リッチモンド・オーディオツアー：首都の舞台、物語、そして法令

You’re looking at the Library of Virginia-the state’s massive memory bank, sitting quietly on Broad Street, but absolutely packed to the rafters with stories, scandals, and straight-up trivia about Virginia. This is where the Commonwealth keeps its paper trail…and, let’s be honest, Virginia’s had some fascinating paperwork through the years. The Library itself was officially founded in 1823, though folks in power were hoarding records and documents here back when the British were still grumbling about rebellious colonists. Back then, those “official” records were crammed into a single room-basically a closet-tucked in the State Capitol. Of course, more history means more paperwork, and pretty soon the collection needed an ever-growing trail of homes around the city like someone with way too many boxes after a move. By the time Abraham Lincoln was still practicing law, the Library’s collection hit 14,000 volumes. In today’s money, just insuring that would be quite a bill-books were expensive commodities back then. These days, the Library holds more than 134 million items. Yes, million. If you stacked all those books and papers from here to the James River, you’d probably block half of downtown. Now, the collection is almost bursting at the seams: rare books with handwritten notes, maps older than most European countries, presidential letters, and millions of government records tucked away on microfilm, hard drives, yellowed parchment-the lot. And it’s not just dull government stuff, either. There are diaries of ordinary people, photographs of street scenes, letters from high school sweethearts, even the occasional juicy political scandal-fun for researchers and nosy neighbors alike. The Library isn’t just a quiet sanctuary for bookworms. It’s lively, with talks from top Virginia authors, hands-on workshops on genealogy, art displays, and the annual Virginia Literary Awards. Speaking of writers, the Library has honored everyone from Edgar Allan Poe, who probably would’ve enjoyed the air conditioning in here, to John Grisham, who’s sold enough books to fill the stacks twice over. There’s a real focus on making local history accessible. The Library’s digital collections mean you can snoop on everything from notorious Civil War generals to the anonymous people who helped build this city-from anywhere in the world. Ever want to know if your ancestor got into trouble in Richmond in the 1800s? There’s probably a record on file-and no, they won’t judge you for looking. Of course, running this operation takes a dedicated staff-and volunteers who help transcribe documents so the rest of us can decipher 18th-century handwriting. There’s even a program where you can join in, if you fancy untangling Virginia’s history one hard-to-read letter at a time. It’s funny, standing outside this modern building, that so much of Virginia’s past-heroism, heartache, bureaucratic disputes over fence lines-is all preserved inside. From colonial muster rolls to the latest TikTok research grant, it all ends up here eventually. If the state had a diary, this building would be it. Alright, hope you’re ready to keep moving. For Murphy’s Hotel, just head southwest. It’s a breezy 2-minute walk.

Alright, over on your left, you’re at the site of what was once Murphy’s Hotel-a place that, for decades, was the social heart of Richmond. Now, if you were standing here in 1872, you’d see John Murphy, an Irishman and a former Confederate soldier, overseeing workers lugging lumber past the smell of oyster brine. That’s right-the whole thing started above an old oyster shack, which is about as Richmond as it gets. Things escalated quickly. By 1913, Murphy tore down his original building and replaced it with an 11-story marvel, bringing some serious swagger to the block. That project? It would have cost a fortune-a few hundred thousand dollars back then, which easily pushes into the millions today. Not bad for a guy who started with a shellfish stand. Through name changes, walkways bridging overhead, and a swing from luxury to government cubicles, Murphy’s legacy stuck around until the early 2000s, when progress-well, in the form of a parking deck-took over. Glamorous, right? When you’re ready, Supreme Court of Virginia is just a 3-minute walk northwest. Let’s keep moving.

