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Carrboro

Getting to Know Carrboro: A Step-by-Step Guide

by Daniel Wallace

[For more information about Carrboro, please visit www.townofcarrboro.org or www.carrboro.com.]

(1) Getting to know a town, like getting to know a person, begins with knowing its name. When you’re introduced, this is usually the first thing. “Jim,” you might say, “this is Carrboro. Carrboro, Jim.” After a little time passes and you get to know Carrboro better, you learn its nicknames. Carrboro has a few: Paris of the Piedmont, Faraway Carrboro, Seattle of the South, the Invisible Kingdom of America. This is how it is: New York is the Big Apple. Los Angeles is the City of Angels. Carrboro is the Paris of the Piedmont.

(2) The latitude of Carrboro is 35.91oN, and the longitude is -79.075oW. Good to know where it is, especially if you’re sailing there.

(3) The estimated population in 2003 was 16,747. Since then it has grown a little. By my count, a thousand people or so. Give or take a hundred.

(4) Carrboro, North Carolina, is the smallest town in America with its own foreign policy. I wish I knew if this were true; it sounds true. But the fact is, with a population of just around17,000, the little town that is Carrboro does things in very big ways. It has spoken out on the war in Iraq, stood up to the INS, voiced its problems with the Patriot Act. Not just voiced: the Carrboro government passed resolutions. For instance, while most of the rest of the country was boycotting France because of their opposition to the war in Iraq, and eating “Freedom Fries”, Carrboro offered what support it could and encouraged people to buy French. Maybe it didn’t change the world, but it did get the town a spot on The Daily Show. I only bring it up here for those of you who don’t already know it: Carrboro has a personality all its own, and it’s not afraid to proclaim it. It’s not afraid to pass resolutions about it. It’s as if at any moment—who knows?—it might choose to secede, and, in its quiet, always-friendly way, become the Independent Republic of Carrboro.

(5) For many years, Carrboro could only be understood in relation to Chapel Hill, and for good reason. But not so much anymore. Remember when you were growing up and one of your friends had a little brother and you always liked him and he was kind of cute but you never really thought of him as much more than your friend’s little brother? And then years pass and the next time you run into the little brother he’s not so little anymore, he’s all grown up, and after hanging out with him for a while you start to like him—a lot—and not for who he was (your friend’s little brother), but for who he is? Okay. Hold that thought. And see 6.

(6) History. It’s impossible to understand Carrboro without understanding its history—which is true of everything, everywhere, and of everybody—but it’s especially true of Carrboro. Because imagine this: it was never even meant to be a town at all. All it was in the beginning was a railroad depot. In 1882, the town to the east—that would be Chapel Hill—determined that it needed a train station to accommodate folks traveling there. They picked a deserted area a mile away from campus—a mile away so no one on the Hill would be disturbed by the unseemly sound of a train passing through.

From the very beginning, you see, Carrboro was attached to Chapel Hill—and in a very subservient position. How subservient? It didn’t even have a real name at first: for a long time, it was known as West of—that’s right, West of—as in West of Chapel Hill. But Chapel Hill objected: they didn’t want its name being used by this… this… depot. So the name was changed to West End. A few years later it got a real name—Venable—but even that wasn’t really its own. It was the name of a president of the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill! Most towns would have a profound insecurity complex after a past like this. Not Carrboro. In 1898, a man named Tom Lloyd built a cotton mill, and slowly Venable began to resemble a real town. In 1913, it became the largest hardwood cross-tie market in the world, and the next year its named was changed to Carrboro, after Julian Carr bought Lloyd’s mill and donated electricity and actual streets to the town. Finally, this former train depot found a name all its own. And yet, Carrboro was still seen as less of a real place as it was an appendage to the lovely and learned town of Chapel Hill, and this is how it stayed for a long, long time. It was, literally, on the other side of the tracks. A neighbor of mine—a lifelong resident of Chapel Hill—says that, when she was in high school, Carrboro boys were the bad boys around town. Going there was taking a walk on the wild side.

(7) How times—and towns—have changed. Today, going to Carrboro is still taking a walk on the wild side, but it’s a different sort of wild side now. The fun kind of wild, the good kind. And a kind of spiritual shift has taken place. Or maybe not spiritual as much as a shift in cool, that very major thing that’s impossible to quantify but you know it when you see it… and feel it. Chapel Hill is wonderful—it’s where I live, and I love it—but over the years it’s become a bit more… corporate. A small but illustrative example: Go to a coffee shop in Chapel Hill and you’re likely to see a lot of students typing away on their Dells; in Carrboro, say at the Open Eye Café (or “Carrboro’s living room”), it’s all Apples.

