A RetroWeb page, Copyright ©

If you are looking for Point of Honor, The Academy Theater, Poplar Forest, Natural Bridge or other more well-known attractions of Lynchburg and Central Virginia, you will not find them on this web page. Instead, what you will find documented here are several lesser-known, unusual, sometimes esoteric, occasionally bizarre and, in almost all cases, absurd attractions of the area, along with an equally-absurd accompanying "history." Not every attraction will appeal to everyone, but hopefully you will find something of interest. If you live in Central Virginia and thought you knew everything there was to know about the area, perhaps you will "discover" a few things you didn't know after all. If you don't live in the area but will be visiting, please plan to take in Lynchburg's real attractions before even considering delving into what follows below.

Click here to read Darrell Laurant's 8/1/01 column about this web page from the Lynchburg News & Advance. Click here to read an excerpt from Laurant's followup article on the site, five years later (11/5/06).

If you desire more information on any of the "attractions" described on this site, please use the e-mail link at the bottom of the page. Please DO NOT contact local tourism agencies, museums, historical societies, or any offices or individuals associated with the mentioned localities, as they would likely doubt your sanity as a result, and for good reasons! Now, Enjoy!

In the mid 1980's, Harland Fletcher returned to Virginia from Africa with a baby white rhinoceros he had purchased for a children's zoo in Richmond. The zoo never opened, and Fletcher was left with the dilemma of what to do with the baby rhino. In an unusual and somewhat novel move, Fletcher turned the rhino loose on his 150-acre cattle farm in Amherst County. Remarkably, the animal easily adapted to its environment, and today, fifteen years later, the rhino can still be frequently seen grazing in the fields of Fletcher's farm alongside the cows. Fletcher's farm can be reached by turning right off of Rt. 356 north of Lynchburg, then taking another right after about two miles at Beating Stick Rd.

Off of Rt. 122 near Bedford, one can find a most unusual cemetery. Officially known as the Antioch Baptist Church Cemetery, most locals refer to it as the "ABC Cemetery," not because of its name, but because of the obsessive-compulsive nature of its former and long-time owner and caretaker, Thomas Aadland. Aadland's sickness compelled him to continuously re-order the graves to keep them in strict alphabetical order. Local residents would find Aadland at any time of day or night following a new burial, digging up graves and shuffling caskets and headstones from plot to plot to maintain the alphabetic burial sequence. Aadland required all plot owners to sign a form acknowledging the "floating" nature of their burial plot and allowing him to change the assigned plot and move each body as needed. As bizarre as it sounds, family members didn't mind the arrangement, since it allowed them to easily find the grave sites of their loved ones on return visits, even years later, without having to remember the location between visits.

In 1992, Aadland found himself near death, and he realized that he would no longer be able to maintain the cemetery, much less continue to shuffle the grave sites. Because of this, he decided to close the cemetery, but to his horror, he realized that the graves would have to be shuffled one more time so that he himself could be buried in proper sequence (and an "A" shuffle to boot...the worst kind). Too weak to shuffle the graves once more, Aadland placed a newspaper ad seeking laborers, but he had no takers.

If you visit the ABC Cemetery today, you can observe firsthand how Aadland solved his dilemma. Look for the very last grave in the cemetery...the grave of Thomas Zuckerman... formerly known as Thomas Aadland.

In 1936, German scientist Jules Zeiglehr made a fascinating discovery while vacationing in Paris and gazing through a telescope. While watching a distant hot air balloon, Zieglehr was startled to see a mountain peak in the telescope's field of view, despite the fact that there were no significant mountain ranges within a hundred miles of his location. Zeiglehr soon identified the peak as Alpine peak Mont Blanc, and he immediately set to work to understand the physics that allowed him to see this peak from roughly 300 miles away. After more than a year of research and experimentation, Zeiglehr published his landmark paper describing "light wave skip," a natural phenomenon also known to occur with radio waves. The phenomenon soon became commonly known as the "Zeiglehr Effect," and over the years, many have observed this natural telescope of sorts when conditions fall into line. In our own area, the Zeiglehr Effect has been frequently observed near the community of Winfall, just south of Lynchburg on Rt. 501. When atmospheric conditions are just right, one can see the Atlantic Ocean from Winfall through a telescope pointed due East. The photo to the right was taken in 1997 from a vantage point near the old Winfall train station.

On the morning of March 13, 1953, dozens of residents of Lynchburg's "West End" were jolted out of their beds and arose to discover the earth literally collapsing under them. An underground explosion of unknown origin had triggered a "sinkhole," and over the course of only a few minutes, the sinkhole swallowed over fifteen homes in this once-fashionable suburb of the town. To the left is an aerial view taken within a few hours of the development of the sinkhole. The smoke visible in the photo is from homes still smoldering from fires triggered by the disaster. Remarkably, only two people lost their lives in this bizarre tragedy. The map to the right shows the area affected by the sinkhole, an area which was sealed off immediately following the extraction of casualties and of the injured. Undisturbed for nearly fifty years, the affected area is now overgrown and generally inaccessible due to the dangers associated with the open pit and the unstable partially-collapsed structures. To the left is the view today down Wingfield Avenue, which was dead-ended by the sinkhole.

UPDATE: The nature of the underground explosion which triggered the West End Sinkhole remains unknown to this day, but a study in 1992 concluded that the explosion occurred approximately 7000 feet below the surface. Speculation on the cause ranges from an occurrence of nature involving a trapped pocket of gas to an accidental explosion in a suspected subterranean government facility.

UPDATE #2: Research for a March 2007 local television story on the sinkhole uncovered a photograph documenting the little-known fact that the seismic motion resulting from the 1953 underground blast also toppled the steeple of the nearby West Lynchburg Baptist Church. No one was in the main sanctuary when the steeple fell over and crashed through the roof.

Most Virginians are well-aware of Confederate General Robert E. Lee's horse "Traveller," buried alongside the General in Lexington, Virginia. General Lee, however, also had a lesser-known horse named "Phantom," who died during the Battle of Lynchburg and who is buried in the Beauregard Civil War Cemetery near Lynchburg. Recently, a controversy arose when a large statue of "Phantom" was erected in the cemetery. Some objected to the statue's proportions, calling it inappropriate for the setting. In any case, you won't be able to miss the bigger-than-life statue of "Phantom," depicted in a heroic pose just before he was killed by cannonball.

It's more than just a "three-hour tour" when you book a stay at the "Gilligan's Island" Bed & Breakfast on beautiful Smith Mountain Lake. Co-owners Al Halley (who portrays "The Skipper") and Rob Reno (who portrays "Gilligan") will meet you at a local marina, where you will board a replica of the S. S. Minnow, and sail off to an "uncharted desert isle" out in the middle of the lake. There you will be greeted by the remaining "cast" members, including The Professor, Mr. and Mrs. Howell, Ginger, and everyone's favorite, Mary Ann.

Accommodations on the island include your very own bamboo hut, similar to those seen on the classic 60's TV series. You will also enjoy only the best in fine dining and libations. (Hint: Don't miss Mary Ann's coconut cream pie for breakfast!)

While on the island, sit back and enjoy the show, as the friendly cast members perform any number of skits from the show. You probably know all the plots, so feel free to join in the fun. And don't be surprised or frightened to see an angry native warrior or two from one of the nearby islands!

"Our five available huts are booked two years in advance," says Halley ("The Skipper"), who adds "and we are planning to add two more huts prior to next season." How about the $380 per-person, per-night price tag? Reno ("Gilligan") explains, "There's a lot of overhead compared to your run-of-the-mill bed and breakfast. But we must be doing something right -- some of our guests have become regulars, returning three and four times." In fact, Halley and Reno have such a hit on their hands that they already have another TV-themed B&B in the planning stages, one patterned this time after "The Brady Bunch," which they plan to locate in the Richland Hills subdivision of Lynchburg.

