This is a story about two men from the same town in North Carolina: Lexington.
It appeared in Luxe Beat Magazine in January, 2015: Tale-of-Two-Men-Richard-Childress-and-Bob-Timberlake
Please use this link to read the article: http://luxebeatmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Tale-of-Two-Men-Richard-Childress-and-Bob-Timberlake.pdf
I can’t think of a more perfect name for a castle than Gimghoul. The word just sounds eerie and mysterious. And, as it turns out, so is the place.
When researching a trip to Chapel Hill, NC, I unearthed an intriguing legend about Gimghoul Castle. Back in 1883, Peter Dromgoole (again, I’m crazy about the name), an 18-year-old student vanished. The rival for his love supposedly killed him in a duel and then tried to hide and bury his body under a large stone. Strange bloody red splatters appeared on the rock, staining it.
The next day beloved Fanny came looking for Peter, but Dromgoole had disappeared. All that remains is the reddish rock. Some say his ghost haunts the property, or is it Fanny?
Believe what you want; Gimghoul Castle was built on the site of the boulder, near the university campus. Completed in 1926, tax records reveal it is owned by a secret society: none other than The Order of Gimghoul. The fraternity-like group was founded in 1889, based on the legend of Dromgoole and the ideals of medieval times, similar to the Knights of the Round Table.
On my visit to the Tar Heel state, my curiosity was up. I had to find the foreboding estate.
I drove over to Gimghoul Road, a neighborhood street lined with two-story colonial homes and picture-perfect yards looking like they were maintained by gardeners. I stopped a lady trimming her bushes and asked for directions. She told me, “You’re almost there. Keep on going when the road narrows and turns to gravel. The castle will be on your right; you can’t miss it.”
And, sure enough, the street dwindled to a rocky path, bordered by overgrown hedges and ivy. The Norman-looking structure appeared, the top of its round tower shining in the sunlight. Small Rapunzel-like windows dotted the column. Ominous “No Trespassing” signs surrounded the grounds of the brown stone masonry mansion.
Instantly, my mind conjured up images of local kids daring one another to ring the doorbell or run around the fortress. I bet you don’t find many trick-or-treating there.
Being by myself, I certainly didn’t want to stir up any ghosts or Gimghoul members. I approached the property’s edge and set my camera on a tripod. As I shot these photos, I noticed a car semi-hidden in the driveway, but no other signs of occupancy.
I returned home more curious than ever and turned up a listing on the International Registry of Castles and another with the NC Historical Society. A prior investigator uncovered the Order’s records in the UNC Wilson Library. Some, interestingly enough, have restricted access. Those materials include a few past membership lists naming prominent students, professors and noted alumni as part of the group. Today, most believe the fraternity initiates ten male juniors a year.
But, keeping mum is what secret societies are all about, and like good mysteries, no one is talking, not even the ghosts.
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This article appeared in AutomotiveTraveler.com
I was going to Carolina in more than my mind. I was on a plane for Raleigh Durham. Destination — Chapel Hill: home to the University of North Carolina Tar Heels and the boyhood stomping grounds of James Taylor.
“Who?” my daughter asks.
“You know, the guy who wrote and sang “Sweet Baby James,” “Fire and Rain,” and of course, “Going to Carolina,” I tell her.
“No,” she replies.
“Well, you should,” I say.
Too bad she wasn’t able to come along and tour the Chapel Hill Museum. I made the effort specifically to view the new exhibition: The James Taylor Story.
Chapel Hill shouts college town: collegiate shops bulging with logo paraphernalia, pizza, pita and burrito restaurants catering to big appetites and small wallets, and The Library, a place you can tell Mom you went last night, omitting the fact that it’s a bar.
The museum resides in an old house, a few blocks down Franklin Street, from its intersection with Columbia. That area, known as “top of the hill” is a spot that burns brightly in the hearts of UNC fans. Students congregate there, lighting bonfires whenever the Tarheels beat arch rival, Duke.
Nestled in this manicured garden community is the little museum featuring the Taylor display. While it only encompasses one corner, for baby boomers, it’s well worth an hour’s time.
The collection includes family photos, old report cards, childhood artwork like James’ self-portrait as a football player and a slew of album covers. Behind glass sits Taylor’s Rock and Roll Hall of Fame trophy, a Grammy award and a copy of a March, 1971 Time magazine with his face on the cover. Taylor says in a documentary, “being chosen for that cover was like winning the lottery.”
The best part is the Taylor theater; if you can call a few movie seats in front of a flat screen TV a theater. Here, one can choose from a vast collection of JT documentaries and taped concerts. I watched his interview on 60 minutes, 20/20 and Inside North Carolina.
Depression hit Taylor in his teens and drew him to heroin. He claims he should be dead, but was rescued. In one of the videos he said he has “an easier time singing about life, then living it.” Despite those early troubles, Taylor appears happy, a blessed fellow.
To me, he seems like a bottle of fine wine created with superior ingredients: a strong and clear voice, skilled fingers to master the acoustic guitar and the ability to search his soul and pour lyrics from his heart. He was crushed, but his juicy pulp fermented and gave rise to a winning blend. He mellowed on the shelf, twisted and turned until aged to perfection.
His voice remains easy, his ballads ring true. Little has changed over the decades, except his hairline. With James Taylor, you’ve got a friend.
www.chapelhillmuseum.org
523 Franklin Street
Chapel Hill, NC
919 967-1400