yard with cars and trucks in various degrees of disassembly.
“We’ve got some cars sitting out here now that, when I’m finished with the instruction,” Dove explains, “and we’ve kind of worn them out, I’ll give them to Mr. Del Vecchio so he can use them in Collision Repair, taking doors off or maybe doing window glass installation.” The automotive program at Weaver is ASE Education Foundation accredited, and these students, too, finish their education earning multiple certifications.
In what serves as an occasional cafeteria, Chef Marion Osborne teaches Culinary Arts and Hospitality in the Guilford County School System’s only fully equipped commercial kitchen for students. After college, Osborne began working in restaurants and hotels with an eye towards becoming a chef, deciding instead that what he really wanted to do was to teach. Chalking blackboards as a Language Arts instructor during the day, he says, “I went to culinary school at night then went back to working in restaurants. Then, through a fluke, this job opened up and I got very lucky.” That was 17 years ago. “There’s not another school I would teach in.”
Osborne grew up in a small coal-mining town in Southwestern Virginia, where, he says, “I was cooking all the time.” His first restaurant position was as a pastry chef “and I got hooked. I worked
at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Atlanta with one of the greatest pastry chefs in the world, Jacques Torres.” Here at Weaver, his pupils are baking and broiling for three rigorous hours. “It’s a program designed to train people to work in the restaurant industry — it’s commercial cooking.” Culinary grads can transition to a finedining establishment, but, Osborne notes, the more motivated “will go to either Guilford Tech, Johnson & Wales University or the Culinary Institute of America. We’ve had students go to all three because they want that associate’s degree. It sets them up for more success.”
Located above Weaver’s circular lobby, PVA students are abuzz in the theater preparing for the upcoming spring musical, The Prom, adjusting lighting, rehearsing dance numbers and testing digital backdrops where graphics will serve as the set, no need for canvas-and-paint mise-en-scènes.
Growing up in Pennsylvania, Theater department head Keith Taylor maintained a lifelong desire to mentor. “I acted in high school and in college,” he says. “That’s where I caught ‘the bug,’ but I always knew I wanted to work with students.” He taught theater elsewhere for 20 years before his son, who was attending UNCG’s Theatre Education program, steered him towards Weaver. That was 18 years ago. “I love it here. I tell people there’s no place like it really.”
PVA applicants face a more rigorous road to acceptance as opposed to CTE hopefuls, who merely sign up for courses at their districted schools.
“We have a three-part audition,” Taylor explains about sliding into a theater-side slot. “They come with a memorized monologue to show us what they can do.” That is followed by a
quasi-cold reading with unfamiliar dialogue. “We call it a lukewarm reading because we send them out of the room with a script and one of our current students. So they get to practice and play with it a little bit.” When applicants return to the room, he quips, “Then I just mess with them. I’m like, ‘Do it like it’s the best day of your life.’ ‘Now do the script like it’s the worst day your life.’ We see if they’ll take direction, make choices and take chances.” The third hurdle is an interview. “We just talk about why you want to be at Weaver and what your life goals are and how do you see theater fitting into it. So it’s a long day.” Many arrive already experienced in local productions. “So we get a lot of kids that come in and have some chops and kind of know what they’re doing. And a lot of them with beautiful singing voices, too. I’m blown away.”
The skills these drama students acquire have practical applications across a number of more conventional disciplines. Carpentry, painting, event sound and lights, front of house, ticket sales, audio recording, and video editing are de rigueur. “When COVID hit, so many folks left the business, especially in tech,” Taylor says. “We always tell our kids you can get jobs in tech, and a lot of students find real jobs in construction. If you can build scenery, they’re hungry for you.”
Over almost two decades, Taylor has witnessed his students attain success in the business. Isaac Powell comes to mind. “He was Tony in West Side Story on Broadway and he’s done a lot of HBO, Netflix. He was in American Horror Story. Grayson Frazier works for Saturday Night Live in hair and makeup and did Aladdin.” Jonathan Cobrda wowed audiences in Frankenstein: A New Musical off-Broadway.
Howie Ledford teaches one of only four music production programs in the state at Weaver. A 2012 grad, sound designer Matt Yocum just this year won his second Grammy (for the Kendrick Lamar Not Like Us video) and scored a second Golden Reel Award. In 2024, he took home an Emmy for Best Sound Editing on HBO’s The Last of Us.
Music alumni Smith Carlson is a Los Angeles based Grammywinning, multiple platinum-selling songwriter, producer and music engineer known for his work with Lil Jon, Beyoncé and Taylor Swift. “He’s constantly asking, ‘What do you need? What can I give you equipment-wise, money?’” Principal Sluder declares. “We have two Grammy winners, an Emmy winner and a Tony winner. So all we need is an Oscar and we have an EGOT. We’re very proud of that. Students who leave here really do attribute much of their success to their high school experiences and the opportunities they have at a place like this.”
An airy, mirrored rehearsal studio is where Donna Brotherton, conductor of the award-winning Weaver Academy Chorale, leads her young vocalizers in a rendition of “John the Revelator.” Her bona fides are a mile long, including a master’s degree in Music Education. She’s been at Weaver since 2005.
Brotherton’s love of music began as a toddler in Fairfax, Va. “We had a piano and my parents showed me how to play and it just went on from there. Piano lessons, clarinet lessons, violin lessons, voice lessons, singing in shows, in operas, theater classes, everything.” During her high school days, she was first-chair bass clarinet for Virginia’s All-
Principal Whitney Sluder dances back when she was a Weaver student.
State Band for two years. “Teaching has turned out to be a complete delight in my life, I love it so much.” Seems to be a common thread at Weaver. That and loyalty to purpose.
Last summer, the Weaver Chorale was selected by WorldStrides to be a part of its National Youth Choir for a concert at Carnegie Hall. In addition to being part of that grouping, the Chorale was asked to return to Carnegie Hall to perform a 15-minute solo set of songs the students and teacher selected and prepared. “It was amazing. The kids were ecstatic,” Brotherton says. For most vocalists, that experience is an unattainable dream. “We got to see a Broadway show. We got to do a workshop with one of the musical directors of Wicked. And then our own special solo performance. It was absolutely thrilling — they were in tears.”
“I’ve had a lot of really successful students over the years,” Brotherton says about Weaver’s warblers and tech whizzes. “It’s an honor, and students know about what our graduates are doing and they want to do that, too. It’s a joy every day,” she insists. “I would do this job if they didn’t pay me.” (Given the current trajectory of education funding, be careful what you wish for.)
Sluder herself is an alumni of Weaver’s dance program. “It’s a unique perspective being an administrator here,” says Prinicipal Sluder. Her title was preceded by “Vice” until 2023, and, before that, she was the academy’s dance instructor. “It’s a humbling opportunity every day when I walk through the doors that I don’t take lightly. It really is a pleasure to serve our students and families on a daily basis in a place that really built me.” In moments when she feels overwhelmed by admin distractions, she comes back to her why: “I know what brings me joy and it’s the students.” She may venture into the dance studio to join in a routine or drop in on Brotherton’s class. “She’ll say, ‘OK, we’re going to stop practicing sight reading for a minute and we’re going to sing
for Ms. Sluder.’ Sometimes I’ll sing with them and it’s just really special. I get rejuvenated then get right back to it.”
