(This article first appeared in the May print edition of the Hendersonian)
I was gratified to hear that some of you enjoyed my recent Hendersonian column, headlined “Sharing sweet memories of what ain’t here no more” about places I once loved that have gone away.
My memories here go back only 45 years, since we moved to Henderson in just 1980.
But what if we were to get in a Wayback Machine to get a glimpse of Henderson 75 years ago, in 1950?
Henderson was a fundamentally different place in those days. The city’s population was 16,837, or 10,000 fewer than today; the countywide population was one-third smaller than today.
Driving into town was a different experience. There was no cloverleaf in those days, no U.S. 41-Bypass—and no hint of I-69.
Instead, motorists from Evansville on U.S. 41 merged with U.S. 60-East traffic at the North Y to form North Green Street.
Oh, and those cars crossing the Ohio River to get here? They knew nothing of Twin Bridges; the southbound bridge didn’t open until 1965. Instead, northbound and southbound traffic shared a single span, the Audubon Memorial Bridge.
Not everyone arrived by automobile. The Louisville & Nashville and Illinois Central railroads still delivered passengers to the depot, where many grabbed a City Cab or Dixie Cab to the Hotel Soaper—the higher-end hotel downtown, with a restaurant, cocktail lounge and coffee shop, plus barber and beauty shops—or the Kingdon or Goodrum hotels.
There were no shopping centers. You wanted something, you went downtown to one of the department stores — Belk-Henderson, the Brokerage, JC Penney or Strongs—or to the J.J. Newberry or F.W. Woolworth five-and-dimes. Or to any of the seven drug stores or the four jewelry stores or half-dozen hardware stores and various clothing stores. You could buy electric appliances at a dozen stores downtown.
The essence of baked deliciousness wafted from the big Kentucky Bakery at Second and Elm, where Old National Bank’s main branch here stands today.
Behind the bakery at 216 N. Elm St. stood the Henderson Gleaner & Journal building, home to the Morning Gleaner and the Evening Journal.
You could send a telegram from the Western Union office at 229 Second St.
The car dealerships weren’t out on the U.S. 41-North Strip; they congregated around downtown and Green Street, including Argabrite Chevrolet and Scott-McGaw Motor Co.
Television was not yet ubiquitous, so folks went to the movie theaters: The Kraver at 226 N. Main St., which showed cowboy movies, and the Kentucky at 230 Second St., which featured higher-brow films. There were also the Hi-Y Drive-In at the North Y and the Audubon Drive-In on 41-North. Or folks could go bowling at the King Pin upstairs at 325 Second St.
Hulking tobacco processing plants and warehouses dominated the downtown streetscape, especially along Water Street.
To be sure, not every business was located downtown. There were loads of barber and beauty shops all over town.
There were plenty of cafes and restaurants, too, from little Brownie’s Lunch at 515 Washington St., across from Barret Manual Training High School—good old Barret, folks of a certain age will say—to the fancy Interstate Glass House Restaurant (that’s now Benton-Glunt & Tapp Funeral Home) to the Green Gables to the gloriously named Right Quick Cafe.
A handful of businesses along Letcher Street in the East End—Chapman’s Furniture, T&T Drug Store, Pruitt’s Electrical, Davenport’s Shoes and others—in 1950 were trying to revive a business district that thrived in Audubon before streets were paved and it became easy to go downtown.
Every neighborhood had a little grocery, and motorists filled up at service stations with branded gasoline: Gulf, Standard Oil, Sinclair, DX, Shell and more.
Let’s not forget the taverns: Wolf’s at First and Green, or the Cloverdale Club at South Green and Sand Lane, or Puckett’s at Second and Water, or the Kentucky Tavern on North Green, or the Brass Rail on Main Street, or Little Bar on Second, and more. At many, if not all, you could find slot machines or other games of chance, not a single one of them legal.
Then, of course, there was the Club Trocadero, the swanky nightclub where downstairs they served steaks with gin rickeys or champagne cocktails as the best dance bands in the land played, while a casino hummed upstairs before reformers shut the whole thing down a couple of years later.
It was a point in time, 1950 in Henderson, when men and women worked at furniture plants and dress factories, and guys placed bets at Dade Park and gambled at juke joints while churches tried to hold together the fabric of decent society, which was still segregated by race but somehow still joined by common experience.
I’m not saying I would want to trade it for the Henderson of today.
But I wouldn’t mind taking a walk around town, 75 years ago.