Little do most area residents realize that Lynchburg once had its very own amusement park. Some said that, due to its construction on land sacred to the Native American Monocan tribe, Riverview Amusement Park was never meant to be. Despite an outcry at the time of its construction, the park was built on a bluff in Madison Heights formerly belonging to the Monacan tribe and overlooking the James River. The park was a sister park to Salem's popular Lakeside Amusement Park which, after years of providing thrills and chills to old and young alike, was destroyed by the flood of 1985. Unlike Lakeside, Riverview Amusement Park would have a profoundly shorter life span. Riverview had opened on the evening of June 16, 1963 to a tremendous crowd, and festivities were in full swing when suddenly the huge Ferris Wheel, fully loaded with riders, detached from its mounts and began rolling through the park. Some onlookers watched in horror and others ran for their lives to dodge the out-of-control wheel as it continued rolling through and out of the park, continuing several hundred feet where it then crashed through the fence at a neighboring power substation. Sparks exploded into the night sky as the wheel made contact with high voltage transformers, instantly shutting off all power to the park and simultaneously electrocuting all riders who had been unable to free themselves from their seat harnesses. Forty-six people died as a result of the tragic mishap, and the following day, county officials closed and condemned the park. One survivor of the nightmarish Ferris Wheel ride commented to the local press following the accident, "It's a real shame about the accident, but that wheel gave me the ride of my life." No traces remain today of Riverview Amusement Park on the bluff above the James, but a small commemorative plaque was erected in the late 1970's on the site, which is now occupied by a sign company.

What is the explanation for the mysterious happenings in the woods adjacent to Lynchburg's Windsor Hills subdivision, specifically in those that run along Dreaming Creek? This is a question that residents of that neighborhood have been asking for over two decades. "There is definitely something out there...some kind of presence," commented one wary resident a few years ago to an independent journal of the paranormal. Another person interviewed eloquently described what they witnessed as an "amorphous black specter that stirred up small whirlwinds of leaves...like a dark vortex." Others have characterized it more as a scampering, mischievous small creature of some sort, sometimes venturing out of the woods to tap on windows, tip over trash cans, etc.. Some have even claimed it to have threatened them. In one of the more seemingly far-fetched accounts, one person reported the following encounter "We heard a rustle, when suddenly in our path was what looked like a troll. It was hard to see, but it had on dark leather clothes and what looked like a leather cap. It had a bare human-like face, and was muttering to itself and making a noise that sounded like a laugh. Suddenly, it brandished what I think was a small knife, and we got the hell out of there." The only known, purported photo of the creature/apparition is shown left, in which the photographer managed only a blurry shot of what he claimed was a "little devil" running away from him. More than one witness has reported sensing a presence before actually encountering the creature, leading them to conclude that the being possessed some form of telepathic powers. Legend of the mysterious resident of the woods has grown over the years, and neighborhood kids have given the creature the name "Rufus." What do all of these accounts add up to? Could there indeed be some sort of supernatural lifeform taking up residence along Dreaming Creek? One former Windsor Hills resident summed it up "I never believed in that kind of thing until I saw it with my own eyes. Rufus is real!"

Found along the Lynchburg Expressway by city employee Earl Swinton, what at first appeared to be the remains of another misfortuned animal soon became the surprise of Earl's life. Swinton had collected the remains of a cat which had been decapitated in an accident, but a half hour later as he was disposing of his collection for the day, Earl was shocked when he noticed that the cat's headless body was breathing. It was a slow, labored breathing, accompanied by a faint rasping sound from the cat's neck, but the cat was breathing nonetheless. Earl immediately alerted his supervisor, who contacted a nearby animal emergency center.

Before the day was out, the cat which had survived the loss of its head was the talk of the local veterinary circle. The animal center was flooded with phone calls and visitors who had to see the cat firsthand before they would believe what they were hearing. "Mags," as the cat came to be known, was nursed back to health over the next few weeks on an intravenous diet, a drinking straw to help her breathe and with a healthy supply of love and attention.

Mags was eventually adopted by an owner who remains anonymous for fear of unwanted publicity. However, the owner has allowed medical scientists to examine the animal, who have concluded that the cat was able to survive by a means in which its central nervous system assumed all autonomic functions in the absence of the brain, an uncommon occurrence in nature, but not unheard of. Mags is shown to the left in October, 2000, being held by renowned British veterinarian Kenneth Hubsteed who traveled to America to examine the cat, and who has since published a medical book on Mags, entitled "Mags the Amazing Headless Cat."

He didn't have time to play "Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love," and for that matter, it really wasn't the sort of "performance" that his fans would consider memorable, but Elvis Presley did once leave his mark in Central Virginia. It happened in August of 1976, when his band's plane was headed to Roanoke for a concert but got diverted to Lynchburg. On the way out of Lynchburg, the band stopped briefly at a small Timberlake Rd. diner known as the "Koffee Pot" (shown left in a vintage photo before the giant coffee pot on the roof was removed). The band stopped at the restaurant not to eat, but for Elvis to use the bathroom. He was in a great hurry to make his Roanoke show, but he took the time to autograph one of the toilet paper rolls and to add his famous "Takin' Care of Business" logo. Picture to the right is this unusual and undoubtedly unique memento which the shop still proudly displays today.

UPDATE: "Elvis has left the building!" At least, the toilet paper roll bearing his signature is no longer on premises at the Koffee Pot. Owner Estelle Meadows recently disclosed that the toilet paper has been loaned to a year-long travelling exhibit of Elvis memorabilia which will be visiting forty-two cities around the country.

Concord dairy farm owner Hugh Johnson thought something was up one day in the summer of 2002 when he saw a car pull over on the road by his farm, and four people got out and began taking photos of his barn. When a few days later, a small van pulled up and unloaded nearly a dozen people, Johnson hopped in his pickup and drove down to the road to inquire. As Johnson recounted to the Appomattox Times-Virginian, "It was a bunch of young guys from Washington DC...city types...all sharp dressers." As Johnson learned, the object of the group's attention was his grain silo, which one person told him had recently been featured in a magazine whose name Johnson didn't recognize. While he still did not completely understand their interest, he invited the group onto his property to have a closer look at the silo. "They were nice enough folks, but a bit too silly for my liking...laughing and giggling and so forth from the minute I introduced myself. They must have taken a hundred pictures of that silo. Go figure." Interest in Johnson's silo has reportedly tapered off, but not died completely. Because of the publicity, and with the assumption that the structure is of some architectural significance, it is worthy of inclusion here as a Little-Known Attraction of Central Virginia.

For close to a hundred years, treasure seekers have been flocking to Bedford County in search of the elusive "Beale Treasure." So far, no one has found it. Indeed, some skeptics say it never existed. Little do these or other treasure seekers know that there is an authentic treasure buried in the heart of Lynchburg, in the Zebulon Miller Tomb at the Virginia Methodist Cemetery. In his death in 1885, Zebulon, the eccentric and tight-fisted younger brother of renowned local philanthropist Samuel Miller, proved to his critics that you can indeed "take it with you." Five years earlier, Zeb hired a team of German engineers to design, build and install a tomb, eighteen feet deep and encased by three-feet thick concrete walls, fortified to hold his own mortal remains and more than $2.3 million in gold and silver coins. Zeb then hired a Swiss agent to ensure that his final wishes to be buried with his fortune would be carried out. A $1 million trust fund was set up to ensure perpetual care of the tomb, and to provide for guards around-the-clock. The guards were dismissed in later years, as an elaborate electronic alarm system was installed. As a result, the Zebulon Miller Tomb and its buried treasure have remained undisturbed to this day.

In the late 1950's, Lynchburg businessman Stuart Pittman, father of E.C. Glass High School varsity basketball sensation Dwayne "Pitter-Patter" Pittman, was asked to take on the job of producing the popcorn to be sold at all home basketball games. The elder Pittman happily obliged.

After two years of supplying popcorn at the games, Stu seized upon the favorable reception of his secret-ingredient popcorn, and quickly expanded his operation to include all local movie theaters. His kitchen-table business soon grew into a thriving enterprise with over forty employees, running twenty-four hours a day, supplying his popcorn up and down the East Coast to movie theaters, sporting events, concert halls, department stores, state fairs, circuses -- anywhere and everywhere popcorn was sold.

Pittman's success was sadly short lived, however. Less than a year after moving his business to a large, state-of-the-art facility on Jefferson Street, a catastrophic triple-cauldron hot oil explosion leveled the facility and rained down six inches of popcorn that covered most of downtown Lynchburg and the Lower Basin. Even worse, the sticky mess attracted thousands of swooping crows, most of which were choked, poisoned or mutilated in the feeding frenzy.

City crews spent three full days rounding up all the scattered crow carcasses, then trucked them just outside the city limits to Tyreeanna, forming a huge mound which was then covered with two feet of a dirt and lime mixture. The crow mound (shown right) can still be seen today just off Rt. 460 near the intersection with the Concord Turnpike.