Long after my tour through Weaver, I think back to something Mr. Adkins offhandedly remarked when we were trekking through his carpentry cave: “It’s been challenging, but I’m thinking I’m leaving things better than I found them.” I suspect it’s more significant than that.
One of my guilty pleasures is that 1996 Tinsel Town tearjerker, Mr. Holland’s Opus. The film focuses on a recalcitrant high school music teacher with a dream to conduct the symphony he rather selfishly spent the better part of his adult life composing. In the end, the titular character, portrayed by Richard Dreyfus, finally figures out what teaching is all about, but only after several decades worth of former students surreptitiously take the stage, instruments at the ready to lift his notes above the sheet. He should have realized far earlier that an educator’s true legacy is manifested quietly inside those impressionable creative cortexes he’s helped cultivate, carefully or unconsciously, by way of an enthusiastic commitment to passing along knowledge and wisdom.
On a daily basis, opuses are writ, note-by-note, by Weaver Academy’s staff and educators. Everyone I met is intently invested, personally and professionally, in best possible outcomes, whether they’re played out on the stage, under the hood of a car or by sturdy hands wielding hammers. OH
Weaver Academy’s production of The Prom was by far the finest amateur production this author has ever seen.
A what-if of what once was
By DaviD clauDe Bailey
In 1977 while I was working at the Winston-Salem Journal as a cub reporter, Ola Maie Foushee sent a signed, self-published book to my dad: Avalon, a Pictorial and Sentimental Journe y. The book joyfully heralded the happy, idyllic days of the now-abandoned mill town 2 miles from Mayodan. And there, on page 14 of the introduction, was my father: “Claude Bailey, a little boy next door, was my constant companion. We . . . made mud pies from dirt we mixed with water.” But sometimes there were no hand pumps or mud puddles to get water from, and my dad, Claude Colonelue Bailey, being a resourceful lad, had an idea. Ola Maie recalls, “When I needed water in a hurry, I considered him my most convenient source.” But not without consequences. “My father looked out the window just as Claude performed his favor,” she says, “And I was called home and given a good switching.” Ola Maie made no mention of my dad’s punishment, although, remembering my grandfather, Walter Fletcher Bailey, a no-nonsense, stern overseer at the cotton mill and a pillar in the Moravian Church, I suspect my father ate standing up for a few days.
The picture Ola Maie painted of Avalon, as she emphasizes in the title, is sentimental — to a fault. “Avalon was truly a fairyland,” she writes. “Spread over an apron-like bluff on 100.33 acres of rising land, it overlooked the winding Mayo River, the Norfolk and
Western railroad, and the new cotton mill — its raison d’être.”
Ola Maie fondly remembers free-range children and chickens roaming up and down the streets among the 62 newly built houses, many of which had picket fences with roses and morning glories climbing them. She shares her memories of Easter egg hunts at the company-built Moravian Church, Sunday afternoons with the Avalon baseball team at play, summer picnics where watermelons cooled under the tables as cakes, pies and country ham biscuits spread out on tablecloths, boys swinging from grapevines into the river while couples courted along its banks. She tells of families cooking meals over the hearth in their company mill houses (provided at a rent significantly lower than in Mayodan or Madison), of out-of-towners coming to visit in the 11-room company hotel, of bowling and roller skating upstairs at the country store, and of town folk square dancing as old-time music echoed off the four-story-high cotton mill. At its peak, 400–500 people lived in the village.
I remember my family and relatives poring over Ola Maie’s book, finding a photo of dad looking like a young 5-year-old ruffian; another of my granddad grimly posing as a foreman on the factory floor with the workers he oversaw; and a picture of the Bailey house, where my dad was born, sitting proudly next to the hotel. Although my father’s fame as Avalon’s most infamous mud-pie maker was short-lived, it inevitably came up at Bailey family reunions.
A group photo of mill workers at Avalon. Circa 1900.
Avalon Mills was incorporated in 1899 by tobacco tycoons R.J. Reynolds and B.N. Duke. Leading the charge was a relatively young upstart, Colonel Francis Fries, who, by the age of 45, had already helped establish the Roanoke & Southern Railway, of which he was the first president, as well as Mayo Mill in Mayodan. When Avalon Mills went into operation in 1900, it was not only a “modern,” state-of-the-art operation, but the larg-
est textile mill in the state. By 1910, the mill employed 250 workers, a quarter of them under the age of 16 and some even younger than 12. To her credit, Ola Maie does not gloss over the issue of child labor in the mill, along with low wages, but I’ll get to that later.
Spoiler alert. On June 15, 1911, 11 years after the mill opened, John Richardson was overseeing some spinning frames on the mill’s fourth floor. It’s worth pointing out that all the mill’s machinery was driven by leather belts that ran all the way down, floor-to-floor, to the mill’s river-driven turbine, so all the floors of the mill were open to one another. It was around 6 p.m., quitting time, when John smelled, and then saw, smoke. A bucket of water he threw on the fire proved to be too little, too late. Layers of machine oil, lint and dust covered almost every surface, and with the wind blowing through open windows, flames soon engulfed the fourth floor. In minutes, the flames spread to lower floors via the leather belt system. Although two teenage brothers ran down the stairs, screaming “FIRE” at the top of their lungs, workers heading for supper and home decided it was a prank. By dusk, all that remained of the mill was a ghostly shell, with a hulking six-story tower looming over the ruins. Miraculously, no one died, although several of the mill’s overseers had to be rescued via fire ladder. A state-ofthe-art sprinkling system never activated because a bearing in the 1,000-gallon-a-minute pump failed.
Initially, the mill’s owners talked about rebuilding, but, in the end, families lost both their jobs and their homes. The houses
Avalon Mill circa 1900
The Avalon Moravian Church. Built during 1901. The first service was held on Sunday, January 12, 1902. After the mill fire the building was sold and was disassembled and recycled into other buildings.
they had once rented were rolled atop logs by horses and mules to Mayodan, where some still stand, including the house my dad was born in. Even the church was disassembled and sold off piece by piece.
“Like bands of gypsies or displaced persons, Avalon families trudged along the road with their possessions,” Ola Maie laments. “None of us wanted to go. We were like one big family.” Many of the workers took jobs at other mills operated by Fries or found work in the plethora of mills that had sprung up along the Piedmont’s rivers. Inexplicably, my grandfather decided to go back to farming tobacco. Why, I’ve always wondered, did Walter Fletcher Bailey, in the prime of life at age 35 with five children, choose to go back to the unpredictable and back-breaking occupation of dirt farming? A foreman in the mill before it burned down and a chairman of the board of the Moravian Church, surely he would have been offered a job. My aunts and uncles had no clue.
I think maybe I do.
