My Journey Into Richmond
And What I Found There

The story thus far: Philip Gotz, an obstreperous travel writer known for his "What I Found There" pieces detailing his five-day visits to destinations, is in Richmond, Va. The visitors bureau has assigned to him as a guide Tia Chulangong -- who pretty much has his number from the moment she meets him at the Richard Evelyn Byrd International Airport. She provides running color commentary on Richmond sights and history while riding the train to bustling Main Street Station, and from there to Gotz's accommodations. Tia, however, has informed Gotz that Jennifer Royce, his novelist ex-wife, is in town on a book tour and through a scheduling error he's booked into the Jefferson Hotel where she is also staying. The writer and his guide have now gone up to the rooftop terrace of the Jefferson, where Tia is giving Gotz a travelogue explanation of the city's sights. Gotz observes the city's bosky streets and plentiful green and open spaces, lack of automotive traffic or parking lots, the preserved historic architecture and the exile of high rise office and residential towers to the outer edges of the central metro.

Part VI

The unique, quaint and charming boutique

The terrace wended back into the café. The perspective northward was interrupted by the Jefferson’s bellevue towers and the private terraces along Franklin Street.

At the table, Gotz asked a passing waitress for another gin and tonic.

“But, so, I’m glad I have several days here. Because where I kind of like how those high rise buildings are out of the old center district of your beloved town, I wonder about that. I just wonder about it. How does the city function that way? And it seems, to me, a little contrived. Actually, a lot contrived; over-planned. Is this downtown and its satellite neighborhoods just flash frozen in 1900, or is there a street life here, is there an art life, is there some people tearin’ it up and gettin’ er done, as they say in NASCAR.”

“Oh, absolutely, and you'll be seeing plenty of that. And we got the NASCAR. Yes we do. We have a museum and everything. Which I don’t think you chose to go see.”

“Maybe. If I have time. And I won’t have time.”

Tia pursed her lips.

“I think, Tia, that you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m just sitting here.”

“And doing a find job of it, too, if may observe. I mean, I think it’s funny about the NASCAR because Richmond has waged war against internal combustion since it first showed up here.”

Tia's tongue ran along the edge of her front teeth. Gotz sighed.

She said, “Richmond’s all about contradictions.”

“ Yes! It seems so. And that’s key, I think, isn’t it? Most of what happened during the 20th century Richmond batted away. You were ahead on almost every social and civil rights issue, and then there’s the interstate highway system, the no-car downtown." 

“And there’s the car docks.”

Gotz nodded in some vague familiarity about these somewhat legendary Works Project Administration garages at the compass points of the city used for storing visitor vehicles. They served as transit stations, too. The white-shirted, bow-tied drivers for the Richmond car docks attracted the attention of the Maysles brothers who titled their documentary Valet Service.

“So how does that work, Tia? If I’m driving into Richmond from the north -- and plan on staying.”

“You go into the parking tower and nowadays a scanner reads your license plate, and on Virginia licenses there’s indication of your zip code that a machine reads, and depending on how far you’ve come, there’s a discount for your parking there. You leave your car, take the train in, and if you’re planning on leaving in a few days, you can have your vehicle transported to the other side of town and waiting for you. This discourages driving in the city, puts people in transit and on foot. So once you dock your car, and you’re here, and you find so many cool things to do, you might not be so anxious to bounce out. Which is what happens.”

“I’m supposed to see one of these, right?”

“Yes, sir. I think day after tomorrow, something like that,” she looked at her handheld device. “Yes. Actually, Sunday at 3:30, after brunch here.”

“There goes the Gallego Plaza mimes. No, no. I’m kidding. Fine, that’s fine. But -- so basically, you’ve impounded their cars to get a captive audience.”

“They’re not captives if they want to stay.”

“And they want to because of the Charming and Quaint Boutique.”

“Well, Mr. Gotz, some people like the Charming and Quaint Boutique.”

He waved his hand. “No, no, no. I don’t care about them, you don’t really care about them, the CVB has to care about them but wishes it didn’t need to. They come here, and stay their unscheduled two point five days because they see vistas and buildings and street scenes and museums and patterns of light and shadow from magnolia trees cast on brick walls that. they. can’t .get. anywhere. else. They can’t get it anywhere else. That’s what you’re selling here –and that unfortunately gets me to another word that I’ve handed its walking papers, and that is Unique.”

“So the Unique Charming Quaint Boutique -- ?”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ me some dynamite and I’m blowin’ that sucker up.”

