History, interrupted in Calico Rock.

The approach northbound into Calico Rock on Highway 5 is one of the prettiest sights you'll see, especially when
the leaves are just starting to turn. The highway parallels a cliff face on the White River for nearly a mile before swinging due north and crossing into town on a high bridge.

There's a rail crossing right as you come off the bridge -- and then Calico Rock's commercial district sprays out in front of you, a canyon of progress impossible to ignore.

But if you take a right when you pass over that crossing, or even at the next block, you can travel a whole 75 years or more back into the past.

No time hole here. Calico Rock isn't keeping this secret. It has a very unique standing. It's the only place in America
where you can find a real ghost town, inside of a living town. Anywhere.

The town was named for that cliff face -- it was all sorts of different colors, so it was named Calico Rock, just like a calico cat. Back in the 19th century this was another port on the White River with its own ferry.

And what a port. Fellows would come down from the hills or up from the Delta or in on a riverboat and have a time for themselves in Peppersauce Alley. The street grew a musty reputation for all the drunken brawls and debauchery over the years.

Just across Calico Creek, businesses flourished. A blacksmith shoed horses just over the bridge, and the city jail was across Walnut Street. A saw and grist mill and a cotton gin brought business to the area. Then the railroad came to town in 1903, and another burst of life came in.

As the years passed, businesses came and went. There was the grocery store and a barber shop and a theater. Competing car dealerships went up, with the Chevy dealership over on Rand Hill and the Ford place over on Rowden. Manufacturing was a big deal in the early years of the 20th century, and lumber came in big. There was a planing plant over off east Walnut, and the Hayes Brothers had a flooring place half a block away. And business was good.

But somehow, this little section of town was forgotten. Main Street stayed busy, but the town grew up to the west and north, and eventually a six or eight block area of town died off.

In many towns, developers would have loved a chance to seize onto the cheap, abandoned property -- level everything and start over again. But that's not the case in Calico Rock.

A group of citizens who called themselves CORE (for Calico Rock Organization for Revitalization Efforts) got together and decided this part of town needed saving. After all, how many ghost towns are in walking distance of where you're at?

It's not an easy project, but it is unique. Unlike many preserved areas, where homes and businesses are restored to their original glory -- Calico Rock is simply preserving what's there. That means don't expect to see windows reset in the frames at the funeral home, or weed-eating around the dead forklifts at the old flooring plant. This is how it is, and this is how it will stay.

My traveling companion and I went up on a moderately warm November afternoon to find out more about the ghost town. Outside of a few mentions here and there on the web, there's not much information. Sometimes you're just better off experiencing a place with your feet.

And that's what we did.

In broad daylight, the only ghosts you have to contend with are the ones in your own head. And the only visitors we had to contend with were the few teenagers who swiped past in their cars, using the bridge and Walnut Street as a shortcut to wherever more important place they were headed.

We started at the intersection of Caldwell and Walnut, figuring why not start in the middle. While he took off towards the bridge, I wandered up to the old funeral parlor, which seemed to be mostly intact. A large gathering of vines had congregated along the top corner of the old building, but I could peer
underneath and see straight in what had been the window on the front door. Age seems to have disturbed the interior contents, but there appeared to be a good number of original contents inside, including what appeared to be a table saw of some sort. Considering this was a funeral home, I didn't want to think too much of that.

The old ice house and electrical plant was just north of this building, and the facing on the building appeared to be intact.

On the northwest corner of Caldwell and Walnut, there's a big boarded-up two story building. At one point this was the Knowles Grocery Store, and also a dealership for International Harvester. The building appears to be in good repair, but it too stands silent here.

Next door, there's not much left of the old Ozark Theater but the foundation. Then there's the old barber shop, which appears to have been converted into a home. Someone apparently lives here today, as evidenced by the uncracked window panes, curtains, and fresh American flag. A dog barked insistantly in the distance as we passed.






The old pool hall and hotel is nothing more than an empty shell today. Saplings grow inside, the only signs of life in what was once a large crashing space for workers and travelers.
Some of the old windows and doorways have been bricked over, but the other openings reveal little of what was once inside.

The lot for the old Chevy dealership is grown up with weeds. Not much left to gaze at, except the still used intersection with Rand Hill Road.

But just down from that is the old City Jail - a unique site, for sure. This cell was built to last - and provided all the amenities a prisoner could ask for at that time. After all this time, I was surprised to see the heavy steel
bar door still hanging on its rusty hinges, the unbroken stone interior, the narrow window that allowed light and air into the cell, and the primitive urinal fashioned into the wall. You can still clearly read the sign that states "$5 Fine for Talking to Prisoners" next to the door, outlined with the only grafitti I noticed on the building. The city has done a good job of keeping vandals out, and the little building is well preserved.

We crossed the single lane bridge across Calico Creek on our way to Peppersauce Alley. The bridge bounces noticeably when cars or even people pass over, but it's a strong steel deck over a narrow crossing.
Looking south, we could see the old wooden rail trestle about a block away.

The buildings that line the west side of Peppersauce Alley also face Main Street. Being on a hillside, there are three floors on this side,
and you can see where additions and renovations have been made over the years. The old stone structures are still in good shape, but allowances have been made for replacing windows and doorways and adding insulation. If you squint your eyes, you can see how the buildings must have looked a century ago.

I wonder what it sounded like, when gangs of riverboatmen stumbled out of doorfronts on loud nights, rumbling and rowdy and looking for a good time. What songs were they singing? Did they head back to the boats or further into town to find a good place to flop?