As someone who covered business working for O.Henry’s sister pub, Business North Carolina, I have, by choice and occupation, become something of a student of what mill life was like in the South. An excellent website, Avalon: Documenting the Rise and Fall of a Cotton Mill Village, provided me with a keener insight into
the town and mill. But my eyes were really opened when I read Like a Family: The Making of a Southern Cotton Mill World, UNC Press’ landmark compilation of oral histories gathered from mill workers all across the state. BNC’s publisher at the time, David Kinney, whose mom worked in a mill, required every new hire to read the book. While many remembered a community that was, in fact, like a family, it was definitely a dysfunctional family, with an often overbearing and often heartless “father.” While former workers, like Ola Maie, waxed nostalgic about church and baseball teams and close-knit neighborhoods and picnics, mill work-
June 15, 1911, about 5:55 P.M., Fire breaks out on the 4th floor.
ers interviewed for Like a Family were quick to paint a picture of life in the mill as harsh, dangerous and monotonous.
The hours at Avalon were from 6 a.m. in the morning until 6 at night, five days a week, plus nine more hours on Saturday. Lint and dust filled the air, and the atmosphere inside the mill was often almost unbearably hot and humid. The pace of work was unrelenting and overtime was common. Pay at Avalon reflected what was generally paid statewide in 1911. It ranged from $1 a day to $2.50 a day for the highest paid workers ($37–93 in today’s money). Workers who showed up minutes late could be docked from a quarter day’s work up to a full day. Children, who made up a quarter of the workforce at Avalon, were often tasked, because of their size, to crawl atop the machines or into their inner working to fix snags and snafus. They were paid $.20–.30 cents a day ($7.31–11.27). Unskilled women were paid the second-lowest wages, $.30–.75 ($11.27–28.18). So wages ranged from about $44 for a six-day week to $558 a week for the highest paid employees.
Admittedly, housing was provided at a very reasonable rate, but if you lost your job, you lost your home, encouraging workers to go with the flow. Injuries, like losing a finger, hand or arm, often meant both unemployment and homelessness. The houses, though newly built, were 600 square feet, with some accommodating four families. Plumbing was outdoors, of course, and the houses didn’t have electricity, though the mill did. Cooking happened over hearths, with no cook stoves.
Of course, life on a farm in that era was, arguably, even more
grueling — harsh, dangerous and unpredictable. Crops failed and prices went unpredictably up and down. The hours were just as long as, if not longer than, in the mill, and you worked outdoors in the blazing summer sun or freezing winter weather, unlike mill work. And anyone who’s ever worked on a farm will tell you that child-labor laws don’t extend to farm families.
My father and my aunts and uncles painted a sometimes grim picture of life on the farm, but they also had warm and loving memories of rural living. I found it interesting that none of the five boys turned to mill work, with all of them distinguishing themselves by following other successful careers. My granddad was his own boss and with, eventually (God bless my grandmother), nine children, he had a captive workforce. He didn’t get rich, but made a good living and, from my memory, they sure ate well, with country ham, fried chicken and biscuits aplenty.
Over the years and little by little, I came to appreciate why — I imagine — my grandfather decided to go back to farming.
If my father had worked in the Avalon mill as a child, I’m certain he would have told me, along with the many stories he spun about the mischief he and his brothers got up to on the farm, all about mill work. And maybe the course of history, in Avalon at least, might have been altered if he had. What if, on that fateful day, he had worked on the fourth floor and had been standing by with his “most convenient source” of water? OH
David Claude Bailey never worked in a mill, but a hot summer in a plastic factory gave him a good taste of what it must have been like.
One by one, houses in the village of Avalon were removed from their foundations and rolled on logs to Mayodan by teams of horses and mules.
Among the Wildflowers
A 1950s Sunset Hills charmer blooms anew
By cassie Bustamante • PHotogR aPHs By Betsy Blake
Making your way toward downtown Greensboro along Friendly Avenue, a burst of fiery red and vibrant purple might catch your eye as you pass through Sunset Hills. Wildflowers — poppies and Larkspur, to be exact — bloom along the fence line of a 1950s rancher. The seeds were sown just last year, although this particular house has been a colorful source of comment for years. In fact, if you drove by five years ago, its teal-and-purple exterior would have surely grabbed your attention.
Formerly, the single-family house was a duplex, says Rachel Azam, who currently shares the home with her husband, Najib, their 3-year-old daughter, Zaara, and her 18-year-old stepson, Khalil, who attends the North Carolina School of Science and Mathematics and will head to UNC-Chapel Hill in the fall. And let’s not forget Sophie, the family’s blue-eyed Aussie, a glutton for belly rubs. Originally from Pleasant Garden, Rachel recalls often cutting through Sunset Hills when she was a child. “I grew up
watching this house change color,” she muses.
In August 2020 at the height of the pandemic, the once likely Charlotte Hornets-inspired home was sold, flipped into a fresh, gray-and-white, clean slate, and put on the market right after the New Year holiday. Almost immediately, the Azams put in an offer.
Rachel, barefoot, stands in her bright, white kitchen, wearing relaxed, barrel jeans and a cropped white T-shirt. Her chocolatebrown eyes peer out from underneath a Duke baseball cap, her thick, brown hair hitting just below her shoulders. A warm, homemade breakfast quiche, fresh from the oven, fills the home with a toasted, buttery, come-hither smell. A bowl of oranges sits on the island counter next to a vase filled with fresh flowers in oranges and pinks. “We have a dance party in here every morning per Zaara’s request,” says Rachel.
As if on cue, Zaara twirls into the room, dark curls bouncing, and shouts, “Play ‘Cruel Summer!’” Rachel notes that most mornings it’s Broadway tunes, Wicked or Taylor Swift.
“T. Swift don’t miss,” quips Najib with a glint in his own brown eyes. He’s on his way to the Research Triangle, where he works in risk control for UBS, an investment banking company, but not before giving his wife and daughter each a kiss. “Bye, Zaari!” he says as Zaara demands a second hug from Daddy.
While the couple originally met as high schoolers training to be counselors at North Carolina for Community and Justice’s Anytown camp, they didn’t really get to know each other until much later. Najib, who grew up in nearby Jamestown, attended undergrad at UNCCharlotte and went on to earn his law degree from UNC. Rachel graduated from UNCG with a B.S. in nursing. Mutual friends brought them together eventually. Nick, Najib’s best friend from college, is the older brother of Rachel’s own childhood best friend, Sarah. But Rachel remembered Najib, who is a couple years older than her, from those teen years at camp because his name was unusual. And he’s told her, she says, “I definitely remember you, wink wink.”
In the fall of 2018, the couple first exchanged vows right here in Greensboro. “We are a multicultural household,” says Rachel. Najib is Arabic and his family hails from Bangladesh, “so we had our big Bengali ceremony and reception in October 2018.” Less than a year later, in June 2019, the couple, with photographer Ellie McKinney and their loved ones, hopped the Atlantic Ocean and held an Irish ring ceremony, honoring Rachel’s heritage, in the seaside town of Galway, Ireland.
While still in their honeymoon phase in November 2019, Rachel took a new position working in pediatric endocrinology, specifically in diabetes, within the Duke University healthcare system. The work was particularly meaningful to her. At age 11 while studying dance at the UNC School of the Arts, she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. Although she returned home after the diagnosis, dancing has always held a special place in her
heart. Granted, the job meant a big commute from their Charlotte condo, but Rachel loved the work. Soon after starting her new position, the medical world was turned on its head when the COVID pandemic descended upon America in March 2020. Rachel began working a hybrid model, often doing telehealth appointments with patients and caregivers. Thankfully, she says, the technology has come a long way from when she was a child living with diabetes. Now, remote monitoring is available. “My senior year of high school was when I got my first insulin pump. It was life changing.”