“H’mm – travel writer and urban terrorist.”

“Everybody needs a hobby, Tia. So, what about you? Lining up your nights, a whole glam-tastic circuit, flouncing from one dimly lit establishment to the next with perfect people making beautiful plans?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Gotz. That’s all I do. I smoke and drink all night long, and dance on tables and bars.”

“Well, long as you have your youth and agility, I should hope so.”

She sighed. “Mr. Gotz, you’ve watched way too much Sex And The City.”

Gotz winced. “Those girls -- excuse me --  those women, never interested me.  No, really. Never once --  least when I watched it -- did they ever show the least bit of interest in art or history or books. Only if it increased their hipness quotient. Now, you on the other hand.”

Tia straightened her back, balled a fist onto her side and said in mock irritation, “So I’m not hip?”

“This is not what I’m saying.”

She waved him off. “Mr. Gotz –“

“Phil.”

“Mr. Gotz, not that I’m not enjoying our time –“

“Oh, you’re leaving me. They always leave me.”

“Courage. Morning comes soon.”

“You going to that Mongoose place?”

“Mongoose Civique. Ah, probably not. Cruel Aztec Gods are at Tantilla Garden tonight, so I’m going with some friends.”

“Cruel Aztec Gods?”

“Uh-huh. They’re local and they’re touring, just got signed, and we love them. I used to watch them in tiny little bars in the Fan. They’re great for dancing.”

Gotz’s brows rose. Tia dancing, he imagined, arms up, elbows bent, hands in her hair, hips swaying. And he snapped back.

“Never heard of them. But the whole collection of syllables and their vibrations: the Cruel Aztec Gods at Tantilla Garden – sounds – extraordinary. Where is it?”

“Oh, west,” she raised an arm, squinted, pointed. “Thattaway. The Broad Street Five takes you right there. Great place, from the ‘30s, a ballroom. Huge. The roof rolls away on good nights. You should go there if you can before you leave. I can score tickets for you. There’s a schedule in your packet. Let me know.”

“Hum. Yes, yes. Cruel Aztec Gods. Are they, what, punk what?”

“Punk? No. They’re pretty, uh, alt rock.”

“OK, dumb question: what do they sound like?”

“That’s tough. They sound like Cruel Aztec Gods.”

“That’s not good marketing.”

“I don’t do their marketing.”

“OK, I’ll let you go. Thanks for the tours and all the stuff.”

“Oh, glad to do it and excited you’re here. I am, don't make that face. I very much apologize for the mix-up on bookings and schedules."

“I don’t blame you. It’s the Infinite Cosmic Jester who uses as punch lines for his party jokes.”

“I should’ve told you at the very beginning. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay, Tia. Truly. You read her book?”

“Um. No.”

“You should. It’s good. Somehow, her latest bad guy character isn’t based on me.”

“Well, I’m going to take my leave now,” and she settled the strap of the slick black purse on her shoulder.

“So, you going to the ‘Goose?”

“That what the hip kids call that place down there?”

“Some of the hip kids.”

“I may, I may. I think I’m going to study some of the material you’ve helpfully given me, too.”

“The CVB DVD has a few shorts, sort of Richmond trailers, with different approaches. You might try that for fun.”

“I will.”

“OK. Have a good evening,” and she shook his hand and he watched her undulant departure with avid interest over his lifted glass.

The pianist played Gershwin.


Notes: The concept of automobile "docks" was proposed in the 1960s when architect Louis I. Kahn attempted to "pedestrianize" midtown Philadlephia. I'm wholesale stealing the idea and putting it 30 years earlier for advanced alternate reality Richmond. If such a system was in place from the mid-1930s on here, it'd be just part of living and viewed as a Richmond eccentricity.

The image of Tantilla Garden comes from richmondthenandnow.com and I also wrote about the place in True Richmond Stories.

My Journey Into Richmond
And What I Found There

Part V and a portion of Part VI

The story thus far: Philip Gotz, an obstreperous travel writer known for his "What I Found There" pieces detailing his five-day visits to destinations, is in Richmond, Va. The visitors bureau has assigned to him as a guide Tia Chulangong -- who pretty much has his number from the moment she meets him at the Richard Evelyn Byrd International Airport. She provides running color commentary on Richmond sights and history while riding the train to bustling Main Street Station, and from there to Gotz's accommodations. Tia, however, has informed Gotz that Jennifer Royce, his novelist ex-wife, is in town on a book tour and through a scheduling error he's booked into the Jefferson Hotel where she is also staying.


