The Chattanooga Community Kitchen is one of the primary homeless centers in Chattanooga.  It’s a few blocks north of Main Street, right next to the railroad tracks.  On our first day there, we meet Br. Ron Fender.

Br. Ron Fender, a case manager at the Chattanooga Community Kitchen.

Br. Ron Fender is an Episcopal monk with the Gregorian brothers.  He’s lived in Chattanooga for the past seven years.  He walks down Main Street, ministering to the homeless people there. He loves Main Street, but he also sees the misery first hand.

“For me, Main Street is a sad place.”

He’s seen some horrific things: a homeless man died in his arms, he’s helped a young boy who was being prostituted by his parents for crack, he witnessed babies living in the woods just off of Main Street.

Yet Br. Ron still finds hope and humanity here.  He is a man with an overflowing amount of compassion for the down and out, yet Br. Ron is not a pushover.  Part of his vow as a Gregorian monk, he says, “is to live dangerously through his ministry.”  Br. Ron faces danger everyday on this Main Street, and he does not back down.

A man sits outside an abandoned building on Main Street in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

We finally arrive on Main Street in Chattanooga, Tennessee.   Kara and I will be here for two weeks documenting the city’s infamous Main Street.  During our story research, we discovered a website called “Trick the Johns” which is a site created by residents of a neighborhood on Main Street that is trying  to rid the area of prostitution.

We were intrigued to document a Main Street that is not the place  politicians are talking about when they say, “We need to get back to Main Street.”

Chattanooga’s Main Street is a known  prostitution stroll.  On this Main Street, people sell crack.  Right off of this Main Street, there are homeless camps and abandoned buildings.  Yes, the city is revitalizing a portion of Main Street near the downtown area. But out of the more than a mile or so of Main Street which stretches west to east, the revitalization covers only a few blocks.

We park the car at a gas station on the corner of Main and Holtzclaw and take a few pictures of buildings and people out on the street.

A man shows off his leg brace as he walks over to the gas station on Main Street in Chattanooga, Tennessee.

A sign on an abandoned building on Main Street.

Crossing Chattanooga's Main Street.

I walk down Main Street  and take a few photos, too.  As I’m crossing the street, a truck whizzes by me and a man yells out “PROSTITUTE!”

What?

I’m shocked. I’m wearing a below the knee dress, far from revealing.  In fact, I think it’s a little dowdy.  I look around to see if anyone else is on the street…perhaps he was talking to someone else.

Nope.

No one else is around, it’s just me. Apparently, the only women walking on Main Street in Chattanooga are prostitutes, or at least that is what people assume.

We’re on our way to Chattanooga where we’ll spend the next two weeks recording and documenting its Main Street.

Before we get there, we pull off and take a few pictures on Main Street in Hayeseville in North Carolina.

Looking down Main Street in Hayesville, NC.

A boy sits outside of a store on Main Street in Hayeseville, North Carolina.

A sign on Main Street in Hayesville, NC.

Selling some Boston Butt on Main Street in Hayesville, North Carolina.

It’s been five days since we started our Main Street trip, and we decide to take a little break.  We drive through Great Smoky Mountain National Park and then eventually make it to Highlands, North Carolina for lunch.

The Main Street in Highlands, North Carolina is a tourist trap. We take pictures anyway and grab a pizza and then leave.

A man drives down Main Street in Highlands, North Carolina.

Pretty much sums up the Main Street in Highlands, North Carolina.

We’re hungry and Asheville, North Carolina, where we’re staying for the night, is too far for dinner.  We’re trying to figure out where to go and break out the iPhones.  Three people on four iPhones.  There is a contest, whoever can find the best place to eat…well, the prize was never figured out but that was a race.

James finds a place on Chowhound called the Town House in Chilhowie, Virginia.  People rave about it.  “As good as any place in New York City.” It’s on Main Street but way out of our Main Street travel budget.  Our hope is to hit Johnson City for some BBQ.

But we decide that we might as well pull off the highway and onto Chilhowie’s Main Street to take some pictures.  Jesse gets out and goes up and down Main Street.  There’s not much there. The rest of us just sit in the car.

An abandoned building on Main Street in Chilhowie, Virginia.

Suddenly, James jumps out of the car without saying anything (what?), leaving Kara and I wondering what the hell is going on.  Then Jesse runs over, camera swinging, face grinning.

“I just talked to the sommelier of the Town House and he invited us in to eat.”

What?

“Yeah, I told him about our project and he said to come in.”

Let’s just say that this is the best free meal we’ve ever had.

Amazing free food from the Town House in Chilhowie, Virginia on Main Street.

The Town House doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of Main Street Chilhowie.  Over dinner the four of us talk about how towns developed and what the flash points are for a place like Napa Valley.  Around the restaurant are framed archival pictures of Main Street from the 1800s.  Jesse talks about how Main Street business development has changed.  In the early 1900s, Main Street was about moving forward, looking to the future.  Then in the 70s people started to look back, as far back as the 1800s.  Main Street became a way of redevelopment through nostalgia.