Suddenly, in 2020, both Rachel and Najib — like most of the world — found themselves at home much more often and in need of an outlet, and, she quips, “You can only do so many at–home workouts.” Rachel, who’d arranged her own wedding flowers both stateside and in Ireland, found joy in floral design. Still in Charlotte, she’d visit her local farmstand and would come home with “buckets of blooms.” A seed was planted and, before she knew it, grew into Flower Barre, a bespoke floral design company named with a nod to what she calls her first love, dance.
To get a change of scenery, the Azams ended up taking an extended stay at Najib’s parents’ Jamestown home, often wandering through Greensboro neighborhoods as a diversion. Though they’d seen themselves as never returning to the
area they grew up in, the more they walked, the more they thought, “We could live in this area.”
And when the adorable 1,600-square-foot house situated on the corner of East Greenway and Friendly popped up on Redfin, they wasted no time. That offer they submitted was readily accepted.
As it turns out, the timing was impeccable. Just a week after going under contract, the couple found out they were expecting. Naturally, the first room they tackled was Zaara’s nursery, which has since transitioned into her “big-girl” room. The walls are a soft, balletslipper pink, the windows are flanked by tonal pink, floor-length drapes, and the bedding features blooms in rosy pinks and golden yellows with stems of sage green, lady bugs scattered here and there. On her corner bookcase, overflowing with board books, a vase holds a bouquet of dried wildflowers, special to Rachel because they’re from the arrangements she made for Zaara’s first birthday, where the theme was “Wild One.”
While the home was a move-in ready, blank canvas, the landscaping was a clean slate — there wasn’t any. The couple poured their time and energy into their front yard. Rachel’s “jack-of-all-trades” dad, who raises beef cattle on a Pleasant Garden family farm, shared his skills and knowledge. With Najib, he carved out a pea-gravel pathway and installed French drainage.
The couple began planting beds, amping up the home’s curb appeal. Next came the backyard. “It was a bamboo forest,” Rachel quips. She has plans to keep adding here and there, year after year, starting with hydrangeas and echinacea this year.
Inside, they’ve put their personal stamp on their home bit by bit with splashes of color, mostly blue-greens. Rachel says those shades remind her of the ocean; they have a calming effect.
For the kitchen bar area, Rachel selected a blue-and-gold wallpaper featuring whimsical stems of wildflowers. She found sturdy wooden shelves on Etsy. Najib installed both
the wallpaper and the shelves. But the nook’s pièce de résistance is framed artwork, swirls of red with splashes of green and purple. “That’s one of Zaara’s first little finger paintings,” says Rachel proudly.
Rachel’s most recent touch to the home interior is a bold and vibrant floral wallpaper hung by the back door. The colors mimic that of Zaara’s bedding, though more saturated and with hints of Rachel’s second-favorite color, magenta. She painted the adjacent door in a dark teal shade, though, she notes, “It’s got some scratchies because of the dog — you know!”
A drop zone already existed near the back door with hooks and cubbies for shoes, but next to it was a blank wall — wasted space in a small home. Rachel reached out to her pal, Emma Millard, who, she’d noticed, was offering design work in addition to working in real estate. The two had met at the first big wedding Rachel had done as a florist, where Emma’s best friend was the bride. Emma and Rachel, both pregnant, bonded quickly and their daughters were born just a month apart.
That once blank wall is now a functional built-in. Emma maximized the limited space, designing cabinetry custom-made by Greg Van Wyk, owner of Foxbury Woodworks in Oak Ridge. Greg installed and painted it — blue-green, naturally.
From here, Zaara can be heard singing along to Moana 2. She dances in front of the TV screen, lost in her own Hawaiian reverie for the moment, but happily takes a beat to show off her modern dollhouse in the corner of the living room, where goldenrod pillows add a warm touch.
Sophie expectantly sits nearby, whimpering for attention, her little bum wiggling in anticipation. Rachel translates: “Hi, I am here, in case you forgot about me. And this is my toy basket.”
In the entry, a painting of a woman wearing a blue-and-white striped dress holding a little girl’s hand as they walk through a field of poppies and larkspurs hangs in a gilded frame. The artist’s initials? “N.A.”
“This is Zaara and I,” says Rachel wistfully. “Najib painted this for me for my birthday.” The family had visited Dogwood Farms, a you-pick flower farm in Belews Creek, and, unbeknownst to her, Najib had snapped a photo to use as his inspiration. Rachel is in awe of how he can use both sides of his brain, though she herself toes the line between science and artistry on a regular basis, too.
As a high schooler, it turns out, Najib took lessons from local artist Anne Kiefaber. During the pandemic, she opened her home studio to budding artists as long as they wore masks. Like Rachel, Najib had needed his own outlet. “So he and Khalil started going together to art class once a week,” says Rachel. Now, almost five years later, he’s still going and currently working on a piece for friends of theirs.
A moss-covered fairy house decorated with purples and oranges sits on a table below the painting. Najib’s friend, Nick, gave Zaara the kit for Christmas. “It’s just too good to put outside,” quips Rachel, “so it’s just part of the home decor!”
“We love fairies, don’t we?” she asks her daughter.
“There are three little girls down the street who had a couple of fairy houses outside in the front yard,” she says. “We couldn’t
walk past the house without stopping to play with the fairies.” The little girls took notice and began writing letters to Zaara from the perspective of River Lily, the fairy who lives there. This year, the girls have expanded into an entire fairy village that has little Zaara enchanted.
Back in their own yard, they’re working their own magic. Soon, the poppies and Larkspur along the fence — her cutting garden — will be replaced by new flowers. Last year, she planted heirloom zinnia seeds “and they actually worked!” She was able to supplement purchased stems with blooms from her garden.
Of course, there are a few blooms that hold a special place in Rachel’s heart. She loves vibrant blossoms that lend to her style, which she calls “a little wild and a little funky,” naming Dahlias — “most of them look like an amazing firework — and lisianthus. “I love the poppy,” she says. “They’re quite magical in that they come up and they are super, super tight in their pod and then they just emerge and they have these beautiful flow-y petals and really dynamic shape.”
These days, Rachel buys most of her blooms through a Winston-Salem wholesale company that supports North and South Carolina farmers. Where she expected to face competition, she has been pleasantly surprised. “We all pitch in and are helping each other,” she says. She even rents space occasionally from fellow florist Joneswell Flowers, which happens to be conveniently close to Zaara’s preschool.
And Zaara, whose name means “blossoming flower” in Arabic, loves working at the shop by her mom’s side, plucking green leaves from stems or sweeping up petals. Rachel daydreams of a future where they can work side-by-side as Flower Barre florists. “It may sound silly, but her little creative brain and the way her mind works, it would just be amazing to be able to create with nature as art with her.” The seeds are planted. And now, she waits, she waters and she watches as her own blossoming flower unfurls. OH
LADIES CLOTHING, GIFTS, BABY, JEWELRY, GIFTS FOR THE HOME, TABLEWARE, DELICIOUS FOOD
ALMANAC June
By a sHley walsHe
Father Sky
June is a love poem, unrestrained.
