largest city in the state, was a thriving farm-to-market hive with its East Coast railroad connection. Besides grinding and storing flour, cornmeal and livestock feed, North State housed a supply store for farmers — on any given morning, one of the busiest spots in Greensboro until the end of the 20th century. And then vacant for a decade or more, until Eric stopped by. And the vision began. “It’s not destined to target any particular group,” he says. “It’s destined to target particular likes. You’ve got the old and the new. The reclaimed. It all marries well together. Industrial furnishings and modern furnishings and machinery and equipment. When you interact with this space, you get it. This space will not leave you indifferent. And I know some people won’t like it. It’s for everyone, but not for everybody.” As you can see, Eric is one of those people some call a visionary. You know, the kind that the city says it wants to attract to downtown Greensboro. For its future. Only, the city fathers of Greensboro didn’t take to Eric Robert. They didn’t “get” his vision. And his mill was in the way, right in the middle of their planned urban renewal project. Never would they have expected anyone foolish enough to actually buy the old place. Its future was to be torn down. They fought Eric with legal battles, one time arguing for condemnation. Then twice trying to seize the mill through eminent domain.
“T
he city put sticks in the wheel at every step of the way,” he says. So he fought back. And won. Each time. He’s apparently the only winner. Nearly all of the properties around his building have since been razed. You can almost guess what city officials thought of him. With that long hair, jeans, tight black T-shirts, heavy black leather boots with silver buckles. And that accent. It’s clear. He wasn’t one of them. Developers with grand plans don’t look like that, not in Greensboro. If only they’d known a little more about him. Maybe they wouldn’t have put up such a fight. Maybe they saw him as no more than an aging hipster with a fool-headed dream. But he’s been a worthy opponent. Love can make one a fighter. He has an M.B.A., owns his own successful design and graphics firm, lived the high life in L.A., made lots of money working for L.A.-based Guess clothing as its corporate marketing and visual director — “They were very good to me.” Partied with some of the “in” crowd of Hollywood. Got good tables at restaurants. Lunch once with Clint Eastwood. On a first-name basis with Michael Ovitz back before he took the reins as president of Disney. But Eric gave that up, relinquished it all to move back here and be closer to his son from an earlier marriage. He became creative director for the L’eggs and Hanes hosiery divisions of Sara Lee in Winston-Salem. There he helped redesign the L’eggs innovative egg packaging. Caught up in a company-wide round of layoffs four years later at Sara Lee, Eric became a partner in a New York branding strategies company. He also co-founded
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
November 2013
O.Henry 81