Miss Sara's Stories

In 2007, my friend Mary Leigh and I visited Sara H. O'Kelly, aka "Miss Sara," in a Lagrange, Georgia hospital. Miss Sara passed away not long after.  

Miss Sara told us about growing up in Lagrange and young married life in nearby Grantville. Mary Leigh transcribed her stories:

My mother was a young mother 25, father 35. When I was one month old a lady down the street had a baby carriage and she loaned it to mother to ride me. Momma left it on the front porch with me in it and two teenage boys thought it would be fun to ride the baby carriage so they took it up the street to the LaGrange, Methodist Church. Mrs. Holmes knew momma and she saw the carriage being turned loose down the street. She went to get momma because there were no phones. She went and got momma and told her and she sat down and cried. They let the carriage go and let it go down the hill. Ms. Holmes had a fit.

Next event (escape) was I almost got burned. Ms. Holmes had 2 houses to rent so my mother needed a bigger house. So we moved in and it had a fireplace in it with a fire going. I was backed up to the fire and caught my dress on fire. I went into flames! The man in the duplex (Mr. A)  had his overcoat on to go to work and he smothered the fire out. He put me in the room with his wife. While they were sitting Mrs. A. heard a sound and thought it was me burning. She ran and got my father and called the Doctor. The exhaust pipe to the Coca Cola Company *(corner of Vernon) had really made the noise. I was about 2 years old.

When I was in 12^th grade I took up money for the ball games. My cousin was living with us, Floyd Bond. I was in the tub and Floyd said he was ready to go. Floyd called the lady next door, Mrs. Day, and she came over. I was lying in the bathtub with water up to my mouth. Water was still running. It was heating me. The drug me out to the back porch and covered me up. Daddy came home and bought Dr. McCall (not my  Doctor) and gave me a shot…..I didn’t die! Had a long 2 month illness….breathless and heart problem. Missed school for 2 months and teachers came to help her. I was able to graduate.

The night of graduation they took me in the wheel chair and took me into school building. When I got there they were all lining up. Mr. Quilian was the President of the school. He was to go down last so he pushed my wheelchair down. I sat back of the curtain a little bit. During the sermon the President of Bessie Tift, in Forsyth, was speaking and he got longer and longer winded. I got more and more tired. I wished he would faint. Right then the man fainted when he was speaking! Some men came and got him. I couldn’t believe it.

Momma seriously considered letting me go on a book selling trip after I graduated from Milledgeville (Georgia State College for Woman). Later on in 1952 Christine Nall and I went to Auburn, Alabama summer school for 2 summers and got Masters Degree in Education hoping it would raise retirement money.

After that my first job was in Franklin, Georgia….3^rd Grade except during war. (WWII)  They could not get a high- school English teacher so I went to the high school for 3 years. Interesting because I only had 6 smart, ambitious, young people. They were a joy. I was 21 when I started.

Momma had picked where I was going to College….Milledgeville. Never visited, she just chose for me. Social life very ordinary. Good teachers and passed all courses…..all business not much pleasure or activity. No boyfriends, no drinking etc. It was an all girls’ college.

I took a trip with Christine Noll from Grantville. I wasn’t married yet. We took the bus to New Orleans. The bus driver took us to the front of the hotel. He told us to leave the bags in the bus and he'd check them in for us. We stopped at New Mexico, Phoenix, and Carlsbad Caverns. Something was going on the lobby of every hotel.

Our second trip was out of Atlanta. We stopped in Grantville and then on to New Orleans. We started the trip and didn’t know where we were going….by Greyhound bus….no plan. I was really small so they made me push to the front of the bus and get a seat. I had a cousin who had a lovely wife, an Italian lady, but the cousin had died. His wife had room in her trailer. We stayed all week. All the cousins kept us going to all the time - nice places to see and eat. We continued and went up coast of pacific coast to Portland. Stayed there after enjoying trip up the coast…I remember the ocean and waves. We stayed a day or two..went on to Seattle (touched Alaska). Then flew over to Denver. Had a plane take them to Minnesota. Stayed there a week with friends.