Impossibly red poppies gaze upon achingly blue skies. Dragonflies bend for one another, clutching and curling like contortionists in flight. Swallowtails sup nectar, deep and sweet, enraptured by milkweed, sunbeams and endless summer days.
Can’t you see? All of life loses itself in itself. The rhyme is internal; the rhythm, organic; the imagery, holy refrain.
Each stanza surprises. Some, purple as passionflowers. Some, fussy as French hydrangeas. A precious few are sharp and true.
Bend your ear toward all that pulses. Get lost in the cadence of field crickets, the tranquil lilt of whippoorwill, the ballad of goldfinch and thistle. Find the harmony.
Complete the circuit. Behold poppies as poppies behold sky. Behold the dreamlike wonder.
Become a sunbeam. Become honey. Become, as wings, transparent.
Bow to the majesty of Queen Anne. Fashion a crown of singing daisies. Embellish your throne with honeysuckle and squash blossoms.
Are you dizzy yet?
Take a pause.
Rest in the dappled shade of sourwood. Let the hum of bees cradle you through afternoon. Come evening, swoon to the pink-and-yellow tune of rosy maple moth.
A good poem needs a good host. Can you be as milkweed to monarch? Sapsucker to birch?
Climbing oak to starry-eyed child?
Sup the sweetness of the moon-drenched night. Lose yourself in the wild beauty. Be, as green berry on vine, altered by the ardent kiss of summer.
According to Navajo legend, Mother Earth and Father Sky were created as divine counterparts, their union essential to all life. Mother Earth gives us life. Father Sky offers the light of the sun, thirst-quenching rains and the endless mystery of the heavens.
In the spirit of Father’s Day (Sunday, June 15), consider looking skyward this month for a handful of celestial happenings.
The Full Pink Moon on June 11 is the last full moon of spring. No, it won’t be candy-colored. According to The Old Farmer’s Almanac, Native American tribes (Algonquian, Ojibwe, Dakota and Lakota) named this month’s moon to mark the harvest of June-bearing strawberries.
On June 16 (the day after Father’s Day), you can spot the pairing of Mars and Regulus with the naked eye. Look for the fiery red planet gleaming alongside Alpha Leonis, the brightest star in the constellation Leo.
The Summer Solstice occurs on June 21. On this day — the longest day of the year — give thanks for the warmth and light of the sun and the wild abundance bursting from the Earth. And when night finally falls, you just might glimpse an early participant of the June Boötids meteor shower, which takes place June 22 through July 2 and peaks on June 27.
At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. — Edgar Allan Poe
The Buzz, Etc.
Did you know there are 16 species of milkweed native to North Carolina?
Sixteen! June is National Pollinator Month. Celebrate all that buzzes, hums and flutters by adding some native flowering plants to your little corner of the great, wide world.
Glowing Strong at 1 Year of Pampering
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Monday-Friday
Soak Up the Sun
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You’ve lovingly planned for this next chapter—a beautiful form of self-care that nurtures your future. At WhiteStone, it unfolds with comfort, community, and new beginnings. Call us today at 336-652-3415 to schedule your personal appointment.
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June 2025
Before attending any event, it’s best to check times, costs, status and location. Although we conscientiously use the most accurate and up-to-date information, the world is subject to change and errors occur!
JUNE EVENTS
June 1–30
MAKING CONNECTIONS. This installation of works from the Weatherspoon’s attic showcases the gallery as an academic museum with deep connections to its campus, Greensboro and broader communities. Free. Weatherspoon Art Museum, 500 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: weatherspoonart. org/exhibitions/current-exhibitions.
RUGLIFE. Explore the work of contemporary artists who use rugs as an inventive medium to address a range of cultural topics, from housing and the environment to technology and global politics. Free. Weatherspoon Art Museum, 500 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: weatherspoonart.org/ exhibitions/current-exhibitions.
ARTISTS AT EDGEWOOD. 10 a.m.–5 p.m. Meet some of the 30 artists-inresidence at Elliott Daingerfield’s restored historic cottage in Blowing Rock. Featured artists change weekly. Free. Main Street and Ginny Stevens Lane, Blowing Rock. Info: artistsatedgewood.org.
June 1–21
OF WINGS AND FEET. See the giant, papîer-maché puppets created by Paperhand Puppet Intervention and learn about their impact at an exhibit sure to fuel your imagination. Free. GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/exhibitions.
June 1 & 7
PRIDE CHOIR. 3 p.m. Triad Pride men’s and women’s choruses belt it out as they tour the Triad with their choral showcase, To Make Them Hear Our Love. Tickets: $15+. Shows in High Point and Winston-Salem. Info: triadprideperformingarts.org.
June 4, 7:30 p.m.
Steven Tanger Center
June 1 & 8
KARAOKE & LINE DANCING. 4–7 p.m. Two of your fav activities merge for one evening of fun with DJ Energizer. Free. Center City Park, 200 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: greensborodowntownparks.org/ calendar.
June 1
POETRY. 2 p.m. Joan Barasovska, author of Unblessed, Unsung, and Maria Rouphail, author of The Kudzu Queen, discuss and share poems from their books. Free. Scuppernong Books, 304 S. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: scuppernongbooks.com/ events.
CLARINET TRIO. 3–5 p.m. Composed of Adella Carlson, Julianna Pierdomenico and Taylor Stirm, Chaos Incarné exists to collaborate with underrepresented composers, especially women, and make more
contemporary trio repertoire available to the clarinet community. Free. Scuppernong Books, 304 S. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: scuppernongbooks.com/events.
June 4
THE TEMPTATIONS & THE FOUR TOPS. 7:30 p.m. In celebration of the 60th anniversary of the hit song “My Girl,” these two iconic groups take the stage together. Tickets: $61.10+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter. com/events.
June 5,12, 26
ART IN THE PARK. 11 a.m.–noon. GreenHill artist-instructors will lead kids ages 2–12 in creative outdoor activities. Free. Lincoln Financial Children’s Garden at LeBauer Park, 201 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/events.
June 6–8
TEN-MINUTE PLAYS. Times vary. Enjoy performances of 10-minute plays written by North Carolina playwrights. The Intergenerational Center for Arts & Wellness, 114 W. 30th St., Winston-Salem. Info: wswriters.org/10--minute-play.
June 6, 13 & 27
ARTS SPLASH CONCERTS. 6–8 p.m. The High Point Arts Council presents a summer concert series featuring an array of local musical talent performing at area parks. Free. Info: highpointarts.org/arts.
June 6
FIRST FRIDAY. 6–9 p.m. Head downtown for a night of live music and happenings stretching all the way from LeBauer Park and the Greensboro Cultural Center to the South End. Free. Downtown Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/first-friday.
FIRST FRIDAY STORYTIME. 10–10:30 a.m. Bring your young children outside to enjoy engaging books, playful movement and cheerful songs with a member of the
Youth Librarians team from Greensboro Public Library. The first 15 families can receive a free book courtesy of Ready for School, Ready for Life and The Basics Guilford. Free. Woven Works Park, 401 Cumberland St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreenway.org/events.