5. At The Jefferson


A cheery doorman wearing a long red coat and white gloves touched the slick visor of his cap as he pushed the entry wide.

“G’ afternoon, Mz. T."

She introduced Phil, and when they stepped into the main lobby the transition from the real world to someplace else was complete.

Gotz stood in the palazzo of a European palace, but rather than open to the air, crowned by an enormous stained glass skylight.

Tia followed his upward gaze and at his shoulder said, “Tiffany.”

He took several long moments to appreciate the curved bays of the mezzanine gallery; huge round ottomans; the marble, stone and gilt on the cornices; palm trees; wrought iron columns; the grand stair vanishing underneath an arch surmounted by a bronze clock set in a niche of Italianate flourishes. Around him people moving, going and doing in the rhythm of the quiet urgency of a busy and important place.

“The Louvre called,” Gotz at last said. “They want their courtyard back.”

Tia put a hand on her hip. “You’re not hatin’ on the Jefferson. I mean, not even you.”

“Just the opposite.”

Gotz pulled the plastic press badge from underneath his jacket as they crossed over the carpet to check-in. A high-cheeked blonde who somehow didn’t seem to know Tia greeted them. Gotz made reservation confirmation and declined help with his bags. He chose to use the upper gallery elevator just to use the grand, red-carpeted stairs.

They went under a barrel-vaulted, coffered ceiling passageway, the panels blue with gold trim. The stair provided three wide landings where doors led to lounges and offices. Then ascending to the upper lobby, more fountains and palms and a white marble statue of Thomas Jefferson, standing amid piles of books that presumably he’d finished reading while there.

“This was done by Edward V. Valentine,” Tia said. “And the entire hotel was the idea of our friend Mr. Ginter, who hired the New York architects Carrére & Hastings. He packed all his ideas from a life of world travels into this building.”

“I just may not ever leave.”

“Ah. One of those travel writers.”

“Yup. Stay in the plushest digs and concoct it all from the press releases.”

Then an alligator galumphed across the floor followed by a pith-helmeted young woman dressed in a khaki short sleeves and pants and hiking boots. The alligator’s claws tick-ticked on the marble floor. Round the keeper’s waist was a utility belt for, Gotz presumed, reptile emergencies and she carried a plastic pole, a prod on one end and a kind of cheese grater on the other.

The gator, bony-ridged, prehistoric and frightening, slipped into the nearby fountain rill and sunk to its eyes. The keeper put hands on hips. “You’re full now, so you should have a good nap.”

Gotz couldn’t close his mouth.

Tia offered, “He just fed.”

The writer nodded.

“How – how does this manage not to scare the living crap out of people?”

Tia shrugged. “It’s the Jefferson. We have gators.”

“Guess you beat out the Peabody and their ducks.”

“Our mascot can eat their mascot.”

“So somebody watches him her it?”

“A rotating team -- the Jefferson Gator Gang.”

"She with the Gator Gang?"

"Quarles. Yes. She is."

“I want to interview her.”

"Now?”

“If she’s got a few minutes.” Gotz brought up his recorder.

Quarles Fontaine introduced herself using a firm handshake that signified to Gotz the strength needed should she need to wrestle a stubborn alligator. Her violet eyes fixed on him with a discomforting attention that she used to observe wild creatures prone to sudden attacks. Quarles explained her taking the Jefferson gator gig.

“When I was growing up, in the early '80s, the Jefferson was between owners and renovations. Weren’t any gators, then. But my parents brought me here a few times, for some parties, and my Dad showed me these fountains and little brass statues and told me how there used to be live ones. Little did either of us know, but I’d develop a fascination for slimy creepy crawlies and I’d end up doing what I do.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, is this full-time?”

“No, wouldn’t that be great though? I’m also with the state office that administers wildlife in parks and zoos, and my expertise are guys like these. But I started here as a seasonal part-time person, interning with Dr. Bryan Woods, and he’s the lizard king.”

“What’s the story on the Jefferson's gators?”

“They were introduced probably by a guest, near as we can figure, around 1910. There was a thriving summer railroad vacation trade, going from the North through Richmond to Florida and back. Best guess is, somebody got a gator, realized they couldn't take it home, so they dumped it into the fountain. And they were so alluring and strange that the hotel just decided to keep them around."

