Guide to Historical Salem

A Guide to Historic Salem -- Volume 6, Number 1 -- Spring 2000

The Rev. LeRoy Gresham Was Towering Figure
A New Century, 100 Years Ago
Artist's Early Sketch of Salem Uncovered
Salem Boy Was National Marbles Champ
Salem's 'Great Milk Protest' Was Comparatively Tame
People in Salem History...

The Rev. LeRoy Gresham Was Towering Figure
Pastor Was Strict, With Strong Views
'An Old-School Southern Gentleman'

By the Rev. Dean Lindsey

Editor's Note: The Rev. Dean Lindsey, current pastor of Salem Presbyterian Church, wrote the following sermon about one of his predecessors, Dr. LeRoy Gresham, and gave it as the basis of his sermon last October 31.

The Celebration of All Saints' Day is an appropriate time for us to remember those saints who have had such a tremendous influence upon our faith, and to give thanks, not only for them, but for all of the other saints who came before them who together form an unbroken link across the generations between our Savior and us.

For Salem Presbyterian Church, one of the most important links in that chain is Dr. LeRoy Gresham who served as the pastor of this congregation from 1909 through 1946. Several months ago as I was reading one of those retrospectives of the twentieth century, it occurred to me that there is no more of a towering figure in the life of this congregation over the past century than this pastor who labored in our midst for over thirty-seven years. For those of you who knew him, that would seem to be a statement of the obvious. For those of you who did not know him, perhaps the time is ripe to learn more about him before this momentous century draws to a close.

Dr. Gresham was a man of great influence in this town and this church, not simply because of the length of his tenure, but because of his deep commitment to the exposition of the gospel and its communication, in word and deed, to those around him. He was particularly interested in reaching out to the youth of the church. Indeed, he considered the young people of Salem Presbyterian to be his "adopted children." Always gentle and thoughtful, he regularly entertained groups at the Hotel Roanoke; he wanted youngsters to have the opportunity to be exposed to the social graces. But, an even greater impression was made upon those same young folk by his great athleticism and the many hours he spent teaching the children of the church how to swim. Some of you have described those outings when Dr. Gresham would load half a dozen or more kids into his Ford sedan for a trip to the Cloverdale pool.

Upon his death in 1955, one of those former students wrote a column for the Salem paper, eloquently describing his mentor and friend. I'd like to share some excerpts from the article which was written by John Thornton, son of the former owner of the Salem Times Register.

It's no small wonder that those of us who made up the younger portions of his flock in that wonderful old Presbyterian church of the 30's and 40's held him in awe, for he was almost an Olympian figure in the backwash of a small southern county seat. A man of some means, Doc Gresham traveled. Every summer as regular as clockwork he went to Switzerland or the Italian Lake Country. He read books, the titles of which we couldn't even pronounce, and on Sunday morning he put on a frock coat, his striped trousers and a derby hat, carried his British dispatch case down to the corner of Market and Main and preached us Presbyterian sermons. We said Presbyterian sermons, because these were straight from Knox and Calvin. Black was black and white was white, and if you persisted in sinning you were going to hell...

And just when we Presbyterian kids would start to quake at the sight of Doc Gresham coming down the walk, with that square-clipped mustache, and that ram-rod bearing, he would take us all swimming . . . or he would get out his mountain-climbing equipment and tell us about [his ascent up] the Matterhorn.

Or he would take us up there to Jim Taney's tennis court on High Street and show us the right way to stroke a tennis ball . . .

We suppose you could classify LeRoy Gresham as an old-school Southern gentleman. Lawrenceville and Princeton and Phi Beta Kappa. He had a house full of china and crystal and silver, priceless stuff and straight from before the War Between the States.

You could classify him that way, but if he was your friend, and you knew him, he was so much more than that. He was a real man.

This tribute points to some other aspects of Dr. Gresham's distinctive character and personality. Yes, he was very strict. I cannot tell you the number of times that some of you have recounted one or another incident when Dr. Gresham was interrupted while preaching by a noise of conversation or some other disturbance. And on that occasion, he either stopped in the middle of the sermon, or called the offender down by name, whatever it took to create the proper environment for hearing the spoken word. He was strong in his views and opinions, though not always right. Awhile back, I met a man in Salem who told me that he had grown up in our church but had left it as a young man. "Why did you leave?" I asked him curiously. "Well," he said, "my wife and I asked Dr. Gresham to marry us, and he refused. He said we weren't suited to one another, and we were too young besides." "And, how long have you been married?" I asked. "Fifty two years this Fall," was his answer.

Leroy Gresham was born into privilege, the son of a prominent Georgia family with deep roots in Southern politics in the Reconstruction period. After his mother died when he was eight, the family moved to Baltimore, mostly, I believe, to be near the elder Gresham's sister, but Leroy's father did remarry not long after relocating there.