ROYAL BINGO. 7 p.m. Brenda the Drag Queen hosts an evening of Green Queen Bingo for ages 15 and up. Tickets: $25 at door. Piedmont Hall, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/ events.
June 7
PUPPET SHOW. 2–3 p.m. Tarish Pipkins of Jeghetto Puppets demonstrates his unique process of manipulating his “moving sculptures” to the rhythm of hip-hop instrumentals; stay for conversation with the artist following the show. Free. GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/events.
DUNLEATH PORCHFEST. 11 a.m.–6 p.m.. Porches in the Dunleath Historic District turn into performance venues
- Donna N.
featuring an array of local musicians for the afternoon. Free. Info: dunleath.org/events.
ARIEL POCOCK & CHAD EBY. 7 p.m. Summoning the spirit of Edward “Duke” Ellington and Billy Strayhorn, this duo performs tunes you know as well as underthe-radar gems. Tickets: $10+. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
NATIONAL TRAILS DAY. 9 a.m.–1 p.m. Enjoy guided hikes, bike rides, paddling demos, music, prizes and loads of familyfriendly outdoor activities. Free. Country Park, 3905 Nathanael Greene Drive, Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov/ government/city-news/city-calendar.
June 8, 15, 29
MUSEP. 6 p.m. Music for a Sunday Evening in the Park (MUSEP) returns with a great line-up of free concerts including the Greensboro Big Band, Philharmonia of Greensboro and the Greensboro Concert Band playing at a variety of city parks, where you can also find food trucks or concessions on site. Free, donations encour-
GOLF FOR HISTORY. 7:30 a.m. Honor the legacy of Dr. George Simkins and the Greensboro Six by participating in the International Civil Rights Center & Museum’s annual fundraising golf tournament. Registration: $150. Forest Oaks Country Club, 4600 Forest Oaks Drive, Greensboro. Info: sitinmovement.org/ events.
June 10
BUT I’M A CHEERLEADER. 7 p.m. School’s out — kick off summer with this Carolina Classic film starring Natasha Lyonne. Tickets: $8. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
EMERGING ARTISTS SERIES. 8 p.m. Local singer-songwriter Abigail Dowd joins Graham Sharp, founding member of the Steep Canyon Rangers, for a night of live tunes. Tickets: $33.40+. Flat Iron, 221 Summit Ave., Greensboro. Info: flatirongso. com/events.
June 11
COCOMELON SING-A-LONG. Dance and sing your kiddos’ favorite bops with friends from the popular show. Tickets: $44.15+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/ events.
June 12 & 19
TOWNEBANK BEACH MUSIC FESTIVAL. 6 p.m. Sit in the stands or bring a blanket to grab a seat on the baseball field for a summer-vibes concert featuring Eric & The Chill Tones on June 12 and Chairmen of the Board on June 19. Tickets, $15; children 12 and under, free. First National Bank Field, 408 Bellemeade St., Greensboro. Info: downtowngreensboro.org/events.
June 13–27
HAMLET. The Piedmont Shakespeare Company takes its production of the classic tragedy to indoor and outdoor venues across the Triad, including Greensboro’s Van Dyke Performance Space on June 24 and the Oak Ridge Town Park
Amphitheatre on June 21. Info: piedmontshakes.org.
June 14–15
HARRY POTTER IN CONCERT. 7 p.m., Saturday; 3 p.m., Sunday. The Greensboro Symphony provides a live score while Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire plays on the big screen. Tickets: $42.35+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
June 14
NEPATHYA. 7:30 p.m. This trendsetter in the Nepali music scene has been making sound waves for three decades. Tickets: $77.72+. Piedmont Hall, 2409 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/ events.
BLACK HERITAGE DAY. 11 a.m.–3 p.m. The Greensboro History Museum will be off site celebrating at Rhythmfest, featuring food trucks, vendors, live performances and more to honor Black heritage. Charlotte Hawkins Brown Museum, 6136 Burlington Road, Gibsonville. Info: historicsites.nc.gov/news/events/ chb-museum-black-heritage-day-2025.
June 15–21
JUNETHEENTH. Consult the Juneteenth GSO Fest Facebook page for an array of daily activities, including a Black food truck fest, an artisan vendor market, an interfaith celebration, live performances and more activities honoring Black culture. Locations vary. Info: facebook.com/ JuneteenthGSOFest.
June 18
CHRIS STAPLETON. 7:30 p.m. A live performance from this iconic country artist goes down as smoothly as “Tennessee Whiskey.” Tickets: $132.25+. First Horizon Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/events.
June 20–30
JABBERBOX PUPPET THEATER RETROSPECTIVE ART SHOW: Celebrate the legacy of Jabberbox Puppet Theater’s 13year run (2010–2013); opening reception, 5–7 p.m., June 20. Free. Artery Gallery, 1711 Spring Garden St., Greensboro. Info: facebook.com/ArteryGalleryGreensboro.
June 20–23
COSMIC SUMMIT. The conference for unconventional ancient history enthusiasts is set to explore the potential existence of an advanced civilization lost to history that could explain the construction of enigmatic structures such as the pyramids and megalithic stone monuments. Sheraton Four Seasons Hotel, 3121 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Tickets: $265+. Info: cosmicsummit.com.
June 20
ONE VISION OF QUEEN. 8 p.m. This tribute concert brings your favorite Queen hits back to life on stage. Tickets: $48.75+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
LOCAL FOLK GSO. 7 p.m. The N.C. Folk Fest is popping up all summer long and shining a light on local talent, including High Point’s Kay Marion and Greensboro’s Bedroom Division. Free. SouthEnd Brewing, 117 W. Lewis St., Greensboro. Info:.ncfolkfestival.com/events.
48 HOUR FILM PROJECT. 9–11 p.m. Bring a blanket or chair to watch a screening of the award-winning films created during 2024’s project and now headed to Cannes. Free. The Yard at Revolution Mill, 1175 Revolution Mill Drive, Greensboro. Info: revolutionmillgreensboro.com/events.
June 21
WORLD REFUGEE DAY. 11 a.m.–3 p.m. Enjoy international dance and music performances, food trucks, activities for kids and adults, and a resource fair. Free. Hester Park, 3615 Deutzia St., Greensboro. Info: Info: greensboro-nc.gov/government/ city-news/city-calendar.
KIDS CONCERT. Travel up, up, up and away to Japan, France and Argentina, and explore all the different kinds of music you’d find there; plus join in the fun with Musikgarten-led songs. Free. The Music Academy of North Carolina’s Performance Hall, 1327 Beaman Place, Greensboro. Info: musicacademync.org.
THE GREENSBORO SYMPHONY GUILD
ABBA Design Dorena and Doug Boike
ABolder Image
Artistic Cuisine Culinary Creations
Botanica Flowers and Gifts
Designs by Bardelli
DLM Builders, Inc.
DressCode Style
Ashley Vanore Art
Rhonda and Xavier Barrett
Teresa Beaupre
Barbara and Bob Braswell
Julie and Jay Brennan
Careful With The China
Louann Clarke
Elizabeth and Bill Craft
Bert Davis, Jr.
