The story of Wake Forest alone will be retold Sunday, Nov. 3
Wake Forest’s population boom is exciting, surprising, and at times frustrating. But for those who study local history, the mad rush to live in the little town “where the college used to be” is something else, as well. It’s an ironic twist in a decades-long struggle. That’s because for many years, Wake Forest was deep in recovery mode – desperately managing the fallout of losing its main source of employment and identity. People who remember the college leaving for Winston-Salem in 1956 invariably describe the shock as something like an “atomic bomb.”
The impending move initially made headlines in 1946. That was the year the town, still reeling from the sacrifices of World War II, first learned of the plan. It was announced the family of Winston-Salem tobacco giant R. J. Reynolds wanted an institution as influential as Durham’s Duke University and was making an offer worth millions to Wake Forest College.
So the story broke and the explosive metaphor was born. “(Residents) could not have been more dumbfounded and aghast if foreign planes had dropped a bomb on the center of the village,” claimed the local reporting. One businessman went so far as to say the only difference between Wake Forest and Hiroshima was that the town would be left standing. But that’s a level of anxiety that’s difficult to sustain. Over time, calm descended once more. The threat seemed to dissipate. As construction crews in Winston-Salem worked to build the new Reynolda Campus, life in Wake Forest resumed a tentative balance. Some might call it a form of denial. Because the challenge of moving a college seemed insurmountable, many residents decided it would never come to pass.
Of course, they were wrong.
In May 1956, ten years after the stunning announcement, the time had finally come. The Reynolda Campus was complete and would open for the fall semester. Moving trucks parked inside the rock wall, teams of men emptied the buildings, and the entire contents of Wake Forest College pulled onto the highway and rolled down the road. An article in the June issue of Life Magazine called the event a “110-mile move from campus to campus” that left behind “sorrowful friends and a well-loved campus which this fall will be taken over by the Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary.”
The finality of the thing stunned the community. So did the aftershocks. Businesses suffered. Restaurants closed. Even the public schools felt empty without the professors’ wives who’d worked as teachers – not to mention the children of faculty and staff who’d filled the desks. But that was only the beginning.
When reporters from the Old Gold & Black returned to town the following year to see how Wake Forest had fared since the school’s departure, they discovered a community largely in freefall. The bomb metaphor was right on the mark. The depth of the financial and emotional sacrifice associated with splitting a relationship after 122 years resulted in almost unimaginable pain. As one resident said, “It wasn’t just the first pang of not having the college here anymore. It is an ache that continues to gnaw at our hearts. And nothing seems to relieve it.”
This story truly defines the history and character of Wake Forest—both as a town that lost its college and a community that overcame incredible odds. That’s why the Wake Forest Historical Association is hosting a free public forum about the topic. Scheduled for Sunday, November 3, from 3 to 5 p.m. at the Wake Forest Historical Museum, the program will have images from the museum collection and a panel discussion led by Executive Director Ed Morris. It will explore firsthand accounts of what life was like as Wake Forest struggled to forge its new identity.
The Wake Forest Historical Museum is at 414 North Main Street. There is no cost to attend and refreshments will be served.
