photograph by vance lauderdale
Dear Vance: Why is a stone carved “Elizabeth V. Poulos” with the date 1940 mounted on top of the Eclectic Eye building at Peabody and Cooper? — D.C., Memphis.
Dear D.C.: Every time I’ve driven around that area and noticed that stone, I have wondered about it. Over the years, I’ve received at least a dozen queries asking who this person was and what the stone signifies. Whenever I looked into it, though, I hit a dead-end, so after 20 minutes or so I usually retreated back to the comfort of my La-Z-Boy.
But in May, Fannie and Robbie Johnson Weinberg, the mother/daughter owners of that building, announced plans to convert half of it — for years home to State Farm — into a gift shop called Paradox at PeCo (“PeCo” being shorthand for Peabody and Cooper). Hearing that, I fretted they might remove the old stone, so this time I devoted extra effort to solving this mystery.
I knew I couldn’t do it alone, so I recruited my fellow historian, Bonnie Kourvelas, producer of several of the best Memphis Memoirs segments aired on WKNO-TV (“Beyond the Parkways,” “When TV Came to Town,” “Lost Memphis,” and others). Surely with our combined brainpower — enough to light a small town in Arkansas — we could answer D.C.’s question.
I won’t bore you with tales of the hours, days, and weeks we spent poring over city directories, newspaper archives, along with birth, marriage, and death records only to — once again — come up empty-handed. But finally, we discovered key pieces of the puzzle and were able to solve this mystery. Well, most of it, anyway.
photograph by vance lauderdale
This building at Peabody and South Cooper is home to Eclectic Eye (left) and — by the time you read this — Paragon at PeCo (right). Note the stone marker for Elizabeth V. Poulos across the top, dated 1940.
Elizabeth Harris was born in Glossa, Greece, on June 24, 1900. I know nothing about her early life, because I wasn’t living in Greece at the time, but at some point she left her home country and moved to America.
Now, hold that thought, because here is where I introduce you to a fellow by the name of Vasileios Anagnostopoulos, who played a major role in this saga. Born in the village of Gregory, Greece, in 1893, he immigrated to America in 1914, landing in New York City. One of the first things he did in his new country was to “Americanize” his name to Victor Poulos.
The next step on his journey was to move to Memphis. I’m not entirely sure what brought him south, but I suspect friends from Greece assured him of a good job here. That’s not a wild guess. He first shows up here in a 1922 city directory managing two restaurants — the Famous Café on Lamar and the Willett Inn on South Parkway — a remarkable accomplishment for someone with no prior connections to this city.
photograph courtesy find-a-grave
The gravestone for Elizabeth Poulos in Maple Hill Cemetery, Helena, Arkansas.
Bonnie, whose last name suggests her Greek connections (her husband, Nick, is of Greek heritage) says, “Records show a tidal wave of Greeks who came to Memphis around 1915-1925. Greek immigrants tended to gravitate to the restaurant business, and there were so many diners and cafés in Memphis because of all the train stations and the river and rail traffic. They would follow a friend or family member who had come to Memphis and could help them get a job when they got here. From the stories I’ve heard, those Greek immigrants were some of the hardest-working and thriftiest people you could ever meet.”
Oh, and Bonnie turned up Victor’s naturalization papers, which show he applied for American citizenship a year after he arrived in Memphis — in 1923 — but he didn’t complete the long process until 1927.
Over the years, city directories tell us he managed or was otherwise involved with other small eateries and lunchrooms around town, including the Bell Café on Vance, the Southern Café on East Calhoun, the Lenox Café in Cooper-Young, and the Log Cabin Café in Frayser.
Elizabeth Harris married Victor Poulos in Crittenden County, Arkansas, on August 10, 1939. What’s interesting is the marriage license clearly identifies the newlyweds as Memphis residents, so why did they travel across the river to tie the knot?
Okay, now what has Elizabeth been doing all this time? Well, so far we haven’t turned up much information on her. Let’s face it, searching for someone with a rather common name like Elizabeth Harris turns up more “hits” (usually wrong ones) than a person called Victor Poulos. The city directories, in fact, list a dozen women with that name living here in the 1930s. Who is the “right” one?
Well, one of those Elizabeths crossed paths with Victor, and it was more than a brief encounter. Bonnie — who (I admit) seems to be doing most of the work here — turned up a marriage certificate, revealing that Elizabeth Harris married Victor Poulos in Crittenden County, Arkansas, on August 10, 1939. What’s interesting is the marriage license clearly identifies the newlyweds as Memphis residents, so why did they travel across the river to tie the knot? We may never know.
But now we approach the crucial year of 1940 — the date inscribed on that mysterious stone. Once again, I give credit to Bonnie for turning up a series of real estate transactions that took place in the late 1930s. One of these is a deed for the purchase of property on South Cooper, signed by both Elizabeth and Victor. This was an empty lot, at the intersection with Peabody, and the next year, Mr. and Mrs. Poulos erected the building now standing at 246-248 South Cooper.
Victor didn’t open his own restaurant there, as you might expect from his previous jobs. Instead, as soon as construction was finished, he leased 246 to Effie Appling so she could open LeFleur’s Flower Shop. Next door, he leased 248 to Dr. James Teas, who ran the Peabody Five and Dime Store, and also used a portion of that space to treat patients.
But what about the stone? Look, I’m going to go out on a limb here, and say that Victor installed that on his new property as a tribute to his wife — perhaps to celebrate their new life together and the beginning of their new business ventures.
photograph courtesy find-a-grave
A porcelain disk on her gravestone carries a photograph of Elizabeth. A nice touch, I think.
Not for much longer, I’m sorry to say. In 1943, city directories no longer mention Elizabeth, which often means the person has passed away. That’s what happened with Elizabeth, and there’s a good reason I never located a Shelby County death certificate for her. In late September 1942, she entered the New Park Hospital in Hot Springs, Arkansas, for surgery to remove a tumor. I don’t know why she went so far away for this, but she didn’t survive the operation, dying of heart failure on October 14, 1942. She was laid to rest in Maple Hill Cemetery in Helena, Arkansas.
Victor remained in Memphis. He left the small home they had shared at 1012 Jackson, moving into the curiously named Magic Hotel at 192 East Calhoun, where he died on November 9, 1949. He was buried in Elmwood. The newspaper obituary provided curious details about his life. For one thing, the headline was “Merchant Leaves Cash to Relatives Starving Abroad.” Apparently, he left behind “a stepmother, brothers, and a sister who were still alive and naked and hungry in Greece,” and his will (“typed in Greek letters”) stipulated they would benefit from his estate.
photograph courtesy find a grave
The gravestone for Victor Poulos in Elmwood Cemetery.
His property — namely, 246-248 South Cooper — was valued at “more than $10,000 for tax purposes,” and Poulos instructed, “These buildings are to be sold and the proceeds, after providing for the estate expenses,” would go to family members in Greece, as well as the village church they once attended there. He also made a bequest of $5,000 to the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church here, along with a gift to the Rev. Bartholomew Karahalios “for prayers for his soul.”
I believe this concludes “the story of the stone,” but I can reassure readers of one other detail. The Weinbergs have promised me that the Elizabeth V. Poulos marker on their building will remain in place, where it has celebrated the memory of this woman — and intrigued everyone who has noticed it — for more than 80 years.
Got a question for Vance?
Email: askvance@memphismagazine.com
Mail: Vance Lauderdale, Memphis magazine, P.O. Box 1738, Memphis, TN 38101