DevHelpers™
Eagle Wellness Services
Cheryl Feltgen and Chris Sheehan
Brooke and Lee Fields
Rosemary and Bob Reed
Beverly and Pat Wright
Carl E. Seager In Memory of Leigh Seager
T. Follin GIA: Drink.Eat.Listen
Laura and Robert Green
Happy Rentz, Inc.
Elizabeth and Derrick Heard
Phil and Charisse Kleinman
Barbara Partlow
Pinecrest Printery
Barbara Sanders
Deborah L. Friedman
Sandra L. Fuller, DDS, PA
Annie and Rick Hadgkiss
Peggy and David Hamilton
Tammy and Jeff Hayes
Bette and Rick Henkel
Mary and Rodney Ingram
Barbara and John Key
Laura and Paul Kilmartin
Denise Landi Studio
Kim and Mark Littrell
McCardell Photography
Vickie and Gary McGuirk
Cathy and John Nosek
Kim and Bassam Smir
Steinway Piano Gallery
The Art shop
TMRW Wealth
Well-Spring, A Life Plan Community
Valerie and Karol Wolicki
Jennifer Nowlin
Sheila Phillips
Gigi Renaud
Donna and Bill Richardson
Kitty Robison
Kimm Rountree
Rebecca Schlosser
Dianne and Richard Shope
Mary and Bob Skenes
Vanessa and Rob Skenes
Joan and Dave Stevenson
Julene and Richard Valitutto
Laura and Gary Wolf
Peggy
SOLSTICE FESTIVAL. 2–10 p.m. Welcome the magic of summer while you enjoy live performances, meet local fairies, peruse mystical vendors, munch on eats from vendors and end with an evening fire show. Tickets: $10; ages 12 and under get in free. Lindley Park, 3300 Starmount Drive, Greensboro. Info: greensborosummersolstice.org.
MURDER AT THE GATSBY MASQUERADE. 7–10 p.m. Spiffy up in your best 1920s rags and a mask for a night of mixing, mingling, noshing, sipping fizzies, bidding on silent auction items and swinging to live jazz until — bam! — murder. Solve it while having a blast at Community Theatre of Greensboro’s annual Starry, Starry Night Fundraiser. Tickets: $200 each; $350/pair. Proximity Hotel, 704 Green Valley Road, Greensboro. Info: qtego.us/l/ctg/tickets.
June 22
SETH WALKER. 7 p.m. The Americana singer-songwriter hits the stage with his rich, Gospel-drenched, Southern-inflected voice and hot licks on the guitar. Tickets: $25+. In the Crown at the Carolina
Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
KIDZ BOP LIVE. 4 p.m. Sing and dance along at this family-friendly concert where kids perform top pop tunes. Tickets: $37.95+. White Oak Amphitheatre, 1403 Berwick St., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/events.
June 24–29
SOME LIKE IT HOT. Times vary. The four-time Tony-winning Broadway hit tells the tale of mobsters and prohibition with musical flair. Tickets: $33+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
June 26–29
TWELFTH NIGHT. Times vary. This musical adaptation pairs Shakespeare’s witty words with musical theatre, jazz, pop and funk. Virginia Sommerville Sutton Theatre, 4100 Well Spring Drive, Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov/ government/city-news/city-calendar.
June 26–28
THE HAIR JOURNEY. Times vary. Royal
Expressions presents a breathtaking modern ballet that weaves together Black culture, fashion, and dance in a visually stunning production. Tickets: $39.25+. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
June 28
CLUTCH. 7:30 p.m. For over 30 years, this band from Germantown, Maryland, has been rocking stages. Tickets: $39+. First Horizon Coliseum, Piedmont Hall, 2409 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/events.
JAZZ FOR KIDS. 10–10:30 a.m. This interactive concert teaches kiddos the roles of the instrument kingdom within a jazz ensemble as well as how to listen and groove along in New Orleans fashion. Free. The Music Academy of North Carolina’s Performance Hall, 1327 Beaman Place, Greensboro. Info: musicacademync.org.
LADIES R&B KICKBACK. 8 p.m. Enjoy an evening of smooth sounds from several soulful women of R&B, including Kelly
Price, Total and Kut Klose. Tickets: $67.75+. First Horizon Coliseum, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: gsocomplex.com/ events
WEEKLY HAPPENINGS
WEDNESDAYS
LIVE MUSIC & PAINTING. 6–9 p.m. Evan Olson and Jessica Mashburn of AM rOdeO play covers and original music while artist-in-residence Chip Holton paints. Free. Lucky 32. 1421 Westover Terrace, Greensboro. Info: lucky32.com.
FAMILY NIGHT. 5–7 p.m. Enjoy an artdriven evening with family and friends in the studios. Free. ArtQuest at GreenHill Center for NC Art, 200 N. Davie St., Greensboro. Info: greenhillnc.org/events.
MUSIC IN THE PARK. 6–8 p.m. Sip and snack at LeBauer Park while grooving to local and regional artists. Free. Lawn Service, 208 N. Davie St, Greensboro. Info: greensborodowntownparks.org/calendar.
THURSDAYS
JAZZ AT THE O.HENRY. 6–9 p.m. Sip vintage craft cocktails and snack on tapas while the O.Henry Trio performs with a different jazz vocalist each week. Free. O.Henry Hotel Social Lobby, 624 Green Valley Road, Greensboro. Info: ohenryhotel.com/o-henry-jazz.
THURSDAYS & SATURDAYS
KARAOKE & COCKTAILS. 8 p.m. until midnight, Thurs.; 9 p.m. until midnight, Sat. Courtney Chandler hosts a night of sipping and singing. Free. 19 & Timber Bar at Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.
FRIDAYS
MINDFULNESS MEDITATION. Noon–12:30 p.m. This free introductory class offers a guided meditation for reducing stress in both the mind and body. Free, registration required; adults only. Triad Pelvic Health, 5574 Garden Village Way, Greensboro. Info: triadpelvichealth.com/classes.
FRIDAYS & SATURDAYS
LIVE MUSIC. 7–10 p.m. Enjoy drinks in the 1808 Lobby Bar while soaking up live music provided by local artists. Free. Grandover Resort & Spa, 1000 Club Road, Greensboro. Info: grandoverresort.com.
SATURDAYS
HISTORIC WALKING TOURS. 1 & 5 p.m. Take a guided walking tour through the history of downtown Greensboro at 1 p.m. or, if you’re into true crime, stroll through The Gate City’s darker side, covering 1953–1997, at 5 p.m. Tickets: $14. The Bodega, 313 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: trianglewalkingtours. com/book-online.
BLACKSMITH DEMONSTRATION. 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. Watch the sparks fly and red-hot iron turn into farm implements as the past is recreated under the able hands of a costumed blacksmith. Free. Historical Park at High Point Museum, 1859 E. Lexington Ave., High Point. Info: highpointmuseum.org. OH
Fall for Two Fabulous Female Authors
Sunday, September 21 • 2:00- 4:00 p.m.
