Pulaski through the Lens, P. O. Box 1789, Pulaski, VA (2026)

Follow and enjoy a growing collection dedicated to preserving our region’s past.

06/01/2026

For nearly a century, Main Street in Pulaski was the town’s anchor, its identity, its memory. It was where many people lived part of their lives. I myself remember shoppers pouring into Lemon’s Jewelry; I had my ear pierced there back in my younger days. I remember folks buying furniture at A.J. Smith & Son and Carolina Furniture and High School students going into Hatcher Askew and then to Theda’s to have their picture taken. People paying their Appalachian power bill in person, or picking out fabric at Frazier’s fabrics and some getting a haircut after school at one of the downtown barbershops. I remember Dad and Mom buying me a 10 speed from Heilig Meyers when it was on Main Street. People going in and out of Signet Bank or Virginia National and shopping at Dee’s Cut-rate, or going into Main Street Café or one of the restaurants. I have listened to countless recollections of those that remember when Rose’s stood on downtown Main Street, and when the Pulaski Theatre showed weekly movies and the young customers it would draw into our main street, showing those weekly movies on up into the early 90s. Then the sidewalks were full and the storefronts were alive. Main Street wasn’t just a road. It was Pulaski’s Identity. It still could be today. If the decision makers would let it.

For nearly 70 years, the one way street system wasn’t a debate. It was simply how Pulaski worked. It was predictable, safe, and understood by generations. It was part of the town’s fabric and rhythm, as natural as the courthouse clock or the hum of the factories that once powered the local economy. Even as national economic shifts and industrial losses reshaped our region, Main Street remained recognizable. Through all the changes America threw at small towns, Pulaski’s downtown still looked and felt like Pulaski.

Then came the redesign. Under the previous town manager, who wasn’t even from around here and the council that supported her, the one way system, stable for nearly three quarters of a century was abruptly replaced with a two way pattern and the removal of the people’s traffic lights. The decision was packaged as modernization, as revitalization, or as “progress” as they like to say it. It was nothing more than regression. To many residents, it felt like something else entirely, a decision made without them. A decision that ignored the town’s history and the many that had grown up with the town as it had always been. A decision that dismissed the emotional connection people had to their own streets. A decision that made Pulaski seem unfamiliar to the very people who built it and “spend their money” there.

Old issues of The Southwest Times show what Main Street once meant. A 1954 article described “a busy Saturday crowd filling Main Street from curb to curb.” A 1962 holiday column noted that “traffic moved steadily along the one way route as shoppers visited stores preparing for the season.” A 1971 feature quoted a downtown merchant saying, “Main Street is the heart of Pulaski. If it ever stops beating, the town will feel it.” Those weren’t exaggerations. They were everyday life. A 1988 article pictured an innumerable crowd along the one way Main Street as children and parents alike enjoy shopping and viewing an outdoor show. Even into the 21st century things happened on our main street. Then they shut it down. They said it was to fix the sewer system but when it was reopened, it all went to crap.

And then came the moment no one has forgotten, the tractor trailer that couldn’t make the turn. The truck that got hung up in the new two way pattern, blocking traffic and embarrassing the town. To some, it was an accident. To many, it was a symbol, a physical, undeniable reminder that the redesign didn’t fit the reality of Pulaski’s streets. It became the story people repeated because it captured exactly what they felt; this wasn’t thought through, this wasn’t necessary, and this wasn’t Pulaski. Yes, the previous town Manager, dug up Main Street to replace an outdated sewer line, but did she have to tear down the traffic lights and reroute the road two ways? No. she didn’t. I myself have explained this to the current Town Manager, The same Town Manager who never replied. Public officials have a responsibility to listen and respond to the citizens they serve.

Now the town has been spending that $500,000 grant given to the people of Pulaski from the previous Governor’s office to “beautify” our Main Street with new sidewalks, new lighting, new landscaping. But a half million dollars in cosmetic improvements won’t fix what was broken by the Council and town Manager themselves. They can’t beautify their way out of broken trust. You can’t plant shrubs and set down decorative hay bales over resentment. You can’t install new night lights and then pretend you did everything right when you’ve disconnected a major portion of your constituents by unneeded changes. The Council and Town Manager need to recognize the growing frustration among longtime residents. Many citizens feel their concerns have not been heard and that major decisions were made without meaningful public input. You can’t pave over the fact that the town became unrecognizable to its own residents.

