Power of place
The importance of place is often misunderstood. The importance is not physical. It’s the connections we draw within the boundaries of man.
In Little Rock, remnants of the Coolidge years remain on Kavanaugh Boulevard. Those remnants line the sidewalks with century-old buildings and homes braceletting odd road designs initially constructed for street cars. Though a few modern offices stand in contrast, the street has a sense of place.
If you tilt your head just right, you can see Little Rock’s history hustling down that road.
In early January, well before the pothole-inflicting snow hit, a small group of middle-aged men and women entered a restaurant on Kavanaugh. They traveled through the nightglow, the gray above their ears less obvious in the dim light, their shoulders hunched to hold off the cold. The restaurant had a new brick addition that butted Kavanaugh’s sidewalk. The rear of the building had a historical feel, as it had been a Magnolia Gas Station built in 1955.
They took their seats in a horseshoe booth and allowed their eyes to adjust from nighttime darkness to the muted light of the restaurant. A football game streamed from a television behind the bar, but they noticed only an occasional whistle or crowd cheer. Plates and glasses clinked in the background and the low vibration of a hundred conversations moved through them.
In their mid-50s, they sat far from their school days where they had first met. It was obvious folks in the bar were curious what brought them together. Maybe it was a child’s wedding. Or a funeral for a mutual acquaintance. Those are usually the things that bring old friends together later in life.
Neither was true. It was the new year and they recognized in each other a piece of their own past. Before they moved forward, they needed to tighten the hold on their days of youth.
They had all grown up in Little Rock and had spent their formative days of elementary school and junior high together. Some had played sports on the same teams, a few had attended cotillion at the same time, others shared neighborhoods. In high school and college, they separated a bit as is normal. But still, they held on.
On this winter night, they were exploring those important connections.
The conversation undulated between the serious and the ridiculous. Undoubtedly, they knew their meandering memories had become the cornerstones of who they are. They said goodbye at the end of the night, the past fresh on their minds, the future seemingly better, and they walked into the cold January night.
Standing on Kavanaugh’s sidewalk, they embraced and went their separate ways walking through streetlight shadows, along the same road that old friends had traveled for 100 years and more.
Yes, place is important. Through its schools and neighborhoods, restaurants and roads, our city has that magnetic sense that pulls generations together.
Connections aren’t just physical— they’re the bonds that hold a city and its people together.