As a young man, Leroy undertook the study of law and ultimately began his practice in Baltimore. It was a vocation that he would pursue only a few years before stirring of a different sort led him both into wedded life and enrollment at Union Theological Seminary in Richmond in 1903. Two sons were born to the couple while they were in Richmond. There was a summer internship near Healing Springs where the young pastor had to walk fifteen miles between his charges. After Seminary, and a pastorate in North Carolina, the Gresham family found their way to Salem.

At the start of this century, most Southern Presbyterian congregations could have been described as pious and grim, especially those, such as our own, with a strong Scotch Irish heritage. Sermons were long, and often dull. Worship focused upon the fear and holiness of God, rarely upon His nearness and love. The theological outlook was grounded upon the Westminster standards as interpreted by the likes of Charles Hodge, W. G. T. Shedd, and Robert Dabney.

Dr. Gresham himself was deeply versed in this tradition; he was an "Old School" Presbyterian through and through. But he added to this tradition his own erudition and broad learning. In his sermons, he quoted literature, opera, and poetry--Robert Browning was one of his favorites. He included illustrations from history, the law, and science. He sincerely believed that there was no branch of human learning which could not illuminate the meaning of the gospel.

During Dr. Gresham's lifetime, the theological landscape began to shift in dramatic ways. Charles Darwin and his "Origin of Species" as well as Biblical Studies from Continental Europe had begun to threaten some long-held beliefs about the literal truth of the Bible. On the American scene, one response to modernist tendencies saw the rise of an angry, even militant, Fundamentalism. Leroy's first cousin, with whom he had close acquaintance during his boyhood years in Baltimore, became a standard bearer for such a fundamentalist faction in the Northern Presbyterian church. J. Gresham Machen, still renowned as a great scholar of the church, would abandon the mainstream Presbyterian church and help found a new denomination, the Orthodox Presbyterian Church.

There were no such separatist tendencies in Dr. Gresham's ministry. I believe that it is safe to say that he loved peace over militancy, not out of a desire to avoid conflict or even a refusal to fight for what is right, but because of a deeper trust in the ongoing work of the Holy Spirit as the true guide of the church. Indeed, it was a matter of great personal pain to Dr. Gresham, who remained a part of the Salem church after his retirement, to witness the turmoil which was to follow. His successor, John Elliott, was a gifted orator and a firebrand preacher with an axe to grind. Rev. Elliott divided the church, left the denomination, and established a new congregation that continues to this day in Roanoke. Fortunately, Dr. Gresham would live long enough to see yet another successor come to the Salem church. Indeed, he had a warm and close relationship with Elwood Vaughn who served as pastor beginning in 1952.

Dr. Gresham came from the Old World South, but by various means, he prepared our congregation for the new world of the latter half of the twentieth century. First of all, he was committed to Christian education. In 1914, not long after he arrived in Salem, he led the church in building its first expansion of the church facility for the purpose of providing space for education. Secondly, Dr. Gresham created a congregation of good listeners. Some of you who remember him from your younger days have commented that he spoke over the heads of people. We could also say that he stretched the minds of those who came to listen. Indeed, he emphasized that faith is related to life in all of its complexity and variety. Finally, he created a congregation with a capacity for deep caring and neighborly compassion. Although a man of great wealth, that wealth was never a barrier between Dr. Gresham and those with whom he ministered. Indeed, he was generous to a fault, and if I have ever heard a criticism of the man it is that his own giving could even overwhelm and discourage the broader giving of the congregation. But, most importantly, in him was the heart of a true pastor who stood with his flock in times of joy and distress.

When Dr. Gresham reached an age when he reasonably could have been expected to retire, the clouds of war had moved over the face of the globe. With so many of the young men and women of the church entering into military service and the support of the War effort, he did not feel that he could abandon his pastoral work. Indeed, I am certain that there was no more anguished period of his long ministry than during World War II, when those whom he called his "adopted children" went into danger, into battle, and a number of them never returned. He prayed with the families as they anxiously awaited news from their sons. He stood by their side when a flier was missing in action. He wept with them when a loved one was lost.

I came across a letter he wrote to those serving in the Armed Forces, dated December 1944, which both expresses the anguish of those times, but also the great Christian hope which LeRoy Gresham sought to share with those he deeply loved. The letter concludes, finally, with a benediction upon them and upon us.

Dear Boys and Girls:

We are not saying "Merry Christmas" this year. We realize only to well that amid the circumstances in which so many of you find yourselves at this time all merely conventional greetings are quite out of place.

