The horrible holiday tragedy of losing some of our most important commercial buildings in the historic central district tinges those happy times of days gone by with sadness.
It was not the first time that fire caused destruction in the downtown area. Reports of the day when Sherman's troops came through in the last days of the Civil War reveal that most of Canton was burned to the ground with little but rubble left behind.
In the 1920s, the courthouse on the square in Canton burned to the ground, fueling plans for the marble building that graces downtown today.
Years later, in June 1955, the Cantex fire burned a hole in the texture of the downtown area that only recently was filled with a new office building.
This latest tragedy has everyone worrying about the future of the city, which was looking bright with new businesses mingling with long-standing ones, the new office building offering tantalizing prospects and plans afoot to renovate the Jones Mercantile building. Now several of the owners face major obstacles rebuilding in a time of economic challenges and uncertainties.
Despite the difficulties, I have faith Canton will rise once more out of the ashes and continue as the vibrant city I have always loved. Somehow, like the phoenix, the fires cause us to come out stronger and better each time.
As a young girl, some of my most social times were leaving Canton Elementary on Academy Street with a flock of my girlfriends, clustered together in a giggly mass of preteen age femininity of saddle oxfords and pleated skirts, sweaters and blazers to head up to the drugstore after school for a Coke.
In those glory days of the Warrior Room, the red-and-white booths, the checked tile floors, the marble counter replete with silver stools upholstered in red leather, it was the place to see and be seen.
When I talk of Coca-Cola, I don't mean ordinary fare. My special favorite was a vanilla Coke, but most of the girls preferred cherry Cokes. Served in glasses with a straw pulled from the holder, those frosted concoctions were far superior to anything at home.
Of course there were Coke floats, ice cream sundaes and shakes and a variety of soda fountain treats, but I could usually only afford a vanilla Coke, and anyway I liked it best. I would count out my meager allowance of quarters to make sure I had enough before shoving my way into the crowded scene.
Elementary school, which went to the eighth grade, got out a little earlier than Cherokee High, so we could usually claim a seat at a booth. Then it was so exciting to see the older kids arrive in their letter jackets and cheerleading uniforms, the guys so handsome, the girls so sophisticated.
By the time I was in high school, some of the novelty had worn off and hopping into a car with friends and heading into town for something to eat at the drugstore was more the expected than the exotic. But it was also one of our rites of passage.
It was where we flirted and chatted, planned and dreamed, laughed and cried. That drugstore was a centerpiece of high school life for so many young folks who grew up and graduated here. It was where we connected with who we were and where we were going.
It was not the only business destroyed. Billy Moss's shoe store has been an institution in this town for decades and I doubt there is anyone around who has not had some piece of leather worked on there. That shop was iconic of the small businessmen that offer good service and honest value.
Jones and Cloud Insurance Co. was run back in the day by my next-door neighbor, Sunny Jones, and I often went there after school or on weekends. The office has remained much the same, and so many of us have depended on those working there. The jewelry store and James Cannon's business also, all the offices and shops held special places in our city's history and story.
As I write, the first snow I in what seems like years is covering the scars left by the fire. The purity and beauty of nature is in such sharp contrast with the black bellowing smoke and the red hot flames that touched downtown with their destruction on Christmas.
The journey to restore our town is going to be tough for the owners and for us. Hopefully each of us who live and work here can be some part of the rebuilding and at least continue to support downtown with our patronage as it rebuilds.
And while those rooms and places I remember so fondly may not be exactly the same, what we have in the end can be just as wonderful and make new memories for generations yet to come.
Rebecca Johnston is former editor of The Cherokee Tribune.
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