The entire trip was three weeks. Got back to Atlanta….Christine was an old maid and wanted what she wanted right then! Didn’t have a schedule to go home. Since the bus was going to Columbus she wanted to get off in Grantville. Christine told Sarah to go cry and they would let them off.  She persuaded Sarah to go and cry and the bus driver said he would drop them off at Coles Filling Station at Highway 29 (it was where Glanton Street is now.) So they got out there and the boy next door was coming home from work. He went out and there was Christine & me with all the baggage!  

While I was engaged (to Frank Meacham, whom [she] did not marry,) and living in LaGrange; I  willingly agreed to stay at home while mother and Virginia Lancaster went to San Francisco, the university there was giving away scholarships that summer…..Delta Kappa Gama. They awarded scholarships for summer school for momma and Virginia. I stayed home and kept the men folks. Momma had cousins out there and they entertained them so much. Coming home they stopped at different places….riding the bus. (Greyhound bus).

I was 31 and Robert Leon O’Kelly was 35 when we married. The roads were not paved. He would ride from Grantville’s Corinth Road to LaGrange. We spent all night in the muddy road one night.

I was daddy’s girl. Not any man on the face of the earth that deserved her. Daddy had called Leon in to the living room and the door (momma tried to hear at the door). He told Leon he could and would shoot if someone harmed me because I was too good to have anything bad happen to me.

We married in 1937.  It was a simple wedding in living room on Park Avenue. Harold O’Kelly was the best man. Virginia Emory, my best friend, was the Maid of Honor. Mrs. Ruth Key sang Springtime Forever. When the wedding all over she played Amazing Grace on the piano….no one sang. That was the only song she knew how to play. We got into a Ford coupe, spent first night in Birmingham, then Mobile to Azalea Gardens and then went to New Orleans for the French Tour.

Leon was present at the first Republic party meeting in Coweta County. His father ran the post office, Charlie Dean O’Kelly. He ran the post office and Leon worked with him until he got a job with Callaway in LaGrange. He worked at Callaway Mills doing office work. We lived in LaGrange.

When we came back to Grantville we visited the Grantville School. Mr. Thomas Glanton was sweeping in front of the Auditorium. He and Leon knew each other because they were in 5^th grade together. He had come to school by horse and buggy. Mr. Glanton was raised by a mother and had 5 children. I asked Mr. Glanton for a job. He asked if I could teach the 7^th grade but I was really equipped to teach children. The next year I went to the 3^rd grade to teach. Never left the 3^rd grade until someone got sick and couldn’t come back. Then went I back to the English class. I learned to operate a library correctly…..trained in LaGrange, Then the school could be accredited….Triple AAA. Mr. Glanton was strict. In those days you spanked children. I had a little paddle and used it quite often. A lot of time when I meet some student today, they asked what I did with her paddle.

We waited 2 years to have Sally in 1940. She was named for me…Sara Holle O’Kelly. We were living by Hazel Porter in Grantville, on Railroad Street. (Now Broad Street) Then 2 1/2 years we wanted another child and we had Leon, July 1, 1943.  We had a cook and maid, the same as Mr. O’Kelly, Sr had. The maid was Charlotte and she had run the house since Mrs. O’Kelly died.


After Leon was born we moved to LaGrange Street in Grantville and rent was $20.00 a month. Grantville Mill Company owned the house. They had lived there about 20 years and one night at work Mr. Banks (mill owner) asked Leon to work on the mill's books. Mr. Banks said "why don’t you and Sara buy that house?"  Leon said he couldn’t afford. And Mr. Banks said, "You can if I give it to you." So he gave it to us for $4,000 and Leon paid him. Leon continued to work at the Grantville Mill for Mr. Banks.

