I saw a statue of a young, slim Elvis in a gold lame suit, hips swiveled in the direction of the mic stand he was holding onto, right down the street from a wedding chapel. So of course I was in…York? That does not mean anyone should mistake York for Las Vegas. I didn’t see any card tables, free drinks or, you know, other less wholesome stuff they have in Las Vegas. It does mean York is interesting and different than you might think. I headed out last Saturday with Tucker and Gracie to mark York off the county walk list. Even thought the city shares its name with the county, that likely isn’t the first place people think of when it comes to that neck of the woods. Rock Hill and Fort Mill likely top that list. I worked in Rock Hill briefly and have some relatives there. No offense intended here, some parts of Rock Hill are beautiful and there’s a lot to do, but some parts of it feel like the product of a giant people explosion no one saw coming. In places it’s stuff, next to things, on top of whatever, across from more stuff, things and whatever. And the stuff, things and whatever are constantly changing and expanding. I don’t know a ton about Fort Mill and didn’t particularly feel like driving that far, so I decided downtown York is where we’d head. Our path there went through Lockhart and up Highway 49. The thing you forget about, what with the county booming and growing and teeming with people and businesses (and soon the Carolina Panthers) is that a pretty big chunk of it isn’t developed at all. I drove for many miles without seeing much in the way of businesses other than a few farms and a place that purports to sell (or maybe train) German Shepherds. There were a few signs, so worn and faded by the elements they almost couldn’t be read, dotting the roadside here and there, one of which I believe was for an engine repair shop. I don’t know why, but I like those old, barely readable signs. Nobody should tear them down…they are as much a part of the natural scenery and at this point as the trees and fields and as much a reminder of what once was as historic markers chiseled in granite. Before we got to York, we passed through, Sharon, which I have to admit I’ve either never visited or haven’t paid attention to if I did. If a Hollywood director said “build me a set of a textbook, old, Southern town” it would probably look like Sharon. The main drag, if you want to call it that, had about six adjoining brick buildings, only one of which appeared to still be home to a functioning business. The paint had all but peeled off those buildings, probably robbing me of the chance to see an old Coca-Cola or Adluh Flour ad. I passed a cotton gim (pretty sure that’s not still a thing), a tiny post office and a multi-story brick building. I was intrigued enough by it to snap a pic through the windshield, mainly because I can’t figure out what it used to be. It had the look of a mill building, but wasn’t quite big enough. There were some pretty churches, one of which featured a cemetery tucked behind a white, picket fence. It was as quaint and lovely as a cemetery can be, really. There was a nice little park on the edge of town and a house flying state and Confederate flags. Right out of central casting. All of it. We finally got to York, parked and I released the hounds for our stroll. Ashley recently recommended that perhaps I should consider walking them before I walk them. That’s probably not a bad idea, because the minute they hit the pavement they went barreling down the street and I could barely hold on or keep up. It wasn’t super busy, but I still decided to cut down some side streets to burn a little energy out of them. As I did, we passed a dry cleaners. Gracie, never broke stride as she turned and trotted right into their open front door…like she had a blouse to pick up or something. There was really young kid in there who could not have been more thrilled, saying “y’all, look at that dog.” I gave her leash a tug, though, to summon her out because, you know, not every dry cleaner necessarily welcomes animals inside. After a few minutes we went back up to Congress Street. The first time we had to stop and wait for traffic, a waiting car rolled down its windows. “Oh my! You have great dogs!” the lady driving the car said. “Thank you. I also have wild crazy dogs with too much energy,” I said, as Tucker tried to take off running. Before checking out what the downtown area had to offer, we actually ventured a bit further down the road to a residential area. There were a lot of nice, big, older houses. I’ve detailed for you before that I am equipped to explain architecture and building design about as well as I am to perform an emergency appendectomy on a marmot or pilot a space shuttle. Old, two-story, some columns and wrought iron fences is about the best I can do. As we turned to walk back toward the business district, we passed a park, though I couldn’t actually tell if it was a park at first. It was so close to a nearby house, separated only by a very short wall covered in kudzu, I thought it