They are also out of place for us, who in heart-heaviness and anxiety wait here at home. And so we do not use the old words. What we do want to say to you is that on Christmas Day you will be as near to us in thought as you ever were in bodily presence, and that we shall be looking forward in eagerness and expectation to the time when you may be with us again to join with us in a happy and unclouded Christmas here at home. We still believe in Him Whose coming to the world is celebrated at this season. We still believe that he will verify to us His blessed name of "Prince of Peace," and that he will fulfill for us the promise of "Peace on Earth" that was made in His name.

In the meantime, our prayer for you is the same that the Apostle Paul made for his Philippian friends long ago--that "the peace of God which passeth all understanding may garrison (garrison--that is what the word means in Greek)--may garrison your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

Your old friend,

LeRoy Gresham

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A New Century, 100 Years Ago
Streetcars, Romance, Euchre Were Big in 1900
'Court Day' Was For Horse Trading
Street cars ran between Salem and Roanoke from 1890, until 1931

With the advent of Year 2000, a look at Salem at the turn of the Twentieth Century takes on added interest. The following is excerpted, condensed and edited (with apologies to the author) from Chapter 7 of Norwood C. Middleton's delightful book, "Salem, A Virginia Chronicle."

At the dawn of the 20th century, Tuesday, January 1, 1901, Salem was a town of about 3,400 people....That January 1 was publication day for one of the town's two weekly newspapers, the Salem Sentinel. Its editor, Marshall G. McClung, hailed the "fresh and vigorous" new age and saluted the just past 19th century as "one of the most notable in the annals of time" in which the world made more progress "than it has in all the centuries of its existence before."

Salem had emerged from the trauma of a deflated land boom and recession of the previous decade. A new spirit was at hand, and the people wanted to keep it buoyant and alive. "Croackers and soreheads said in 1898 that we could not start a boom in Salem, but live men took hold of the situation and she boomed to beat the boomers." That's the way the editor of Salem's other weekly newspaper, the Salem Times-Register, Charles D. Denit, put it.

In pursuit of progress, innumerable citizen and civic efforts lay ahead. The people wanted better streets for their buggies, carriages and wagons, and eventually for their automobiles. Sidewalks to get them out of the mud. Reasonable rates to ride the street car. Electric lights for their homes and streets. Telephones for a link among neighbors and other cities. An adequate water supply.

Streetcars not only transported many to their work places but also afforded others a daily, visible symbol of one way to get away from it all. Right on their main streets they saw trolley cars busily carrying not only people but light freight to and from Roanoke and even beyond -- to Vinton!

One of the hottest issues among Salem citizens in the next few years was to be the street car service between the town and its larger neighbor, Roanoke...[It was big news] that the street car running between Salem and Roanoke was soon to be heated for the comfort of its passengers...

Two wide and roomy new trolley cars, with vestibules at each end and equipped with automatic double doors, went into service in February 1900. Nevertheless, within five months, complaints from citizens prompted Salem's Town Council to petition the Roanoke Railway and Electric Company for improved service.

That spring a new schedule added a departure from Salem at 6:02 a.m. that meant workers could arrive on their jobs in Roanoke by the 7 a.m. reporting time. The fare was 35 cents, reduced to 25 cents a year later. About the same time, in response to another problem, the company ordered its conductors to banish passengers under the influence of liquor.

Social life among the people of Salem was sometimes tied in with the street cars. Excursion rates were offered for evening performances at the Academy of Music in Roanoke, and goodly numbers who enjoyed the theater often took advantage of them. Many also entertained themselves and friends at "trolley parties" to Mountain Park in Roanoke for picnics and for performances and other events at its casino.

There were many other diversions. The arrival of traveling circuses in Salem was occasion for rejoicing. "Whoop-a-doodle-dee!" the Times-Register chortled in 1901. "Sun Brothers Circus will exhibit here next Saturday..."

One year the public schools opened on a Monday and closed the next day so pupils could attend a circus. Circus tents and carnival rides were pitched in one of several fields within a few hundred yards of what today is downtown Salem.

Partying became a way of life, and variety was notable. Miss Lucy C. Biggs entertained her young friends at progressive euchre in February 1901 and switched to a costumed, colonial euchre party in April 1902.... On other occasions it was progressive hearts. Mrs. John T. Bowman was hostess at an apron party, at which a prize went to the best-hemmed apron. There was a "Looking Backwards" party at which, the newspaper account said, "the costumes were ridiculous and well disguised the 25 guests." Five tables of progressive anagrams were arranged in July 1901 by Misses Bessie, Eloise and Mary Brown at the home of their parents on East Main Street. "Animalgrams" was combined with May Day at a party at the M. C. Ferguson residence on High Street in 1903, at which guests at ten tables portrayed animals pictured on cards they received as they arrived. A variation was a "Mother Goose" party and its costumed guests.

Ice skating on ponds and stillwaters along the river was popular; eight-inch-thick ice the first few days of January 1900 brought out scores of skaters. Any substantial snowfall sent sled riders to hillsides, especially the one north of Roanoke College between High and Market Streets, and a few horse drawn sleighs offered cherished rides to young and old alike.