Alright, take a look to your left-you’re facing the home turf of the Supreme Court of Virginia. This is where the biggest courtroom drama in the Commonwealth gets written, argued, and occasionally, rewritten on appeal. And trust me, nobody’s doing Law and Order with powdered wigs here-though back in the day, fashion was… a little more colonial. Here’s the scoop: the roots of Virginia’s highest court start way, way back-think muskets and jamestown, not smart phones and electric scooters. When the English planted their flag here in 1607, they also brought their love of law and tradition. By 1623, there was already an appellate court called the Quarter Court. Four terms a year, mostly spent arguing which neighbor owed the other a goose or two, and perhaps a bushel of tobacco-worth around a small fortune at the time, since tobacco was king. In today’s money, a bushel could be about $200, just for a sense of scale. When the Revolutionary War ended, everything changed. In 1779, Virginia established what became the model for the United States Supreme Court-yep, you’re looking at the judicial blueprint for the entire country. The early justices were hand-picked for their social standing, their property, and sometimes, their proximity to Williamsburg. Legal degrees? Optional. A sense of decorum? Mandatory. One of the first presidents of this court was Edmund Pendleton-a Founding Father who also had a knack for keeping the court running like a well-oiled machine. George Wythe, a mentor to Thomas Jefferson and a Declaration of Independence signer, also sat here. Oh, and John Marshall-the famous Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court-his legal fingerprints are all over Virginia’s courtrooms too. In the early days, the court had a “no written opinions” rule. Seems odd now, but the idea was to show unity and save a few quills. Thomas Jefferson, never one to play along quietly, started writing down decisions anyway-which is probably the most Jefferson thing ever. Over time, Virginia’s court system added checks, balances, and eventually, twelve-year terms for justices. Judges are elected by the General Assembly, and if you make it through, you’re in for a ride: reviewing shrimp-sized technicalities up to the legal whales-cases about the death penalty, major constitutional battles, and social revolutions, like the landmark Loving v. Virginia case that struck down bans on interracial marriage. The court’s daily routine? Far less glamorous than Hollywood would have you imagine. There’s a lot of paperwork, oral arguments sliced down to fifteen minutes, and the ever-mysterious assignment of who writes which opinions-done with slips of paper in a hat. Not quite bingo, but the stakes are certainly higher. This building isn’t just about today’s justice-it’s a living archive of the Commonwealth’s legal wranglings and bold decisions. Even the court’s seal, with a wise lady holding scales while petting...yes, an ostrich, is a nod to justice both ancient and slightly quirky. Ostrich feathers meant justice in ancient Egypt, in case you suddenly feel like you’re in a Dan Brown novel. Alright, ready for our next chapter? When you’re set, St. Peter’s Pro-Cathedral is just a 2-minute walk northeast.

Take a good look at St. Peter’s Pro-Cathedral on your left. Hard to believe, but this was once the center of Catholic life in Richmond-and the *oldest* Catholic church in the city, no less. The doors first opened for worshippers in the early 1800s, with a congregation that was mostly Irish American. If you were here around the Civil War, you’d find not just ornate pews and flickering candles, but a basement filled with stories the history books rarely tell. Picture it: after the war, Richmond’s “colored Catholics”-a grand total of thirteen-gathered down in the basement. Among them, Emily Mitchell, born into slavery; Moses Marx, who drove the bishop’s buggy at twelve; and Liza Marx, shrewd enough to correct the judge reading her late mistress’s will. That’s some serious presence of mind. As the congregation grew, the diocese helped them build St. Joseph’s on Shockoe Hill-setting aside funds that, in today’s money, would have run into thousands of dollars. St. Peter’s stands as a testament to resilience and faith, quietly holding centuries of hidden stories. When you’re ready for more drama, Richmond Theatre is just a gentle northwest walk-three minutes and you’re there.

Alright, look to your right at this spot, where the ground is thick with drama-sometimes literally. You’re standing at what was once the epicenter of entertainment, tragedy, and a fair bit of bad luck: the site of the legendary Richmond Theatre. Let’s set the stage. The first Richmond Theatre opened in 1786, thanks to the U.S.’s resident French dreamer, Chevalier Quesnay de Beaurepaire. He wanted to create an American spin on Europe’s grand Academy of Sciences-you know, a temple of high culture with a side of interpretive dance. The theatre drew some of America’s earliest, boldest characters: James Madison, John Marshall, Patrick Henry... all mingling on these very grounds. They even hosted the Virginia Ratifying Convention here-arguably the most awkward family meeting in American political history. But let’s not get too cozy. Richmond Theatre had a nasty habit of catching fire. The first version was torched in 1798-a tough review, even by today’s standards. Not discouraged, folks built a new, fancier brick theatre in exactly the same place. But then came the big one: On December 26, 1811, during a packed holiday show, a candlelit chandelier swung a bit too enthusiastically, ignited some paper scenery, and in under ten minutes, the entire theatre was ablaze. It was pandemonium-over 600 in the crowd, but barely three exits. At least 76 people died, including Virginia’s sitting governor. It was called “early America’s first great disaster”-and after that, the city put up Monumental Church next door as a sort of architectural apology, with a crypt for 72 of the fire’s victims. There’s something sobering about standing here, imagining fire-lit chaos, the cries, the smoke, and-just outside-locals like John Marshall racing to help, utterly helpless against the flames. Still, Richmond couldn’t quit show business. By 1819, Broadway-it was Broad Street, after all-had a new cast: The third incarnation, known as the Marshall Theatre, boasted “plenty of doors”... Imagine the promotional tagline: “Now with more exits!” It lured ambitious actors including Priscilla Cooper Tyler, future First Lady, and even American theatre royalty like Edwin and John Wilkes Booth-yes, that Booth, before he got into, well, more infamous acts. Not to be outdone, this third theatre also met its end by fire, in 1862. The city responded with bravado, building an even grander structure in the middle of the Civil War, basically smuggling in materials past Union blockades. During the war years, a packed house would come to escape reality-a swirl of soldiers, speculators, and the Richmond who’s who, all hungry for tragedy and farce. Tickets cost a couple of dollars, which today would set you back maybe fifty bucks-a solid price for drama and a little risk. Over more than a century, these successive Richmond Theatres were some of the South’s most vital performance spaces-hosting great actors, divine music, and, unfortunately, catastrophe. Yet every time disaster struck, Richmond rebuilt-proving that this city, like any good actor, knows how to make a comeback. Ready for Richmond Coliseum? Just walk northeast for about 9 minutes. Don’t worry-the path is a lot less dramatic.