might be someone’s yard. I finally saw a small sign denoting that it was a park. I tried to get a pic of the dogs in the gazebo, Tucker cooperated, Gracie did not as usual, and we got back to our walk. Then came the Elvis statue. When I was a kid, before I sought out my own music and just heard whatever my parents listened to, it was a steady diet of soul and oldies. Elvis fits both descriptions and even once I started making my own listening choices, The King stayed in the rotation. On top of that, he’s a monumental figure in the history of our country both musically (how many people actually create something new) and in terms of popular culture impact…and shot TV sets in lieu of changing the channels. How can you not love Elvis? The statue was an awesome (and kind of odd) thing to see, so I investigated. It makes a lot more sense when you figure out that the statue is in front of a music store. I REALLY wanted to get Tucker and Gracie’s pic in front of it because the “Hound Dog” jokes write themselves, but Gracie couldn’t be bothered and Tucker wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, unfortunately. He would not sit close enough for a good pic. Maybe he thought that statue was the Devil in Disguise. Maybe they both had Suspicious Minds about what was going on…I’ll stop now. We hadn’t encountered a lot of people up to that point, the few that we did mainly smiled and waved, but we were approached by a tall fellow who asked if he could pet my dogs. I made them sit and they sat and soaked up the additional attention. “Have you taken them to the dog store?” he asked. I hadn’t seen a dog store, but he pointed it out to me. It was just a few doors up. That shop “Dogma and Fetch” looked very inviting. They had a chalkboard sign on an easel outside noting that they had organic dog treats and there were lots of colorful signs in the window. They apparently sell dog accessories and do washing and grooming. On the chance that there might be an animal inside, I decided to pass. Nothing sets my dogs off like other animals they think are on “their” turf and man do they get loud. I will go inside the next time I come through. There was an equine store, so my horse-loving wife now wants to visit. There were a lot of other cool shops, a place selling vegetables on a folding table and, sadly, some classic businesses no longer in operation (a trading post and old-school drug store/soda fountain). “The Sylvia” is still open, though, a theater with a stunning art deco look (I had to look that up) built in the early 1900s that operated as a movie theater until 1968. It now plays host to musical and theatrical performances and still shows movies on occasion. I had a chance to go see Allison Moorer there many years ago, didn’t, and am still a little salty about that. Oh, there’s also a wedding chapel, which seemed just a hair out of place. I can’t recall every hearing anyone say “we ran off to York and got hitched.” I did a little research, though, and found it isn’t THAT kind of wedding chapel. It’s a gorgeous old building, made of English red bricks delivered from Charleston by wagon and built in 1824. It just happens to be a space that people rent for weddings There is a courtyard adjacent the building (maybe the nuptial-izing takes place there?) that has grass so lush and green, it almost looks like someone painted it. The 105-year-old courthouse looks about like you’d expect an old southern courthouse to look (which is timeless and amazing) and from its front yard you get a stunning view of First Presbyterian Church. This is where my failings in the architecture description department become a problem. The place looks like a castle and with its steeple and peaks embraced by a brilliant blue sky, it was quite a sight. York features a nice little bakery/coffee shop with outdoor seating and I almost had a seat. The only thing that stopped me was the fear that one of the dogs might hear the call of nature. They generally only go on the grass, but if they really have to go they’ll go wherever and I don’t want them dropping a hot pile to put somebody off their apple fritter and latte. By this time, the dogs were tiring out and the cool, cloudy conditions of the morning had given way to the July blast furnace we are accustomed to in South Carolina. So, we headed back to the car. Right as we go there we encountered an older couple. The lady had a brace on her leg and was using a cane, so I had the dogs sit on the off chance they might get excited and jump in her direction. “You’ve got some mighty big puppies,” the man said. “Yes sir, I do,.” The lady went by slowly but stopped for a second to add “pretty too.” I loaded the dogs up and headed home. I’m glad I picked York for our walk. It’s bigger than I remembered, but not so big it doesn’t retain a smaller-town vibe. It’s been too long and won’t be long until I come back. There’s nice houses, nice people, nice stores… And Elvis.
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November 2021
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