The remains of Stu Pittman were never recovered from the site of the explosion. A now-famous news-wire photograph of the disaster, depicting the Lynchburg daytime skyline darkened by the presence of the relentless crows, is rumored to have been the inspiration for Alfred Hitchcock's famous movie, "The Birds."

It's a major happening in Central Virginia when a big-name act plays in the area, for example, Elvis Presley's 1974 performance in Roanoke. Few are aware, however, of another superstar act who appeared in the area two years later, at an obscure night club in a secret gig that must rank among one of the most unusual entries in the annals of untold rock & roll history. It happened one Saturday night in August of 1976 at the now-defunct Avalon Club on Rt. 24 in Appomattox, a popular BYOB country music spot in Appomattox County. On that evening, the regulars made their way into the club, expecting to find the regular band ("Country After Dark") on stage. What they found instead was a stage with instruments and microphones but no performers. A few people were dancing to a country record being played over in the corner, but most were milling around, sipping from their brown bags and getting restless.

Suddenly the lights dimmed (the lights never dimmed at the Avalon Club) and a few people could be seen in the shadows taking the stage. A familiar electric guitar riff tore into the room, the lights came back up, and the crowd got their first look at the band, a group of young, long-haired guys in odd clothing who were playing "Johnny B. Goode" with intensity. No one recognized the odd-looking performers, but that didn't matter. Everyone was on their feet dancing away to the old Chuck Berry tune (including Avalon regular Aubrey "Mr. Bones" Benson, pictured right).

Despite the initially warm reception to the performers, things would soon take a turn for the worse. Following the first song, the lead singer (who was also wearing eye shadow) said a few words to the crowd, but all the crowd could gather through the distorted sound was that he was British. The band then broke into a second tune, one unfamiliar to the crowd. Some tried to dance but most took a seat. Impatience quickly turned to anger as the band assaulted the restless crowd with a string of unfamiliar tunes. Taking this all in was Clint Patterson, a younger member of the crowd, who thought he had seen the band on television and who recognized some of the tunes from hearing them on his sister's radio. Clint recalls "I remembered that one that kept going 'What A Drag It Is Getting Old.'"

By about the fifth song, the crowd had seen and heard enough, and Avalon regular Harold "Cootie" Hodges led the charge onto the stage, initiating a melee which saw one band member take a whiskey bottle to the head, and which left the band's amplifiers and drum kit destroyed. Clint recalled the situation recently, saying "Hey listen, we were all just a bunch of hard working country boys looking to have our normal good-time Saturday night. We didn't go down there to see no long-haired sissy boys. Besides, you could hardly understand a word that skinny dude in tight pants was singing."

As the reader may have surmised by now, that "skinny dude" was none other than Mick Jagger and the band was the Rolling Stones, who have a long tradition of kicking off a tour with unannounced "rehearsal" gigs at obscure, off-the-beaten-path venues. The Stones have rarely commented on their disastrous appearance in Central Virginia, but rumor has it that the never-released "Grin and Grab It" was shelved after an argument stemming from that night. Lead guitarist Keith Richards (whose face still bears a scar from the whiskey bottle smashed over his head that night) once commented to Crawdaddy magazine about the incident, saying "Blimey, I hadn't seen a crowd that bloody rowdy since Altamont."

(thanks go out to Clint Patterson for supplying the details of the Rolling Stones' secret Avalon Club gig)

His name is Russell Harrison, and he has a very bad case of the hiccups. In fact, Russell (or "Hick" as his friends call him) has been hiccuping for sixty-four years. The hiccuping began when he was four years old, and not a day or night has gone by for Russell since that time without the bothersome affliction. He has tried every home and folk remedy known to man. He has been to countless so-called medical experts. He has been the subject of at least two five-year long studies at John Hopkins University and the Mayo Clinic. He has gone under the knife, twice. He has even tried professional hypnotists, all to no avail.

You've probably seen the story of Russell's plight on TV's Sixty Minutes, Nightline, and 20/20 with Barbara Walters. Over the years he has appeared on just about every talk show around, from Johnny Carson (see left) to Letterman to Leno to Imus to Politically Incorrect.

"This has ruined my life," said Russell in a recent interview which was punctuated by the uncontrollable spasms of the diaphragm. "I've been through four and a half divorces and countless botched relationships, not to mention all the jobs I've drifted in and out of. My dream was to be a country music singer or disc jockey, but these hiccups ruined that dream. Mel Tillis got lucky. He has a real bad stutter but it goes away when he sings. When I try to sing, my hiccups won't quit. Oh well, I guess the good Lord had a reason to give me these hiccups, and if he sees fit, he'll send a cure my way someday."

Even after all these years, Russell has not given up the hope of one day being hiccup-free. For the last twelve years he has had a standing offer of a $500 reward to the first person to deliver to him a cure that works. If you are up to the challenge, you can usually find Russell sitting out on his front porch at 186 Hickory Hill Drive in Campbell County, just watching the cars go by...and hiccuping.

Lynchburg's first private residence with indoor plumbing was the palatial Johnstone House, located at 4301 Washington Street and completed in 1899. For a time, the generous owners freely allowed friends and neighbors, and sometimes complete strangers their first opportunity to experience the pleasure and comfort of a modern convenience. Word of the Johnstone's indoor privy soon spread, and long lines, like those pictured right, formed daily, as curious area residents patiently waited their turns to see and use the facilities. In a short-lived effort to capitalize on the relentless stream of patrons, Mr. Johnstone levied a twenty-five cent surcharge per person. Within a week, the City stepped in due to public health concerns, fined Johnstone for creating a public nuisance and ordered him to close his lavatory to the public. In addition, the City enacted an ordinance forbidding assemblies of more than five persons without a permit, a law that remained on the books for over a hundred years.

At the foot of Monument Terrace in Lynchburg stands a well-known attraction with a little-known history. "The Listening Post," more commonly known as the "Doughboy," is a World War I memorial statue which has been Lynchburg's most famous and recognizable landmark since 1926. Hundreds of residents pass by each day, and thousands of tourists visit each year, but few if any ever notice the mysterious "scar" on the statue's left leg, or are aware of the bizarre story surrounding its origin. The Doughboy was originally a gift to the city from its creator, a renowned French sculptor named Henri Toulouse-Rouseau, who bestowed his treasure upon the city as a good-will gesture to his newly adopted city and country. Toulouse-Rouseau was a veteran of WWI's French Guard, having served three years duty in a trench on the brutal Western Front. He came to Lynchburg after the war to teach art appreciation at a local women's college and enjoyed great popularity there. However, a year after the placement and dedication of the Doughboy statue, Toulouse-Rouseau was accused of having an "improper relationship" with one of his young students, and found it necessary to leave the city on short notice and under cover of darkness. Infuriated by the town's provincial attitudes, Toulouse-Rouseau demanded the return of the Doughboy statue, but lost his bid to repossess it in a court battle that raged through the summer of 1927. Then, on the morning of August 31, 1927, residents and city officials were astonished to discover that the Doughboy statue was missing...all, that is, but the statue's left leg from the knee down (see photo right). Someone had somehow managed to yank the statue from its pedestal, but had made off without the leg which had remained attached. Authorities immediately began inquiries as to the whereabouts of Toulouse-Rouseau, who was naturally the prime suspect in the heist. Months passed without any information, but finally, a Lynchburg resident visiting in Savannah, Georgia stumbled upon the hobbled statue in the flower garden of the Savannah School of Arts, a school that was also home to none other than newly-hired Professor of Art Mr. Henri Toulouse-Rouseau. Lacking a plausible alibi, and no doubt fearing a lengthy jail sentence, Toulouse-Rouseau eluded authorities and departed the country, never to be heard from again. The Doughboy made a triumphant return to the Hill City on a flat-bed rail car, greeted by a parade of well-wishers and a torch-bearing master welder, who proceeded to reunite the Doughboy with his waiting left leg.