"So it became a kind of trademark by default."

"Absolutely."

"Now, that's marketing, Tia."

"You got that right."

Quarles continued, "The gators stayed here at least until the late 1940s, when Old Pompey, the last one, died. Dr. Woods reintroduced them in 1988. “

“What about liability?”

“What do you mean?” then Quarles and Tia laughed together. “You think my gators are liable to do something?”

“Well, they are alligators, not house cats.”

“Awww, did you hear that, Bossanova? No, but, we’ve had a remarkably incident-free record. People like to get their pictures taken with them, but they don’t go swimming in the fountains. I think some bridal parties have gotten close. Our gators tend to hatch and get raised here, so, they are accustomed to the surroundings. This," she spread her arms, " is their habitat. But, you’re right, they’re not cats or dogs.”

“That’s more like what they eat.”

“Well, we don’t feed them other people’s pets – well – unless rats that we get, or rabbits.”

“Oh, no, not bunnies.”

“You eat them in the restaurant.”

“I don’t, but I see your point.”

Gotz thanked Quarles, they exchanged cards, and he made sure to get her contact information.

“That, Tia, was an example of the hard-hitting journalism I’m committed to.”

“You got her number.”

“Well, they’ll send a photographer. Really, they will. So, you mentioned this rooftop café and maybe some drinks.”

“I don’t remember the drinks part.”

“You did, believe me and by the big grandaddy clock over there,” he pointed to a 19th century heirloom, “and if I’m reading my Roman numerals right, it’s past five and you don’t have to be so straight. And please call me Phil.”

“Mr. Gotz—“

“You’re just doing that to annoy me.”

Tia turned away to laugh.

He said, “Listen, why don’t we do this. I’ll go up to the room, drop off this stuff, turn around three times and meet you up there. Can you do that? I bet the view is great – “

“The best in town.”

“So I’d like some fraternization, I mean, familiarization.”

“I think you probably had it right the first time.”

“So, you’ll accompany me?”

“Ah. Sure.”

They shared the cherry wood, shining brass and mirrored elevator, with its tufted and upholstered bench, to the seventh floor. Gotz noted that the Jefferson was probably the biggest building in midtown Richmond, and Tia, reflecting, though that if not, then it was in the top three.

“Lewis Ginter got past the height restrictions.”

“Well, he was Lewis Ginter.”

“Ah,” Gotz nodded as the bell for his floor sounded. “This is me. See you in a few minutes. Order me a gin and tonic." He held the door back form closing. "If I'm not up there in about 10 minutes, I bumped into Jennifer and there's been an altercation."

She put up a shame-faced hand as the doors closed.

The hushed hallways and the sussurrant air conditioning comforted Gotz. No matter where you go in the established places, these remain the same.

Note on image: The top picture of the Valentine statue of Jefferson in the hotel's palm court lobby is from UVA Magazine archives page. The lobby and rooms of the Jefferson correspond to appearances prior to the 1901 fire which all but destroyed the building. In the Richmond of Tia Chulangong and the one Phil Gotz is visiting, that fire -- and several others -- never occurred.

The View from the Terrace (Part I)

Tia snagged a table mid-distance between the opulent teak and mahogany bar and the stage where the pianist at the grand provided a soundtrack of jazz standards for the guests imbibing in the fading early evening sun.

Gotz entered left of the stage, raising his chin in a near-sighted way to look around. Tia half-stood to wave him over. He was changed out of professorial tweeds into black, from his collarless shirt and slender-cut jacket to his shoes. His massed Andrew Jackson on the $20 grey hair gave him the appearance of a retired rock star.

Gotz negotiated the café tables and various couples and groups enjoying their Jefferson Hotel happy hour. He gazed upon the trailing vines, palms and trellises woven with roses and wisteria. Metal arches fitted with big yellow bulbs spanned the garden. The glass partitions around the terrace were open to allow for breeze and prevent over-warming from the sun. The city and countryside spread out before the Jefferson like the view from a doge’s palace.

“Well, well,” she said. “You're so hip and urban now."

He rubbed hands together. “I'm ready for where the evening takes me." He bobbed his chin in appreciation of the G & T and gave a thumbs up. “Um! The exact thing. Here’s to massive quantities of information." They clinked glasses.

“This is quite fine,” he gazed around him. “So let’s get a look at this view, and start with the south, because, I want you to tell me about that bouquet of towers floating on the horizon.”

