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February 25, 2005
Southern Exposure
Southern Exposure
Fredericksburg: Something old, something new - and one enormous meat sandwich
By Hetty Lipscomb
Friday, February 25, 2005; Page WE29
When I lived in Richmond, I regularly visited my boyfriend in Washington. And because I'm a neurotic driver with an intense fear of Interstate 95, I always took the train. At the journey's halfway point, the train stopped in Fredericksburg -- the skyline was unmistakable, with church steeples standing tall in the distance and Nader's Grocery in the foreground. From the window, I could look down the narrow streets and admire the rows of 18th-century clapboard homes. My favorite was (and remains) a soft gray house with slate-colored shutters and a dormer on top. Even though I was just passing through, I always wanted to get off the train and explore.
Now that I've married that boyfriend and moved to the Washington area, I periodically need a dose of small-town life. A day trip to Fredericksburg is ideal, and in keeping with my initial curiosity about the place, I take the train. The trip from Union Station takes a little over an hour and makes the adventure more like traveling back in time. As the train approaches town, the conductor calls out in his old-fashioned way, "Fredericksburg! Fredericksburg! Ladies and gentlemen, if Fredericksburg is your destination, now is a good time to check around your seat for your personal belongings." From the downtown station you can walk through the city's historic district, have a leisurely lunch, visit a Colonial house or Civil War site, browse bookshops and specialty stores, then have a drink and a snack before catching the train back home.
Downtown Fredericksburg sits on the Rappahannock, a deceptively syrupy river lined with low-slung trees, scruffy warehouses and the occasional restaurant-with-a-deck that's boarded up for the winter. The river was the source of the town's initial prosperity, serving as an inland trading port for tobacco as early as 1728. Docks along the bank established the city's grid of downtown streets. Well-off families, such as the Lewises and Washingtons, were attracted to the area. George Washington grew up at Ferry Farm across the Rappahannock and came to town for school; later he bought his mother a house near Fredericksburg's elegant Kenmore Plantation, home of his sister, Betty Lewis. During the Civil War, Fredericksburg had the misfortune of being located between the Confederate capital in Richmond and Washington, D.C. It was the site of four major battles, including the Battle of Fredericksburg in 1862, during which Union forces, led by Ambrose E. Burnside, invaded the town; eventually they were forced back by Robert E. Lee's troops.
Later in the 19th century, railroad development throughout the South led to the construction of new lines and stations. The town's geographic significance during the Civil War was echoed in 1910 when the Richmond, Fredericksburg & Potomac Railroad built the downtown depot, a handsome, sturdy brick building on Lafayette Boulevard. Although the train stops there, Fredericksburg no longer has a functioning train station -- the building has been converted to an upscale restaurant that serves southern-style cooking. Principally the stop serves as the terminal for the Virginia Railway Express, a commuter line that shuttles professionals to and from the metro Washington area, a development that bespeaks yet another phase in the town's history. While benefiting from its proximity to the nation's capital, Fredericksburg determinedly remains a small town, rejecting any notion that it is an extension of Northern Virginia.
The railway cuts through Fredericksburg's downtown, and as soon as you leave the station -- boom -- you're there. Immediately on the right is Caroline Street, a sort of main drag with lots of shops and restaurants. Before plunging in, however, I decided to stop at the Fredericksburg Visitors Center (706 Caroline St.; 800-678-4748). The center offers an informative orientation video, and wall displays practically burst with brochures on local historic sites, restaurants and antique shops. Friendly staff members are on hand to answer questions, drawing on their encyclopedic knowledge of the town. I asked Fran Jessee about the church with the tallest steeple I regularly admired from the train. "That's probably St. George's," she beamed. "George Washington attended church there -- and there are Tiffany windows." Whipping out a free map, Jessee pinpointed St. George's Episcopal Church (905 Princess Anne St.; 540-373-4133) with a red pen, and I set out.