(8) If Carrboro had a presiding spirit, a statue they could erect at a roundabout that would illustrate its character, it might be a… farmer with a laptop? Or an architect in overalls? Or a dog in a clown suit— not for any real reason, but because Carrboro is a town with a great sense of humor. So, to re-cap: A beautiful town with a sense of humor that votes democratic. (Sounds like a personals ad. Sounds like a place some other town might want to date. I would, if I were a town. It’s so beautiful, and it has a great personality!)

(9) It’s the kind of small southern town where the past and the present seem to have been fused into a single moment until it’s no longer one time or the other. Many of the buildings on Main Street and Weaver Street, the two main drags, haven’t changed in half a century—and yet Carrboro is wireless. The heart of the town is a contemporary version of the old country store, but it’s a co-op now and the food is mostly organic. There are no big sports teams here (that action is one town over), but there are bike lanes. Lots of them. And some serious bikers using them. So, share the road, Buster.

(10) Now back to that nickname, Paris of the Piedmont. How did Carrboro get a nickname like that anyway? Not because it boasts an Eiffel Tower all its own (plans for that are still in their infancy), but because culture matters in Carrboro. Art matters. The name originated back in the early ’70s, right about the time Nyle Frank, a Carrboro resident, was crowned King of the Invisible Kingdom of America (which is another story I encourage you to research on your own). Since then, Carrboro has earned the fanciful appellation.

In the fall, there’s the Carrboro Music Festival, where over the course of a single day 150 bands perform, and it’s free and open to anyone who wants to come. In the spring is the Carrboro Poetry Festival, where in 2005 40 poets from across North America read to over 800 people. Carrboro even has its own Poet Laureate (Todd Sandvik for 2006). Then, in November it’s the Carrboro Film Festival. The Community Art Project—a co-venture with the Chapel Hill Public Arts Commission—invites anyone and everyone in the county to contribute work devoted to a theme. It began in 2002, as the 5000 Flowers Project. 5000 was the original estimated number of victims on September 11th. To hope that a town so small could expect the degree of community involvement it would take to generate that many flowers was ambitious. And, in fact, they didn’t get 5000; they got 10,000. Poor, poor Paris. One day, it might well earn the nickname le Carrboro de l’Europe. But only time will tell.

Two institutions are open year-round, though: The ArtsCenter and the Cat’s Cradle. The ArtsCenter began in 1974, and since then it’s become the soul of the arts community. And not just for Carrboro either, but for fifty miles in any direction you care to go. It’s one-stop-shopping for, well, anything you can think of that has anything to do with the arts: everything from writing, music, theater—and so much more. Without it, Carrboro would be mightily diminished. Right next door is the Cat’s Cradle, the institution which single-handedly earned Carrboro its designation as the Seattle of the South. Big names and little alike, local and international, play at this world-famous music venue—and local bands that went on to bigger things. Ben Folds Five and The Squirrel Nut Zippers started out here.

(11) Carrboro, more than anything else, is a community. What does this mean, community? In this case, it means 10,000 flowers. It means poetry and art and music. And it means Thursday evening on the lawn in front of Weaver Street Market—or The Weave, as it’s known around town. Weaver Street began in 1988 with a mix of financing from the town of Carrboro, a loan from Self-Help Ventures, and individual community support. The result is much more than a grocery store, though. From late-spring to early-fall, the co-op hosts live music on Thursday nights and Sunday morning jazz brunches, with local non-profit organizations selling food, wine and beer. Hundreds of people—children, dogs, and some of the craziest dancers you’ve seen since 1973—crowd the lawn and just… hang out. Because that’s what it is: a hang out. The kind of place we used to have—remember?—but don’t anymore, a place we could go and know we’d see our friends, old and new? This lawn, this market, is the heart of Carrboro. It’s the place to gather, to meet, to shop. Fittingly, it’s just in front of the old Carr Mill building that still stands, a relic from an industrial past, here in its present second-life as a shopping mall: past and present intertwined. If you live in the vicinity, I know I’ll see you there.

(12) Or maybe right across the street, at Maple View Ice Cream. Ice cream made by a dairy farm right down the road. Yum. It’s the best.

(13) Carrboro is a walking town; from The Weave, you can go anywhere. Go right, and you’ll run into Phydeaux, the best store I’ve ever been in if you’re looking for dog-or-cat-related comestibles. They have the best food, the best toys, and the best does-my-dog-really-deserve-an-organic-cheese-stick-after-what-he-did-to-the-rug? Sure he does. But not to be confused with the Spotted Dog, which is just down the street. That’s where you can go for beer and good sandwich. Veer south and, if you’re lucky, you might run into the Orange County Social Club, or OCSC.