We meet the Town House’s owners, Kyra and Tom Bishop.  The two are there with their son’s fiancé who is having a birthday celebration.  Tom Bishop is a fourth generation Chilhowie resident.  The couple met in high school.

Tom and Kyra Bishop, owners of Town House restaurant in Chilhowie, Virginia.

Kyra and Tom own the mill next door  and say they wanted to build a place to entertain clients.  I can see why, the valley here is beautiful.  Tom takes us outside and points out where the old post office used to be.

The situation reminds me of Sinclair Lewis’ 1920 novel Main Street.  Lewis was cynical and critical of Main Street life, but the book did capture the enthusiasm that people had across the country to make their town something bigger, something to celebrate and show off.

The Bishops love this place and they want others to love it, too.

Main Street in Chilhowie, Virginia.

Arson fires in Hinton, West Virginia.

We take off for Main Street Hinton, WV.  Kara used to work around Hinton for the Appalachian Service Project building and fixing homes.  Main Street in Hinton is supposedly a place where there are drugs and prostitutes.  Hinton has had a series of arsons lately.  “Hinton Burning!” reads the the front page of the town’s newspaper.  The locals think otherwise, “It’s meth labs.”

The hills here in Hinton are intense, and it feels like the car is going to flip over.  Main Street isn’t where the arsons have been taking place. It also isn’t the place where there are drugs and prostitutes.  It’s just a residential street over by the New River.

A house on Main Street in Hinton, West Virginia.

An anti-smoking mural on Main Street in Hinton, West Virginia.

The corner of Main and Union streets in Hinton, West Virginia.

We’re waiting at an intesection.  There’s a train on the tracks.  So here’s Main Street in Ronceverte, West Virginia.

It looks pretty abandoned.  There’s an old building with “The Shack” scratched into the side of the building, like the Jolly Green Giant took his fingernail and just dug into the soft wood.

"The Shack" on Main Street in Ronceverte, West Virginia.

We see a field and a picnic table next to a building.  We decide it’s time to eat our leftover Thai food and have some lunch.  I have to pee.  I walk down the street along the train tracks to the back side of some business and see a sign for “The Sportsman Taverns.”  I walk in, it’s dark and there are a probably 15 people already at the counter.

“Can I use the bathroom?”

“Sure, it’s in the back to the right past the pool tables.”

I feel uncomfortable.  No one there knows me and it’s obvious.  I’m glad to get in, do my business and get out.

While we’re eating lunch, I notice this run down building across the way on Main Street.  It’s in disarray, halfway between life and death with some incomplete construction going on.  I see a few cats running around.  I’m pretty sure the cats won’t talk to me.

A house on Main Street in Ronceverte, West Virginia.

I want to know what’s inside, but I’m intimidated to go up and talk to the people I assume live there.  I do that a lot on these Main Streets, look at houses and wonder what’s inside, wanting to talk to everyone about everything.  I turn back to lunch and look over the railroad tracks.  This place is run down, but it sure is beautiful.

As soon as you drive onto Main Street in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia all you see is a Welcome sign and a few dilapidated homes. It takes a little while before it starts to look like a town.

We pass by a little store with a hand-written “Everything must go” sign in the windown with a lot of dusty Dale Earnhardt pictures underneath it.  Next door is a pint-sized building that says  “The Diner” out front.

A sign outside The Diner on Main Street in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia.

We hop out of the car and run inside.  The place is shoebox small with only a counter and about seven stools.

We talk with the owners, Vicky and Whaitman Vaughn.  The Vaughns just bought the place two years ago.  Whaitman grew up in White Sulphur Springs, fourth generation to be exact.   He wears a camouflage hat that reads “West Virginia” on it.  They’re all smiles and filled with stories about the Diner’s history.

Whaitman Vaughn owns the Diner on Main Street in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia with his wife Vicky.

Vicky Vaughn owns the Diner with her husband Whaitman. "People never know what I'm going to say or do. That's why they love to come in here."

Whaitman talks about how they get all kinds of travelers, people from Russia, China, the guy from Gun Smoke.

“People just come on in and say hi.  Not really a lot of locals, mostly people passing through like yourself.  Most of the locals go to Wal-Mart  and the Hardees.”

Too bad, the locals don’t know what they’re missing.   I ask Whaitman  if there are any wild stories from the Diner.  Lucky for me this is West Virginia.

“Well, the previous owner, she was working here.  It was the 70s and she was behind the counter in the kitchen.  Apparently she and her husband had gotten into a fight.  He was walking by that night, drunk, and pulled out his gun and shot at her.  Luckily, there was an industrial toaster on the other side of the wall and it took the bullet.  Here, let me show you the bullet hole.”