Lake Spring by now had become something of a Mecca since it was the only park in town. Its waters were flowing into some homes through pipelines constructed in 1876 by F. J. "Joe" Chapman at the same time he built the Lake Spring resort hotel on the site. After the hotel was destroyed by fire in 1892, the town council bought the tract on December 30, 1900, for $2,350. Two days later, the Salem Sentinel proposed transforming it into a park. At its first meeting in 1901, the council appointed a Lake Spring Committee, and the park soon became a popular spot.

Romance was rife. Published accounts of social events, especially dances and some parties, inevitably listed women guests with their male escorts and carefully named the chaperones in the case of such entertainment as mixed-group camping expeditions to Craig County and moonlight hayrides. Rumors of impending engagements or weddings found their way into print, often without names but with hints at the identity of one of the parties, such as one pointing to the potential bridegroom simply as a popular street car motorman.

Elopements to Bristol, Tenn., and Leaksvile, N.C., were regularly publicized, frequently detailing the efforts of parents to block the marriage ceremony by having police arrest and return the intended bride to her Salem hearthside. If the couple eluded such an expected entrapment, news accounts often described how they succeeded. When a triangular dimension was present, such events took on titillating proportions.

An event of great anticipation each month was "Court Day." It was on third Mondays that residents from throughout the county came to Salem, most of them for socializing and shopping rather than for the court sessions after which it was named.

A "must" stop for visitors, and a fascinating, frequent attraction for the townspeople, on Court Day was "Jockey Alley." It was there that horse trading was concentrated, an area in the first block of what now is South Colorado Street off Main. A dispatch from Salem in The Roanoke Times about one such trading session: "The scene yesterday on Jockey Alley left an everlasting impression on those who witnessed it. Horse trading was the feature, and, of course, everyone had the best horse. But, strange to say, almost every man left the scene riding another man's horse."

Later the town officials set aside a special area for horse trading, banning the activity elsewhere.

After circuit courts were substituted for county courts in 1904, Court Day lost much of its luster.

Passenger train service, mostly on the N&W, had become the main mode of travel for long distances for the people of Salem. For shorter trips, travel by horse and horse-drawn carriages was still common.

The motor age was at hand, however. An early automobile owner in Salem was the superintendent of the Salem Steam Tannery, J. F. Raudenbush, whose trip by auto to Pennsylvania in September 1902 was reported in the newspaper. Another newsworthy event was the attention given a car when it stopped in Salem en route to Kentucky in August 1904. The pace was slow. Four people left Lynchburg in it one morning and arrived in Salem in time for dinner at Hotel Crawford the next day.

A veritable stampede of house construction in the previous decade became a slow trend in this one. New arrivals taking advantage of new work opportunities often found it difficult to find suitable housing.

The town was not lacking, however, in the more substantial residences on close-in side streets such as Broad, High, College and Pennsylvania.

The construction of two large homes captured the imagination of the citizens and was followed closely. One was the impressive house of Theophilus J. Shickel on the northeast corner of College Avenue at the Boulevard [now the home of Funeral Home]. The other, the mansion of Thomas H. Cooper to be known as "Longwood,"started in 1904 [which later burned, now the site of Longwood Park]. Occupancy of another new house made the news columns in January 1907, when Samuel H. McVitty, general manager of the Least and McVitty Tannery, moved into "his pretty new residence" at what became 507 West Main Street.

The town was beginning to build a reputation for fine homes.

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Artist's Early Sketch of Salem Uncovered
Sketch of Salem Is Thought to Date from 1853
Miller, Nephew Visited Area Several Times

By Candace K. Daugherty

A sketch recently uncovered in Richmond quite possibly may be the oldest known image of Salem: a drawing by the well-known Pennsylvania-German folk artist Lewis Miller who traveled through Southwest Virginia in 1853 sketching places of interest as he went.

Miller is the creator of numerous drawings of Nineteenth Century life in his native Pennsylvania and in Southwest Virginia. While on a vacation in Southwest Virginia in 1853, he sketched a series of towns throughout the Roanoke Valley including Big Lick, which later became Roanoke; Buchanan, Fincastle, and Amsterdam in Botetourt County. Salem residents have known his sketch, presumably done that same year, of Fort Lewis Mountain with the town of Salem way off in the distance (See P. 4). A copy of the sketch is exhibited in the Salem Museum, and the original is in Miller's Drawing Book, a bound manuscript found in the Virginia Historical Society in Richmond.