Pictured right is the decades-old locomotive engine which sits rusting in the dense overgrowth beside an old railroad bed near Evington, Virginia. The locomotive has been there since the night of February 5, 1952, the night of the wreck of what became locally-known as the "Gorilla Train." That night, a broken rail derailed the northbound Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey circus train, a train whose next normal stop would have been Lynchburg for the circus scheduled there the following weekend. Along with the normal consist of circus animals, the train was carrying over fifty gorillas who were part of a special trapeze act. Several of the gorillas (and other animals) perished in the accident, but thirty-five gorillas escaped from their wrecked cars into the woods near Evington, and into the annals of local legend. Despite numerous repeated attempts to snare individual gorillas, officials had no success in capturing any of them, and the gorillas soon gained infamy with their reign of mischief throughout Campbell County. There are too many stories to list here, but their antics included harassing dogs, cattle and horses, stealing vegetables from gardens, peeking through windows at night, swinging from trees onto roofs (and in some cases, relieving themselves while there) and making a general nuisance of themselves. Some residents reported incidents of being awakened by gorillas "howling" as the sun rose. In one bizarre incident, a gorilla reportedly climbed into an unattended, running pickup truck and released the hand-brake, causing the truck to roll down a driveway and crash into a tool shed. Gorilla sightings in the area continued for nearly three decades, dwindling to only a few per year by the late 1970's. The last reported sighting was in 1981. The only known photo of one of the Evington gorillas is shown to the left, taken in 1967 by Horace Dalrymple, who found the animal perched on the ridge of his roof.

Lynchburg is home to a number of unsung "celebrities," among them being Horst and Mabelle Kleinhähnchen, who briefly made an international splash in the early 1980's in a highly-publicized series of events. Horst and Mabelle had a bone to pick with Mattel Corporation. For years, they had written letter after letter to the company insisting that the popular Barbie and Ken dolls be made anatomically correct. The couple felt that the identical, featureless mounds in the private areas of each doll sent the wrong message to children about human sexuality. Eventually, Horst and Mabelle grew frustrated with their lack of progress and with Mattel's seeming disinterest, and the couple formed their own company and began manufacturing their own anatomically-detailed childrens' dolls here in Lynchburg.

The couple's venture soon hit a roadblock, however, when they learned that U.S. laws prohibit representation of the male anatomy on a doll. Having already invested a significant amount of capital in the business, the Kleinhähnchens turned to the international market, and eventually found an outlet for their product in Italy, where the demand for anatomically-correct dolls was strong. The couple decided to market their two A.C. Barbie and Ken look-alike dolls in Italy as "Gino" and "Talia."

The dolls have been a great success all over Europe, and Horst and Mabelle have amassed a fortune in profits and royalties. Recently, the couple's fortune grew larger when they won a sizeable lawsuit against a pornographer who had created an unauthorized Stop Motion Animation movie involving the dolls in a variety of explicit sexual interactions.

The Kleinhähnchens live at 515 Manor Heights Dr. in the Bridgewood area of Forest, Va., where they are at work on a line of anatomically-correct stuffed animals to be marketed in the Ukraine.

Believe it or not, this car runs on Kool-Aid. Over twenty years ago, during the energy crisis in the late 1970's, local inventor Roy Calloway devised a carburetor that overcame evaporation problems with sugar-based fuels in gasoline engines. Needing a soluble mixture for the sugar, his experimentation led him to the popular children's drink, Kool-Aid, which he discovered to have just the right properties. Eventually, Calloway perfected the fuel mix (80% Kool-Aid and 20% methanol or ethanol) which, together with his special carburetor, provided an alternative to gasoline in gasoline-based engines. Calloway's attempt to secure a patent, however, was blocked by the major oil companies, who enlisted the help of the powerful Washington Crude Oil Lobby in eventually getting laws passed that have kept Calloway's invention from seeing the light of day...almost that is. Calloway, in defiance of a little-known federal law that forbids the operation of any motor vehicle that burns a sugar-based fuel, can frequently be seen cruising around Lynchburg in his lime-green "Kool-Aid Kar." Risking arrest each time he hits the road, Calloway has decked his car out with signs and decals that bring attention to the unfair treatment he has received at the hands of the big oil companies and the Federal Government. In fact, from various convictions through the years, Calloway has spent a total of seven years in jail; but he refuses to be silenced. According to Calloway, grape-flavored Kool-Aid provides the best mixture and results in the best mileage - 89 miles to the gallon.

In 1938, the State Of Virginia Department of Corrections solicited bids for an electric chair in an attempt to modernize. An unusual response came from local Lynchburg inventor Porter G. Dabney, who submitted for consideration an alternative, the "electric cross," an upright contraption to which the condemned was to be strapped and then administered a lethal voltage. Dabney claimed (with accompanying mathematical formulas) that his cross design was scientifically more efficient and humane than the standard run-of-the-mill electric chair. The experts tended to agree, but the electric cross was voted down by the Va. Dept. of Corrections Procurement Committee, who cited an issue with "inappropriate religious symbolism." Porter didn't give up, however, and announced an outdoor, public demonstration of the electric cross at the power house for the Lynchburg Traction and Light Company, which provided current for the town's streetcar lines. Nearly a hundred curious citizens showed up, but curiosity turned to horror at the gruesome spectacle which ensued when the device was demonstrated on a large dog (see photo left). Shamed by the public outcry which followed, Dabney abandoned his device, and turned his attention to other pursuits. The Lynchburg Traction and Light Company, site of Dabney's morbid demonstration, was located at 12th and Kemper Streets in Lynchburg, a location which is now a parking lot for the Greater Lynchburg Transit Company.

On April 28, 1910, the wife and infant daughter of Lynchburg mayor Burton Brumfield were riding in a horse-drawn carriage headed north on Fifth Street. As the carriage began the descent down Fifth St. Hill, the driver of a Model T Ford following the carriage became impatient and began squeezing the car's horn repeatedly, spooking the horse. The horse bucked, then went into a full, out-of-control gallop down the hill, eventually running off the road and between two closely-spaced trees, destroying the carriage and killing Mayor Brumfield's five-year-old daughter Daphney. The mayor's wife Delores was also seriously injured in the accident and ultimately lost the use of her arms. The Model T left the scene of the accident, and its driver was never identified. Mayor Brumfield, anguished and outraged by the tragedy, subsequently enacted an ordinance prohibiting any motorized vehicles within the Lynchburg city limits. The ordinance, which became known as the "Little Daphney Law," proved very unpopular, and soon led to the ousting of Mayor Brumfield in a failed re-election bid four years later. Brumfield was defeated by Crandall T. Sussex, who campaigned for office on a "We Want Motor Cars" platform, and whose first act as mayor was to repeal the Little Daphney Law. Two weeks later, Lynchburg saw the opening of its first automobile dealership, Seven Hills Motor Company, a partnership of none other than the new mayor himself, Crandall Sussex, and his brothers Wallace, Wendall and Walter.

Hidden away in the Shenandoah Valley, "Valleyville" is considered by many to be Central Virginia's own twist on the legendary "Area 51." Like its famous counterpart, Valleyville is an off-limits region whose only access roads are gated and guarded, whose perimeter is electronically sealed and monitored, and whose existence itself is denied by the government. Unlike Area 51, however, Valleyville serves an entirely different purpose. There are no runways at Valleyville and no top-secret aircraft being tested in the middle of the night, and there are most certainly no pieces of UFO wreckage or frozen alien corpses secreted away there. Instead, Valleyville is by all outward appearances a town...a seemingly self-contained town which for all intents and purposes is sealed off from the rest of the world. Tucked away in a nook-and-cranny of the Blue Ridge Mountains and Shenandoah Valley, there is no vantage point in Valleyville from which another town or even a road can be seen. Likewise, it is nearly impossible for the outside world to peer into Valleyville, and airspace within three miles of the town's center is restricted. Shown above is a rare photo of the town, a very fuzzy image taken several years ago with an extreme telephoto lens by a daring soul who ignored sternly-worded warning signs and who braved barbed wire to reach a distant vantage point. What is the purpose of Valleyville? There is much speculation, but the running consensus is that Valleyville is in all probability some form of international (or possibly internal) political "detainment center." A Charlottesville newspaper in 1994 hired former Navy Seal Peter McGowan to infiltrate Valleyville and uncover its secrets, but after acknowledging initial entry, radio contact was broken and McGowan was never heard from again. Efforts are ongoing to bring down the shroud of secrecy surrounding the town, but for the time being, Valleyville remains the "Town That Doesn't Exist."