The old line leading to the abandoned trestle is still there... bypassed at the switch but still snaking out to the old bridge quietly on its own. We walked up to the old line and took a few pictures.

Though the bridge deck seems to have taken its share of weather abuse, the strong oiled timbers below are still performing their duties, a row of angled sentinels holding up a long silent railbed on its way to the also silent planing plant. I considered crossing it on foot, but a couple of loose ties convinced me that, though the fall wouldn't be far, a breakthrough wouldn't be the smartest idea for the day.

Back along Walnut Street on the other side of the bridge, there's an old propane store, and then another of the former grocery stores. I don't know when Batesville Wholesale Grocery was in business, but I wonder if it competed with Knowles Grocery at all, or if Knowles had started selling farm equipment
by then. The dog food advertisement on the window appears to be freshly painted, or at least well preserved.

Across from the old theater, there's a smaller building that the map tells me used to be Suzy Johnson's Cafe. Perhaps this was where the guys at the flooring plant went for lunch, grabbing a sandwich and a soda before returning to the machine shops.

The folks at the Chamber of Commerce told me the ghost town had been used during Halloween for tours and a night-time haunted history romp. But the old plant on the south side of Walnut Street just seemed quiet, in the way open spaces seem to hum with summer's heat. Yet there was a chill in the air from the November wind.

Inside the yard of the old flooring plant, a forklift sat, just like it must have when it was parked for the last time. The tires had rotted, but the old vehicle stood like a guard for the rest of the empty yard.

To the right, an empty warehouse echoed with the "chit chit" of nesting birds. The wide-open doors revealed an expanse of concrete slab and dusty warped boards and old pallets. An abandoned trailer could be seen through the corresponding doors on the other side.

To the left, old steel and wood buildings hadn't fared as well as the concrete block warehouse. Prudence told me I shouldn't venture too close to peer at the old tin roofed structure. Beyond it I could see the roofs of other warehouses on the old site.

Another doorway to the right draped in vines revealed an old machine shop. The ground was squishy underfoot, and I wondered if the vines bloomed in the spring. They'd make a neat photo-op.

Inside, much of the old heavy machinery remains, coated in dust and rust. Pipes hang down from the ceiling, absent their connections from long ago. Old motor assemblies hunker down on the sides of the old cast iron and steel beheamoths, their purpose lost to time.

Outside, the old belt line that hauled scraps to the incinerator still loom overhead. In places, the metal has come loose, dangling like pears to be picked from the line. Everything outside is coated in the protective shield of years of rust.


The old incinerator tower is beginning to buckle after all these years, but its coppery clad base still retains its conical shape.
On top, if you can get to the right angle, you can still see the steel mesh dome cage that topped the structure. It reminded me of a giant salt shaker.

Back further, there's what must have once been a workshop, with a big smokestack next door. But it is covered in overgrowth and hard to get to. The smokestack stands taller than the incinerator tower and still looks sturdy.

Knowing that we had a three hour trip home, we went ahead and headed back to the car. We studied the remnants of what had been another location for the Chevy dealership, and marveled at the old stone. Whether there had been another building material in play or someone had harvested the stone, we didn't know.

Around the corner, at Walnut and Rowden, there's an old intact house. The home was built around the turn of the 19th/20th century, and needs a paint job, but it isn't a far stretch to think about how it would look with a little work.

We decided to head back up to Peppersauce Alley and see if we could see the river. There we found an unusual crossing under the tracks. I guess that makes sense -- since the main line is right on the edge of the top of the bank. There's enough space for one car to pass at a time under the trestle, but you have
to honk to alert anyone who's crossing.

On the other side, we drove down a ramp to the landing. Dozens of trucks were parked along the way -- probably people out fishing along the White River. We parked under the bridge and stepped out.









Above, along the entire length of the bridge, are what appear to be swallows' nests. The mud homes dot the underside of the concrete beast from one end to the other.

The river is wide and slow here. Calico Rock's Main Street was built so far above this point, because flooding was a fact of life. But the construction of the dam on the river's North Fork leveled out the water.

Here you can appreciate the beauty of the riverbend -- rolling hills in one direction, rocky bluffs in the other. Rocky shoals lay on the surface on the north side of the bend. In the distance you can spot the roofs of bluff-top homes.

At the mouth of Calico Creek, deadwood has created a skeleton of trees bleached by the sun. A trickle of a stream eases out from under the rail bridge and the distant trestle.

With the receeding sun reflecting across the water and through the leaves, you could lose yourself in thoughts of peaceful nature.

It was here that something occurred to me. All along our trip up Highway 65 and Highway 9 up to Highway 5, the leaves had all changed over. But in Calico Rock, the barest shades of yellow and orange were just starting to emerge. Somehow, autumn was late arriving here.

Calico Rock's ghost town isn't preserved behind some wall or gate or locked fence. It's still holding out within the boundaries of a thriving little north Arkansas town, holding its breath, holding its place in history, slowly trying not to fade away.

If you have the chance, sneak your way up to Calico Rock for photography and reflection among the ruins of a town gone by. And take the chance to explore the living portion of Calico Rock as well. Duck into the doorways of some of the local shops, or give yourself a treat and retreat to the cool splendor of the park that lies north of Highway 56 and east of Highway 5.

If you need more information, contact the Calico Rock Chamber of Commerce at (870) 297-3772.