ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Sunday, May 19, 1996 TAG: 9605170009
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: 3 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARGARET KELSO
DEAR Roanoke:
I left your nestled valley three years ago. I had lived there for 14 years and finally called it home. I always had a friend or relative to call when my car broke down or when my most recent romance had fizzled.
When I went to Roanoke from Chicago, I stuck my nose up in the air at the silly hicks everywhere. I broke my nose falling in the parking lot of The Pancake House. I had become a silly hick. I couldn't have been happier.
Where else can you say the Pancake House or the Weiner Stand and have everybody know what you mean? I love the town! A ride on the Blue Ridge Parkway can turn into an adventure. A visit to the Mill Mountain Zoo can turn into a charming 20 minutes. I'll never forget that big hunk of cheese-shaped thing at Dixie Caverns. When I think of heaven, I imagine a jelly-bean selection just like the one at Macado's.
There is no better place for catching fireflies, and even now I can smell Roanoke in the morning. I can also see the slug trails glistening on the sidewalk in the morning sun. I remember learning to fish with those slugs at Carvin's Cove as a child. I remember learning to love to fish at Smith Mountain Lake as an adult. I even went deer hunting once somewhere in Botetourt County, although I never quite learned to enjoy that.
I finally learned to navigate the funky streets of the metropolitan area, but I still can't picture the whole thing in my head. A major turning point in my navigational training was when I figured out that Brandon Avenue turns into Lee Highway which turns into Apperson Drive which turns into Colorado Street and that part of it, if not all, is considered U.S. 11, which is also at one end of Williamson Road. I've seen a lot of signs for Route 11, although I have never figured out where it went. Nostalgic for poor road planning, I simply must get home more often.
I experienced many firsts in Roanoke. I saw my first heater built into a floor. My first (and only) lawn decorated in the Elvis motif. My first (and only) really nice policemen: One actually put my tags on my car after he stopped me for not having them displayed. The car manufacturer hadn't punched holes for the license-plate screws, so I had thrown them in the back seat and figured that was good enough. Apparently it was, as he didn't give me a ticket.he just helped me out. I learned that there was a large hole to pour oil into as opposed to the little one with the stick. It's much quicker this way. Which brings me to another first, I found out what happens when you ignore the little red light that says "OIL." My first exploding engine, in a Volkswagen on Interstate 581.
It was in Roanoke that I learned how to get a flat tire fixed: Simply stand on the side of the road, hold up two pieces of a jack and look confused.
I wasn't looking when I learned to love Roanoke, so I don't quite know how it happened. I can tell you that when I left, I suffered a separation anxiety that still hasn't left me.
I visit when I can; the last time I did so, I was sitting in my car alone with the windows down, at night, waiting for my husband. I suddenly noticed something odd: I wasn't afraid,I hadn't even noticed it until that moment. I and hadn't been on the whole trip. (Well, not unless you count my husband's driving.)
I live in an Atlanta suburb, and I watch the news, which tends to keep a woman quite nervous. Y'all would not believe what goes on down here. Every day, someone is murdered or raped or robbed, and if you mentioned it to a local, they would respond, "It's like that everywhere."
Not everywhere, not in Roanoke, at least not every day. I happened to be in Roanoke when five people were murdered, and the response of everyone I spoke to was shock. It was discussed everywhere I went.
No one discusses crime much around Atlanta; it's kind of expected, in a very sad and resigned way. In a way that sets Roanoke apart from everywhere else I've been. You people really care. In the dictionary under Southern Hospitality it should say, "See Roanoke, Virginia." That's Roanoke, not Ronokey.
For those who have not yet learned to love this place: Stick around, you will. And for those who love the star, don't feel bad when folks make fun of it. Just tell them that Marietta, Ga., has a Big Chicken, and folks are more than a little proud of that. The radio stations here are no better than yours, and there is a newscaster guy who actually spraypaints his head.
The people around here are OK, but there are so many of them and you don't see the same friendly faces all the time like you do in Roanoke. I did make one friend soon after I got here but she turned out to be a whacko. Not that there aren't any whackos in Roanoke but as I said, you see the same people so you pretty much know who they are.
There are more famous people here. So far I've met a quarterback for the Houston Oilers; I'm a Bears fan. I also met Kenny Rogers, Travis Tritt and the guy who sings "Way Down Yonder on the Chatahoochie"; I'm a rock 'n' roll fan.
The Atlanta area has some historic places to visit, but Virginia has many more. The Olympics would be something if I could afford tickets. The only event I can afford is The Traffic Jam. I'd like to see Mary Lou Retton try that one.
The only endearing quality I have found here is that there are no Redskin fans. You can keep them; apparently no one else wants them.
There is no excuse for a person not to make their own fun wherever they happen to be at the time. I can fish here; I just haven't found a good place yet. I can get to the Blue Ridge Parkway, but I haven't yet discovered the adventuresome overlooks in these parts. I'm close to Florida, if I can dodge the hurricanes.
I don't mean to sound negative. I'm just homesick. I do have fun here; it's just a little different surrounded by strangers. Yet I make it a point to have a lot of fun, because Roanoke, that is what you taught me most of all. See you soon.
Margaret Kelso, formerly of Roanoke, now lives in Marietta, Ga.
FILE ART
LENGTH: Long : 108 linesby CNB