“Sure,” she said, then asked what he thought of his room. He was given a suite and while he hadn’t explored it yet, the spa shower was just fine with him.

They stepped past the trellises to the bulging balustrade. Wind caught Tia’s hair. Beyond the river and Manchester, along the edge of the city the sun was flashing across hundreds of windows in the varied high rises.

“Those are mostly apartments, condos, residences; most have retail on the lower floors, the coffee shops, the delis, there’s galleries and offices.”

“So there’s where the almost four million people live.”

“Some, not all; and these concentrations are pretty much here in the south and they’re further out west, and not so much north.”

“Why not so much north.”

“Ah – you know, I don’t have a good answer for that.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Well, you can talk to the planning people –“

He raised a hand.

“Hah. Well, I can say this: These concentrations,” and she raised her arms as though to embrace the agglomerations of towers, “are noticeable for several reasons. You remember, The Woods, that goes all the way around us, and you can’t build the high rises-- here in midtown.”

“So they’re all out there,” and he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the stone rail. “This sort of reminds me of overlooking from atop Notre Dame all the squares and rooftops of Paris, and there’s the Eiffel, and there’s the Sacré Coeur and past all that marvelous architecture, is La Defénse and the Tower of Montparnasse, and those congested residential towers where the rest of Paris is. And there it’s turned into a haves-and-have-nots problem, there.”

“Um, and so, it’s a consideration here, too. Maybe not as drastic as that.”

“Yet.”

Tia inclined her head and drank.

Notes on images:
The Jefferson rooftop garden is not an invention. Prior to the devastating 1901 fire, the hotel staged vaudeville and minstrel acts there. The growth of movie theaters and cheaper entertainments led the management not to rebuild the terrace. The drawing was a newspaper illustration.
The two building models are by architect Haigh Jamgochian, as displayed in a Library of Virginia exhibit, "Never Built Virginia."
This Richmond's population is edging in on 4 million. This is possible because Metro Richmond embraces Chesterfield and Henrico counties. To the south, Petersburg and Hopewell are Richmond bedroom communities and viable, livable cities, too, with a combined population of almost a million. The Colonial Heights of our world -- a white flight suburb -- does not exist in the form we know it.
Richmond sustains this population load due to superior prescient planning and having started with various cultural and technological innovations rather than following behind others. The burgeoning, sprawlng Atlanta and North Carolina's "Research Triangle" aren't like we know them; Richmond got ahead on biomedical research, information technology and the music and film/video scene. There are games designed in Richmond, movies made here, and recording studios for world class musicians.
In this alternate world, Virginia banks were allowed to set up shop outside the state borders. Thus, finance, insurance, retail, entertainment and real estate remain stalwart components of Richmond's economic landscape, in addition to state and regional government offices, and institutions of higher learning. Names gone from our city in the past 20 years remain, in addition to many others conducting varieties of enterprise we cannot imagine here now.

My Journey Into Richmond And What I Found There

Parts IV-V.

The story thus far: Philip Gotz, an obstreperous travel writer known for his "What I Found There" pieces detailing his five-day visits to destinations, is in Richmond, Va. The visitors bureau has given him as guide Tia Chulangong -- who pretty much has his number. They've taken a train from Richard Evelyn Byrd International Airport to bustling Main Street Station, and from there they'll go to Gotz's accommodations at the Jefferson Hotel.

4.

Gotz crossed his legs, settling in, and raised his empty glass toward the waitress. “So this Ginter. He’s like Michelangelo. Made half the city.”

“Not quite half, but some pretty big chunks.”

“A New York Dutchman who fought for the Confederacy. Kinda curious combination, huh?”

“Well, then, like a number of people with his kind of background, he caught the New Dominionist wave – “

“Which nobody, but nobody, really understands really how happened. Except, our good Dr. Venable here,” he brought out the bent-covered book. “She gives it her best shot.”

Tia nodded. “It’s true. That’s why the call it The Miracle of 1888.”

“I’m a little,” he squinted for emphasis, “suspicious of these miracle things. You understand.”

“Part of your charm.”

“Such as it is,” he peered over his glasses.

“I’m sure you can be quite charming when you want to be.”

“Oh, Tia, you wound me.”

“Also charming was Lewis Ginter,” and she smiled, making the dimples.

Gotz was certain he could crawl into those indentations and live, like an efficiency apartment.

She began, “He embraced integration and the Knights of Labor."