Her husband died in 1969 at the age of 67. He is buried in Grantville.  After that I went back home to mommas for a couple weeks. Daddy had died. Later on momma moved and got an apt in LaGrange (Springdale Drive). Momma lived there until she died.

The Grantville Auditorium was named the Sara Holle O'Kelly  Auditorium at Calico Christmas in 2005.  Miss Sara is buried next to her husband, Leon, at Grantville City Cemetery. 

Broken Hearted Me

Have you ever had a really, really intense love affair? The kind that comes out of nowhere with genuine Love at First Sight, and just intoxicates you with the overwhelming desire to know everything there is to know about your beloved?

Have you ever poured your heart and soul into a relationship, stubbornly planning your future together despite warning signs that All is not what it seems? And have you ever felt that sickening punch to the gut that comes with the truth finally becomes clear to you that the relationship is entirely one sided? When you realize you are not only "not meant for each other," but that your beloved is beginning to tear away at your very soul?  And yet even so, the heartbreak is so unbearable that you keep wishing and hoping and imagining that things will get better, until one day something snaps and you suddenly stop and face the facts:

This. Just. Isn't. Working. Out.

I've had one of those...

I'm not talking about Nick. But he is caught up in this heartbreak.

When we first visited our town in 1998, we were immediately smitten.  After our wedding in 2001, we never seriously considered buying a home anywhere else.  We couldn't wait to begin building our lives here and before long we had invested everything....our money, our lives, our future. Traded in our old hobbies for local history research, small town events, and civic engagement.  Spent more time with our New Local Friends than our families and old friends.  Heck, I even wrote love letters, like the one here and here and here (and here)....and created a website (supplanted by a Facebook page) to express my devotion. 

I could torture the analogy by comparing the Internet hate boards to bathroom walls and city governance to junior high school, I could characterize the mud slingers as jealous ex-lovers, and go on to talk about how my beloved just won't stop hooking up with the trashiest girls in town...but that takes too much effort and I am through trying to love and respect what doesn't want to be loved and respected. 

I know this post won't make much sense to many of you. And those of you who know me will wonder what the hell happened to prompt this essay.  Suffice it to say that it's been a long time coming, that tentative steps towards reconciliation have only served to remind me why I started pulling away in the past year or so. Some news I got over the weekend sealed the deal and the love affair is over.   I still love the house, still love the pizzeria, and oh, my, how I still love so many of the people.  But I must confess that I've reversed my conviction that "we are gonna be buried here."

Nick and I are not actually going anywhere - after all we own a home and commercial property as well as the business. We'll remain here for a long while yet,  but it's kinda like staying together for the sake of the kids.  I'll do everything I can to try and make it work...but it will simply never be the same.

Disclaimer: these are my personal sentiments and should not be ascribed to Nick. He makes up his own mind about such things.

I've Been Rented!

Busy, busy today. I was rented by Jim Sells Properties. I'm working on the new Facebook page for them right now. Thought I'd test out the "Like Box" interface and let all my millions of readers know why I'm not finishing those dozens of blog post drafts I have in progress....

You could totally let me "feel the luv," and also start keeping up with new homes for rent in midwestern Georgia, if you just Like the page. You can always "unlike" it later, but it would be great to have a few fans I know and trust to give me feedback as I start tying Jim's website, FB, YouTube and other stuff all together! (..yes, we know the website needs work, that's why he rented me )

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My Walk-About Begins!

I am determined to make progress on my Year Forty-Seven list, and despite the dismal weather and a crazy schedule this week, I've launched my WalkAbout!

I am going to walk down each and every street in the city of Grantville this year. So far I've only done the little streets nearest my house - Smith, Cleveland, Magnolia, and Birch - but at least I got it started!  I will be posting a little bit about my walks soon....with notes about the history, architecture, plants or other tidbits about what I see on my walks.  I'll also post some pictures taken along the way!