Notice how so many things in Carrboro and known by their nicknames? According to cultural anthropologists, this is the natural outgrowth of a town’s “authentic personality” and “historical importance.” Or maybe I just made that up. But the honest truth is that OCSC is a great bar, an amazing bar, with a pool table and couches and everything. Become a regular there, if you possibly can: It’s members only, but my guess is you’re exactly the kind of member they’re looking for. Right next door is Acme Food and Beverage Company, where, in addition to one of the best burgers in town, you can drink the not-to-be-done-without Carrboro Mojo, a delicious concoction created when spiced ginger ale meets “Stoly”. In Carrboro-time, these establishments are fairly recent. Not so Cliff’s Meat Market. Been here forever, right on Main Street. They still make their own sausage and have almost any meat you could possibly want, from goat to rabbit to chitlins. What are chitlins? Pig stomach, mostly, with some pig intestines thrown in. I know, I know: it sounds kind of gross, but a lot of people love them. And here is where we begin to get a sense of what makes Carrboro special. To my mind, it’s is the perfect incarnation of the New Old South. Down the street from your local hog maw distributor is Akai Hana, a delicious Japanese restaurant owned by Lee Smith and Hal Crowther, two of the many celebrity writers who live here and hereabouts. Then, in a small concrete building hidden away in a parking lot, Tom Robinson sells seafood, fresh from the boats. A couple of blocks over is Provence. Think escargot. Think Lemon Sole Amandine. Think—yes—of France.

(14) Apparent opposites existing together: this is not merely a culinary attribute of this town: it’s the people too. New Age crystal-packing spinach-eating sandal-wearing peaceniks share the sidewalks with tobacco-chewing coverall-wearing Sunday-go-to-meeting farmers. The buildings—low to the ground, red brick buildings—have been there for over half a century, but inside them are stores like Nested, a tastefully shi-shi home furnishing store. Carrboro is not a melting pot as much as it is a blending of cultures, and eras. This is the spirit you find every weekend at the Farmer’s Market.

(15) Created in 1977, the Carrboro Farmers’ Market was one of the earliest markets to link farmers directly with their customers. This is a true farmers’ market. Everything that is sold must be grown or produced within a 50-mile radius of Carrboro. Twice weekly, on Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings, Spring through Fall, the market serves as yet another community event: if you didn’t see Shelley and Bob at the Weave on Thursday, you’ll probably see them at the market on Saturday.

(16) It’s a Monday, though, when I have lunch with Carrboro’s new mayor, Mark Chilton. I remember Mark from a long time ago: in 1991 he was, at 21, the youngest city councilman in the history of Chapel Hill. Since then, he’s moved to Carrboro, and he’s still a young mayor, and dresses like one: he’s wearing baggy green shorts, a blue T-shirt and a straw hat. He apologizes for being underdressed, but there’s nothing to apologize for. This is Carrboro, after all, where even the mayor is ultra-casual. We talk for a while about all the wonderful things Carrboro offers, all the things I’ve just told you all about. Then Mark says, “I hate to put everything into political terms, but beneath all of this, all the fun—and it is fun, Carrboro—are some really serious issues. Weaver Street, the Farmer’s Market, they’re all part of a vision: we want to make Carrboro a sustainable society.”

The Town of Carrboro has been running a garbage truck, a utility truck and a backhoe on bio-deisel for over a year. Companies are measured in three ways: social justice, economic profit and sound environmental policies. Buying locally means local farms are preserved, the local economy is strengthened, there’s less pollution and less dependence on outside sources of food. Sustainable means being able to live on its own, through the community and the people who care about it. Carrboro is a bright place. Even though it’s clearly grown out of the shadow of its big brother Chapel Hill, it doesn’t cast a shadow of its own, nor does it care to. It’s our own City of Light.

Daniel Wallace

Daniel Wallace is the author of “Big Fish, A Novel of Mythic Proportions” (published in 1998), “Ray in Reverse” (2000) and “The Watermelon King” (2003). He was was born in Birmingham, AL, and attended Emory University and University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, studying business. However, he didn’t graduate, but instead took a job with a trading company in Nagoya, Japan. After returning to Chapel Hill, Wallace worked for 13 years in a bookstore and as an illustrator before Big Fish was published. He still lives in Chapel Hill with his wife Laura and son Henry. He is currently a professor at UNC in Chapel Hill.