A bullet hole at the Diner in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia.

The bullet hole is pretty big, must have been a big gun.  Vicky tells me that the woman kept the toaster but not her husband.

I want to stay all day and eat $2.50 hamburgers at the counter.  We have to go though.  Vicky and Whaitman give us some Hershey’s kisses and we’re on our way.

As we drive through White Sulphur Springs, we pass by the Greenbrier. This is one of the most palatial resorts I have ever seen, “defining luxury since 1778.”  It’s hard to believe that a place like this is here in White Sulphur Springs.  The town is proud of it.  A hometown hero  is working to bring the Greenbrier back up to its previous five-star status.  I can’t imagine how a place like this could be four stars and not five.  We take a few quick photos and drive on.

The Greenbrier on Main Street in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia.

A man talks on a cell phone at the Greenbrier on Main Street in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia.

A Greenbrier employee tends the hotel's grounds.

This is the Virginia Military Institute on Main Street in Lexington, Virginia.

The Virginia Military Institute on Main Street in Lexington, Virginia.

Kara and I jump out of the car and we run up the doors into Kilbourne Hall. This must be a military institute.  Right away there is an oil portrait of an imposing man in a military uniform with a lot of medals in the hallway.  The place is pretty empty and echoes like a high school gym.  We head down a few steps past a replica of a military cannon and into the NAVY ROTC office.    No one seems to be around.

We creep our heads around into a few offices and find a woman working at a desk.

“Hi, we’re here doing a documentary of the 10,000 Main Streets across the country and we’re looking to talk to someone to tell us where we are and what this place is.”  She seems friendly at first, but she turns out to be giving us a fake form of Southern Hospitality.

This woman is not convinced that we’re on a Main Street,  “I don’t think we’re on a Main Street here.” We said we noticed a Main Street sign but we could be wrong.  “Well I’m pretty sure it’s not Main Street, but what would I know, I’ve only lived here my entire life.”

The Virginia Military Institute, on the corner of Main and Diamond streets.

Eventually CDR Mark Martin, a USN Executive Officer with the Naval ROTC Unit,
is brought over and tells us where we are.  He’s incredibly nice, shy, even.  Turns out his wife works on Main Street at a fancy linen store.  They’re not going to be living in Lexington much longer.  He’s being transferred to Washington D.C. in a few months.  We find out a little about the Virginia Military Institute, head out of Kilbourne Hall and walk along Main Street and take pictures.

Cadets at the Virginia Military Institute on Main Street in Lexington, Virginia.

Cutting the grass at the Virginia Military Institute on Main Street in Lexington, Virginia.

A truck on Main Street at the Virginia Military Institute on Main Street in Lexington, Virginia.

We’re up in the cute renovated part of downtown now. We spot an older woman ducking out of a bakery with a large bag.  She’s scurrying up the street in a hurry because it’s just starting to rain.

“Hello! What are you doing on this Main Street?”

Her name is Judy Deadrick.  She bought four lemon pies for her retirement home’s book club.

“There’s no particular book everyone has to read, just read a book and talk about it, we’re not really like a normal book club.”

“What did you read?”

“I read a biography of Sandra Day O’Connor.”

Judy lives in the retirement home close by.  She used to live in New York City in the East Village.  Around Bowery and 10th street.  “A lot of bums used to live around there.  It’s very different now.”  She likes Lexington.  “It’s quiet.”

I wish we could join her for the book club meeting.  I feel bad too because it’s starting to really rain now.  Kara busts out the umbrella and holds it over her head.  We escort Judy to her car so she doesn’t get wet and then leave.

I left my purse in Wardensville, West Virginia so we drive back.  Mother Nature has her own little commentary on my mishap.  The rain comes down in sheets, testing the patience of driver and passengers.  Luckily, no one decides to leave me at the side of the road to fend for myself.

After we pick up my purse, we need to stop and eat again. We could have dinner in Wardensville, but now we have too many negative associations with the town.

A woman in the parking lot of the Kac Ka Pon Restaurant on Main Street in Wardensville, West Virginia. Unlike me, she remembers to bring her purse when she leaves.

Memorial Day isn’t the easiest day to find something to eat.  We bust out four iphones and start looking on Yelp and Chow Hound.  Should we go to Fort Royal? Should we go to Roanoke?  Should we go to Charlottesville?   Where, oh where should we eat?

Harrisonburg, Virginia has a Main Street.  Let’s head there.    We drive along I-81 south.  It’s getting dark when we pull into town.  There are two universities there, James Madison University and Eastern Mennonite University.  It’s the first time that I’ve seen a row of frat houses on Main Street.  No parties though, school’s out for summer.  We drive through the downtown and take a few pictures. This place feels urban after West Virginia’s verdant valleys.

Main Street in Harrisonburg, Virginia.

We stop in for dinner and eat too much Thai food.