A few miles south of Lynchburg in Campbell County sits a large and attractive octagonal building which is home to one of most unique churches in the world. Founded in 1977, "The Spock," as the church is called, is the world's only church of Star Trek, a religion centered on the popular 1960's television series featuring the adventures of a crew of interstellar explorers. "The Spock" promotes beliefs associated with one of the popular characters in the TV series, Mr. Spock, who was from a peace-loving race of aliens known as "Vulcans." The ideology of the church is centered on so-called Vulcan philosophy which includes the belief in pure "logic" and which emphasizes a lifestyle devoid of emotion. A huge stained-glass likeness of the church's namesake is featured in the sanctuary, where churchgoers recite sequences of dialogue from the series and participate in what they call a "Holy Mind Meld." Many church members wear stick-on pointed ears (mimicking those of the TV character) during services and at other church functions (in one case of excessive dedication to the "faith," one member attempted to have his ears surgically altered but with disastrous results, requiring extensive corrective surgery). "The Spock" is not without controversy, as reportedly in the late 1980's disagreement arose within the church over the lengths to which members should go in emulating the purely logical and emotionless Vulcan approach to life. Some members advocated a reasonable degree of emotion (citing Mr. Spock's half-human side), but a core group of hard-line members insisted on a rigid adherence to Vulcan ideology. The stricter view won out, and as a result, several members left the church and publicly denounced its practices. One resentful former member went so far as to publish a science fiction story based on his rigid and stifling upbringing in the faith, a story which concludes with the destruction of the Campbell County sanctuary by a "phaser" blast from an orbiting "starship" at his command. Despite the dissent, "The Spock" boasts a membership today of over 120, and actively campaigns for new members at area fan conventions and at Star Trek movie showings in local theatres. Leonard Nimoy, the actor who played Mr. Spock in Star Trek, has refused comment on "The Spock."

Although not actually in central Virginia, the Galax low-gravity cavern bears inclusion here for its uniqueness. In 1996, Virginia spelunkers Tim Doyle and Vaughan James were exploring unmapped areas of a cave near Galax, Virginia when they entered a chamber in which they suddenly felt light on their feet. They quickly discovered to their utter amazement that, in this chamber, they could effortlessly leave the ground merely by "pushing off," and rise high into the chamber before gently falling back to the floor. What Doyle and James had discovered was soon confirmed by government scientists to be a "gravity hole," a phenomena that had, up to that point, only been theorized by geophysicists. The gravity hole is essentially a region of reduced gravity which results from an unusually-dense mass immediately above the area, suspected in this case to involve a high concentration of the element iridium.

The Galax low-gravity cavern has since become a hotbed of controversy and dispute over ownership and intended use. A court battle currently rages between landowners wanting to create an amusement park which features the "Low-G" cavern as a centerpiece, and the federal government who has laid claim to the cavern with the intention of researching the gravity hole phenomenon further and potentially using it for astronaut training.

Pictured right, this two-story turn-of-the-century home at 209 Garnet St. in Lynchburg was once a center of local controversy. In 1996, local resident Fred Ferebee and his wife Violet placed an ad in the local newspaper seeking "an adventurous relationship" with other area couples. Successful in their quest, Fred and Violet soon formed the "Seven Hills Swingers' Club" operating out of their home. The club stirred the ire of neighbors with its late night parties, and saw numerous visits from law enforcement, who while wary of the goings-on, were powerless to put a stop to things. After about a year, interest seemed to have waned, and Fred and Violet expanded their advertising campaign to the back pages of a few national magazines and to the Internet. As the couple's ads became increasingly suggestive, the visitors to 209 Garnet St. became proportionally more unsavory. In 1998, Lynchburg Police raided the home after neighbors had reported seeing a donkey and goat being led into the dwelling under the cover of darkness. Fred and Violet were fined for violating an ordinance prohibiting livestock in the city limits, and the club was shut down. The couple left town the following year, and the new owners of 209 Garnet St., Mike and Lauren Hunter, now operate a bed and breakfast on the premises.

Several miles off of state route 130, nestled among the trees in a dense wooded area near Elon, stands one of Central Virginia's greatest mysteries, a 75 foot tall stone obelisk of unknown origin. Only from a few vantage points can the top of the mysterious monolith be viewed from a distance. Area residents, as well as archeologists from the near and far, have puzzled over the obelisk for decades since its discovery, and a photo of the tower appeared in a 1964 issue of National Geographic. Resembling a Mayan ruin in the Central Americas, the pillar is in a deteriorating state, and the wooded area around it is littered with chunks of fallen masonry, some rather sizeable. At the base of the obelisk is an apparent inscription, but there is disagreement on the language of the inscription due to its poor legibility. Although there is no scientific evidence to support their claims, some believe the stone tower to have curative powers. In 1972, the "Elon Obelisk Society" was founded by such a group, which still today numbers a few dozen members who meet regularly to discuss and speculate on the origin and purpose of the curious artifact.

An example of an architectural style inspired by Picasso's Cubist Period, the office building pictured right sits quietly and largely ignored today in downtown Lynchburg at the corner of 10th and Church Sts. Anything but quiet, however, was the controversial construction of what was known locally as "Kubrik's Cube," a building that would soon achieve international infamy as the "World's Ugliest Building." In early 1966, Houghton J. Prescott, president and founder of the now-defunct Friends of Lynchburg's Historical Architectural Integrity & Preservation Society, petitioned the Lynchburg City Council to deny a building permit to an out-of-state contractor, in an effort to, in Prescott's words, "prevent the raising of a structure so monstrous and ill-conceived, its very presence must be considered as nothing less than an assault to the sensibilities and genteel tastes of the good citizens of this fair city, and an affront to the refined and exquisite architectural heritage of Historic Downtown Lynchburg." The request was tabled pending further review, and weeks later, a building permit was quietly and routinely issued. However, soon after completion of the building, Prescott's ominous forewarning of stylistic calamity was impossible to dismiss as the "Cube" quickly became a laughing stock in architectural circles because of its bland design and wildly-garish day-glo colored squares, and it was soon was dubbed the "World's Ugliest Building" in the Architectural Digest. Belatedly outraged and embarrassed, City officials immediately filed a lawsuit against the project's chief architect, one Thornton Kubrik of Elmira, New York. In a media-fueled, circus-like atmosphere, Kubrik was found guilty of "extreme bad taste and blatant civic insult and endangerment," and was fined $100,000 and sentenced to five years in jail. In addition, the owner of the "Cube" was ordered to substantially remodel the eye-sore or face its demolition (at the builder's expense). The seemingly-harsh verdict was overturned on appeal in 1968 by an acknowledged landmark decision - the ACLU successfully arguing that architectural styles are protected as free speech under the First Amendment - and Kubrik was released to return to his practice in Elmira. The building was painted green in 1971.

When Clifford Shifflet began collecting NASCAR caps in the mid 1990's, he didn't realize that his hobby would soon evolve into the world's first NASCAR Cap Museum. Shifflet is well under way toward that goal with the collection he currently has on display at his Texaco Station on Rt. 58 just west of Martinsville. Recently moved from a temporary hat stand to a new glass display case, Shifflet's collection (seen right) is rapidly growing, and also includes a few cups and other NASCAR items purchased at the famous Martinsville Speedway. The hats have all been worn by famous drivers, and Shifflet recently held a contest in which blindfolded contestants competed to match the names of three drivers with three of the more soiled hats, relying only on their noses as a guide. Jake Freytag of South Boston drove away with the door prize (a "Remember Dale" bumper sticker and a free gallon of unleaded) after correctly matching up all three hats. Freytag won based on his knowledge of the brands of oils used by each driver, and he remarked (as quoted in the Martinsville Bulletin), "I reckon I knowed the smell of Valvoline and Quaker State before I learnt to walk." Shifflet invites other collectors to contribute to his NASCAR cap collection, and his dream is to eventually open a full-fledged museum.

UPDATE: Shifflet was contacted in early 2007 by Ridgeway resident Roy Spuckler who offered to loan for display a collection of NASCAR diapers worn by notable drivers during recent races, but Shifflet turned down the offer, noting "That Roy is a little off if you ask me. Besides, this is a cap museum. Don't want no Depends, even if Tony Stewart did wear them."

