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I was born at 205 Underhill St. and lived there for many years.

However, most of my growing up was spent at 208 Normal St. Normal Street was a short block consisting of about 12 homes.

To this day, I don’t know how they managed to put so many houses so close together.

The people on the street were close, and probably the only thing that created friction among neighbors was the phone party line (one line with many people using different rings on the same line).

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever envision Normal Street having so many people who carry the distinction of being the first to do something important. The sad thing is they have never been properly recognized for their achievements.

On Normal Street lived Pauline Robinson, our first black published poet; Carrous “C.W.” Robinson, our first black real-estate agent; and William Holt, who, along with two other black men, opened the first movie theater owned by blacks on East Washington Street about 1919.
I think the Byrd family, who also lived on Normal Street, was involved in a “first,” but I need to research my facts further.

My last column dealt with poet Pauline Robinson. This column deals with her father, C.W. Robinson. According to his obituary in the local newspaper, Robinson was born in Asheville on May 14, 1877, and died in High Point at age 93.

As a young man, Robinson graduated from Tuskegee Institute about 1898 and got involved in the Spanish American War. Robinson joined the Third North Carolina Regiment, a regiment of black volunteers led by white officers.

According to his obituary, when Robinson left the military, he served as commander of the Department of the Potomac, headquartered in Washington, for six terms.

Reports stated that Robinson and his family moved to High Point about 1905, but the first time I could find him listed was 1907. He and his family were listed at 105 Washington Lane, and he was listed as an insurance agent. Employed by N.C. Mutual Life Insurance Company, he advanced to the position of district manager. As published in the City Directory, Robinson started his own real estate/insurance company in 1929-30. This earned Robinson the distinction of being High Point’s first black real-estate agent.

A story appearing in the local paper, when he was recognized as High Pointer of the Week (the date and year of column not found), reported that Robinson published a weekly newspaper, the High High News, for two

years in the late 1920s. Supposedly, his paper had about 800
subscribers. I can find no evidence of this paper, and his youngest daughter, Carolyn Robinson Etheridge, has never heard of this paper.

Maybe he had a newsletter that reached out to 800 people of interest in the neighborhood. Until I find a copy of this paper or additional facts to substantiate this claim, Ossie Davis has the distinction as High Point’s first black publisher.

Most of the information that I have found, I have confirmed with his daughter Carolyn Etheridge, who lives in Washington. Robinson was married twice. He had two daughters, Minetta and Pauline, by his first wife, Jessie Ellis. His union with his second wife, Senas Barnes, produced three sons, Carrous Jr., Paul and Fred, and three daughters, Wava, Evelyn and Carolyn. Carrous Jr., Wava’s twin, died young.

The oldest of the eight children, Minetta, a retired school teacher, was 104 years old when she died about 2003. Her father reached the ripe old age of 93.

Another article in the local paper, stated that Robinson was born the son of a Zion Methodist minister and raised in his father’s church.

While doing my research for a book about early black churches, I learned that Robinson was an active member of St. Paul’s Presbyterian Church. He was the church’s Sunday School superintendent for 50 years, an elder for 60 years and clerk of session for many years.

He was a Boy Scout leader, Mason, member of the Eastern Star and officer at the Carl Chavis YMCA. Robinson also organized the Interdenominational Church School League among black churches.
Last month, while talking to Etheridge, I confessed that because of her father’s large nose, I called him Jimmy Durante behind his back. Etheridge got a big chuckle out of that and confessed that as she got older she was thankful she didn’t inherit her daddy’s nose or her mother name, Senas Methabel.

I have so many fond memories of people and places that helped shape our early black history. These are the memories that influenced the writing of my recently published book, “Our Roots, Our Branches, Our Fruit … High Point’s Black History 1859-1960.”

Glenn Chavis researches and writes about High Point’s black history. Contact him at Storytime40@aol.com.