(This article first appeared in the April print edition of the Hendersonian.)
Well, something’s lost
But something’s gained
In living every day
—Joni Mitchell, “Both Sides Now”
Don’t get me wrong. As of this month, we’ve lived in Henderson for 45 years, and for us it’s never been a better place to live.
The local restaurant scene is thriving and growing — just look at all the cars parked downtown! Boutique shops and other innovative businesses have sprouted all around downtown as well. We have two wineries, a craft brewery and will soon have a craft distillery.
The sports complex on Airline Road has opened, providing quality sports facilities that have long been needed.
The recruitment of the half-billion-dollar Pratt Paper complex here amounted to what Gov. Andy Beshear says was the biggest economic development achievement in Western Kentucky in a quarter-century.
The launch of the Hendersonian has once again given us a viable local newspaper. (And if you’re not subscribing to receive an email every Wednesday and Sunday morning with links to local news, well, why aren’t you?)
And the climate of collaboration in both the public and private sector is greater than I’ve ever seen here.
But now and then I grow wistful about beloved old places that are no more.
This is one of those times.
I miss Purple’s, the lunch counter and pool hall at 128 Second St. where Marsha Fulkerson and her sisters served up swell meals and hospitality. I’m glad Homer’s Barbecue, which is located there now, pays homage to it.
I miss Gene’s Restaurant, where we ate breakfast after church every Sunday. Once Joyce, the beloved waitress there, dropped a load of dishes on the floor. She shook her head, headed to the back and emerged with a broom. “Heading home?” one wag asked. Joyce got it.
I miss Hunan’s, which had the best crab rangoon ever and plenty of terrific entrees as well. I miss Woolfolk’s Bar-B-Q, the best I ever had.
I miss Bernstein’s, the men’s wear shop where I had to budget at least an hour (or two) because I knew that Jerry Bernstein would provide overwhelming customer service, chat, commentary and insights.
I miss Ruby’s Café, back when it was on Elm Street. That was the first place we ate breakfast when we came to town.
I miss Matt’s News right next door, in the same building, back when it was a skinny shotgun affair with long aisles packed with magazines and paperbacks. It was there that I saw a little boy being pushed by his mother, who was saying, “Just keep moving, just keep moving.” On their heels was Jumbo, the town character and self-proclaimed bank guard who was holding out his wallet, filled with pretend police IDs, saying, “I told you I was FBI! I told you I was FBI!”
I miss playing miniature golf at Willingham’s, up on 14th Street.
I miss Homefolks Hardware next door, where as a young owner of an old home, I learned to trust the staff, and instead of telling them what I needed, I would tell them what my problem was, and they told me what I needed. After Homefolks closed, I took my business to Norris Ace Hardware up on 41-North. Now it’s gone, and I miss them both.
I miss Del’s Key Market on First Street, where we would shop for groceries on Sunday evenings before popping into Matt’s and treating ourselves to a magazine each.
I miss Third Street House, where Donna would go for the Christmas open house and remark on something she liked there, and Dean Bobo would discretely set it aside and give me a call.
I miss Wolf’s, “Where Friends Meet.”
I miss the Starlite Drive-In, where we should have gone more often.
I miss the Checkerboard, the peculiar roadhouse out at Graham Hill that, for a time, had the best catfish going (and I’m not convinced it wasn’t haunted, like the people who worked there said).
I miss The Gleaner, back when it was recognized as the finest small-town daily newspaper in Kentucky and had so many employees that we couldn’t fit all of our cars in the parking lots.
I miss shooting County High football games at the North Junior High field back in ’82, when it seemed the Colonels might contend for a state championship. I miss all those men who watched the games standing along the chain link fence that ran around the track.
I even miss some places I never saw (F.W. Woolworth, the Kentucky Theatre, the Kraver Theatre) and some places I barely got to experience (Newberry’s five and dime, JC Penney, the soda fountain at Dunaway’s Pharmacy at Second & Elm).
I’m glad I miss them, because it means they meant something to me.
And I’m glad we have new places to love in 42420.