Pulaski doesn’t need to be reinvented. It needs to be restored. And that brings us to the present. The newer council have had years to address the issue, and yet the familiar pattern remains, denial, hesitations, excuses, and a lack of urgency to adhere. They won’t answer e-mails or now even allow public feedback on the Town’s page. Is that the level of public engagement and transparency that Pulaski's citizens deserve? People like me that have lived here all our lives are ignored. The people have spoken, repeatedly. I have spoken with countless citizens that tell me they won’t even drive Main Street any longer that they would rather drive around it and avoid it totally. When longtime residents stop driving Main Street, stop shopping on Main Street, and stop spending time on Main Street, local businesses inevitably lose potential customers. Is this what those businesses want? Surely not. This loss because of the traffic pattern changes and the 4 way Stop Signs. Is this how you do the people? Is this really what you want? The people I’ve spoken with want their town back. They want Main Street to function like the Main Street they knew and recognized. They want the identity of Pulaski restored, not redesigned into something from almost a hundred years ago. Longtime citizens are fed up. They are tired of being ignored, tired of being told "it's complicated," and tired of watching their town become known more for traffic confusion than for the strengths and character that once defined it.

Pulaski does not need to be a testing ground for ideas that many residents never asked for. It needs leadership that respects both progress and local identity. Pulaski does not need to be reshaped into something unrecognizable. It’s time to rehang the lights, time to bring back the one way main street, and make Pulaski recognizable again. Many longtime Pulaskians remember the old Main Street fondly, because they remember a downtown that felt full of life, movement, and opportunity. Go down there now, look around. See how long those store fronts will stay open, count the days. For when you alienate Pulaski’s longtime citizens (the Customers) you won’t stay open long. When dramatic changes are made to the structure and appearance of a town without broad public support (and the town didn’t ask us about it) I never received a questionnaire. Whether one agrees with the changes or not, decisions that permanently alter the appearance and operation of a town's historic downtown should involve broad and meaningful public participation. Citizens can feel disconnected from the place they once recognized as home.

This November 3rd, voters will choose a couple of new Council members and rid ourselves of those that won’t listen to the people. Rid ourselves of those that spent 1.3 Million dollars of our money buying land then selling that land for a measly two hundred thousand dollars to a housing developer, rid ourselves of those that voted against a whole chamber of citizens that demanded that their water rates be not raised for three straight years in a row. Rid ourselves from those that bring hardship and difficulty to our own local farmers whom just want to sell their own products in their own store. This November, voters will have the opportunity to decide whether the current direction of town government reflects their priorities and concerns. Bringing restoration, changing the direction Pulaski is currently headed. The message from the people is clear, we want our town back. We want big decisions made with us, not around us. We want Pulaski to move forward without erasing what made it recognizable. A community should never become unrecognizable to the very people who built it. To us that have spent our lives here, pay our taxes here yet still get shunned and unrepresented.

My question is simple. Do you want our patronage or not? Do you want those that you have made feel disconnected, those that would rather avoid Main Street than visit it to come back? Do you want us to spend our money on Main again or not? Or do you want the emptiness of Main Street to continue? Put the traffic lights back in the budget, restore the one-way pattern back in the budget, then slowly implement both back into our town's daily operation, our Main Street. Just as you did when you began tearing it all down. Demonstrate that the voices of Pulaski's citizens matter.

To the new council members that take the seats of those that currently won’t listen to the people. I and those like me ask that you RESTORE WHAT THEY HAVE BROKEN.

Pulaski deserves progress. But it also deserves to remain Pulaski.
The picture included in this post is from the Farmer Collection, it was taken circa 1980 and it shows Pulaski and its one way Main Street with a Traffic light, and most importantly, our Main Street is recognizable. The current traffic pattern and four-way stop configuration are not. After years of concerns from residents, many of us believe it is time for a serious reconsideration of these changes.