He raised a finger to find the passages in the Venable tome. " -- Which, caused him to be burned in effigy on Broad Street. And his house guarded by private security."

"You've really studied."

"Proving that no good deed goes unpunished."

"There's some truth to that, in his case. Because with his many many millions, he changed the city like nobody since. He created the Ginter Park community, bankrolled Union Theological Seminary, built the Jefferson Hotel where you’re staying, and chartered Ginter University.”

“That’s an odd story, too; right?”

She inclined her head. “How so?”

“He, Ginter, was kind of a – how to say? – Clairvoyant? Helluva business card you think about it: Lewis Ginter Tycoon-Psychic.”

Tia said, “Well, some people – um, it is interesting that he bought blocks that were already built up with businesses then he put them in a trust.”

“That’s the part. That one right there.”

“You have been studying up – and, you’re right. Mostly along Broad Street, where he set aside sections near where he wanted the university to grow, and contracted to relocate businesses and families or their descendants when the time came.”

Gotz said, part marveling at a new cold glass of the black Legend, “But the story gets even better, as I understand it. He opened enrollment to anybody who wanted to come: black, white, Cherokee.”

“More like Chickahominy, but yes – See?” she put her hands on her hips, in quite a fetching way, so thought Gotz, then she said, waving a dismissive hand, “You don’t even need me. You already know it all.”

He shrugged. “Oh, no, no, no. I wouldn’t say that. I try to know a little so I can learn a lot.”

“Hum,” she raised her chardonnay and looked off the balcony. “The very interesting part of the whole thing is that because some professors refused to teach integrated classes —meaning women, or people of color -- Ginter sent his recruiters throughout the country to find people with the right fit. Then he built housing for them, too, and that really boosted the development of what we here call the Fan District.”

“Hum. That’s wild. I mean, truly. That Ginter was so ahead of the curve.” He smiled at his Legend. “You getting another?”

“I’m working, Mr. Gotz.”

“Phil. So am I.”

“Heritage Trolley to the Jefferson is about to come.”

“Am I at that exciting at a distance?”

Tia made an elaborate frown and shook her head.

“It’s a real Richmond experience.”

His glass drained, Tia rose and thanked Audrey the hostess. Another embrace and cheek kissing and Tia promising to call her, and they took the stairs down to the street level to emerge into the gold light of late afternoon on the spacious stepped veranda. Clusters of urbanites gathered to get street trams and some hailing taxis. Charter buses and other vehicles moved with pedestrians in a cosmopolitan choreography.

Notes on images: 1) Lewis Ginter (1824-1897), tycoon, developer and philanthropist, via Richmond Then and Now. Proof that money does change things, Ginter endowed his adopted hometown with buildings and institutions that continue today, these include Ginter Park, Union Theological Seminary and the Jefferson Hotel. In Tia's Richmond, however, Ginter became "infected" by the New Dominion political bug and also lived longer.

In the current reality, a contest Ginter called for caused the invention of the cigarette rolling machine. The shock of the new proved too much for Ginter, who didn’t see a market deep enough to accept all those mechanically made cigarettes -— mostly, only fey folk like Irish playwright Oscar Wilde smoked them. Real men chomped on cigars or chewed tobacco. The cuspidors in the corners of the lobbies of Richmond hotels proved it. Besides, the new machines frequently malfunctioned. Ginter had already made and lost two fortunes, and the third time wasn’t the charm for him. He sold the rights in 1885 to James Buchanan Duke of Durham, N.C., and that’s why there’s a Duke and not a Ginter University. Duke had no problem ginning up advertising campaigns for his Bull Durham tobacco. Still, Ginter did well for himself and gave a significant portion of his fortune -- some $20 million -- to his favorite niece, Grace Arents, who pursued her own course in social philanthropy.

2 - 3) Images of Union Theological campus, first from Richomnd Then and Now, and the Virginia Department of Historical Resources. The Ginter University buildings possess a similar character, due to architects in common, including Charles Henry Read Jr. (1861-1904) among whose institutional buildings in Richmond include the 1894 Planters National Bank at 1200 E. Main St., a brick-and-brownstone Richardson Romanesque landmark that’s now state offices. Charles K. Bryant (1869-1933) built Richmond Hall (1908) for a new refectory, and the firm of Baskervill and Lambert built Schauffler Hall (1921) and added the impressive semicircular chapel for Watts Hall.

