Why Main Street Memories Deserve a Place in Preservation

Two small moments—one in a movie theater, one on a London street, remind me that what we preserve aren’t just buildings, but stories that happened in just the right place, at just the right time, and they become a kind of personal landmark.

I’ve always loved the movie 84 Charing Cross Road, the quiet affection between two book lovers across an ocean, brought to life by Anthony Hopkins and Ann Bancroft. I first saw the movie with a dear friend in Chevy Chase, Maryland.

After the movie, packed into an elevator in a D.C. parking garage. I turned to Margaret and said, “I’m in love with Anthony Hopkins.” From behind us, a voice responded, “You’ll have to get in line.” We all laughed.

Even now, I remember the warmth of that moment, shared affection for a character, a film, a feeling.

A few years later, I was walking Charing Cross Road itself, darting in and out of used bookstores, hunting for books by Beverly Nichols. Waiting for a green light, I was about to step off the curb looking the wrong way when I felt a hand on my elbow that restrained me.

“Don’t do that, love,” the man said. “It makes such a mess at rush hour.” I have always remembered the humor in the situation; his kindness with a wink.

So what does this have to do with Main Street in Rocky Mount? Everything. Because preservation isn’t only about buildings, it’s about memory.

It’s about collecting the stories that happened once upon a time, in bookstores or theaters or on Main Street. When we restore a building or repurpose a space, we make room for new stories.

And we honor these precious memories, like the voice in the elevator, or the stranger who called me “love” that still make me smile.

When we preserve a building, we’re not just holding onto brick and mortar, we’re keeping the stage set for more moments like I had. Maybe not in London. Maybe not with Anthony Hopkins.

But certainly with friends, neighbors, and even strangers whose passing words can stay with us for decades.

Downtown Rocky Mount is full of such potential. Inside every storefront and under every cornice is a story waiting to be remembered, or one waiting to happen.

That’s why I love what preservation and repurposing can do: It’s like finding a well-worn book in a secondhand shop, its cover may be faded, but the story inside still resonates.

When I walk down Main Street now, it’s not just the structures I see. I hear the stories. I think of the friendships formed in corner cafés, the advice exchanged in barbershops, the quiet conversation in restaurants.

Memories can live anywhere, even on elevators or curbsides in London. When we restore and honor the past, we invite that past to stay close while building a future.

So maybe next time you’re downtown, look twice, at the architecture, yes, but also at the possibility. Something meaningful might be happening beside you. A memory might be forming. A stranger might call you “love.”