Nick is walking some of the streets with me, and I'm hoping to have other friends join me once in a while. I will mostly walk Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday during mid-day. Let me know if you want to come along when I walk your street (and/or if you can tell me a little about your neighborhood....even if it is not 'historical' there must be something interesting to share!)

Painting History in Grantville

Published in Coweta-Living 2006-2007

Church bells chimed midnight in the distance, and the artist stretched his stiff limbs to lean back and inspect his work. Satisfied, he put down his brush and climbed off the scaffold, a soft thud echoing through the empty chamber as his feet hit the floor.

Butter-cream walls reflected the warm glow of six graceful pendulum lamps, hanging low above the sloped wooden floorboards. The artist quietly walked from corner to corner, inspecting the painted plaster and pressed-tin crown molding, taking extra care to scrutinize his work on the stage area. He then gave the same careful attention the tin ceiling, smiling when he came to a tiny image of Mona Lisa, painted in a moment of inspired whimsy.

Taking a deep breath, he paused for a moment of reflection. He could almost hear the whispers of restless school children at assembly, the applause of proud parents as students took closing bows, the excited chatter of young teens rehearsing for graduation.

Tomorrow, he thought, he would hang the new stage curtain and give the floors a final cleaning. Turning off the lights, he slipped through the side door and walked into the night.

**************************

Seven years ago, Grantville residents campaigned to save the 1927 school auditorium, neglected and weather worn behind city hall. A newly created Performing Arts Board coordinated Grantville Day fundraisers, and donations arrived from throughout Coweta.

Graduates of the old school eagerly joined a letter writing campaign to support a restoration grant application. With receipt of the grant and labor assistance from the county, the city replaced the roof, installed new doors, repaired windows and gave the building a fresh whitewash.

But before long, excitement and press coverage waned, and donations slowed to a trickle. Grantville Day passed into the hands of another organization, its proceeds redirected. The Performing Arts Board faded away, and responsibility for the restoration fell to the city's Historic Preservation Commission (HPC). With turnover on the city council, the project fell off the priority list. In the absence of a routine maintenance plan, the new wooden doors began to weather, ivy crept up the walls and cracked window panes went untended.

A year after my arrival in Grantville, I was appointed to the HPC. Outgoing members passed the torch of leadership, exhausted and disheartened by years of futile persistence. Whether foolish or brave, who knows, I resolved to move the project forward using meager funds raised by the annual HPC Tour of Homes and Grantville Playmakers benefit productions. In 2004, I hired a contractor to refinish the doors, repair the plaster, clean the ceiling, and paint the floor. The outcome was not what I hoped for, however, and I despaired of success.

My champion arrived in the form of local artist Scott Palmer. Sharing my goal of achieving maximum results with the scant money in hand, Scott offered to do most of the work himself, at far below market rates. Throughout 2005, Scott repaired the plaster walls and hand-painted virtually every surface in the auditorium, spending days in solitary devotion to the vision of a new community center for the city. Calling upon a few friends, he installed new lights, hung the new stage curtain, and even drove to Indiana on a mission to collect vintage auditorium chairs discovered on Ebay.

Grantville resident David Jones stepped in to clean the wrought iron chair frames, working steadily for months to remove layers of dirt and rust. Our new city council has interest in returning this project to the priority list and at press time in the summer of 2006, city employees devote rainy days to chair assembly. We are organizing volunteers to clean the leather seat cushions and chairbacks.

Funds raised thus far have been depleted, but our work is by no means finished. Benefit performances will take to the stage at Halloween and Christmas. We’re looking forward to hosting an Open House on Grantville Day 2007, much like the one organized by intrepid citizens who launched the drive for restoration. We encourage you to attend benefit events and support efforts to raise funds for expanded dressing and storage areas, bathroom installation, and sound and light systems.

Donations of expertise, equipment and labor are always welcomed! We are eager to hear from actors and musicians interested in presenting benefit performances, and Grantville natives are invited to contribute photographs and memorabilia relating to the auditorium.