5. The Jefferson’s Heritage Trolley

The royal blue Heritage Trolley arrived with its bell clanging, easing to a stop in front of them, ‘The Hotel Jefferson’ written in gold, flowing script on its side identified its main sponsor and major destination. Even the conductor here was thrilled to see Tia, crying, “T! My girl!” And Gotz was introduced, the conductor waggled his eyebrows, “She keepin’ you in line?”

“Trying her best.”

“Look, life can’t be so bad if T’s showing you around and you’re staying at the Jefferson.”

The group of travelers going to the Jefferson included tired businesspeople, some families and what Gotz concluded was a gooey-in-love honeymoon couple, young fresh faced kids who sat holding hands and talking in whispers as they stared into each other’s eyes. Canned ragtime music played low.

The guide and the writer sat near the front of the antique car that she noted as a 1900 model. The mahogany, brass fittings and tufted seat cushions, reminded Gotz of a Gilded Age elevator on wheels.

A gesture to technology were monitors recessed into panels in the backs of seats, like on airliners, with attached headphones. Tia explained that Gotz had a choice of listening to the tourism video synched to the progress of the trolley’s passage, or to her, who’d not get to everything as with the video. Gotz opted for the live version.

“So this is Main Street,” Tia began, and several sets of eyes turned toward her.

They rolled past the St. Charles Hotel of 1846, a New Orleanian place, four stories and quite long, festooned by a wrought iron second story balcony. A hostelry had been there since before the Civil War. Slave auctions took place there, Poe took meals in its dining room, and the Poe Museum faced it from across the street. “It’s now part of the Museum of Bondage and Liberation,” she hurriedly said.

Moving over 15th Street the trolley began an uphill climb. Looking around, Gotz could not see anything higher than six or eight stories and past 14th he noticed that most automobiles vanished. Bold red white signs with the silhouette of a car and truck with a red slash through them proclaimed UNAUTHORIZED VEHICLES PROHIBITED. The fine print exempted emergency or official traffic, and restricted residential vehicles to certain hours.

Tia pointed out rows of iron front office buildings, and two miraculous survivors of the 1865 evacuation conflagration, both built in 1817: the Italian villa arches of the Bank of Virginia’s main branch and another columned temple of finance. “This was the Exchange Bank and after the fire, the only things left standing of it were those columns. It was rebuilt, and First National went in there, but now it’s an art gallery.”

Propelled at easy trolley speed Gotz appreciated entire blocks of renovated 19th century commercial buildings, on occasion with more contemporary levels or modernizations. At 11th, Tia ducked her head and pointed southward down the street, “You see, there’s the Great Basin and Gallego Plaza.”

Gotz peered toward what appeared to him as a long, square lake as Tia told of how the Great Basin stretched to Eighth Street and during the busy canal days of the mid-19th century, this was where canal boats picked up and deposited passengers and freight.

The railroads put the canal out of business and buried the basin, Tia explained, but investors in the 1950s cleared the tracks and unearthed the “big hole” where some 20 canal boats of all shapes and sizes were brought up from the muck. The revival of the canal, and the establishment of a museum at the Byrd Park Pump House, allowed the evolution of the basin and connectors into a major tourist draw.

Tia mentioned names and architectural styles with the familiarity of friendship. When rolling past Ninth and Main, she pointed right to the Richardson Romanesque Chamber of Commerce building, the high curved windows, granite and brick, all this, she said, topped by a skylight illuminated courtyard and seventh floor auditorium offering wonderful views. Gotz would visit during a luncheon next week.

The Pace Block of exuberant, high mansard Second Empire commercial buildings loomed over Eighth and Main like a piece of Paris had landed there.

As Tia continued her narrative Gotz watched Richmonders bustle along the business district sidewalks. He’d traveled in enough cities that he thought he could read the character of the place in people’s faces. Gotz called this the “Shitstorm Quotient” –did those on the crowded walks act like they were leaning into a fecal headwind?

He observed a stylishness of fashion, both self-conscious and nonchalant, and how smart everybody seemed as they stood in lines at the food carts and noshing at the outdoor café tables. The varied hues of people gave this quadrant of Richmond a cosmopolitanism he’d not expected. No SQ quotient.

“Tia, I’m not seeing any high tension wire or cables overhead…this just downtown of all over?”

“Since around the '70s we've buried utilities and, now, fiber optics—first in midtown, then expanding out into the neighborhoods, and requiring it for any newer building throughout the Richmond Metro.”

