One of the pastimes Andrea and I enjoy when we visit a town for the first time is dropping in on local antique stores. These places are the unofficial museums of their respective area and give glimpses into the lives of a town's former inhabitants. Therein lies a creep factor. As one rifles through a bin of old vinyl albums or vintage turn of the last century clothing, it's likely the previous owner is deceased. Andrea and I discussed this, and we've affectionately taken to calling these establishments "Dead People Depots". Whether or not you're a member of our tribe depends on whether you're shocked or smiling at this moment.
Regardless, these places can be walks down nostalgia lane. I've seen board games that got heavy usage from me and my childhood playmates. There were Peanuts lunchboxes I've come across that were identical to the one I carried for years in early primary school. One place in Havre de Grace had a sizeable collection of Lionel train cars that made me want to break out the old train set that I got one Christmas in the '70s.
Some of the items we found gave rise to questions. I-81 in Virginia runs along the state's western spine. An antique mall just off the Interstate had an extensive collection of wood carvings that I recognized immediately as being Filipino in provenance. The closest Filipino community was over 400 miles away on the coast. How had these carvings come to be here, deep in the backwoods of Virginia?
The proprietors of these establishments are not only the defacto curators of local miscellany, they also serve as historians for the area. In Columbia, Pennsylvania, one of the owners of Rivertowne Antique Center told us about an episode of the town's history.
In the spring of 1863, components of Robert E. Lee's army were looking for ways to ford the Susquehanna River to continue Lee's invasion of the north, and the mill town of Columbia had a bridge that would allow them to do just that. Aware of this, the Union garrison commander had his troops dig in on the north shore. The orders he was given were to hold the bridge or, if he felt he would be overrun, to destroy it. His decision was a hard one. While it could serve as an incursion point for the Confederates, the bridge was also a critical artery for the flow of badly needed supplies across the river.
By June, York fell to the Confederates and southern forces were advancing to capture the Pennsylvania capital of Harrisburg and even Philadelphia. As Confederates approached Columbia, Federal troops laid charges to blow just a section of the bridge, hoping to save as much of the structure as possible. In the ensuing battle, it became apparent the Union position was untenable and the order was given to detonate the explosives. However, the charges failed to destroy the targeted section. With no other options to stop the Confederate push, the order came to burn the entire bridge. This action succeeded, halting the southern advance.
Denied a way forward, Confederate troops pulled back, retraced their route through York, and linked up with other southern units at a sleepy farming town named Gettysburg. The actions of the Union commander at the Columbia crossing of the Susquehanna saved several Pennsylvania towns from capture and moved pieces on the battle board to a convergence that, less than a week later, saw the costliest battle ever fought on American soil.
One has to wonder what would have happened if the Confederates successfully crossed the river. It's not likely Gettysburg would have been the turning point it became as Federal forces would have been reallocated to protect Philadelphia. As the shop owner was telling me this tale, we both got goosebumps at the possible changes to history.
If you go to Columbia today, the town is quiet and idyllic, full of restaurants and the previously mentioned antique shops. A new bridge spans the river. But next to this modern artery, you can still see the pylons of the original bridge, standing like silent witnesses to history.
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