To the editor:
In a recent unscientific survey of the worst places to live in North Carolina, my hometown, Hamlet, was judged to be the fifth-worst place to reside in the state. Using subjective, possibly arbitrary criteria, the ultimate criticisms were summarized by the following: “One of the sore spots of N.C. — sounds like they need some community spirit here as well.”
Having been judged to be the fifth-most dangerous municipality and sporting an unemployment rate far above the national average, Hamlet can be linked to any number of negative qualifiers. As purported by the Bureau of Labor Statistics, FBI crime data, government census figures and Sperling`s Best Places, Hamlet cannot rise to the level of either thriving or flourishing.
The debate as to where to live or where is the best place to raise children rages on in an unrelenting way. When my mother and father set up housekeeping in 1946, they had carefully researched where to forge a new life for themselves — neither particularly wanting to remain in their Iredell County birthplaces — but rather sought to be independent of family ties and follow the American dream without entitlement.
The choice came down to Woodruff, South Carolina or Hamlet, North Carolina. Nestled in a small apartment at 403 Rollins Ave., life began anew for B.B. and Jean Stinson in what ironically would become known nearly 70 years later as an abysmal destination. The rest is history.
My father had an amazing penchant for salesmanship. I learned the true definition of the word merchant from this tireless worker of a deal at Stinson`s Furniture Company. I also learned his amazing gift of compassion to the downtrodden. My mother was an awesome help mete. She kept the home fires burning while B.B labored tirelessly to provide.
Children followed in 1947, 1950 and 1954. The little apartment (which has been and still is home for an eclectic succession of individuals and families over the years) could no longer hold the burgeoning family. Off to 103 Hamilton St. just around the corner in 1952. Then in 1956, the ultimate scene of my fondest memories — 405 Rollins Ave. — purchased from Earnest Huguelet.
My father, a World War II veteran and Purple Heart recipient, taught all of us to work and to be conscious of fair play with our fellow man. My mother embodied the Biblical precepts of a wife and mother — and modeled them to perfection her entire life.
I have friends in Hamlet who could chronicle similar core values — the selfsame type of hardworking, solid Christian, community-minded and hopeful families. We were all free to roam from house to house as though all familial relationships within the neighborhood were intertwined.
It was not unusual for us to take our meals at other residences or spend the night away from home simply because the mutual trust was so palpable. We walked to most of our destinations and biked if it seemed a bit too far. Some today would call it reckless — we called it “fun.”
Hamlet`s current “reputation” may have evolved from the dying away of the Seaboard Coastline Railroad, long an economic stalwart within the community and beyond. There were thriving centers of tourism and trade such as the Terminal Hotel. Many of my friends had direct or indirect ties to the railroad industry. It was indeed the lifeblood of the great majority of the citizenry and a hubbub of activity around the clock.
Main Street and Hamlet Avenue were lined with every conceivable type of shop — carrying the wares to sustain all daily needs. Decades before the Waltons’ dream of a one-stop shopping center became a reality, there was Harrington`s 5 & 10, Hamlet Hardware and Birmingham’s Drug.
Mom and pop businesses shored up by the railway activity and in concert with a blithe spirit of community pride buoyed this little “hamlet” to exude the very essence of potential both realized and ready to be tapped by enterprising capitalists.
Our educational system was par excellence in spite of the paucity of current technological innovation. Our fear of personal harm was nonexistent. The homes, with a sense of pride, were well-kept both inside and out. Folks were thrifty and God was at center stage. The empty storefronts that now dot the landscape of Main and Hamlet are a sign of the times — lost vigor and vitality and fading hopes — not only in Hamlet, but in Everywhere, USA.
Initiative has given way to slothfulness — integrity is lost in the domain of the slacker — peace and rest can only be found under close scrutiny and tight supervision. Hamlet is only a small example of what happens when people are driven more by a sense of entitlement than a pioneering spirit — an innate desire to prosper independently seems of little concern.
Our idea of “innovation” on a summer evening would be to catch fireflies and put them in a jar to lighten our paths, to tie sewing thread to the leg of an unsuspecting junebug to watch and control its flight, bursting maypops on the street, playing tag and hide-and-seek around the flagpole at Fairview Heights until well past dark, digging our own worms to go fishing at Kinsman’s or some other local tributary, choosing sides and playing ball from dusk till dawn, climbing trees to treacherous heights to pluck a few juicy grapes and gorge until stomachs could handle no more.
Cutting the inch-thick vines, securely intertwined in the sturdy oak branches and swing from limb to limb a la Tarzan the ape man, constructing treehouses in Catalpa trees until the nails were so prolific that the venerable old trees could no longer weather the invasion, having an insatiable yearning for nature that no extremes of weather or environmental conditions could possibly compromise.
So I am thoroughly convinced that if Hamlet is indeed to be classified as the fifth-worst city in which to live in the Tar Heel State, the pundits will have a difficult time winning me over to their twisted and convoluted way of conjuring such labels — anything to sell a few papers, right? The pundits cannot convince me that any successes that my friends or family achieved was not directly related to the influences of this wonderful town.
I pray that all who have seen the survey will be moved in some way to recapture that which made Hamlet great and could make it great again. I could list hundreds of “Hamletonians” who had a role in this smile that runs across my face as I write this morning. As I continue to opine, I pity the generations who “missed it” and somehow may never capture the intrigue that rests on either side of the tracks — symbolically still separating the present from the past and beckoning all who love this place to accept it unconditionally.
Why not change the criteria for the next Survey Monkey? Solid family values, virtue while never cheating a friend or neighbor, banding together in times of joy or crisis — heaven forbid a once-and-for-all glimpse at the qualities that truly make the town. The Hamlet I know would rank much better in such an evaluation.
An editorial comment in closing: Our arch-rivals the Rockingham Rockets were considered an even worse place to live. Never thought I would say this, but you guys are not so bad either!
Hear the words of the Hamlet High School Alma Mater and be proud of that sleepy little village that has produced some mighty fine human beings!
Where the tall pines stand in greatness
‘Neath the skies so blue
Stands our noble alma mater
Glorious to view
Lift the Chorus
Sing it o’er us
May it never fail
Hail to thee our alma mater
Hamlet High all hail!
May we all revel in the heritage of hope and regeneration that lies within all of us and thank God that the fifth-worst place to live in North Carolina continues to defy the odds and cranks out winners!
Larry Stinson
Marshville