Thanks, Eugene Mathena
Local Historian and Lifelong Resident of Pulaski.

[email protected]

05/31/2026

DEE’S CORNER.

In the early 20th century, Cut-Rate stores (or as I called them as a kid, Cut-Rite stores) began to emerge in small towns across Virginia, offering affordable goods and becoming a staple for working-class families. These stores played an essential role in the local economies, providing a wide array of products at reduced prices, making it easier for people to access the necessities of life. Among these stores, Dee’s Cut Rate in Pulaski, Virginia, stood out as a cherished establishment, serving the community from its early days until its closure in the mid-1980s.

Dee’s Cut Rate opened its doors in the mid-20th century and quickly became a favorite among the residents of Pulaski. Located in the heart of town, it was more than just a store, it was a gathering place where people shared stories, caught up on local news, and found much needed goods at affordable prices. The store offered everything from groceries and household items to more specialized goods, making it a one-stop shop for the town's people.

As the decades passed, Dee’s Cut Rate adapted to the changing needs of Pulaski's residents. By the 1980s, the store had become well-known for carrying various items that couldn't be found anywhere else in town. From unique household items to specialty goods like guitar strings, Dee’s had something for everyone. Its charm lay not only in its vast selection but also in its old-fashioned customer service.

Sometime in the early 1980s I was a boy with a passion for music, particularly my drums and my newly acquired electric guitar. I had just bought it, second hand and wanted to learn how to play. One day, I wandered into Dee’s Corner, looking for a new set of guitar strings. As I stepped inside, the store felt like a world of endless possibilities. The shelves were packed with a little bit of everything, and the smell of polished wood and faint traces of aged paper filled the air. As I browsed through the aisles, I finally found the guitar strings I needed.

I’ll never forget how excited I was to make that purchase. Dee’s wasn’t just another store, it had character. It had soul. As a kid, I was blown away by the sheer variety of items on sale, and to me, those guitar strings meant the world. They represented creativity, freedom, and the promise of something more. Looking back, that day at Dee’s Cut Rite was a moment of wonder for me, and the memory has stayed with me all these years.

Dee’s was also known for the kindness of its staff, which often went above and beyond for their customers. One story involved an older gentleman who came into the store on a cold afternoon. He had been eyeing a particular item, an old radio he had always wanted. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was something that brought him a sense of peace I believe. When he approached the counter to pay, he realized that he was a dollar short.

He hesitated, unsure of what to do, and disappointment began to settle in. But the clerk behind the counter, a kind and attentive person, noticed his discomfort, and could see how much the man wanted that radio. Without missing a beat, the clerk smiled and said, "You know what? You’re in luck, cause today, we’re having a sale on this very item! You have just enough to buy it."

Relief and happiness washed over the man’s face as he handed over his money. The joy in his eyes was undeniable, and he left the store with his new radio, his step a little lighter than when he came in. That was the magic of Dee’s Cut Rate, a store that treated every customer with care and dignity, making small acts of kindness part of their everyday business. Oh how we need this today in our businesses.

By the mid-1980s, as larger chain stores began to take over small-town markets, Dee’s Corner saw its last days. The store finally closed its doors sometime 'round 1982 or so, marking the end of an era for Pulaski. For many in the community, it was more than just a business closing, it was like saying goodbye to a piece of their own. Dee’s Cut Rite wasn’t just about the items sold on its shelves; it was about the memories and relationships built over decades. Whether you were a young boy buying your first set of guitar strings or an elderly man finding a long-desired radio, Dee’s was there to make every purchase feel special.

Dee’s Cut Rate reminds us of the importance of locally owned businesses in small towns. These stores are more than just places to buy goods, they are woven into the fabric of the community. They offer something chain stores cannot, a personal connection, a sense of belonging, and a history that speaks to the heart of the town itself. Dee’s Corner will forever be remembered for its contributions to Pulaski and the many lives it touched. I remember not long after, a ceramic crafting shop opened there in Dee’s spot and I went there and made ceramic items for fun. Such a joy!

