Taking a 1970s walk around downtown Murphy

Returning home after decades away can be unsettling – especially in an unguarded moment when one’s mind drifts to older times. I sometimes walk old Murphy in my mind. Care to come along?

The courthouse of that solid regal blue marble is my anchor point for our walk through Murphy in the late 1960s and early ’70s. We will start where I was born, a massive white building on the hill, Providence Hospital, where Ivie Funeral Home stands today.

Walking toward town center we pass the offices of Drs. Paul Hill and Helen Wells. Next door is a large stone building, Murphy General Hospital. The office of Dr. George Size is inside.

Further down Peachtree Street is the Professional Building, with Dr. Bill Dyer’s chiropractic office at the end, and further down Dr. Daryl Gossett’s optometrist office. One can still have their eye care handled in that same office today by Dr. Keith Clay.

Past the city government offices and the power board we come to the book-crammed Carnegie library, then the courthouse and across the street is Darnell’s Apparel for Men & Boys. We can spend 20 minutes window shopping in front of the glass display case filled with the myriad wonders of Official Boy Scout merchandise. Darnell’s is the source.

Facing us across the street is the white columned First Baptist Church, and beside it Goodyear Tire.

Continuing down Peachtree Street we pass Walter Coleman’s appliance store with the neon Frigidaire sign overhead. Next door is Lay’s 5&10, where countless delightful hours are spent. Passing the candy counter is the waft of roasted nuts and candy corn. The left aisle at the rear – that’s where the toys are.

At the front of that aisle, the scent changes to that of cedar wooden toys and souvenirs produced by Margret Studios at the lower end of town. For teenagers, the draw is the record bin, a single green display that manages to hold all the top-40 hits and albums. One
can study the album covers for hours without interference.

Next to Lay’s is Citizens Bank & Trust Company, where my parents opened a savings account for me when I was 6 years old. As an adult, I approached a Wachovia banker there about a line of credit, who said, “We are only interested in those with longtime associations with the bank.” He rephrased his denial after I revealed that I had maintained an account there since the first grade.

Kay’s Quick Lunch, Hughes Electric and for me nirvana – Carolina Hardware. The knife bug has already bit and this store is the official Case XX dealer, hosting a floor display I would stand in front of and dream, “Someday.”

Across the street is the largest building in town, a massive red brick colossus known as the Regal Hotel, with retail stores underneath like Maddox Hardware. His store has the Robeson knife display.

Davis Jewelers is on the offset corner, where Bill Coffey does the watch repair. At the corner with Valley River Avenue is Parker Drug, the Rexall franchise. Directly across from Parker’s is Mauney’s Drug Store, where one sits on the fountain stools and awaits their refills while enjoying some of the best hamburgers ever, sipping on a vanilla Coke. At a booth here I asked the girl who would later become my wife to go steady.

Mauney’s is the mandatory after-school gathering place for students who don’t ride a bus, and sometimes those who do but can arrange other transportation home. It is a be there or be square gathering spot.

Turning right down Valley River Avenue is the cubbyhole housing Murphy police headquarters, next to a restaurant with an advertising sign that rotates panels and serves an exceptional grilled cheese. Further down is Fambro’s Five & Dime and Collins-Crane department store.

Fambro’s is the source for color-dyed live chicks at Easter, and Mexican jumping beans. Collins-Crane is where my band buys matching brown shirts and white ties before our appearance on the March of Dimes Telerama in Chattanooga, Tenn., chosen because those are the only shirts and ties of which the store has six in our various sizes.

Further down is Noah Lovingood’s store, the location where previously my grandparents owned a restaurant. Crossing the street at the First Methodist Church, we move again toward the red light, passing Cline Hicks Gulf and Cloe Moore Dodge. Moore’s the mayor. Next is the Cherokee Restaurant, and another mecca, The Western Auto, a gun counter ruled by Harry Burgess, and every conceivable bicycle part in stock.

Past Mauney’s to the next inset corner is Cowards Apparel, and here the stores I frequent become dim. We do not walk to the other side of Tennessee street because that is where Kirk’s, the “bad” pool hall is, the one with a rougher crowd and fights that have been known to spill to the sidewalk. Further down on that side is Junior MacAfee’s, the “good” pool hall, with great food, too. Later he will convert the location to a successful restaurant.

We’ll end our walk at the Hen House, the Henn Theater, where my parents drop me off on a Saturday with a pocketful of dimes for popcorn, and later, where I will boldly sit with my arm around the shoulders of a pretty girl and sneak an occasional kiss. Like the courthouse, the Henn is one of the few businesses that remains today.

And on Saturday night, the streets are crammed
with muscle cars: Roadrunners, GTOs, Fairlanes, Mustangs, Chevelles, most with Detroit’s 400-plus cubic inches of thundering American internal combustion glory.

We make left turns starting at Murphy General until back on Peachtree, then down to Brumby’s for a quick U-turn and repeat the cruise – for hours.

And in this procession if you notice a white ’69 Mustang with a teenager needing a haircut and a cute brunette beside him – that will be me, around 1970.

And yes, I miss it.

Bruce Voyles’ local history column runs every other week in the Cherokee Scout. Email him at RoadsLessTraveled@cherokeescout.com.