It was the hope of finding a more usable image of this sketch for use with this article that led me to the Virginia Historical Society. There, an extremely patient librarian searched the archives and found for me a watercolor sketch of what I assumed was the Fort Lewis Mountain image. I requested a color photograph be taken of the illustration and sent to me as well as the image duplicated and faxed for verification. Much to my surprise, the sketch I received was not the barely recognizable image of Salem I had anticipated, but actually a little known sketch of downtown Salem, with recognizable buildings and landmarks that are not all that different from how they appear today.

In the sketch, Roanoke College is clearly depicted as well as Monterey, the structure to the right (See drawing, Page 1) of the college. A red passenger train is chugging eastward from the train depot as a horse-drawn carriage heads into town. Miller often sketched a carriage to resemble his travel companion and himself in his pictures. Also included are Salem Presbyterian Church (at Broad and Main Streets today) and the old Lutheran Church, predecessor to the present church on College Avenue. The Lutheran Church is depicted with a large steeple which it actually didn't have at all; on top of the structure, at that time, was a cupola, an ornamental dome.

Missing altogether from the drawing is the Methodist Church which then was located between Roanoke College and the Courthouse, the building on the right hand (northeast) corner of what is today College Avenue and East Main Street.

It is difficult to confirm an exact date as to when the sketch was done. Miller would often draw rough sketches as he traveled, usually on whatever paper was at hand, to record his ventures. It was only later and mostly from memory that he would paint his finished works. The minor fallacies within the Salem sketch tend to make me think the sketch was done later from memory.

"As time went on, Miller went back through [his sketch books] and made additional sketches making it difficult to execute an exact date," says Janet Deranian of the York County Historical Society, which published a book of his drawings under the title, "Lewis Miller: Sketches and Chronicles." She adds: "He often drew the same story more than once, sometimes three or four times," as he remembered more details.

Miller often duplicated his sketches, and those he dated are according to the date of the event rather than the actual date the sketch was completed. He would often date events of historical significance as to when they took place, although a number of these sketches were of things he knew but had not actually witnessed. In December 1799, a three-year old Miller looked on as the funeral procession of George Washington passed him by in his home town of York. Years later, Miller depicted the funeral procession as he remembered it&emdash;as a toddler. In his hand-written caption, he recorded those who were in attendance to include several dignitaries who in actuality had died even before Washington. The drawing is included in the published "Lewis Miller: Sketches and Chronicles."

Though the Salem sketch itself is not dated, another sketch in the Virginia Sketchbook is captioned in Lewis' words: "A view of the Residence and Grove of Mr. McClanahan Oak Hill four mile from Salem, Roanoke County Va April 18th 1853 Lewis Miller and his nephew Charles Miller. In going we [traveled] through Salem the County Seat."

It's very likely Miller sketched the Salem images at that time although the completed paintings may have been done at a later date.

Heretofore, Edward Beyer's famous 1855 painting of Salem (also found in the Virginia Historical Society in Richmond) was thought to be the earliest known depiction of the town. If in fact Miller's painting was done in 1853, the artist already acknowledged as having illustrated the earliest known image of Christiansburg will have the same recognition bestowed upon his memory in Salem as well.

Previously, Edward Beyer's 1855 illustration was thought to be the earliest known depiction of Salem. If in fact Miller's painting was done in 1853, the artist already acknowledged as having illustrated the earliest known image of Christiansburg will have the same recognition bestowed upon his memory in Salem as well.

Miller's desire to accurately document his experiences has entitled him, "the chronicler of rural life in America from 1800 to 1882."

"All pictures in this book," he wrote in one publication, "Search and examine them. The [sic] are true Sketches I myself being there upon the places and spot and put down what happened."

The book, "Lewis Miller: Sketches and Chronicles," housed in the archives of the Salem Historical Society, contains watercolor drawings depicting everyday life in his native York, Pennsylvania. Also included in this collection are several events of historical note as well as sketches of his European journey. The only illustration in the book depicting Virginia shows Miller and his nephew Charles, who often accompanied his uncle on his excursions, beginning a four week journey in 1846 that would span the counties of Pulaski, Wythe, Roanoke, Botetourt, and Rockbridge.

Miller studied people and their customs with a desire to preserve their ever-changing way of life. He sketched such simple occasions as a worship service on the Sabbath, a circus performance in 1807, and a thief running from the butcher with fresh beef in hand.

He exhibits quite a sense of humor and an empathy for youth as he watched with amusement as "some wicked boys at the market house" dismantled a wagon and put it back together again on the roof, though all the while condemning their "despicable tricks." Another such episode he recorded was a practical joke a barber played on his customer giving him a chew from a piece of dung calling it a "fine tobacco."

He portrayed national events as well: General Lafayette's visit to York in 1825, York's surrender to the Confederates in the Civil War, and the assassination of Abraham Lincoln that followed thereafter. He provided accurate documentation in the form of lists of those who fought with specific infantries during the various wars of his time. These records provide an invaluable resource for historians as well as genealogists.

