A Hampton Roads Valentine
by Ann Wright, Joanne Hofeimer, Betsy DiJulio, Karen Queen and Patrick Evans-Hylton
Some buddies—let’s call them Tom, Dick and (oh, all right) Harry—went to New York. While they were waiting at a Brooklyn bus stop, a guy came up and asked Tom how to get to someplace in Manhattan—say, the courthouse.
Tom said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know; I’m from Virginia.” The guy asked Dick, who was next in
line, the same question. Dick replied politely, “Gee, I’m not from around here and I haven’t
got a clue.” The guy, getting more frustrated by the minute, asked Harry the same question.
Harry responded courteously, “I’d like to help you, but I’m from out of town, and I don’t
know either.” The guy glared at the three Virginians, barked, “New Yorkers!” and stalked off.
This is a true story.
Now if something similar happened in Hampton Roads, everyone within earshot would chime in
helpfully, whether they knew the destination or not; someone would whip out a cell phone and
call Aunt Sally, who surely would know; someone else would say, “Hang on—lemme look at my map.
Okay, I know right where that is. Just follow my car; I’ll lead you there so you don’t get lost.”
For newcomers to the area, that kind of helpfulness can feel, well, weird. Disconcerting. All the
alarm bells go off: people aren’t like that. Yeah, they are. Oh, we have our surly types, like
everywhere else, and our downright dangerous types. But for the most part, folks in Hampton Roads
are pretty friendly. And helpful. Even the civil servants.
Ask people what they love about Hampton Roads, and every one of ’em will have a different
answer—the ocean, the beach, the bay, the restaurants, etc., etc., etc.
But it’s really the people that make Hampton Roads a place to love.
Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all.
