Franklin, Virginia

Franklin, Virginia stinks. At least that was my opinion while traveling back and forth to Hampden-Sydney College from my home in Chesapeake, Virginia back in the early 80’s.  Motoring down Route 58, I would smell Franklin long before I saw any signs for it.

It was a place to avoid or to speed through quickly, which cost me dearly on two occasions. “Windows up, pedal down” should’ve really been a part of the welcome to Franklin sign back then. The offending culprit was the local paper mill that’s been belching smoke and stench since the 1870s. On a positive note, it has contributed greatly to Franklin’s growth over the years. That and peanuts.

It was a blustery January morning when I decided to give Franklin another look and another whiff. According to Google Maps, my trip would take just under an hour from my home now in Virginia Beach. The directions took me along the all too familiar Route 58 of days past. It’s pancake flat bordered by farmlands and decrepit houses for most of the time. Puffs of cotton, leftover remnants a fall harvest skittered about.

More than once, I saw a murder of crows feasting on jumbled roadkill.

More than twice, I saw a Dollar General Store with a vacant parking lot.  

Welcome to rural southeast Virginia.

Main Street. Franklin, Virginia

Before too long, one the paper mill’s smokestacks came into view, puffing away and giving the proverbial middle finger to pollution control. It only added more grey to greying skies. Cruising along at close to 60 miles per hour, I rolled down the window and sniffed the air –full on golden retriever style. Astonishingly, there was no smell, but merely a blast of refreshingly cold January air.

I pulled into a muddy parking lot across from the mill and got out of the car for a closer look.  It’s a rather ugly operation with boxy buildings of aluminum and steel. Wires and pipes haphazardly connected one structure to another and yet another which evidently served a purpose of which I will never know. 

Stacks of tree trunks over 100 feet long and freshly cut planks line a tall chain link fence topped with intimidating razor wire.  There was nary a soul around, and not even a smell.

So, what happened?

After a bit of follow up research, I discovered why. It turns out that TRS (Total Reduced Sulphur) happens to be a naturally sulfurous compound released when trees are cooked down to pulp to make paper. Technically, it’s not considered to be too much of a health hazard.  As a matter of fact, one version ofTRS is added to natural gas to ensure that leaks are detected. However, TRS happens to be one of the ingredients in that pesky acid rain which made the headlines back in the 90’s. An amendment to the Clean Air Act mandated change. As a result, mills installed devices to reduce TRS and subsequently take the edge off the foul odor and the one in Franklin followed suit. 

Moments later I turned on to Franklin’s rather quaint downtown area where I fully expected to see Andy and Opie Taylor making their way to Floyd’s Barber Shop.  Instead, there was a foursome of twenty-somethings clad in camouflage making their way to Fred’s Restaurant on Main.

Looks like it’s time for breakfast.

Evidently, this is the place where Franklin’s movers, shakers and hunters gather on a Saturday morning. There was quite a cue for a table but luckily an empty space opened at the bar. A waitress quickly gave me a menu and offered coffee. The bar top  interesting, a good 12 feet long and signed by close to 100 well wishers and then laminated. An old Fred’s Restaurant logo is the bar’s center piece. “This was the original sign out front,” the waitress explained. “It was taken down after the flood of ‘99 that closed down this place and much of Franklin for some months. Before we put the final finish on the bar during the renovations, we had people sign it and here it is. Pretty, neat huh? “

 It was quite the flood, or floods.  In less than a month in the fall of 1999 Franklin suffered greatly from Hurricane Irene, Tropical Storm Dennis and Hurricane Irene. According to Franklin’s historical records, “by early morning on September 16, the Blackwater River had made its way to Main Street bringing four to five feet of water to even the higher elevations of Downtown Franklin, and floodwaters continued to rise at a rate of approximately six inches per hour. Approximately 100 homes and 182 businesses were totally destroyed ...”

Dave Rabil, owner and chief greeter at Fred’s

 “We were closed for almost eight months,” Dave Rabil explains. He’s Fred’s son and current manager, greeter, and permanent fixture. The restaurant has been around since 1947. Kitchy signs adorn the walls along with historical photos of Franklin.

 Fred reminded me of a cartoon character both by his looks and demeanor. He’s tall and balding with a bushy, grey mustache and an infectious smile. A woman sitting to my right decked out in a Stetson cowboy hat, blue jean overalls and a scarf that resembled a small poodle commented that Dave never wears anything that matches. “I usually wear a Hawaiian shirt so I always feel like I’m on vacation,” he belts out over the noisy patrons. On this particular morning, he broke tradition and his outfitted in his “car show” shirt and a apron with cartoon drawings of beer bottles and logos

 He grabs a stool next to me and explains how he used to live above the restaurant as a child, how he returned to the family business in 1990 after  living in Northern Virginia and then managing Dairy Queens in Norfolk and Virginia Beach. He prefers the laid-back vibe of small-town Virginia. “Everyone knows who you are, and that’s a good thing and a bad thing,” he quips.

 My breakfast platter of scrambled eggs, bacon grits and a biscuit that rivaled the size of a cat’s head arrives the same time Dave is called back to the register. All the booths and tables are full. More folks in camo come and go. After a delicious breakfast that set me back a total of $8 including unlimited coffee and a tip, I decided to explore more of Main Street. I hung a right out of Fred’s and noticed a chest high plaque out front commemorating the high-water mark back in 1999.

 The nearby welcome center was closed. Just up from there and across the railroad tracks is a parking lot that’s typically the location for Saturday’s Famer’s Market – not today. I strolled past an old movie theater turned church, a funeral home, and an auto repair shop all of which tend to be fixtures of small towns almost anywhere these days.  Big box stores like Lowes, Walmart, Target, Costco and other such ilk have had a major impact on small downtowns. However, it looks like Franklin is holding its own.

 At the end of Main Street is Barrett’s Landing, a quaint little that hugs the Blackwater River which flooded during the storm. Nearby, there are a series of historical signs where I learned even more about Franklin. There we write ups about the paper mill, the Civil War, the Age of Gasoline, and The Great Depression to name a few.  A timeline recounts some of the town’s historical moments: Shelled by U.S gunboats in 1882; Blacks vote for the first time in 1887; the city builds a water tank in 1901; Two automobile dealerships opened in 1913; and so on and so on.

 The wind picked up and it started to snow and thought about the knit cap and scarf that I left in my car. People were still streaming in and out of Fred’s but other than that, I was the only one walking down Main Street.  The air was crisp and clear. 

I was happy I gave Franlkin another look. The town has been through a lot. And it doesn’t stink anymore — at least not today.