Saving a cache of vintage heirlooms from a home set to be demolished.
Uncovering generations of treasures and the story of their caretaker.
On the morning of my arrival, 11 Ferguson Street stood in stark contrast against the towering facades of newly built condos. Built in 1940, the building was the last remaining house on a street once designated as a historic district in Greenville, South Carolina. As I approached the porch, I noticed people walking by the home without giving it a glance, it’s existence already an apparition within the modernity that surrounded it.
In an environment that was otherwise barren and concrete, it sat wrapped in a cocoon of vegetation, with a large Magnolia tree standing guard, and a garden extending around the back. Though the end of it’s life was near, it held it’s ground with a silent pride — even the removal of the original robins egg blue siding could not rob it of it’s charm and craftsmanship.
My partner Jake and I had made the hour-long journey from Asheville to rummage through the contents of the home, which was promised to be packed full of vintage and antique treasures. Everything had to go, as the wrecking ball was set to arrive in two days.
We stood chatting on the front porch in a small queue of four, when the home’s final steward arrived. Troy, the grandson of the home’s owners, led us through the door. Immediately upon entering I was beside myself gazing at the sheer magnitude of stuff packed into the first level of the home.
The power had been cut, and we mazed our way into the darkness, following Troy’s lantern light through the living room, dining room, and into the kitchen. Troy explained that he had been given a moment’s notice that the house would be demolished the following Monday, and he was now faced with the reality that everything not salvaged from the home in the next two days would be destined for the dumpster.
His grandparents, Reverend Jimmy and Hattie Arnold, had lived in the home for decades. Their art still hanging from the walls, trophies, pottery, and books sitting on the shelves, furniture hiding beneath massive piles of garbage bags, boxes, and plastic bins filled with a variety of unknown dusty contents.
His grandfather Jimmy’s ministry frequently found him sitting bed side for those dying in hospice, providing loving care to his community in their final days. Often the families of the people he sat for would gift him heirlooms as a token of their gratitude.
He filled storage units with these precious antique and vintage items, and when he finally passed, the units were emptied and their contents piled high inside 11 Ferguson Street.
It became clear to me that this would be unlike any other estate sale I had attended, as nothing had been sorted through, and Troy informed us to keep an eye out for a small list of things the family was looking for in the home — and with those instructions, we were all turned loose to begin.
But where to begin? I kept asking myself as I looked at piles and piles of objects. The overwhelm coupled with the excitement made the first 30 minutes or so inside the house a blur, as I worked my way through the dark rooms, illuminating small circles of light with my phone, grabbing objects that stuck out to me as interesting.
As I found items I brought them out to the porch, where we all had considerable loot piles — that were growing by the minute. I noticed a line of people had begun forming outside, as Troy was only letting in small groups at a time for safety issues and lack of space.
People filtered in and out as Jake and I spent hours looking through the rooms, we all pulled pottery, clothing, paintings, books, frames, furniture, quilts, and a myriad of other home goods out onto the porch.
Everyone was in good spirits, sweating like hogs, and showing one another their finds as we all dug our way through bedrooms that were so packed you had to crawl on top of boxes to get inside. Exclamations of excitement could be heard from all the rooms, and groups of people came and went, smiles on their faces, filling their cars with their spoils and making room for more people to come — each hour seeing a layer of stratum peeled away from the piles of treasures.
I began seeing the massive breadth of objects as a testament to how much the community cared for Reverend Jimmy and Hattie. A measure of the number of lives impacted by their time spent on earth. The rooms filled with physical representations of love, of his keeping of these objects as a way to carry on the legacy of their owners — it showed just how much he cared for them too. The preciousness of time was palpable.
By the second day of the sale parts of the house were being taken away. Someone bought the fireplace mantle, another bought the front door. Troy tells me that when he was younger, he would always imagine something grabbing his hand as he reached around to twist the lock on the door — even getting the heebie jeebies locking it for the last time the night prior.
The energy in the house on the second day is much heavier. Every inch of floor in the home was covered with a layer of stuff — casualties of people pulling items out of boxes and bags and throwing them to the ground. As I walk around glass breaks under my feet, and I wonder what precious relics are being destroyed by my steps. The air is filled with sadness.
Reverend Jimmy’s garden sits quietly in the back. Though it’s overgrown, you can still feel his presence. Troy fondly remembers his grandfather spending at least an hour in the garden every day, tending to his flowers and creating his own little oasis.
Today the house is gone, with whatever remaining contents now forgotten. Another casualty to the growing rate of gentrification within the historically Black neighborhoods of Greenville.
Troy, an accomplished chef and pasta maker, hopes to pay homage to his family by opening his own restaurant on the grounds where the house once stood, carrying on his grandfathers legacy by feeding people amongst the foliage of the garden.
Over two days of picking, Jake and I packed as much as we could into the CRV, and I’ll be sharing our finds as I clean them up, research them, and make them available for purchase on the website. We were able to rescue some truly spectacular pieces that I am very excited to share, so be sure to follow along for the ride!
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Wonderful story and nobody more deserving of such fortune than the two of you! Hope to read of many more!
Oh, Kari, it's both heart-breaking and exciting to read about this crammed-to-the-rafters home. We accumulate so much "stuff" over lifetimes, and it can leave such a burden on those left behind when we pass. You are always so reverent and your care for the lives and people who went before is evident.
I hope your treasures can bring joy to new homes! Looking forward to seeing what you found!