The street numbers tumbled into the single digits and the commercial buildings became bolder, more flamboyant, their display windows bigger. Gotz asked about a sign on one old storefront, “What’s Mongoose Civique?”

Tia tossed her head back, laughing. “It’s a club, a nightclub.”

“Private?”

“No, not hardly. It’s a popular place people go, after work, late nights.”

“Really? You go there?’

“Ahh,” she ran her tongue across her upper teeth. “I may have been seen there on a few occasions.”

“You little devil. I knew you had it in you.”

She shook her head.

Alongside the trolley helmeted, puffing men in suits rushed their bikes up an incline that would wind Gotz just walking. One guy was even using his cell phone.

Tia in a quick but coherent manner at Sixth and Main, indicated along the left the pediments and columns of the Second Baptist Church building, now offices and a restaurant; next af Fifth, the hulking 1800 mansion of Moldavia, where young Poe gazed upon the James River from its high, temple-like porches and now the Virginia Center for Architecture; the curved graciousness of the Virginia Building Apartments and behind them, the square, fortress temple of Second Presbyterian, and across from that, the octagonal wings and arched balcony of the 1808 Hancock-Wirt-Caskie House; on the left facing Main, the imposing Greek Revival Hobson-Nolting House of 1847, with its triple windows on all four floors and massed rear porticos. These days, Nolting House is a bed and breakfast.

“The restaurant there’s been used in movies,” Tia added. “’You ever see My Dinner With Andre, it was done in the Nolting House’s dining room. All that’s in your info package.”

She pointed to the right at the Freeman-de Saussure house of 1838 and after various latter day incarnations, once again a private residence, with its long iron balcony overlooking Fourth Street.

The trolley’s shadow rubbed like an affectionate cat against the three-and-four story facades of Federal and Greek Revival townhouses adorned by decorative porches and balconies that reminded Gotz of Charleston and New Orleans. On the right, the handsome brick 1814 Carter-Crozet House, with its curved railing two-sided porch, a home and antique shop, and the big, dignified stucco-sided Greek Revival house where Pulitzer Prize-winning Ellen Glasgow lived and died.

This blocks-long array of antique buildings was mere prelude to the emphatic splendor and Edwardian fantasy of the Jefferson Hotel. The car glided up to a swell in the road before the hotel and Gotz reveled in this prospect; the elaborate white Jefferson like a docked Spanish galleon, and along the hillside, repeating bays and finials as notes in a musical score, resembling to Gotz the Richmond neighborhood in San Francisco; a park beyond and the high dome of the cathedral in the distance, and odd minarets piercing the sky above the leafy canopy.

“This is quite,” he searched, “remarkable.”

“We like it,” Tia replied.

The trolley’s bell announced their arrival to the Jefferson’s front entrance as other cars, their passengers deposited, with bells ringing whined down hill. Gotz didn’t need the assistance of the red-vested and bow-tied carriers who handled luggage.

Image notes: Top image is lower Main Street in the mid-1940s, next to Main Street Station, and conveys the busy-ness of downtown and the character of the Jefferson Heritage Trolley. In Tia's Richmond, the St. Charles Hotel still stands where the stone wall is at right, as do most of the buildings in the background. The highrises in the misty distance were instead built on Broad.

2) Is Second Baptist Church, via rustycans, which also has a comprehensive history of brewing and prohibition, and the 1902 Virginia Constitution. The building was demolished in 1906.


The bottom photo is the Jefferson Hotel's Franklin Street side mezzanine terrace. I don't know the source.

The enormous sacrifice Richmond made for conceding to the needs of the automobile is little understood today because generations have grown up with the city as it looks now. But what began as a slow attrition in the 1890s accelerated to outright cultural devastation by the 1970s. So many fine residential and commercial buildings were lost through outright neglect and bone headed planning. Residential neighborhoods were saved, while what could've been a preserved and unique downtown was instead given over to steel and glass and plastic buildings. These structures weren't designed as much just built, and most of them now seem dated, as if they were bought off a shelf for "Moderate-Priced Medium-Sized High Rises." Downtown Richmond today, with few notable exceptions, resembles bad quick-and-dirty renovations made to bathrooms and kitchens of Fan houses in the 1980s.

When we think of Charleston, Savannah or New Orleans, the skylines of those places do not come to mind; but their human-sized, individual buildings, their street life. Richmond lost its way through most of the 20th century in her hell for leather rush to be like somebody else, whether Atlanta or Charlotte, and not herself. This is her tragedy.