Built in 1849, the Romanesque revival church has inset panels along its facade that create a subtle sense of movement. A clock in the church tower regularly sounds the hours. A small, crumbling graveyard dates to the 1700s, and many of the worn headstone inscriptions that can still be read are heartbreaking, such as "Catherine Rose/ daughter of JP and AMS Hart/ Aged 9 mos 4Dys." The sanctuary itself was quiet and calming with dark wood and white plaster walls. The center aisle floorboards squeaked when I walked. On either side are box pews with low swinging doors that seem to corral parishioners. When the church was first built, the pews were "sold" to families and rented each year afterward as a means to pay for building operations -- some still have engraved silver plates on their doors, indicating who used them. During the Battle of the Wilderness in 1864, St. George's was used as a makeshift hospital. I wondered if soldiers stretched out in these pews.
In contrast to the simplicity of the church's interior are several opulent Tiffany stained-glass windows. The most striking is dedicated to a local physician, Lawrence Ashton, and depicts a triumphant angel in a rich gold robe with iridescent wings. The folds of her garment seem almost touchable, formed out of the variegated shaded glass characteristic of Tiffany. The angel holds a gold staff with a palm, possibly representing the guardian angel of medical science, a suitable tribute to a doctor.
Although steeped in history, St. George's is an active, contemporary parish. Fliers posted in the vestibule announced a forum on homelessness as well as an intergenerational Lenten program titled "The Gospel According to 'The Simpsons.' " The St. George's clock tower struck 1. Clearly it was time for lunch.
While there are many great eateries along Caroline Street, I craved a comestible I call "the big meat sandwich" from Captain Sid's Seafood and Deli (2100 Princess Anne St.; 540-899-2288). A local introduced me to the shop a number of years ago, and my first sandwich there had enough beef on it to feed a family of six.
Captain Sid's looks like a building from the "Happy Days" set, with a roofline that jags up and down like a jack-o'-lantern's teeth. The inside has that hot, greasy french fry smell, and tables covered with plastic red-and-white checked tablecloths circle the room. The big meat sandwich is a (near) misnomer for the cheese steak sub for which Captain Sid's is famous. There are four variations, so connoisseurs can compare the subtleties of the Original (provolone, mayo, lettuce, tomato, onion), the Philly (add a slice of American to the Original), the All American (slap on a couple of pieces of bacon) and the Super Steak and Cheese (take away the bacon and the American cheese, add mushrooms and green peppers).
I was feeling only ordinary-lunch hungry, so I opted for the six-inch Original. There's also a 12-inch, but I don't want to even think about it. I was mopping my mouth with a napkin when I spied fellow sub devotee Marie King. She had just moved to Fredericksburg in September but was already a regular. A physical therapist, King made a conscientious food choice. "I had the chicken cheese steak sandwich -- makes me feel less guilty because I'm not eating red meat."
Feeling a bit more than guilty myself, I decided I'd head back downtown, but not without casting a wistful gaze across the Captain Sid's parking lot at a blue sign with white script reading " Carl's Creme Shakes Sundaes." Next to the sign for this Fredericksburg institution (2200 Princess Anne St.) and almost serving as an exclamation point, is a jaunty ice cream cone with a curving peak at the top. Carl's offers soft-serve custard in three flavors -- vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. The shop is closed from about mid-November until mid-February, making it all the more alluring the rest of the year.
Part of the appeal of Fredericksburg's historic downtown is that it is still a place where people live and work. Accordingly there are a few rough edges -- ivy slowly encroaches into the brick wall of an 18th-century house, and there are a couple of trashcans out back. Buildings are not polished and groomed as they are in Colonial Williamsburg. "Williamsburg is just reconstructed buildings," locals might sniff. "Ours are the real thing." Taking a walk through the historic district is like taking a seminar on Virginia architecture. Walk down Caroline Street to see Colonial wood frame houses that date to the 1750s. Head over to Princess Anne and admire the Flemish-bond brickwork of the Federalist-style City Courthouse (now the Fredericksburg Area Museum and Cultural Center, 907 Princess Anne St.; 540-371-3037). Continue down to the Presbyterian Church of Fredericksburg (810 Princess Anne St.; 540-373-7057), whose Classical revival facade, complete with Doric columns, looks back to antiquity. Cut over to Washington Avenue and admire Victorian houses with their asymmetrical plans, grand towers and elaborate woodwork on wide porches.