Lynchburg is home to an unusual scientific facility, a "rotational tuning" station, part of a global network of twenty-four such stations operated jointly by NASA and the U.S. Geological Survey. Each station houses three powerful F-5 rocket engines which are fired in tandem with those at all stations around the globe when it becomes necessary to make minuscule corrections in the Earth's rotational speed (angular velocity). The global array was built in the early 1970's and has been used for two corrections, the most recent firing occurring on August 16, 1988 in which a synchronized burn lasted 8 minutes and 14 seconds. Another correction was scheduled for May 2003, but was cancelled after it was deemed unnecessary. Rotational Tuning Facility #9 is just south of River Ridge Mall in Lynchburg, however, the facility is within a government restricted area and visitors are not allowed. UPDATE: Reliable sources indicate that all of the currently-operational rotational tuning stations, including #9 in Lynchburg, will in the very near future be fired for up to twenty minutes, in what one USGS official has described as a "desperate" attempt to correct the tilt on the Earth's axis and resulting rotational "wobble" induced by the 8.8 magnitude earthquake in Chile on February 27, 2010. More details will be posted when available on what will no doubt be a ground-shaking, window-rattling event for Lynchburg and the surrounding area.

Picture left is the boyhood home of Frank "Pie Face" McIntire, 1889-1963. Every baseball player playing the position of catcher is indebted to Frank McIntire, as he was the inventor of the forerunner of the modern catcher's mask. McIntire was the catcher for the 1909 Hill City Tobacconists, in a day when catchers wore no protective gear. After sustaining repeated injuries, it occurred to Frank that he could protect his face by cutting two eye-holes in a tin pie plate, then securing it over his face with leather straps. He fashioned a pie-plate mask and began wearing it regularly, thus earning the lifelong nickname "Pie Face." Soon, every catcher in the league was fashioning pie-plate masks for himself. Frank's story ended on a sad note, however. On the last day of the 1909 season, he sustained a devastating beaning from a pitch, putting him in a coma for several days. He eventually came to, but with severely impaired mental faculties, a condition requiring him to spend the rest of his days in the Lynchburg Invalid's Home and Asylum. Sadly, Frank insisted on wearing his pie-plate mask on a continuous basis for the rest of his life, refusing to take it off except for meals and Holy Communion. Ironically, a catcher on a rival team patented the catcher's mask and earned a great fortune; McIntire died penniless and is buried in an unmarked pauper's grave in the Lynchburg's City Cemetery. Frank McIntire's boyhood home is located on Bocock Rd. just north of the Little Opossum Creek bridge.

In 1882, James A. Bolzak of Lynchburg revolutionized the cigarette industry with his invention of a cigarette making machine. Within four years, Bolzak was marketing 30 million pounds of tobacco a year from his factory in Lynchburg. Bolzak's fortune would soon turn to ruin, however, when in 1890, a leak of lubricating fluid went undetected in the cigarette machinery, and thousands of contaminated cigarettes were distributed widely under Bolzak's "One-Eyed Jack" and "Brown Dick" brands before the dangerous flaw was discovered. The tainted cigarettes tended to explode with fury in the face of smokers when lit, causing hundreds of deaths and disfiguring injuries. Those cigarettes that didn't explode wreaked their own havoc in the form of serious and often-fatal lung ailments. The cigarette fiasco produced a crippling barrage of lawsuits against Bolzak, resulting in Bolzak's own personal bankruptcy as well as the ultimate demise of the cigarette factory. Despondent from the tragic turn of events, Bolzak took his own life by stepping in front of a speeding locomotive on the railroad tracks near his factory.

The building which housed James Bolzak's "United Cigarette Factory" still stands today, and is located just off of Carroll Avenue near the Norfolk Southern Railway tracks.

Ukiah Kandler was born in 1826 to Lynchburg's wealthy Kandler family. At age eighteen, he was sent to Milan to study art. There he studied the works and notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci. Ukiah became convinced that Leonardo was a prophet of God, and from the notebooks and art left behind by Leonardo, he determined that the world was going to be destroyed by flood on July 4, 1876. He returned to Lynchburg to spread the word, establishing the "Leonardos," an artist/religious commune (with some 500 followers) on what is now Treasure Island. The world didn't end on July 4, 1876, but Kandler's world came to an abrupt end the following year. That was the year of a record James River flood that swept over Treasure Island, washing away Kandler and what remained of his followers. Also lost were all of Kandler's art works, including the life-size marble sculpture of Leonardo that some at the time said rivaled the magnificence of Michelangelo's David. Kandler's remains were never recovered, nor any of his artwork. The only remaining trace on Treasure Island of Kandler and the Leonardos is the empty pedestal where the Leonardo statue once stood.

Few visitors to Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's magnificent mountain estate near Charlottesville, would ever guess that Mr. Jefferson actually spent a number of summer days in his waning years in this modest Lynchburg abode (right) which he dubbed "Chestnut Grove," located at what is now 4714 Polk Street. After his presidency ended in 1809, Jefferson wanted nothing more than to spend his retirement in quiet respite at his beloved Monticello. However, he soon found himself overwhelmed there with unwanted visits from friends, distant relatives, political office-seekers, interviewers, portrait artists and the like. Seeking escape, Jefferson first built Poplar Forest, an architectural gem in its own right, as a summer retreat in Forest, Va. But, the hoard of well-wishers soon followed. As a final attempt to find solitude, Jefferson secretly built Chestnut Grove, this modest nondescript frame house in Lynchburg, and with the desired results. It wasn't until many years and three owners later that neighbors learned the real identities of the reclusive couple they knew simply as "Mr. Tom" and "Miss Sally."

Most Lynchburg residents are aware of the highly-publicized political organization that was once based here, Jerry Falwell's "Moral Majority." Few are aware, however, of another political organization that was founded in Lynchburg, an unusual group which reportedly once boasted 200,000 members. The "Southern Liberal Confederation," as it is called, promoted an unusual mix of offbeat views with a "southern heritage" theme. The Southern Liberal Confederation was founded in 1980 by Lynchburg resident Ted Cumby, who claimed that by 1988 the group's ranks had swollen to over 200,000 members across the South. The SLC was strictly an underground operation until 1996, when Cumby conducted an unsuccessful candidacy for Lynchburg City Council. Making no public appearances, Cumby's campaign relied instead on a local media blitz with videotaped ads in which Cumby (seen left) angrily denounced "the North" with statements such as "We are disillusioned by the growing right wing during the Reagan years, the continued acts of Northern aggression against the Southland and the continued de-funding of our Southern culture and heritage. We particularly resent the overall Northern mind set that Southerners are stupid, and we are determined to consolidate all Southern liberals into a single political force to resist this growing menace and its infiltration of Southern politics."

In addition to demanding the halting of garbage and waste shipments from Northern states into Virginia and other Southern states, Cumby also advocated that the government "suspend tax exemptions from businesses masquerading as churches," "halt the removal of historic Southern symbols, statues, and artifacts from public display," "ban trigger-locks," "lower the legal age of consent," "require unattractive people to wear more clothing," "relax immigration laws, except those pertaining to Northern Europeans," "raise speed limits on residential streets," "allow for the formation of a Southern economic trading block" and "lift restrictions on public breast-feeding." Cumby also called for adding an extra thirty seconds to the mandatory "moment of silence" in Virginia public schools.

Lynchburg voters soundly rejected the bizarre assemblage of views in the SLC platform and gave Cumby less than one percent of the vote. Cumby delivered a bitter concession speech (again by videocassette) in which he vowed "Lynchburg and the nation hasn't seen the last of the Southern Liberal Confederation. Northern tyranny will fall, and the South will rise again. More importantly, all Americans will eventually realize that drug abuse is a medical, and not a criminal problem." Following his unsuccessful bid for city council, Cumby retreated to his mountain abode where he continues to live, coordinating the efforts of the Southern Liberal Confederation through his high-speed satellite Internet connection.

(There is no affiliation between this web site and the SLC)

It came from out of nowhere on the night of June 12, 1886, missing the newly-dedicated Court House by only fifty yards, landing in an adjacent vacant lot. The violent impact woke up the whole town, and left a crater approximately 25 feet deep. In the weeks that followed, the 19-ton meteorite was excavated (see photo, left) and moved to its current location on the East bank of the James River at the foot of Ninth Street. In 1912, The Daughters of the American Revolution attached a plaque to the heavenly body, marking the site of John Lynch's Ferry and Lynchburg's first house.

Some see a rock with typical geological features, but others claim to see a divine image in this rock wall on the Blue Ridge Parkway near the Thunder Ridge Overlook. Specifically, some claim to see the image of a "Weeping Jesus," and the most extreme claims include the presence of flowing tears (although no such phenomenon has ever been documented). It should be noted that the shadows which form the "image" in the rock are best viewed in mid-morning lighting conditions. The "Weeping Jesus" Rock is just off the Parkway at mile marker 73.