It is recorded in the register of the Christ Lutheran Church in York that Miller was born May 3, 1796, the eighth son and tenth child of Johann Ludwig (German for Lewis) Miller and Katharina Rothenberger. Taught carpentry from his brother John, Miller took great pride in his craftsmanship, but art and travel were his passions.

Miller's brother Joseph, a physician, made his home in Christiansburg, and that led Lewis to Southwest Virginia. He finally made it his home sometime in the period following the Civil War and 1871. He resided at the home of Miss Mary Craig, a relative of the prominent Craig family instrumental in the founding of Christiansburg. Though he remained a bachelor until his death in 1882, sketches of a "Miss Mary" indicate that there may have been a special lady in his heart, perhaps the Miss Mary with whom he spent his final days.

"His way of life was not ideal to support a family, thus maybe that's the reason he chose not to marry," suggests Sara Brown, director of the Montgomery Museum and Lewis Miller Regional Art Center in Christiansburg.

Some sixty-five scenes from Southwest Virginia survive today, some of which are housed locally at the Christiansburg museum as well as in the possession of his descendants.

"It's very likely that many more sketches were scattered among those he visited," adds Sara Brown. "He was not a wealthy man, but because of his artistic talent, he quite possibly may have exchanged his sketches for their hospitality."

The Pennsylvania native made as many as four trips to Montgomery County in the 1846 - 1871 time period. One of his more famous experiences occurred during his trip in mid-July, 1853, from Christiansburg to Salt Pond (now Mountain Lake) with a holiday at the resort hotel in Chapman's Springs (now Eggleston). A cavalcade of sixteen sightseers on horseback set out upon this journey, including a Mr. Pepper and his daughter, as well as Lewis Miller and his nephew Charles Edie who traveled by carriage.

Miller died September 15, 1882, at the home of Miss Craig and was later laid to rest in the Craig family cemetery in Christiansburg. The modest monument to the man who chronicled an era spanning twenty US presidents laid victim to repeated vandalism until about twelve years ago when enough money was raised to erect a new, permanent marker. Unfortunately, inadequate fencing has failed to prevent the vandalism still plaguing the cemetery.

Miller's vivid memory and creative spirit provide historians with accurate accounts "about everything he saw, heard, and recorded, whether trivial or historic of importance," according to the York County Historical Society.

Unbeknownst to Miller, the legacy he left behind within his many sketchbooks is one of the most complete pictorial records of its time and place, revealing details that may otherwise have never been known.

Lewis Miller fell in love with the Southern hospitality and beautiful countryside sheltered deep within the Blue Ridge Mountains. With a palette of eight brilliant colors and primarily upon lined paper, Miller would recall the beautiful landscapes and picturesque towns of the Appalachians. The warmth and affection he felt for the region radiates from the poetic captions he composed to detail each visit.

His wish for Salem, "May life for thee be ever bright," was written with genuine sincerity. How fortunate we are to have been a part of Lewis Miller's remembrances.

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Salem Boy Was National Marbles Champ
Russel Gwaltney during his 1952 reign

By Rumana Ahmad

Early on June 26, 1952, residents of Salem awoke to sirens. The fire trucks, however, did not herald some calamity afflicting the sleepy town, but the arrival of a new favorite son.. Twelve-year-old Russell Gwaltney had come home the conquering hero, with no less a title than the National Champion of the game of marbles.

Young Rusty was a bit bemused by the attention. He had also been awakened by the sirens while asleep in the back seat of his family's car; he assumed they'd been pulled over for speeding. Instead, he found himself the star of an impromptu victory parade and the recipient of instant celebrity. "We were all jolted out of our cares of the day with the news that a local boy made good. There's not a finer feeling in the world," reported the Salem Times- Register.

The story of Rusty's journey from the dirt rings of Salem to the hallowed halls of marbles fame is the stuff of legend. Well, maybe not, but it is a nostalgic trip through a simpler world that no longer exists. Russell, a marbles player since the age of five, had begun competing in organized marbles tournaments at age eight. In the 1950's, nearly all Salem boys played marbles in dirt fields around the city. It was so popular that the town began competitions for eight- to fourteen- year olds at Andrew Lewis, and at the former Academy Street and Broad Street Schools (marbles is one of the few sports at which different aged children can compete more or less equally).

The first city of Salem championship was held in 1948 at Municipal Field, and was dominated by the Gwaltney brothers. Russell lost this inaugural bout to his brother Charles, five years his senior. Afterwards, a fraternal competition continued to develop, and Rusty learned much from his talented brother. The next year, Rusty beat Charles for the local championship, and in fact dominated the title for four years in a row.