For a closer look at a Colonial building, visit the Mary Washington House (1200 Charles St.; 540-373-1569). Staff guide Len Malinowski conducts a tour in the persona of James Mercer, the Scottish expatriate attorney to the Washington family. According to Malinowski, the father of our country was seriously into household renovation. He bought the property on Charles Street for his mother in 1772. But before she could move in, Washington did what so many homeowners do today, expanding "a cottage into a commodious residence." He added several rooms to the right of the building, including a parlor with elaborate wood moldings and a mantle carved by artisans from Mount Vernon. Meanwhile, he had the upstairs roof raised so the bedrooms could accommodate his 6-foot-2 frame -- evidently the original loft was so low that he could not stand up in it.
Although Mary Washington lived in the house from 1772 until her death in 1789, visitors are apt to hear more about George -- his leadership in the Continental Army, his presidency, his service to the country. "Who is responsible," Malinowski intoned, "for his sense of duty, honor and responsibility?" Who indeed. The information presented about Mary Washington is speculative, perhaps because there's not much to go on. Although she was literate, she was an uncertain writer and infrequent correspondent; few documents and even fewer artifacts survive. While the house is furnished with period pieces, an effort has been made to have an object that belonged to her in each room to illustrate some aspect of her life -- such as the Canton teapot in the parlor, which she may have used to entertain such luminaries as George Mason, Thomas Jefferson and the Marquis de Lafayette.
There is an occasional reference to servants on the tour but no discussion of who they were or how they lived. There were six slaves in Mary Washington's house, four men and two women. A copy of her will exhibited upstairs identifies these individuals as she dispensed with her property: "I give and devise to my granddaughter, Betty Carter, my negro woman, little Bet, and her future increase." While reading such a statement may make you blanch, it evokes a vivid picture of the reality of those who were enslaved here.
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Down the street from the Mary Washington House is a more tangible record of the existence of slaves in Fredericksburg -- an auction block at Charles and William streets. A large, cylindrical gray stone stands upright with a deep, curved cut on its side. Below is a brass plaque on the sidewalk saying simply, "Fredericksburg's Principal Auction Site in Pre-Civil War Days for Slaves and Property." The stone serves as a silent witness to a painful aspect of the town's -- and the nation's -- history.
Heading west on William Street, fiber artists of all ilks will be delighted to find the Knitters Cottage (807 William St.; 540-361-7875). While it is a yarn shop, it also seems to serve as a social center; when you enter, you immediately see a rocking chair next to a fireplace. Other chairs are positioned near bright, wide windows, inviting customers to sit and knit. It was uncharacteristically quiet on the day I visited. "Usually the place is hopping," exclaimed Karlene Browder, a shop associate and avid knitter. "It would have shown you how much everyone likes to knit in Fredericksburg!" interjected shop owner Nancy Benedict. No need, their stock was testament enough.
Each room houses yarns for specific knitting projects. Benedict and Browder were sitting in the "scarf room," which has a dazzling array of novelty yarns for accessories. A popular type is eyelash -- a thin yarn with tufts of thread hanging off in searing colors such as hot pink or orange that made me think of Animal from "The Muppet Show." The "wool room" stocks soft, thick yarns for winter sweaters, including skeins of a luscious gray cashmere that I just stroked and sighed over. New yarns for spring were coming in that looked like cascades of shimmering ribbon in teal, green, coral and cream.