UPDATE: On February 12th, 2007, Troutville resident Phyllis Quigby signed a sworn affidavit in the Botetourt County Magistrate's office, stating that three days earlier, she had witnessed the image on the Weeping Jesus Rock "sobbing uncontrollably." She further asserted that the only possible explanation for what she observed was that this was the day that Anna Nicole Smith had died. Quigby says she plans to return to the site in 2008 on the same day, but with a digital camera in hand.

Most everyone knows of Subway spokesman Jared and his amazing weight-loss success on a diet of Subway sub sandwiches. Relatively few, however, know the saga of the late Norman Tubb and his "diet" of Bigsbie Super Subs. The "Bigsbie" sub sandwich was the brainchild of the owner of Ray's Market in Altavista, Ray Buncombe, who wanted to spur a backlash to the Subway thin-is-better craze by promoting the concept of "hearty eating" and high fat content (the Bigsbie foot-long boasted 53 grams). Buncombe began a regional ad campaign featuring local man Norman Tubb (seen in the publicity photo shown right), a regular customer who was once a scrawny 160-pounder, but who had gained well over a hundred pounds eating submarine sandwiches prepared at Ray's Market. Response was positive, and within a few months, Buncombe had sold Bigsbie Super Subs franchises to several convenience stores throughout Central Virginia. The campaign went sour, however, when spokesman Norman died at Ray's Market during a brawl with Buncombe, who had become angry with Tubb for his personal habits involving a daily, prodigious use of the restroom adjacent to the store's dining area. As a result of a legal technicality, Buncombe was cleared in the incident, but the negative publicity, as well as a lawsuit from Tubb's family, forced Buncombe to discontinue the Bigsbie Super Subs line and to dissolve his franchise agreements. Buncombe still operates Ray's Market in Altavista.

Mark Twain once spent the night at the Robert Hochstetter Burkhalter House, located on the west corner of Madison and B Streets. Twain was in town to testify in a lawsuit filed against him by a local author named Horace J. Boggs. The 1885 civil suit alleged that, "Twain had wantonly and with malice misappropriated the Intellectual Property of Mr. Boggs," using Boggs' 1883 self-published novel, The Tragedy of Strawberry O'Finley, as a blueprint for his own novel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

In Boggs' 1142-page novel, Strawberry O'Finley is an eight-year-old girl who runs away from home with her talking pet parrot. Strawberry escapes her abusive step-mother by stealing a batteau and poling it down the James River all the way from Lynchburg to the Atlantic Ocean, and then on to South America, where she meets an untimely and graphic death in the nest of a family of crocodiles. The parrot escapes and flies back to Lynchburg to recount the tragedy.

In a newspaper account of the trial, Judge R.J. Kennsington asked Twain if he had ever read Strawberry O'Finley, to which Twain replied "Yes, your honor, I read it just last night, in my room, and for the first time." The judge then asked Twain for an opinion, to which Twain responded, "With all due respect to Mr. Boggs there, to my way of thinking, little Miss O'Finley didn't meet up with those crocodiles quite soon enough!" Twain's humorous response brought a roar from the courtroom onlookers, and Judge Kennsington dismissed the lawsuit as "unfortunate and frivolous," concluding the trial in under twelve minutes. According to the newspaper account, Mark Twain then adjourned to the Piedmont Club with a group of gentlemen well-wishers, where he enjoyed billiards, cigars, strong cider and good cheer well into the night, finally catching the midnight train back to his home in Hartford, Connecticut.

Nearly every area resident is familiar with "Poplar Forest," Thomas Jefferson's retreat in Forest, Virginia (and if you have visited this web page before, you also know about "Chestnut Grove," Jefferson's "home away from home away from home"). During his many visits to the area to oversee construction of Poplar Forest, Jefferson would frequently stay overnight at the Western Hotel in Lynchburg, located on present-day Fifth Street. On one particular visit, shortly after having returned from Paris and his five-year appointment as Minister to France, Jefferson surprised the staff and guests of the Western Hotel when he offered one morning to prepare a breakfast for all featuring an element of French cuisine previously unknown in America...the dish we know today as "French Toast." So enamored with the dish was the chef that he immediately added it to the hotel's regular fare, and word quickly spread throughout the States of Jefferson's culinary discovery. "Mr. Jefferson's Breakfast," as it came to be known, quickly became the most popular item on the breakfast menu at the Western Hotel. On display at Monticello is a printed menu from hotel which lists the breakfast as including "two lightly sugared wedges of French Toast, sliced tomatoes, and a flute of champagne." Also, in honor of Jefferson's discovery and contribution to American breakfast fare, the Charlottesville Shoney's features "T.J.'s Toast" on its breakfast menu.

Note: An unfounded rumor has circulated for years that Jefferson also passed on a recipe for "Old Style Pepperoni Pizza" to the same chef at the Western Hotel, but this remains absolutely unsubstantiated and is refuted by Jefferson scholars.

Whoever heard of Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles in Central Virginia? Well folks, believe it or not, during the Cold War, there were many more actual ICBM sites than were known to the general public, and they were not confined to the geographic areas normally associated with such sites, these being the higher latitude mid-west locations. Several were located along America's eastern seaboard, including this now-abandoned site just east of Tobacco Row Mountain in Amherst County. Nearby residents became acutely aware of the site's existence on the evening of October 19, 1962, when a warhead-carrying missile was inadvertently launched. Fortunately, the U.S. military managed to destroy the missile by remote signal over the North Atlantic. Two decades later, the warhead was recovered from the ocean floor using a robotic submersible.

Pictured above left are some of the signs one will find on the perimeter of the Tobacco Row ICBM silo site, which itself is overgrown and accessible only on foot. Also pictured to the right is a rare look down the single silo at the site.

In the summer of 1939, a cash-strapped Babe Ruth, who had recently retired from Major League Baseball, was barnstorming the country with his "Bustin' Babes All-Stars" team. Ruth's team played the Lynchburg Cardinals in an exhibition game at City Stadium, and the Babe himself came up to bat in the top of the first inning. Ruth promptly hit a home run of Homeric proportions, a grand slam effort off of Lefty Drbosky, and one much to the delight of the reported crowd of over 5000 in attendance at City Stadium. The Babe, who was reportedly staggering and presumably hung over, sent the first pitch from the hapless Drbosky soaring over the right-field fence, over Wythe Road, over the brick wall of Spring Hill Cemetery, and well into the heart of the graveyard, where it landed and bounced into the in-progress graveside service of Miss Lillian Dunwoody (the ball actually struck the headstone of the neighboring James Bulloch grave, pictured left). The home run ball was promptly snatched up by Miss Dunwoody's grand-nephew, Cornwall, who subsequently refused repeated requests to donate the ball to the City of Lynchburg for museum display. The Ruthian clout was later measured at an astounding 812 feet. Much to the disappointment of the assembled crowd, it was Ruth's only swing and only plate appearance of the day, as he promptly fell asleep in the dugout after completing his home run trot. Despite Ruth's absence from the remainder of the game, the "Bustin' Babes" went on to deliver a 21-1 drubbing to the Lynchburg Cardinals. In 1989, the family of Cornwall Dunwoody donated the Babe Ruth home run ball to the Lynchburg Museum where it is on display.

The seventeen-story Allied Arts Building has been a downtown Lynchburg landmark and source of civic pride for over seventy years, but the controversy surrounding its construction has been largely forgotten. Joseph J. Oppenmeyer, a newly-transplanted European diamond mogul, commissioned the building's design and construction in 1929. The final design, unbelievable by today's sensibilities, did not include an elevator. Construction had been steadily progressing for three years and was only two weeks from completion and a much-anticipated July 4th, 1931 grand opening, when the Federal Land and Buildings Commission passed a national ordinance that required any building over four stories tall to include an elevator. The Elevator Ordinance, as it was later referred to, infuriated the cash-strapped Oppenmeyer, who was badly in need of tenant income, as his fortune had been in slow but sure decline since the onset of the Depression. No amount of last-minute political lobbying in Washington D.C. could secure a grandfather clause for the Oppenmeyer Tower, which stood on June 30th completed but empty, lacking an all-important occupancy permit. On the first day of July 1931, in total dismay and disgust over the situation, Oppenmeyer publicly vowed to hurl himself nude from the building's pinnacle at noon on the rapidly-approaching July 4th holiday. His demise was averted, however, mid-morning of the 4th, when it was announced to the gathered crowd of newspaper reporters and curious onlookers, that the Allied Arts Group, an out-of-state consortium of silent investors, had agreed to buy the Tower (for pennies on the dollar, however). The Allied Arts Building officially opened six months later with a new name and a newly-retrofitted elevator. Ironically, Joseph Oppenmeyer, forced into bankruptcy in the meantime, spent the remaining five years of his life as an employee of the Allied Arts Group - operating the elevator.