Marbles is a game of skill and concentration, but the rules are simple in theory. The playing field is a circle ten feet in diameter, with a wooden X in the center to mark the spot for a marble and room for twelve other marbles lined three on each side of the center marble. Two shooters (which are slightly larger than the playing marbles) are lined up outside the ring. The players aim their shooters at the marbles in the ring, and attempt to knock them out of the circle without sending the shooters outside of its circumference. The first player to get seven marbles outside the ring wins.

As a rule, the winner keeps the marbles that they have knocked out. Russell was good enough that marbles became a money-making proposition for him; he would sell his winnings off at 25 or 30 for a nickel, and spend the proceeds for movie tickets. Even so, he eventually amassed a collection of some 5000 marbles.

As the undisputed champ of Salem, Rusty earned several trips to regional competitions, and in 1951 finished third in the nation in the National Championships. The next year, he returned to Asbury Park, New Jersey, to face sixty other regional champs from across the country in the round-robin tournament. In the end, he prevailed in a best-of-twenty-one finals match against an older boy from West Virginia. Russell's victory elicited much excitement back home, as it was the first time a Virginian had earned the crown.

In Salem, Russell found himself a center of attention. 1952 was Salem's Sesquicentennial year, and the town was eager to celebrate any and all achievements. And only Salem could boast the twelve-year old National Champ. Rusty's fame did not end with the parade back to his home. He was honored at a ceremony held in the municipal field later that week. Local residents and merchants showered Russell with praise and gifts. Gifts varied from a Coca-Cola cooler, to a suit, to an oil painting, and even two chickens. In the 150th anniversary parade, Russell's heroic status earned him a float.

But fame is fleeting. The furor soon died down, and Russell went back to the business of being a kid. He still played marbles, but as a national champion he could no longer compete in official tournaments. He eventually graduated from Andrew Lewis, served in the Navy, and went on to a career as a Salem policeman, raising a son and daughter along the way. Today, he is retired and lives nearby in Dublin.

Gwaltney has never left the game he loved, however. Even today, Russell goes to Dublin Elementary School and shoots marbles to demonstrate angles and strategy to math students. Russell has also returned several times to New Jersey to watch the national competition, sometimes serving as referee. He plans definitely to return in 2002 for the fiftieth anniversary of his Championship (which will also be the 200th year celebration for Salem). In 1992 the Marble Hall of Fame (yes, there is such a thing) inducted Russell along with all his fellow former champions. The large trophy and crown Russell earned in 1952 now sit in the Marble Hall of Fame in Wildwood, New Jersey.

Few Salem kids play marbles anymore. It's a quiet, genteel game that seems to have been bypassed by the age of Nintendo and pro wrestling (although in fact it remains popular in other parts of the nation). Salem, however, retains some mementos of Russ Gwaltney's triumph. Recently, Charles and Russell donated to the Salem Museum and Historical Society a commemorative clock made of a tree trunk and sporting a picture of the twelve year old Russell. The numbers on the clock are marked by white shooters and authentic blue marbles from the National Championships in New Jersey. It's a reminder that once upon a time, a Salem boy was the best in America.

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Salem's 'Great Milk Protest' Was Comparatively Tame

By Andrea Cutlip

The year was 1968! Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were assassinated. In Vietnam, the Tet Offensive made an unpopular war even more unpopular. President Johnson shocked the nation by announcing he would not seek re-election. The Chicago Democratic Convention exploded into violence. On college campuses across the nation, students protested in favor of Civil Rights or against the war, occasionally taking to the streets, occupying campus buildings and threatening violence. But on the sleepy campus of Roanoke College in Salem, the student body was spurred to action by one burning question: Got Milk?

It was Roanoke College's "Great Milk Protest" (as it has come down in college lore). It occurred when, in response to rising prices, the college's dining hall, the Commons, decreed that milk would no longer be served at lunch! And if that weren't enough, there would no longer be an all-you-can-drink policy! This was no small matter.

And react the students did! On Wednesday April 24, a number of them staged their act of civil disobedience. According to the school newspaper, The Brackety-Ack, they left their trays on the tables in the cafeteria, instead of taking then to the conveyer belt as required! They then proceeded to the Administration Building where they held a "sit-in" &endash; just like the hippies in Berkeley -- in the corridors outside the offices of President Perry Kendig.

Well, maybe comparing it to Berkeley in the 60's is something of a stretch. This was a pretty tame affair. The students were well behaved. They mostly dressed in coats and ties or skirts. They brandished some cardboard protest signs, but none seemed to be any worse than the one that proclaimed the not-too-revolutionary slogan "Quit milking our parents!" The demonstration never got out of hand. No one was arrested.

Some demonstrators apparently joined in without even knowing what they were protesting

"I just [left my tray] because everyone else I was with did it," one student said.

But for a small Lutheran institution with a relatively conservative atmosphere and no reputation at all as a strong protest school, it was a respectable protest. More important, it became the catalyst for students to push for more individual freedoms, more participation in college governance, and more respect from the administration.

