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PrintDown by the River
photo by Rimas Zailskas
You don’t get to Marshall by accident. It’s a deliberate journey, winding down narrow sinuous roads. You come snaking off the highway, dropping from the mountain towards the French Broad River and the railroad tracks that border her shore.
And once you reach Main Street, you might be inclined to dismiss it. Small town. Old town. No upscale boutiques or big-box stores. Can’t be much going on here, right? Wrong. But if you motor through Marshall, you’ll miss it. You have to get out on the street and dance with its slow, singular music.
For all its sleepy appearance, the town has a rather dramatic past, rich in regional history and commerce. But it also has a future that is being nurtured quietly. In some ways, Marshall may be the best-kept secret in Western North Carolina.
It’s a tenacious little town, tucked between a sheer rock cliff and the river. “A mile long, a street wide, sky high and hell deep,” laughs Jerry Plemmons, Marshall’s good-will ambassador. In pre-Civil War days, this unusual sheltered location made it a favored stop for drovers moving livestock along the river from Tennessee.
One of the entrepreneurs who set up holding pens along the route was David Vance, father of Zebulon, who donated the 50 acres that was incorporated as Marshall in 1860 and became the county seat of Madison County.
During the War Between the States, the town achieved a certain level of notoriety for the division of loyalties between the Blue and the Gray. In 1862, the historic Allen House on Main Street, former home of Colonel Lawrence Allen, was ransacked in a supply raid by Union sympathizers, setting the Shelton Laurel Massacre into motion.
Today, hanging baskets of cheerful geraniums decorate the balcony at the restored Allen house, and a vintage guest cottage—which the homeowners raised from its location further north and rolled down Main Street—sits comfortably beside. The entire downtown area has been designated an Historic District, challenging residents and business owners to embrace the past and explore its potential.
The population itself is an interesting juxtaposition of “B and B’s” (born and bred) and newcomers drawn to the blend of independent spirit and deep sense of community that the town engenders. “I’m still surprised at the wide range of people who come through our doors,” says Jon Curtis, owner of Good Stuff, an eclectic convenience store that has become something of a social center. “It’s a very inclusive town. The only requirement is that you be nice.”
It also helps if you’re resourceful. And creative. When the old high school on Blanahassett Island—set in the middle of the French Broad River—was scheduled for demolition, locals reinvented the building as affordable studio space for artists.
Spearheaded by ceramic artist Rob Pulleyn and Jim and Libby Woodruff—a textile artist— Marshall High Studios, which was recently placed on the National Register, now houses visual, sculptural and movement artists, writers and The Elumenati, who create “immersive projects.” The Elumenati recently temporarily erected a Geodesic Dome—with 360-degree visual projections—on the island to host a Space Dance in celebration of Buckminster Fuller’s birthday.
Pretty heady stuff for a small town, but part of Marshall’s magic is the quirky coexistence of cutting edge and country comfort.
A farmer’s market is held each Sunday on the spot where the futuristic geo-dome stood. Along Main Street, one can step back in time at Penland & Sons, an old-fashioned general store in continuous operation for 100 years. Yet just a block or two away, behind brushed stainless steel doors, internationally acclaimed painter Jimmy O’Neal is working on his surreal, reflective canvases. Actor Tony Torn (son of Rip) and poet Lee Ann Brown are gestating The French Broad Institute of Time and the River, where they have begun screening experimental cinema in the former Methodist Church.
Perhaps it is the flavor of a frontier town that draws inspired individualists to Marshall. The Madison County Arts Council boasts 275 member artists—an impressive roster in a county so predominantly rural. “It’s in the air here,” observes Joel Friedman, a former Atlanta gallery owner who now runs Zuma, the local gourmet coffee shop and social hub. Friedman chose Marshall for his venture based on the premise that folks in a nascent “art town” would need a great coffee shop.
And you’ll see them all sitting and sipping away at the sidewalk tables: urban refugees with their laptops, old-timers talking about the weather, hipsters scribbling in their sketchbooks. All part of the community. “People who have come here find that those who have been in Marshall for generations are here for the same reason,” says Laura Bossinger, Executive Director of the Arts Council. “They just want to be somewhere where they can be what they want to be.”
You don’t get to Marshall by accident. But if you find yourself there, get out and walk around. You just might want to stay a while.