If you would like to be part of this effort to preserve a part of Coweta’s history, please contact the Grantville Historic Preservation Commission at hpc@grantville.net or POB 638 in Grantville.

The Little City That Could

Published in Coweta-Living 2006-2007

Grantville has always attracted folks quick to pursue opportunity, and slow to admit defeat. Even during the days of the boll weevil, the great depression, world wars and industrial decline, there has been at least one voice whispering “I think I can, I think I can...”

The railroad arrived here in 1852. Certain the rails would lead to prosperity, townsfolk shed the humble name of Calico Corner in favor of the railroad engineer’s name, Grant. Perhaps to ensure their children were prepared to make the most of opportunity, they established Grantville Academy the following year. By 1860, a bonafide Professor was in service, and according to news reports, the Academy remained open even throughout the Civil War.

Little is known about the experience of Grantville citizens during the war, or even the prevailing sentiment among them with regard to succession and slavery. What is clear is that the city hardly paused to recover afterwards. In the waning years of the nineteenth century, Grantville began an ascent to spectacular heights, primarily due to the faith of a few individuals who said to themselves, “I think I can.”

Malberry Smith was among a handful of men who petitioned the state to incorporate the city in 1868. His brother, Wiley, served in the state congressional assembly that same year. J.R. Cotton founded a county-wide farmer’s organization to foster agricultural diversification and promote cattle and dairy farming. A new Grantville school was built and social organizations began to form within every strata of the city’s population. The Baptist congregation moved into their first church building, and newly emancipated residents built the John Wesley Church.

In 1865, T. E. Zellars had arrived in town with little more than the desire to open a store. When his first merchandise arrived, he lacked even the funds for freight charges! His solution was to open for business on the spot, selling products inside the depot until he could pay the stationmaster. By 1880, Zellars and his partner, W.J. Garrett, were selling wares in a brick building – Grantville’s first - which they themselves owned. Zellars also built a home, more properly called a mansion, nearby.

Before the war, N.O. Banks had launched a successful cotton buying business in Grantville, but the post-war era necessitated a new business plan. Whatever he came up with must have worked. By 1883 he had converted a three-room house into a 2-story Victorian masterpiece in the heart of Grantville, and in 1893 he partnered with Glenn Arnold to open an impressive mercantile.

J.W. Colley established the highly successful Colley Farms outside of town, and proceeded to leave a dramatic mark on the city when he built Bonnie Castle downtown in 1896. Before long, his home would become a popular destination for performers, politicians, preachers and other folks from far and wide.

The patriarchs of the Zellars, Banks and Colley families clearly believed that they, and this city, could do most anything. As the new century began, it seemed they were right.

Mr. Banks chartered the Grantville (hosiery) Mill in 1895, the same year Zellars charted a seed oil mill, gin, grist mill, and fertilizer plant. The Grantville Mill spawned a yarn spinning facility in 1906. The landscape throughout the community changed as the mills expanded, farms diversified and families established new homesteads. The old Smith farm produced a new range of cash crops, feed corn for a burgeoning poultry and cattle industry, and a variety of food for consumption in the mill villages. Area farms also grew a staggering amount of cotton, enough to feed the mills and ship hundreds of bales to other buyers.

The Zellars, Banks and Colley influence soon expanded into banking, insurance, politics and philanthropy. Other progressive businessmen built successful retail and service businesses, and residents eagerly cultivated an appreciation of performing arts and intellectual pursuits. Through some combination of fiscal planning, luck and fortitude, the city’s primary businesses survived the depression and many thrived well into the WWII era.
But a century after we jumped on the fast track, changing demographics, modern lifestyles and economic realities finally caught up with Grantville. The mills survived into the 1950s – the successor yarn mill lasted another two decades. By then, most of the city’s vitality had been drained away in the stream of cars leaving town on the new interstate highway. Just as the railroad lifted us up, so had the automobile propelled our descent.