Discovered in 1998 by local hikers, this unique geologic formation a few miles from Humpback Rocks on the Blue Ridge Parkway is one of the original inspirations for the Little-Known Attractions web site. During an off-trail hike which took them to the ledge of a modest cliff, Jim Jamerson, Ed Childs and his wife Katie discovered a hole in the ground which they initially believed to be a cave entrance. As it turned out, it was a passage which led them to a portal in the face of the cliff. Hiking to the bottom of the cliff, the group discovered that the cliff face featured several similar holes resembling knots in a tree, and they unofficially named the site "Knotted Rock Cliff." (Katie hiked back to the top and into the one passage they had discovered to pose for the photograph shown to the left). Although several "knots" adorn the cliff face, the group could not locate passages to any of the other portals. The formation was unusual enough, but the group also discovered a series of carvings in the portal (shown right), along with what they believed to be arrowheads. Intending to re-explore this site on a future hike, the group marked their path out with cloth strips tied to tree limbs, however, subsequent attempted trips to the site have failed to re-locate it. Anyone having additional info about this formation (including specific directions to it from Humpback Rocks) is invited to share this information using the comment/feedback link at the bottom of this page.

During the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, the Air Force deployed a variety of aircraft at various civilian airfields across the country in preparation for an invasion of Cuba. In Lynchburg, several airplanes were briefly stationed at Falwell Airfield just outside of the city limits. The airplanes flew out after the crisis subsided, heading back for their home air bases, however, one B-29 (shown right) developed engine trouble and had to return to the airfield. During repairs, major structural problems were discovered with the aging airplane, requiring it to be permanently grounded. The Air Force had no choice but to disassemble the plane and truck it out piecemeal. During this process, amidst great secrecy, certain objects which had been on board the B-29 were secretly moved to the Lynchburg City Armory for safekeeping, with plans to later remove these items from Lynchburg by convoy. However, due to an oversight involving lost paperwork (and partly due to the secrecy which prevailed during this situation), the items in storage were forgotten. Sixteen years later (in 1978), following a public event at the Armory, a worker stumbled across two cylindrical metal objects in storage and immediately assumed them to be pressurized soft drink containers. The worker retrieved the items and placed them along with several such containers for pickup. A few days later, the containers were picked up and returned to the Pepsi Bottling Company on Mayflower Drive, and later that day, the containers made their way into the automated refilling machinery at the bottling plant. It wasn't until the machinery jammed on one of cylinders that an employee noticed something was different about that container and another just like it. What had been assumed to be soft drink containers were in fact not soft drink containers at all, and were instead inscribed with military markings. The government was notified, and a shroud of secrecy immediately descended on the situation. It has never been determined with certainty what those two objects actually were, but one of the eyewitnesses who observed the markings on the containers (an employee of the bottling company who had served in the Army Air Corps during World War II) contended until the day he died that the objects had in fact been...two Mark IV atomic bombs.

Just south of Rustburg in the East Orthodox Church Cemetery off of Rt. 501 is the grave of one of the area's most notable and controversial residents, the Madame Vilma Kletoráska. "The Madame," as she was known in the town, came to America from Hungary in 1863 with her father, General Zoltán Kletoráska, a military advisor to Civil War general Jubal Early. As her father fought beside General Early in the Wilderness Campaign, Madame Kletoráska rapidly gained attention as a fortune teller and medium, operating out of the Fontaine Hotel in Rustburg. In 1867, after General Kletoráska died on the battlefield, the Madame elected to remain in America, and to continue offering "spiritual guidance" to an ever-increasing number of hotel visitors.

Within a few years, the Madame's operation had become so profitable that she was able to buy the Fontaine Hotel, which she renamed "Fürd Hely," reportedly in honor of an ancestor. Seldom was Fürd Hely not filled to capacity, but despite the additional business this also brought other Rustburg merchants, the townspeople were growing wary of the Madame. Although out-of-town visitors praised the Madame for her services, local residents seeking guidance routinely came away disappointed. Many became suspicious of the fact that the staff of Fürd Hely was all-female, as well as that nearly all of the out-of-town customers were men. The burning question in Rustburg became, was Madame Kletoráska perhaps a fraud, and was her fortune telling business/hotel a front for a brothel? Despite numerous investigations over the years, no evidence of wrong-doing was ever uncovered.

On December 2, 1921, as Madame Kletoráska lay on her deathbed, she uttered what many believe was a final message from the beyond, a cryptic phrase which remains unexplained to this day. In a delirium, the Madame repeated the words "Old, the Mao, let her son yawn, Ed must hurt," over and over for several hours before finally expiring that evening. With the passing of the Madame, Fürd Hely closed its doors, the stream of visitors to Rustburg ceased, and many in the town privately breathed a sigh of relief. Fürd Hely was demolished in 1932, and the former hotel site is today home to a popular fast food establishment.

Long before the annual Virginia Ten Miler road race began attracting world-class runners to Lynchburg, Oscar Martin, an early pioneer in fitness running, organized the first (and only) Seven Hills of Lynchburg Marathon. Martin, the track and field coach at the local high school, set up the 26.2 mile loop to encompass all seven of Lynchburg's historic Hill Districts (Garland, Daniels, College, Federal, Diamond, Franklin, and White Rock). The 1936 event boasted a field of 42 participants, including three of Martin's students. The winner of the grueling event, in a time of 2:42, was none other than Jimmy Owens, the twin brother of Jesse Owens. For his efforts, Jimmy won $100 and a key to the city. Unfortunately, Jimmy pulled a hamstring in the final yards of the race and was unable to compete along side his famous brother in the Olympic games in Berlin later that summer. A bust of Jimmy Owens stands today in Miller Park at the Park Avenue entrance, marking the start and finish line of what to this day remains Lynchburg's only marathon.

The "Mullet" haircut is the rage these days, and the Pinehurst Mulleted Naturists Retreat in Appomattox County offers a resort with instant appeal to mulleted nudists/naturists looking for Bed & Breakfast accommodation with the option of all meals and all of the comforts of home. This privately-owned wooded retreat is situated on 20 acres bordering the Buckingham-Appomattox State Forest. With no close neighbors or passing road traffic, the retreat is totally private and is the ideal place for clothing-optional relaxation. Once each year in August, the Pinehurst Group stages a Mulleted Naturists Pride Walk through the town of Appomattox. UPDATE: In response to a lawsuit filed by the National Nudist Association charging discrimination, the Pinehurst Group has begun offering clip-on mullets at the retreat's entrance gate.

Some say Frank and Ethel Richards are crazy. Others praise the Bedford County couple for their kind generosity in allowing the public to pick apples free of charge at their fifteen-acre orchard. To the right is the promotional photo which is seen posted in churches, stores and many other locations all over the county. "Free Pickins" Orchard is located two miles east of Bedford on Rt. 122 at Lone Jack Road. Parking is available in the Antioch Baptist Church parking lot. The only requirement is that you must bring your own bushel baskets, and you are asked to take and listen to one of the complimentary audio cassettes found at the entrance, featuring recordings of the Richards performing original Gospel tunes on flute and didjeridu.

You've now read about Lynchburg's Little-Known Attractions, and probably wondered how to find some of the more obscure sites, or wondered how you will have time to visit them all. It will probably come as good news that the Blue Ridge Bus Service is now offering a weekly "Lynchburg Alternate Reality Tour" departing each Saturday morning at 9 AM. The tour sticks close to town and doesn't take in all of the above-described attractions, but does cover the bases fairly well, stopping at several locations for photo opportunities, and driving by others. Tickets are available in advance, and you may also order coffee mugs or T-shirts (L and XL sizes only). Climb on board, enjoy the ride, see Lynchburg's Little-Known Attractions first hand and learn more about the unique and unusual alternate reality at our very doorstep.