Even though Dee’s store is long gone, those of us who remember shopping there will always carry the memory of its warm, welcoming atmosphere. It’s these kinds of places that remind us of the importance of community and kindness, values that go far beyond a simple transaction at the counter. Dee’s Cut Rate will always be a part of Pulaski’s history, a shining example of the strength and spirit of small-town life. That store stood strong, serving Pulaski for probably over 40 years and now forty some years later that young boy that browsed those isles, now aged and gray writes about it.

Eugene Mathena

05/22/2026

Cosmos Skate Center: The Place Where Pulaski Rolled.

For many people who grew up in Pulaski during the 1980s and early 1990s, few places carried the energy, excitement, and memories of Cosmos Skate Center. Long before smartphones, social media, and streaming entertainment, the skating rink was one of the great gathering places of small town America. In Pulaski, that place was Cosmos.

Located in the old department store building at Maple Shade Plaza, the same structure that had once housed both Rose’s and later Future’s Department Store, Cosmos Skate Center became a landmark of youth culture in Pulaski during its brief but unforgettable run. The music, flashing lights, arcade games, smell of popcorn and pizza, and the constant sound of roller skates on concrete became part of an entire generation’s memory.

Cosmos did not originally begin as a skating rink. Around 1982, Cosmos first opened as a game room in the Pulaski Mall on East Main Street (Route 99). The arcade was located near Pic N Pay Shoes and Pulaski Drug Store, right in the heart of the mall’s busiest years.

At the height of the arcade era in America, Cosmos became a magnet for young people from Pulaski, Dublin, Fairlawn, and the surrounding communities. Teenagers and children alike poured quarters into machines for tokens and spent hours playing the latest arcade games. It was the age of Pac-Man, Asteroids, Donkey Kong, Defender, and countless other glowing cabinets lined wall to wall.

For many local kids, a trip to Cosmos was an event. Friends gathered there after school, on weekends, and especially during summer break. It was loud, colorful, and alive, a small-town version of the exploding arcade culture sweeping America during the early 1980s.

By 1984, Cosmos evolved into something much larger.
After Rose’s Department Store vacated its location at Maple Shade Plaza, another business called Future’s Department Store moved into the building for a time before eventually closing as well. The large vacant retail space offered an opportunity that would permanently cement Cosmos into Pulaski memory.

In December 1984, Cosmos officially opened inside the former Rose’s and Future’s building as Cosmos Skating Center & Game Room.

The transformation of the old department store into a skating rink was something remarkable for the town. What had once been aisles of clothing and household goods became a massive open skating floor filled with music, colored lights, arcade games, and crowds of young people circling endlessly beneath the glow of the strobing lights.

For local youth, Cosmos quickly became one of the social centers of Pulaski County. To those who remember it, Cosmos was more than just a skating rink. It was an experience.

Summer nights at Cosmos carried a special atmosphere that is difficult to recreate today. Cars filled the parking lot at Maple Shade Plaza while groups of teenagers gathered outside laughing and talking before heading in for an evening of skating. Inside, the DJ blasted popular music from the era, ranging from pop and rock to metal hits and slow songs for couples skating under dimmed lights.
And of course, nearly everybody remembers falling.

For beginners especially, the concrete floor could become a battlefield. Many local people still laugh today remembering how every visit usually ended with somebody “busting their butt” at least once before the night was over. Yet that was part of the charm. Nobody cared much if they fell. They got back up and kept rolling.

The rink became a place of first crushes, friendships, birthday parties, school outings, and teenage freedom. It was one of those rare places where nearly everybody in town seemed to cross paths at one point or another.

Unlike many skating rinks, Cosmos retained its roots as a game center. Alongside the skating rink stood rows of arcade machines that continued attracting kids carrying pockets full of quarters and tokens.

Some people came more for the games than the skating itself. Others alternated between the rink and the arcade all night long. The combination made Cosmos unique in Pulaski. It was not simply a skating rink or simply an arcade. It was both worlds combined into one.

That fusion perfectly reflected the culture of the 1980s, an era when arcades and skating rinks stood among the most important gathering places for American youth.