It wasn’t long, though, before a handful of old timers recalled the tale of the little engine that could, and newcomers arrived to join the chants of “I think I can.” In the1990s, spirit flowed back into town and rekindled faith in the greatness of Grantville. The long neglected depot has since been reclaimed, and restoration of the 1927 auditorium is underway.

New businesses occupy old storefronts, where customers are enraptured and inspired by murals and photographs of old Grantville. Descendents of Calico Corner settlers are scattered throughout new subdivisions, one of which bears the name of that humble community. A new Grantville “academy” opened in state-of-the-art facilities in 2004, and the city is currently among the fastest growing in Georgia.

The majestic Zellars and Colley homes still preside over downtown, and Mr. Banks’ hosiery mill houses a store named “ReUse the Past.” Indeed, that’s what Grantvillians are trying to do as we move fully into the twenty-first century – use the best of what Grantville was, to make the best that Grantville can be.

We think we can!

My Coweta

Original version of essay appearing in June/July 2006 issue of Newnan-Coweta Magazine.

Living in suburbia years ago, I spent most weekends exploring rural Georgia with my sister and her family. We’d pick a direction and head out of town, the kids making hand-drawn “travel bingo” cards with a stash of cold drinks on the seat between them. Putting the Atlanta skyline behind us marked the official beginning of what we called adventuring.

At the first opportunity, we’d find an unexplored back road -- always hoping to spot a grizzled old man in overalls, dipping an ancient coffee tin into a big boiling pot and dishing out deliciously salt-soaked peanuts. We checked out any flea market or antique shop that looked sufficiently disorganized to yield treasures even the shopkeeper didn’t know were there. Hours would pass as we wandered old churchyards, speculating on family relationships and the lives of those memorialized with poetic verse and grieving-angel statuary. We gushed at the thrill of turning down an especially dusty road, and developed the rule of always going right, then left, then right again, until we were surely in the middle of nowhere and wouldn’t soon be confronted with golden arches.

One summer day in the early nineties, we headed South on I-85 until we found an exit with no sign of fast food restaurants. The ramp looped, and following our rule we turned to the right, with faith that the long stretch of blue road would lead to adventure and not to I-75.

Our faith was rewarded. That day, we peeked through the dusty windows of a charming old school, across from a fruit stand where the kids made a grand mess eating peaches fresh from the vine. We enjoyed the breathtaking spectacle of Starr’s Mill in the sunshine, where a couple held hands as they walked along the water. At an abandoned ice cream stand, we shivered with wistful loneliness, imagining long-ago delight as now-grown children took hold of chocolate dipped cones at the broken walk up window…hearing echoed whispers of sweethearts huddled on moldy outdoor benches, in the neon glow of the “Frosty” sign, now scattered and baking on the old asphalt driveway.

We delighted in grand old houses and tumbled-down barns, and gleefully plumaged through treasures in the very best kind of antique store. In an old city cemetery, we had the unexpected pleasure of being approached by a local resident, not to be admonished for letting children scamper through the burying ground, but to be treated to a grave-by-grave narrative of the old town’s history. Enraptured by the past, little did I know I was mere miles from my future.

Five years on, I found myself at that very same interstate exit, but turning left and heading for a weekend get-a-way to celebrate a birthday. This time, the blue road would lead to a turning point in my love affair with a man who would become my husband, and the true beginning of my love affair with Coweta County.

It was within the haunting shadows of Bonnie Castle that Nick and I first discussed marriage, our words captured by the faded parlor drapes that had guarded secrets for nearly a century. It was there that we savored Sunday eggs and Angel biscuits… there that the innkeepers regaled us with stories of textile empires and castle ghosts, town characters and local heroes, lost prosperity and renewed hope. There that we returned, time and time again over the following years, to sit on the veranda and agree, “We want to live in a town like this someday.” And it was there that we struck upon a simple shared vision for our future, “We want to have a place. And we want it to be ours. And we want people to come visit.”