Alright, look left and feast your eyes on the Richmond Coliseum-once the big name in Virginia for concerts, sports, and just about anything else that drew a crowd. This hulking concrete ring opened back in 1971, with seats for up to 13,500 fans. And let’s be clear, back then, spending about $16 million-more than $110 million in today’s money-shouted, “We want to do this right… and big.” Picture that first year: shag carpeting, bell-bottoms, folks lighting up the stands-one way or another. For decades, this place was Richmond’s go-to, hosting everything from fired-up basketball tournaments to the wild drama of wrestling and bull riding. If you ever wondered where Richmonders went to lose their voices cheering, it was probably here. Sports fans had all sorts of reasons to roll through these doors. The Virginia Squires played on this floor back when the ABA and NBA were still glaring at each other from opposite sides of the playground. College teams from VCU to the MEAC and Colonial Athletic Association called the Coliseum home at one time or another, and NCAA tournaments brought in the nation’s best and brightest players. In 1994, history was made on this court-Charlotte Smith drained a last-second three-pointer, snatching the women’s national title for North Carolina by a single point. Imagine the roar bouncing off those concrete walls… The coliseum didn’t just live for sports, though. Elvis Presley himself-white jumpsuit and all-worked this stage in April of 1972. If you’ve caught “Elvis on Tour,” you’ve actually seen footage from right in this building. Concerts, monster truck rallies, rodeos, wrestling-this place saw it all. In fact, you could say it’s probably seen more body slams than a bad day in Congress. Wrestling fans will be nodding right now: the Coliseum was a key stop for both the classic NWA Mid-Atlantic circuit and the star-studded WWE. It’s likely more than a few championship belts changed hands right inside that ring. And of course, professional bull riders let 2,000-pound bulls run wild here for good measure-because, why not? Politics found a stage here, too. In 2008, more than 13,000 people packed into the coliseum for a Barack Obama rally. The next year, the Republican Party of Virginia’s convention brought a crowd of similar size-proof that this place always knew how to draw a crowd, no matter the party or persuasion. But even the mightiest arenas eventually face their curtain call. With bigger, shinier venues popping up nearby, the old Coliseum became a little less “must-see” and a little more “remember when?” In February 2019, after a Harlem Globetrotters show took the final bow, the doors were quietly locked. No explosions, just a sigh and the sound of brooms sweeping popcorn into history. Inside, the place had its quirks-a six-level stack of concrete, an underground tunnel big enough for semis to roll right onto the event floor, and locker rooms that probably still echo with post-game celebrations and, on bad days, the sound of sneakers being chucked across the room. Now, Richmond wrestles with what comes next. Replacing it has been a slow-moving drama-red tape, debates, plans, scrapped plans. So the Coliseum just waits, a concrete ghost on the edge of downtown, stubbornly refusing to disappear. Alright, whenever you’re ready, our next stop is the Maggie L. Walker National Historic Site. Just keep moving southeast for about 6 minutes. Let’s go see how one woman changed the future of American finance.