The "baby room" is awash in pastels. White floor-to-ceiling storage units hold thin, fine yarns for sweaters, caps and blankets. A number of examples were on display -- little sweaters in pink or white, just right for Easter Sunday services; lacy receiving blankets that you would never dare use; sturdier-looking cardigans for outdoor play. One of the Cottage's staff members, Suzy Ritenour, specializes in babywear and offers workshops on site.
Customers who have gotten into trouble with a knitting project are welcome to come to the shop for help. A wide white table in the scarf room serves as a "triage area" where staff can spread out your sweater and figure out just what went wrong. If your project needs more than a quick fix, you can sign up for one of the knitting workshops offered Tuesday through Saturday. People can learn knitting basics, how to interpret a pattern or get help starting a new project. A corkboard displayed on a prominent wall shows photos of workshop participants triumphantly holding up complicated sweaters or brave first-attempt scarves.
Heading back toward the river on William Street, I passed the Fredericksburg City and Confederate Cemetery (William Street and Washington Avenue; 540-373-6122). The main entrance is at Washington Avenue and Amelia Street, a tripartite arched gate that's casually left open for visitors. The park officially closes at dusk. As they do for most people, old cemeteries hold a macabre fascination for me, and this one is full of Poe-like delights such as tall obelisks, drooping pine trees and the occasional weeping angel. Cast-iron fences designate family plots with familiar Virginia names such as Herndon and Woodbridge. The focus of the cemetery, however, is the section honoring the Confederate dead, overseen by a life-size statue of a soldier standing at ease, his rifle at his side. Surrounding him, like soldiers in formation, are lines and lines of slender stone markers with rapidly deteriorating names: "J. Christfield VA," "F Martin SC," "W Parson GA," "JC Whately ALA," "WA Feeney COL MISS." According to the brass plaque at the park entrance, the Ladies Memorial Association tends to the graves of the Confederate dead from the area's four battles; some 3,553 men from 14 states were reinterred at the site -- many had originally been buried at the battlefields -- in 1870. Today, the cemetery serves not only as a memorial to the Civil War soldiers, but to those who mourned and channeled their grief to purposeful ends.
Another historic site is Goolrick's Pharmacy (901 Caroline St.; 540-373-9878). I spoke with pharmacist Steve May, owner of the small, independent apothecary, about why customers remained loyal to his shop despite the prevalence of chain drug stores. "It's the nostalgia of it," he freely admits. "This pharmacy has been here since 1867. I'm the third owner." May also feels a certain familiarity with his customers. "Most of my clients are older, live in the area," he says. He remembers, say, whether Mrs. Smith takes high blood pressure medication or that Mr. Jones can't tolerate penicillin. Goolrick's pharmacy also delivers, a service that is almost unheard of today and a true godsend if you're stuck in bed with the flu.
Goolrick's main attraction, however, is another entity from the past: the drug store soda fountain. Stools line up along a plastic laminate counter, and small, round tables serve as back-up seating. The menu is definitely a blast from the past in terms of prices: grilled cheese, $2.50; Coke 75 cents; tuna salad sandwich, $3; fried egg (til 10:30) 90 cents; toast 85 cents.
I met Bethany Brooks, one of the "Goolrick's Girls," who works the counter as a waitress and short-order cook, and asked her about the fountain's most popular item. "Probably milkshakes, but today it's grilled cheese -- it's cold outside."
Goolrick's has one the most distinctive signs on Caroline Street. Long with white letters on a green background, it hangs off the side of the building with a signature Rx at the bottom. At night it lights up in neon glory. Little signs on poles extend perpendicular from buildings dotting Caroline Street, a possible holdover from when Virginia was a colony of England. The goods and services offered are a bit different, however. "Mark Kenneth Torgeson, MsT Massage Therapy." "The Bruised Reed, Christian Counseling." One pair of signs suggests a family affair -- on the left, "Jeffrey D. Carter, Attorney at Law," with the scales of justice beneath; on the right, "Carter Family Hairstyling," adorned with a large red pair of scissors, a salon operated by Carter's brother Francis. That both Carters work in the same building perhaps indicates that an enterprising client could settle her estate while getting highlights.