Supported by:
The arrival of autumn means it’s time to think about snuggling into a cozy nook with a good book. O.Henry magazine proudly welcomes two distinctly different, yet both brilliant, USA Today-bestselling authors from 2–4 p.m., Sunday, September 21, at Grandover Resort & Spa. Historical fiction your genre? Winston-Salem’s own Sarah McCoy is the New York Times-bestselling author of eight books, including her forthcoming Hollywood-starlet-turned-nun novel, Whatever Happened to Lori Lovely? Looking to dig into a mysterious thriller as the days draw darker? Journalist-author Hank Phillippi Ryan has written 16 psychological thrillers, including her forthcoming All This Could Be Yours, and has won the most prestigious awards in that genre. Enjoy a catered spread and sips, then sit down for a conversation with both women as we discuss research, inspiration and the writing process. Double the fun!
Tickets: ticketmetriad.com
GreenScene
“Of Wings and Feet: The World of Paperhand and Jeghetto’s Moving Sculptures” Exhibit Opening
GreenHill Center for NC Art
Saturday, March 22, 2025
Photographs by Galen Draper
Frank & Jennifer Nowlin
Frank Orther, Beth Barr
Wilder & Cassie Bustamante
Gabrielle Edwards, Karrington Gardner
Daniel & Enyonam Williams
Gina Lopez, Jason Craig
Robin & Tarin Pipkins
Chris Hall, Myra Jacoben
Fred Motley
Lekecia Glover, Edie Carpenter
Melissa & Tom Mitchell with Thomas & Edie Kuntz
Jamie & Justin RIchardson
Sherry Clay
Dabney & Walker Sanders, Kelli Coley
Althea Clayton, Lea Clatyon, Jan Burger
Tarish Pipkins
Susan & Mackey McDonald
GreenScene
Drinks, Dinner & Conversation with Vivian Howard
hosted by the Greensboro Public Library Foundation Proximity Hotel
April 3, 2025
Photographs by Betsy Blake
Camille Williams & Linda Costa
Jamey Lowdermilk, Kelly & Bo Rodenbough
Michele Van Gobes & Jim Staton
Carolyn Shankle, Stacey Krim, Kate Barrett
Cecelia Thompson, Chris Wilson
Jerome & Marla Spruill
Terry & Candace Martin
Pat Vedder, Genie Petrangeli
Rob & Anne Deutsch
Rick & Patty Williams
Jimmy Chang, Allison Law
Vivian Howard
Judith & Stanley Hammer
Preston & Griselda Clark
Meredith & Mike Fisher
Harriette Knox & Libby Brewington
Felita Donnell, Treana Bowling
Brenda Rambach, Lisa Sherman, Lynda Query, Lynda Waldrep
Alejandra & Cliff Thompson
GreenScene Warnersville Chronicles
Documentary Screening
Carolina Theatre
February 25, 2025
Photographs by Steve Raeford
James Griffin, Jamila Curry
Celess Martin, Majik Pennix, Sherri Raeford, Anthony Izzard
Sue Kanoy, Cynthia Adams, Dana Holliday
Debra Ruffino, Tiffany Albright
Jamilla Pender
Martha Yarborough, Robin Gentile, Jamila Curry, Jennifer Long, Sherri Raeford, Chaunte Rankin, Victoria Wiley, Israel Rankin
Jason Scales, James P. Scales, James Griffin
Robin Gentile, Jennifer Long, Jordan Pearson, Victoria Wiley
Jamila Curry, Grace Kanoy, Cary Kanoy
Top Row, Jordan Pearson, Charlotte Marcellus, Debra Ruffino, Laura Way, Jaymie Meyer; Front center, Chaunte Rankin
Supported by:
Jim Dodson
Thursday, July 10 • 5:30 p.m.
Greensboro History Museum, 130 Summit Ave. C, Greensboro
O.Henry magazine proudly presents our founding editor and “Simple Life” columnist, New York Times-bestselling author Jim Dodson, to celebrate the release of The Road That Made America: A Modern Pilgrim’s Journey on the Great Wagon Road. This free event includes a book talk and signing opportunity as we honor this hometown literary legend. Need a copy? The Country Bookshop will be popping up with plenty.
Register to attend here: bit.ly/4daX5lz
The Album
Family photos launch a new road trip down memory lane
By Danielle Rotella a Dams
My mom may remember my name today. Or not.
I’ve come to terms with this as I enter her memory care home, walk down the bright hallway and round the corner into her room.
One of my mom’s neighbors is taking a lap down her hallway, walking toward me. I know for sure that he won’t remember my name.
“Hi, Bill, nice to see you,” I say as I walk closer. He replies with a curious, somewhat confused expression, “Nice to see . . . you?”
Last month, Bill told me that he takes 600 laps a day inside the building using his rollator. He said that he likes to keep moving.
Walking through my mom’s doorway, I don’t hear anything. Pure silence. We make eye contact and she recognizes me. I can see it in her eyes.
“Hi, Mom, how are you doing?”
The question lingers for a moment. She then breaks into her playful smile, which I’ve known my whole life. The smile I remember from countless soccer games and chorus performances.
I give her a hug and remove the cloth bag from my shoulder. “Mom, I brought another photo album for us to look through today,” I explain as she starts to look more comfortable and more herself.
A few short years ago, back in June of 2021, my mom was diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia and Parkinson’s Disease. But I suspected something was up when I noticed that her right foot was always trembling, and she stumbled on words and phrases.
After the diagnosis, we worked together to sell her house and move her to an assisted living apartment. We carefully reviewed her financial and insurance accounts and added my name to her bank accounts.
Her disease held steady until it didn’t.
On September 30, 2024, I got the dreaded call that we couldn’t put it off any longer. She needed to move from assisted living to memory care.
Did it go smoothly? No, not really, but we got through it. She is adjusted now, our new normal taking shape.
Her speech is worse than ever, her words often jumbled or inaudible. She often knows the word she’s looking for, but can’t seem to locate it. She rarely knows what day it is and can’t operate her iPhone without help.
Despite this, I made a fortuitous discovery. Her words and memories return miraculously when we look at old photos together. As we start looking through albums, whether they are from 10, 20 or 40 years ago, she points to faces, clearly naming people she hasn’t seen in decades.
On this particular day, we’re looking at an album from 1983, reminiscing about a road trip we took to visit family in Upstate New York. Photos of my cousins, aunt and uncle gathered around my grandparents’ kitchen table transforms Mom back into the laughing, energetic young woman.
She remembers it all.
She points to her brother, my Uncle Rennie, remarking at how young and different he looked back then. Her words flow freely when talking about that summer. Photos of our 1972 Volkswagen Westfalia van bring us back to our long drive from North Carolina.
“I made those curtains on my sewing machine,” she remarks, her shaky finger pointing to the red floral pattern on the windows, which matched the faded exterior of her beloved van.
We laugh as we flip each page, surprised at how different life was in 1983. Our hairstyles were long and shaggy. No gray hair or reading glasses for either of us. No cane or walker for her.
Because at this moment, sitting on a small couch in her room on this cold, winter day, we are the 1983 versions of ourselves again — before a debilitating diagnosis had taken over.
She is once again a fearless single mom, and I am a wild, longlegged 8-year-old girl, both of us laughing back then and grinning widely now. I can almost feel the wind hitting my face as we drive southward home in the faded, familiar camper van. OH
Danielle Rotella Adams is a freelance writer living in Greensboro. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family and friends, traveling and being outdoors.
