West Point, 40 years later

Today, the NY Times ran an article about my old hometown in Georgia.  It's about a new Kia plant and the hope it brings to the town. I'd heard about the Kia plant from my aunt a couple of years ago, but I did a double take at the photo of the mayor in the middle of the street. Could that man in the obviously colorized photo be little Drew with the shiny blondish hair from my younger sister's class?  He had to be, with that name. As you can tell from the caption, names and families are important in West Point.  I moved away when I was ten, but many years later when I was visiting, I walked into a store and someone I never met called me by my mother's maiden name.  These days I would find it touching, but it was unnerving when I was eighteen!  

You can tell that the NY Times is being slightly ironic about the article. They think they've captured a slice of middle America. Perhaps they have. 

The Valley (as we called West Point and the towns across the river in Alabama) was a happy place to be a child. I ran around the neighborhood with my older cousin and her friends. I'm sure somebody knew where we were, but I could even ride my bike along dirt roads by myself.  I remember going to Darden Brothers shoe store (once on the left side of the street in the article photo, but now long gone) twice each year. I got saddle oxfords and a pair of black patent Mary Janes every Labor Day, and blue canvas Keds and a pair of white patent Mary Janes every Easter. I wore gloves to church, and my grandmother sewed me monogrammed and appliqued dresses (when we didn't buy them in nearby Columbus or LaGrange). I loved my moms' parents, who stayed with us while my mother taught school, and I enjoyed sitting on the porch with my dads' parents up the road. There were less-than-perfect things about the town and that life that I would discover later, but I didn't know much about them then.  

Would I go move back if I had the chance?  I don't know.  It doesn't seem possible. I'm not at all sure the town as I knew it exists anymore. Even my 82-year-old aunt has moved away. But evidently it's still home some people I knew then, like Drew Ferguson.  And I love the addition of kimchee to the local menu!

West Point is a town that has long depended on large employers. Originally it was a railroad town. When I was growing up, most everyone worked for West Point Pepperell, a towel manufacturer.  The mill took up block after block along the Chattahoochie river. I think West Point Pepperell eventually turned into West Point Stevens, but it's long gone from the town now. The last time I went visited, two years ago, the main street looked like a ghost town. The people who now want to work for the Kia plant are mostly descendants of the farmers who moved there during my grandparents' time to work for West Point Pepperell. Some of the next generation went on to college, while others were content to work for the mill.  From the looks of the place recently, it seemed that those who were loyal to the mill got left behind.  I know there must be many such similar towns.

My great-grandparents' house near West Point

It's strange to see a place I used to look up to, quite literally, from the point of view of my new hometown's paper, and after such a long time. It's sort of like going back to the house where we once lived and noticing that the hallways aren't nearly so long as I remembered them.  But still, it's home.