On Amelia Street, a sign on a low, brick building advertised the Wounded Bookshop (109 Amelia St.; 540-373-1311). With a name like that, I had to go in. I assumed it was a secondhand bookstore, but I was only partly right. The Wounded Bookshop is also a gallery, reading room and meeting place organized by the Fredericksburg Athenaeum. Since it's a fundraising enterprise, the staff are all volunteers, and the books and furnishings are donated. The overriding mission, according to executive director Paul Lewis, is to promote the arts in Fredericksburg.
In a history-conscious town, a 200-year-old warehouse seems like an ideal setting for a bookstore, with its hand-hewn ceiling beams and exposed brick walls. The furnishings are a little roughhewn as well, but comfortable, like the orange- and yellow-flowered sofa from someone's den and the orange velour armchair rescued from a yard sale. Tables painted with game boards invite you to participate. An informal "help yourself" coffee bar is in the back. The atmosphere is comfortably reassuring, making you feel at home rather than on display, as you might in a polished cafe. The books encourage lingering as well. The offerings are substantial -- no airport mysteries or grocery-store romances here. They are organized by genre and author, more or less. In novels, there's an antiquarian edition of Tolstoy's "Anna Karenina." The poetry selections include "The Poems and Prose of Christina Rossetti." For history, all three volumes of Douglas Southall Freeman's "Lee's Lieutenants" are available. There are also a number of rare books displayed in a glass case, such as a 1928 edition of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Gold Bug" with an art deco graphic on the cover.
"We have good books here," Lewis says. "Occasionally someone will come in here and pick up [one] and say, 'This book changed my life!' That's what we want here."
I asked him about the shop's unusual name. "We're actually the Fredericksburg Athenaeum -- that's a mouthful," he says. "We decided we wanted to give the space a fun name." During a camping trip with several Athenaeum members, one remarked that, "when he borrows a book, the book ends up wounded" (the cracked spine, the creased pages, the coffee ring on the cover). "We thought that would make a great name, but I was careful with the sign -- "The Wounded Bookshop," not "Wounded Books."
Feeling a little wounded myself after an afternoon of walking, I went to Claiborne's (200 Lafayette Blvd.; 540-371-7080) to check out its conversion of the old RF&P train station before catching my train back home. The dark wood, glowing table lamps and roaring fire in the dining room created a warm atmosphere. Someone offered to take my coat. While the place was clearly set up for dinner, I figured the restaurant's staff are probably used to the odd traveler ambling in for a drink and a snack while waiting for the train.
"We do get quite a few," says Brandon Witt, the highly efficient bartender. "Also, we're the last stop for the VRE, and people will come in for a drink at the end of the day." At happy hour, the lounge offers homemade barbecue potato chips; I consumed a shameful number of these while contemplating other appetizer options. (Appropriately, Claiborne's emphasizes "low-country southern cuisine.") Witt recommended the shrimp and grits or something called the Louisiana Green Tomato Tower, a vegetarian option invented by one of the restaurant's chefs. For those who want dinner, Claiborne's is known for its steaks, but it also has nostalgic-sounding entrees like smoked pork chops and crunchy catfish along with "southern comfort" sides such as creamed spinach, sweet potato casserole and cornbread. Why bother with an entree?
I paid up and sat outside on the west platform waiting for the 6:56 regional train. It was chilly, but not unpleasantly so. Below, a group of lanky teenage guys in plaid flannel shirts were using the empty corridors and smooth ramps that had once been used to move cartloads of goods as a skateboard park. The sound was rhythmic, like the train itself -- flip-turn-ride, flip-turn-ride. A garbled announcement came over the intercom saying that my train was running late, but that was fine. Truth to tell, I didn't want to leave.
Posted by krystal at February 25, 2005 1:15 PM
Comments
makes me proud to live here. Thanks for posting that.
Posted by: Heidi at February 28, 2005 8:49 PM