There it is on your left-the Maggie L. Walker National Historic Site. At first glance, you’ll spot a handsome, two-story brick rowhouse with a porch that looks ready for sweet tea and conversation. But don’t let the cozy Victorian exterior fool you-this is where history rolled up its sleeves and got to work. Maggie Lena Walker grew up in Richmond-the daughter of a formerly enslaved woman. Now, in this very house on “Quality Row,” she proved what grit, smarts, and a LOT of determination could do. In 1902, Walker founded St. Luke’s Penny Savings Bank, and became the first woman of any race in the United States to serve as a bank president. Imagine that for a minute: before women could even vote, Maggie Walker was approving loans, signing checks, and running a major financial institution. By the way, opening an account at her bank only cost pennies... but every cent counted-a couple of cents in 1902 would be less than a dollar today, but it meant hope and self-reliance for African-American families. Inside, this house still holds her original belongings, giving you a peek at the world she built-a world where she campaigned for civil rights, raised money for schools, and gave Black women in Richmond a shot at economic independence. For many, this place meant possibility-at a time when the world often told them “no.” The house wasn’t just a home-it was headquarters for progress, resistance, and real, everyday strength. Alright, when you’re ready, Hippodrome Theater is just a one-minute walk southwest.

Right here on your right stands the Hippodrome Theater, which isn’t just any old brick-and-mortar-it’s pretty much a monument to entertainment, rebellion, and all-out showmanship in Richmond. The Hippodrome first flung open its doors in 1914, smack-dab in the middle of Jackson Ward, the neighborhood folks dubbed “The Harlem of the South.” If you were in Richmond in the 1920s, this was THE spot for Black nightlife-the surrounding stretch, “The Deuce,” was jammed with banks, jazz joints, and restaurants where you could catch a fried fish dinner after midnight. Now, in an era when segregation was law and opportunity for Black artists was about as rare as a snowstorm in July, the Hippodrome was part of the “Chitlin’ Circuit.” That meant it was a haven-a place where legends like Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Ray Charles, Nat King Cole, and James Brown all graced the stage. Imagine-James Brown bringing the house down, with a few hundred folks clapping and sweating in their Sunday best. Hard to put a price on those nights... but for context, a night out at the Hippodrome back then might cost you fifty cents, about $7 in today’s money. Not a bad deal for a front-row seat to history. Of course, things weren’t always smooth. In 1945, a sudden fire-never fully explained-forced the place to close. But like all good legends, the Hippodrome refused to go quietly. By 1947, after a glitzy Art Deco makeover (new air conditioning, fresh seats, and all), reopening night drew a whopping 2,500 people-most of Jackson Ward turned out, dressed to impress. The Hippodrome’s had more comebacks than a prizefighter: closed and reopened several times, even doubling as a church for a quick spell. Today, thanks to Ronald Stalling, it’s been restored and sees fresh performances-still making noise, still carrying its cultural weight. Just next door sits the old Taylor Mansion, now the Speakeasy Grill. If you’re in the mood for some soul food, you’re dangerously close to the source. Alright, ready for Jackson Ward? Just head southwest for five minutes-you’ll step right into its heart.

You’re standing in Jackson Ward-not just any neighborhood, but the heartbeat of Black Richmond for generations. They called this place “Black Wall Street of America,” and, for good reason, it pulsed with business deals, legendary music, and more than a little bit of hard-earned swagger. If you listen closely, you can almost feel the buzz on The Deuce-Second Street-where Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald and the rest of the Chitlin’ Circuit greats played the Hippodrome. Safe bet their audience included everyone from the city’s business giants to working folks looking to blow off steam after a tough week. Now, here’s where things really start to kick. After the Civil War, free Black people and newly emancipated Virginians joined forces here, building a dense network of churches, banks, restaurants, and newspapers-whole blocks owned and operated by Black families who’d had enough of being locked out of the city’s power. Maggie L. Walker, who lived nearby, didn’t just run a bank out of Jackson Ward-she was the first American woman, of any race, to start and run a bank. And she managed all this while dealing with serious mobility challenges. Her neighborhood comrades included John Mitchell Jr., crusading newspaper editor; Giles B. Jackson, first Black lawyer to argue before Virginia’s Supreme Court, and a whole cast of civic powerhouses. But Jackson Ward wasn’t just about the boardrooms and newspapers. This was also Richmond’s epicenter for Black religious life. Churches like Sixth Mount Zion, which survived demolition by freeway thanks to some quiet hallway negotiations in City Hall, kept the spiritual fires burning-quite literally, as highways and “urban renewal” projects wiped out street after street. Urban progress, as you might guess, came with a price tag. Starting in the 1940s, leaders with little connection to this community decided whole blocks needed flattening to make way for freeways and fresh civic projects. Communities that had spent decades, sometimes generations, growing roots were bulldozed. It was a little like setting up a jigsaw puzzle, then deciding to dump half the pieces. The numbers: in the 1950s alone, around 4,700 units of housing were demolished, replaced with about a third as many new apartments. That’s a lot of families scrambling for somewhere to sleep. Add in real estate blockbusting, churches being uprooted, and the split caused by the interstate-well, you get the idea. Still, the Ward refused to die. By the 1970s and 80s, folks started to realize what was slipping away. Historic houses began to get some love-thanks in part to tax breaks-and new waves of residents and entrepreneurs took an interest. If you’re around on a first Friday, Jackson Ward hums with art, music, barbecue smoke, and debates over gentrification that come with every revived city neighborhood. And quirks? In 2014, heavy metal band GWAR opened GwarBar down the street-good for metal fans and anyone who likes a strong drink with a creative garnish. From clipped Italianate cottages to the grand Greek Revival homes, the Ward’s architecture has its own tales to tell. And hidden among these streets, the Shockoe Hill African Burying Ground rests-an astonishing 22,000 people interred, making it one of America’s largest burial grounds for the enslaved and free people of color. Alright, ready to swap music legends for neon lights

