This weekend I stayed at the Craddock Terry Hotel in downtown Lynchburg, Virginia.
On Saturday evening, I had been at Old City Cemetery, signing Haunted Virginia Cemeteries during their Candlelight Tours. The afternoon light was gold and slow, filtering through the trees, and among the crowd I saw the doppelgänger of my friend, Susan, who passed away years ago. The resemblance stopped me cold. Was this her niece or some cousin I had not known? Later, when I arrived at the hotel and saw the walls lined with shoes—an aesthetic my friend would have adored—I couldn’t help but feel that it was a sign, a small message from the other world, something only the heart would recognize as real.
Everywhere you look, shoes! There are tiny sculptures, framed sketches, lamps shaped like heels. The theme is everywhere, and it makes the place feel like a living museum of its own story. The hotel even serves a complimentary breakfast in a little shoe polish box, a clever thematic touch that somehow felt cozy.
Sitting in my room, it felt both charming and otherworldly, the kind of space where history doesn’t rest quietly but leans into whisper. That evening, I finished reading When We Spoke to the Dead by Ilise S. Carter in Room 309. As the subtitle reads, “How ghosts gave American women their voices.” One description reads “Ghosts spoke. Women listened. Everything changed. It began with whispers in a dimly lit room.” It felt like the right book to be reading in that moment, in that place, surrounded by echoes of work, art, and spirit.
While sitting outside on Sunday morning, I appreciated all the feelings of fall. Leaves were scattered across the small café table where I had set up my to-go mug of coffee. The air had that crisp edge that makes you want to breathe a little deeper. Above me the sky was a soft blue, and in the distance, I could see the mountains. I couldn’t see the river from where I was seated, but I knew the James was just behind the building. There was even a Virginia Love sign nearby shaped like a shoe, a perfect nod to the hotel’s past life as a shoe factory. I went over to see if I could get a picture since I was still thinking about Susan.
There’s a historical sign outside the hotel for Lucile Barrow “Cile” Turner, an American folk singer who gained national attention after appearing on the Craddock Shoe Company’s weekly radio program on NBC. She promoted Black folk music through her performances and recordings, treating it with rare respect for her time. Turner was born in 1895, and though she came from a white, affluent family, she devoted her life to preserving and performing African American spirituals, work songs, and lullabies she learned directly from the people who sang them. Her manner was genuine and warm, and audiences across race and region embraced her for it.
She died in 1979 at Old Elkton Farm and was buried at Spring Hill Cemetery. A quick search shared that her name appears on the Wall of Honor at the Virginia Women’s Monument in Richmond, a reminder of how deeply one person’s voice can shape the story of a place. I’ll go seek out her name later this month.
Before my book signing event on Sunday, I headed to Spring Hill to see if I could find and visit her grave. She’s in section XC and thankfully that cemetery is well marked. I found her grave within fifteen minutes. There are some songs called “Going Down to Lynchburg Town” and simply “Lynchburg” that I could have played in the cemetery. Instead, I listened to her version of Crap Shootin’ Sinner while at her grave. I’m sure if would have been seen as somewhat inappropriate had someone walked up and heard the tune. But to me, the music lingered like a ghost of the radio waves she once filled. This was her town.
It was nice having a cemetery adventure and learning more about a person and a place that I recently visited. Cemeteries are filled with stories. When we take time to listen, we can hear the music of history all around us.
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