In 2002, we bought a glorious old farmhouse built in 1861 by Malberry Smith, one of Grantville’s early aldermen and member of a civic-minded family that figures prominently in the early history of this area. After a few fitful years of commuting to work in Atlanta, we have finally achieved our goal of actually living in Grantville and not just owning a home here. I’ve been fortunate to obtain full time home-based work and Nick has recently left full time employment to focus on other endeavors, not the least of which is his new role as a member of Grantville’s City Council.

Two years ago we opened a restaurant in downtown Grantville, and we strive to be worthy of the loyal affection shown by area residents -- lifetimers and newcomers alike. We’ve traded in Atlanta-based hobbies for activities like furthering the Grantville auditorium restoration, organizing a local merchants group and helping residents enjoy their community through events like Grantville Citi-Fest and Calico Christmas. We admittedly harbor a dream that our business will someday be considered essential to story of Grantville, and indulge ourselves the vanity of thinking we are passing on the legacy of Malberry Smith and others who served this community.

A dozen years after that memorable adventure in what I now know to be Moreland and Senoia, and seven years past my first fateful visit to Grantville with Nick, we have indeed claimed Coweta as our own. We have found a place…and we have made it ours…and we want people to come visit.

Letter to the Editor - W Ga Beacon - June 2005

As chair of the Grantville Historic Preservation Commission, I am excited that we are finally moving ahead on the next phases of auditorium restoration. The interior walls will be re-plastered in the coming weeks, and repair of the ceilings and floor will follow. However, it is important for Grantville residents to remember that the auditorium is just one part of a much bigger picture.

Railroad towns and Mill towns are a dime a dozen in this part of the state, but Grantville is unique in that we have both original train depots and two historic mills structures. The city is a microcosm of public education in west Georgia - we have Grantville Academy (1800s, now a private residence,) the 1927 high school auditorium, the 1930s WPA public school (now city hall), a mid-twentieth century school originally built as an African-American school and later integrated (now West Georgia RESA,) and the new 2004 Grantville Elementary school.

The city also boasts two exceptional homes (the Zellar's house - "first all brick home in this part of the county" and the very unique Bonnie Castle) as well as an assortment of antebellum farm homes, traditional Victorian style homes constructed for textile mill and railroad officers, and two original "Mill Villages" built for the everyday workers. The historic district also includes the architecturally outstanding John Wesley Church and Grantville Methodist Church, at least two public parks, and most of the original downtown commercial buildings.

Surely, not just the auditorium, but all of Grantville is worthy of preservation as this part of the state is being swallowed by the creature we know as metropolitan Atlanta! Let the development come - let the supermarkets and banks and chain stores be built. Like every other Grantville resident, I would love to have all of those things in our city. But must we sacrifice our unique character to get it?

Our city’s historic preservation ordinances, like many of our zoning ordinances, have not been consistently enforced in the past few decades. Perhaps even more importantly, our existing ordinances leave us ill-equipped to face the onslaught of residential and commercial development, much less preserve our small-town atmosphere and leverage the opportunity for economically viable historic preservation and heritage tourism. Expectations are high that our new city manager will turn the tide, but he can’t do it alone – and we shouldn’t expect him to.

Many residents have expressed an interest in organizing grass roots gatherings among citizens to discuss our concerns and interests. I am volunteering to coordinate the first of these, but ask your help in ensuring they are productive. If you would like to take part in some informal and unofficial “town hall” gatherings, please drop me a note with your top three concerns, and two preferred choices as to day and time of such meetings. I will collect notes the next few weeks and schedule the first gathering for late February. City officials and representatives from the regional development center will be invited, and I will try to arrange for an impartial facilitator to lead the meeting. Send notes to kim@grantville.net or POB 638 in Grantville.

Kim Sasso, Chair,Grantville Historic Preservation Commissio