There apparently was considerable emotion in the protest. Some students felt strongly about the milk issue. And virtually every student could agree that Dining Services needed improvement.

There had been frustration with the school food for a long time. Students made objections, and several improvements to the menu resulted. But there were still some complaints. And then came the milk decree!

On the larger issues, students wanted more open communication between the administration and the student body. That was in keeping with the spirit of the times, when the trend on college campuses was to give students more say in student governance and fewer restrictions. The Milk Protest seemed to open the doors &endash; beyond questions of dairy products &endash; to making larger changes in the system.

Mac Johnson, who then was President of the Student Body, said at the time, "What we have to do is get both sides [students and administration] activated on the issues and break barriers so that even more can be accomplished, not only in a unified way of the students, but of the students unified with the administration."

Johnson, who today is Roanoke College's Vice President for Student Affairs, says he still agrees with that statement, and he attempts to bring students into the decision-making process on important issues.

In the end, students considered their protest successful. The administration compromised on the milk issue. The Commons again began serving milk at all three meals, but also introduced a soft drink dispenser to lunch service, on the assumption that this would cut down on milk consumption. The Commons also addressed other complaints, such as cold food and a lack of variety in the menu, and tried to improve in those areas, too. And since all of this came about as a result of the students' actions, they were satisfied that the administration was willing to listen to them and consider their concerns.

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People in Salem History...
William Williams' Store Has 150 Years of History

A century and a half ago, a traveler along the wagon road through Salem would have noticed a handsome two-story brick store building on the east end of town, and perhaps stopped in long enough to examine the store's wares. Today, a traveler along US 460 (Main Street) might notice the same building, now a museum, and stop in to learn a bit about local history. Both owe their brief sojourn to the impressive career of one William C. Williams, one of early Salem's most prominent citizens.

Like many Americans of his day, William C. Williams was not born in America. He was born in England in 1785. When he was a small child, he and his parents immigrated to America. Not long afterwards, both of his parents died. According to William McCauley's 1902 History of Roanoke County, his father had left quite a sizable estate. However, for reasons Williams never understood, the money was not bequeathed to him.

William's aunt in Norfolk took him in and raised him until he was old enough to be apprenticed to a carpenter. He moved several times, living in several different Virginia locales, but in his adulthood he decided to return to Norfolk and try to win back his lost inheritance. According to McCauley, Williams went to see a lawyer for help, but the lawyer told him, "You are a young man, strong and able to make your living. I would advise you not to enter into a law suit, but establish yourself in life by your own efforts." Williams apparently took this advice to heart and followed it for the rest of his life. In McCauley's words, "he was cast upon his own resources to be buffeted by the world's stern and bitter experiences, and to work out his own destiny," yet Williams persevered to achieve not only financial security but impressive prosperity.

Relying on the sweat of his brow, he went from Norfolk to Botetourt, where he found employment at the Cloverdale Iron Works. Prior to 1814, he moved to Salem, then a very young town. In Salem he took charge of the Mermaid Tavern, where he undoubtedly made the acquaintance of Andrew Jackson, a frequent visitor to the Mermaid when traveling between Washington and Tennessee. Eventually, Williams took other jobs and established himself as quite a prominent Salemite.

After leaving the Mermaid Tavern, he managed a total of three other hotels. He also served as Salem's postmaster. Sometime between 1842 and 1849, he built a house for himself (now known as the Williams-Brown House), from which he ran a general store. The original site of the house was an ideal place for a store, for it stood right on the Great Wilderness Road, the main thoroughfare used by settlers heading for Kentucky and Tennessee.

Williams was also a well-known builder. When Roanoke County was formed from part of Botetourt County in 1838, Salem was made the county seat. Williams contracted to build the courthouse and jail that the new county needed. Even though he suspected that he would lose money on the job (and did), he considered these buildings to be his donation to the new county. The courthouse he built stood until 1908, when it was torn down and replaced due to water damage and neglect.

In 1814, Williams had married Margaret Bryan. She was the daughter of William Bryan, an early settler in the Lake Spring area (and who likely was the man to give Salem its name). The couple had fourteen children. Williams died in 1852. His son-in-law Joshua R. C. Brown, executor of his estate, bought his sturdy brick house/store. Descendants of J.R.C. Brown owned the house until 1963, whereupon it passed into other hands. By the 1980s, the house, then somewhat dilapidated, was donated to the Salem Historical Society, who moved the building to its present location, renovated it, and opened the Salem Museum in it in 1992.

Perhaps William C. Williams, from his burial place in East Hill Cemetery, watched his old house slowly trek through Longwood Park; and perhaps he felt a sense of satisfaction that one of Salem's most prominent landmarks still bears witness to his life.

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