After nearly six years of operation, Cosmos Skate Center closed in September 1990.

For many in Pulaski, its closure marked the end of an era. By the early 1990s, American youth culture was beginning to change. Arcades across the country slowly declined as home gaming systems became more advanced, and many local game rooms and recreational centers struggled to survive.

Yet the story of the building was not over.

Only two months later, in November 1990, a local family reopened the rink under a new name: Scooter’s Skate Center.

Scooter’s carried the tradition forward for a couple more years and continued serving as a gathering place for local youth throughout the early 1990s. Many who skated at Cosmos later returned under the Scooter’s name, keeping the spirit of the old rink alive a little longer.

Scooter’s Skate Center remained open until approximately 1994 or so before finally closing its doors for good.

Since the closure of Scooter’s, the old building has never again served as a department store, arcade, or skating rink. Over time, the space transitioned into local government office use within Maple Shade Plaza.

To younger generations driving past today, the structure may appear ordinary. But to those who grew up in Pulaski during the 1980s and early 1990s, the building still holds echoes of wheels rolling across those hard floors, arcade machines chiming in the background, and the laughter of crowded Friday and Saturday nights.

Places like Cosmos Skate Center represented a different time in small-town America. They were physical gathering places where people met face to face, where memories were made without phones or internet, and where entire evenings could disappear beneath neon lights and loud music.

For many in Pulaski, Cosmos remains tied to the feeling of youth itself, summer nights, friendships, awkward first romances, scraped knees from skating falls, and the freedom of being young in the 1980s.

Though the rink is long gone, its memory still rolls on in the minds of those who were there.
Those of us that remember how it used to be.

Eugene Mathena

05/20/2026

Dry Gulch Junction
An Abandoned Roadside Amusement Town

High on the slopes of Big Walker Mountain in southwestern Virginia once stood a curious roadside attraction known in later years as Virginia City. To many locals and travelers who remember it, the site has become known simply as an abandoned amusement park, though in its heyday it functioned more accurately as a Western-themed tourist town built to draw motorists off the old highway.

The attraction originated in the 1960s, during the golden age of American roadside tourism, when families traveled long distances on U.S. routes rather than interstates. Originally operating under the name Dry Gulch Junction, the site was designed as a fabricated Old West town, complete with wooden storefronts, a jail, saloon-style facades, and staged entertainment meant to evoke frontier life. Its location along old U.S. Route 52 placed it within reach of travelers crossing Big Walker Mountain, only a short distance from the long-standing Big Walker Lookout.

For a time, Dry Gulch Junction thrived on curiosity and traffic. It was part of a broader mid-twentieth-century effort to turn Appalachia’s mountain passes into destinations rather than obstacles. Like many such attractions, however, its success depended almost entirely on highway flow. When Interstate 77 and Interstate 81 redirected traffic away from older mountain roads, the steady stream of visitors declined sharply. By the late twentieth century, the attraction struggled to remain viable.

In later years, the site reemerged under the name Virginia City, with intermittent attempts at revival. These efforts included live reenactments, cowboy shootouts, music events, and faith-based gatherings such as “Cowboy Church.” Despite local interest and nostalgia, the revival was limited and short-lived. Ownership changes, maintenance costs, and declining attendance again forced closure.

By the early 2000s, Virginia City was largely abandoned. Gates were locked, “No Trespassing” signs posted, and the once lively wooden structures began to deteriorate under the weight of weather and time. Though some buildings and signage remained visible from the road, the site slipped quietly into obscurity. After the death of a later owner, the property was reportedly placed for sale, leaving its future unresolved.

Today, Virginia City survives primarily in local memory and photographs, often mislabeled simply as an abandoned amusement park. In truth, it represents something more specific and more telling: a relic of an era when small, privately run attractions flourished along America’s highways, sustained by local enterprise rather than corporate tourism. Its decline mirrors the fate of countless roadside landmarks eclipsed by modern transportation and centralized travel corridors.

