January/February 2006

That Kind of Town

With all the culture and character in Phoebus today, it’s hard to believe history’s tales of a seedy past.

By Don Harrison

Hold up the biggest map you can find of the United States, and Phoebus will be no more than a blip, barely perceivable. But this little dot on the edge of the Peninsula —with tomahawks and cannon fire, bootleg gin and suntan oil—has seen and done it all.

As you peruse the antique furniture at Phoebus Auction Gallery, check out the snazzy new 10 speeds at Snow’s Bike Shop or navigate generous portions of seafood served at the new 33 Mellen restaurant—whatever your taste—you may never be aware of how a dingy, post-war tent city came alive because a driven man came to town and dreamed. Strolling the streetscapes of today’s Phoebus, you may never discern that this clean little arts-and-shopping corridor was once a notorious “dive” many “respectable” people wouldn’t be seen in.

Phoebus is but a few blocks on the outer tip of Hampton, a 10-minute walk from Old Point Comfort and a bit more than a clam shell’s throw from Fort Monroe. This stretch has always exuded its own identity—even during the horrors of war (several), the excesses of sin (you’d never know it today) and a no-doubt-hotly-debated absorption into the city of Hampton in 1952. During one period in the last century, one of the town’s claims to fame was a flamboyant eatery on the corner of Mellen and Mallory. Fuller’s proudly advertised to passing cars that patrons could “Eat Dirt Cheap” in Phoebus. It was that kind of town.

For the rest of this story, see the January/February 2006 issue of Hampton Roads Magazine, currently available on newsstands.