Broad Street. Even the name has a no-nonsense ring to it, doesn’t it? Richmond’s bustling backbone runs straight through the city-fifteen miles of history, commerce, and more than a few stories that could raise an eyebrow or two. Right now, if you listen closely, you’ll catch a soundtrack of city buses swooshing by, folks hustling between shops, and maybe a hotdog vendor trying to shout over the midday traffic. This strip started off humbly enough around 1744. It wasn’t even called Broad back then-just “H Street.” The name wasn’t upgraded until 1845, at a moment when city fathers apparently realized “H” didn’t quite capture the grandeur they’d envisioned... or maybe someone just ran out of other letters. At first, locals saw this area as “upper country”-think of it as the wild north, perched a little higher than the riverbank village below. By the late 1800s, Broad Street hit its stride-picture trains clattering down the center of the road, whistles echoing off brick buildings. Trains, department stores, theater marquees: this place was electric. Sixth and Broad? That was the Crossroads of Shopping, attracting everyone from sharp-dressed downtowners to window-shoppers just out for a stroll. Shop names like Miller & Rhoads or Thalhimers were as common in Richmond back then as, say, grabbing a coffee today-except a suit from Miller & Rhoads in 1920 might set you back five dollars, or about eighty-five bucks in today’s money. Not exactly peanuts, but arguably worth it for a sharp outfit. Beyond retail, Broad Street hosted some heavy-hitting institutions: city hall, the library, even the state’s oldest operating theater, the Empire. And, as the city stretched west, Broad just kept going-pulling new shops, malls, whole neighborhoods along for the ride. Out past the edge of the city, Broad morphs into a highway that’ll take you all the way to Ohio, if you’re feeling adventurous. Today, you’ll spot everything from old-school storefronts to sleek bus stops for the rapid transit Pulse line. Don’t be fooled by its straight path-there’s nothing straightforward about Broad Street’s story. Richmond’s always had a knack for making something fresh out of the familiar. Whenever you’re ready, head southwest for about three minutes and we’ll check out the Jefferson Hotel. Now, that’s a spot with some stories.

Here it is, looming like the ultimate Southern showpiece - the Jefferson Hotel. Richmond’s answer to the question: “What if we put as much grandeur as possible under one roof?” Picture yourself arriving back in 1895, scanning the Spanish Baroque towers and those dramatic arches, courtesy of Carrère and Hastings - same folks who later whipped up the New York Public Library, so you could say opulence runs in the family. Now, the guy behind this wonder? Lewis Ginter, a tobacco tycoon who had dreams (and, judging by the final bill, very deep pockets). Back then, the cost to build would’ve run you about $2 million - that’s roughly $70 million today, if you’re keeping score at home. It was meant to rival the grandest European hotels. And, in true Richmond style, it wasn’t here just for the fancy folk. Over the years, presidents, rock stars, and movie icons have all checked in. Even Elvis swung by, presumably leaving a few sequins behind. Here’s a detail that’s hard to top: for decades, live alligators actually lounged in the lobby pools. Yes, you heard that right - you’d stroll in to check your bags, and “Old Pompey” the gator might give you the side-eye from the marble. Don’t worry, these days it’s all elegant bronze statues-no risk of a snappy check-in. You’ll notice flashes of Tiffany glass lighting up the Palm Court, some original, some lovingly replaced after fire drama that nearly took down the joint... twice. And if all this grandeur works up an appetite, Lemaire Restaurant’s right there, cheekily named for Thomas Jefferson’s own maître d’. Honestly, if these hotels ever gave awards for style AND survival, the Jefferson would be a shoo-in.