With Marshall slowly reopening, where to from here?
Downtown Marshall following Hurricane Helene.
Garret K. Woodward photo
The first time I saw Josh Copus post-Hurricane Helene was when I was allowed, as a journalist, to mosey on into downtown Marshall and scope out the absolute destruction of the small mountain town for myself. This was in the depths of last winter. The silence of the season and the lingering remnants of the devastation conjured on Sept. 27, 2024, was still real and daunting.
Even though some time had passed since the floodwaters of Helene bulldozed through the tiny community, the streets remained covered in mud, now just dried out layers of dust and debris. Dust clouds, to be honest, especially when the military vehicles passed through en route to another building they were assigned to tear down to the studs and help slowly rebuild.
And there was Copus, owner of the Old Marshall Jail, standing in the middle of an empty Main Street, covered head-to-toe in mud, paint, grease or whatever else he had dove into in helping his community return from the brink of collapse. A prized lodging, culinary and live music venue, the jail sits on the banks of the mighty French Broad River. Following Helene, it took several months until the jail and other nearby businesses were able to reopen.
“When we reopened the jail after the flood, everyone asked me if I was so excited and, if I’m being honest, that’s not the adjective I would use to describe my feelings,” Copus said. “I think, more than anything, I was just relieved and, honestly, I was just really tired.”
It was early May when the town started to feel some sense of normalcy again. Beyond the jail turning the lights back on, so did the beloved Zuma Coffee on the corner of Main Street and Baileys Branch Road. Further down Main, Mal’s, a popular honky-tonk bar served its first drinks since Helene.
“So many people told me how happy they were just to be having a burger and a beer by the river,” Copus said. “And how important it was to do simple things like that, that we used to all the time and the flood deprived us of.”
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The air swirling around the community was filled with the sounds of buzz-saws, hammers and construction vehicles — loud noises that signal recovery and progress, far better than the silence of defeat and desertion. At one point, local storytelling legend Sheila Kay Adams walked into the jail and sang an old-time mountain ballad atop a pile of debris to offer a sense of hope.
Garret K. Woodward photo
“I remember in that moment thinking, ‘That is what I’m trying to communicate,’” Copus said. “Our building was filled with toxic water, and we replaced it with song. It certainly helped me heal. And I think it helped the musicians heal — I hope it helps the rest of the world heal.”
To note, there’s a longtime flood gauge bolted to the side of the jail. It was placed there following the horrendous 1916 flood that overtook Marshall. The 1916 floodline was 23 feet, 9 inches, with Helene hitting 27 feet, 4 inches.
“Every building you looked at [in downtown Marshall] was a new heartache, realizing that something you loved before either didn’t exist anymore or would be forever changed,” said Brandon Johnson. “I remember feeling like I was in a post-apocalyptic novel with no power, roads blocked and flood waters higher than anyone living had ever seen.”
Executive director of the Madison County Arts Council, which is located on Main Street, Johnson remains at the helm of a nonprofit organization still in limbo a year after Helene.
“Each time I went back into downtown Marshall after the storm it was depressing and dark. There were times where I wouldn’t encounter another person, and those were rough,” Johnson said. “But, each time I was in Marshall and was able to connect with someone, it was tough but also joyful and nourishing — I knew we could do it together.”
Even though the MCAC has been able to continue its operations at various spaces around the area, it still hasn’t returned to its headquarters with ongoing renovations and fundraising efforts continuing.
Garret K. Woodward photo
“About a month after the storm, someone asked me if MCAC was still going to offer a program. And I said that we have to do what we do, especially as an arts-based nonprofit. If we don’t produce arts-based programming, why do we even exist?” Johnson said. “It was a comfort and a mandate for me to quickly assess what we could pull off and to make it happen, because the community relies on us — the processes of art, reflection, and creativity were more needed for our folks than at any other time in their lives.”
MCAC Program Director Erich Hubner retains similar sentiments.
“I see the strength of our community. To hone in on the creative community, we have an amazing network of creators and venues here,” Hubner said. “Music, performance and creative expression have been both calming and a source of strength and resistance to the darkness.”
For Hubner, the biggest takeaway has been this true sense of community and camaraderie that was conjured in the aftermath of Helene. Although folks in Western North Carolina and greater Southern Appalachia are well-known for their hospitality and a tightly-knit sense of place, what Hubner — and many of us who call these mountains home — witnessed was the essence of humanity.
“[It’s] the importance of community, caring, sharing, and bearing witness to the lives of those around us,” Hubner said. “We are all in this together, down the street and around the world. Let’s try to move with love and compassion in every way that we can.”
“[Helene showed us] how much we need each other. The storm put us all in a place where we had to rely on neighbors and had to be there for our neighbors,” Johnson added. “The beauty in that was talking to people. Asking for and giving help and resources. We all had a sense of investment and responsibility in one another.”