Some today when asked about Dry Gulch Junction or Virginia City, they will just look at you with a strange look and say “Never heard of the place” but once in a while someone will and does remember. One lady wrote me and shared a memory that her Dad was a stuntman there as she was a little girl growing up. That sounds exciting!

One person shared his memories as a small boy going to Dry Gulch Junction with his Mom and Dad and he recalled riding the train and sitting on a set of steps with his uncle. He said he remembers walking up some steps and looking up and seeing a town and that it looked like he had stepped back in time to when people rode horse back. He said there was a saloon and an old looking western store and he said then he saw a sheriff's office and remembers lots of board walks. He said he felt like he was in a western movie. That had to be exciting for a child to see and experience such entertainment.

Another memory comes from a woman, as a child she did not think of Dry Gulch Junction as a park in the way visitors did. To her, it was simply where her uncle worked. Some afternoons, usually after school let out early or on a Saturday when her mother needed quiet, she was dropped at the employee entrance behind the wooden fence where the public never went.

The smells always came first. Old pine boards warmed by sun, grease from the popcorn machine drifting on the breeze, and somewhere the sharp sweetness of cotton candy even before it was spun. You could hear real things, wagon wheels creaking, a belt-driven motor humming, men laughing without their show voices on.

Sometimes her uncle would lift her up and sit her on the counter inside the western-style gift shop before it opened. She would swing her feet while he counted tickets or straightened racks of plastic pistols and coonskin caps. Once in a while, he handed her a paper sack with her name written in marker, a free hot dog folded in wax paper, or a small scoop of ice cream melting too fast in the heat.

Her favorite moments came just before opening, when the park belonged to the workers. A ride operator would let her sit alone in a cart as it rolled once, slowly, without music. It felt like being let in on a secret. She understood even then that not every child got to see the park wake up.

Another memory comes from Zeb, in the early 1970s Zeb’s clearest memories of Dry Gulch Junction are tied to the train. His father worked nearby, and more than once Zeb was allowed to wait where he could watch the little locomotive ease into motion, its whistle short and tired, sounding more like a sigh than a call. The cars smelled of old wood and sun, and the seats burned the backs of his legs if he sat too long in one place.

The train slowed as it passed the western town, and that was always the best part. From the window he could see the sheriff’s station with its false-front boards and narrow porch. The door stood open most days, the tin star inside catching light in a way that felt important to him. He imagined the sheriff stepping out at any moment, hand resting on his belt, not to frighten anyone, but simply because that is how a sheriff stood.

Sometimes the train stopped just long enough for children to step down and wander the boardwalks. Zeb liked the sound his boots made there, hollow and sharper than on the dirt paths. The jail cell door clanged when someone tested it, and he always tried it once, just to hear the echo. It made the town feel real, not just something painted up for tourists.

Afterward, if his father waved him over or nodded in that quiet way men did, Zeb would end up at the gift shop. It was cooler inside, dimmer. Racks of postcards spun slowly, and shelves held plastic holsters, polished stones, and toy badges pinned to cardboard backings. The clerk almost always knew his name. Once in a while, he was handed something small without ceremony, a deputy badge, a cap gun without an orange tip, slipped across the counter like it was no big thing.

Years later, Zeb does not remember specific days or dates. What stays with him is the feeling that Dry Gulch Junction was not pretending to be a place. For a few summers, it simply was one.

Dry Gulch or later, Virginia City on Big Walker Mountain stood as a reminder that history is not only found in grand monuments, but also in forgotten places where ordinary people and families once stopped, gathered, and imagined the past through the lens of entertainment. Like many such sites, it now waits in silence, it was known mainly to those willing to look beyond the interstates and remember what once stood just off the road.

I hear all the structures have been torn down due to trespassers and looters and nothing now stands of the old town.

But for those whom the old steam train stopped, the town still remains, as fond memories of another age, another time.

Eugene Mathena

Address

P. O. Box 1789
Pulaski, VA
24301

Website

https://www.facebook.com/groups/lookinbacktopulaski

Alerts

Be the first to know and let us send you an email when Pulaski through the Lens posts news and promotions. Your email address will not be used for any other purpose, and you can unsubscribe at any time.

Pulaski through the Lens