If you are at least somewhat observant, you’ll have noticed anonymous-looking buildings sitting still and quiet along the Upper Valley’s roadsides. And if you’re nosy, like me, you’ve probably wondered what goes on in there, since there are no signs and no humans.
Take the long, low building pictured above, which sits at the intersection of Route 120 and Morgan Drive in Lebanon, right by the entrance to Centerra. Clearly it’s not a hub of activity now, but what about its past? Was it once a grange where farmers met to discuss beef prices? Was it a bootleg operation during Prohibition where shady characters picked up their illegal goods after midnight?
I started my investigation at Lebanon City Hall, confident that I would gather so much information it’d be a chore to wade through. Wrong. What I discovered instead was sparse and unexciting. These days, the building is used for storage by The Exchange at Centerra LLC, the company that owns Centerra Marketplace. Apart from that, I got great information about square footage (45,000) and the condition of the roof and windows (“good”).
A view of the back of the building. This and above photo © Sarah Copps
The web made vague references to a Chevrolet dealership in the past and to a printing operation associated with Dartmouth College. But when I dug deeper I hit a wall. I need to try the library, I thought, and so I did, where I discovered that not every building or piece of property has a history worth recording. For some places maybe there just is no backstory.
The heck with research, I decided. I’m going to ask The People.
So I headed to the Upper Valley Senior Center, where I expected to find folks old enough to remember and likely interested in a good chat. That’s where I met Robert Detetrillo, who remembers Hillcrest Chevrolet on that spot. The site also once hosted a Western Auto, a hardware store eventually gobbled up by Sears.
Susan Johnson’s mother bought a Chevy Nova from Hillcrest, back in the day. You can still buy a Nova, a car born in 1962 and that these days is a hybrid muscle car. Susan also remembers Lester Chevrolet-Volvo on the same spot. If you’ve a mind, you can purchase a Paul Lester/Lebanon, NH pennant on eBay for $32.
With the names of the commercial enterprises in hand, I returned to the library to look in old city directories (eventually called phone books), which are kept in locked bookcases and there, in the 1970 volume, was an ad for Hillcrest Motors, selling Chevrolets, Renaults, Peugeots, and MGs. It also listed the name of the company president, for some reason.
And here’s a distraction I do want to expound on. Every thoroughfare in Lebanon is identified by its exact location on the street, along with the name of the home’s occupant—and since there’s always only one, I assume it’s the person on the deed. Here’s a typical listing:
“Whitcomb av fr Seminary Hill northeasterly to Estabrook av, right side even numbers” followed by the house number and name of the occupant.
You couldn’t hide behind a PO box to conceal where you lived back then.
The Valley News from Feb. 11, 1966, with a story about the new Hillcrest Motors. Credit: Lebanon Historical Society
Eventually, what I had learned about the building was corroborated by an expert. Nicole Ford Burley, chair of the Lebanon Heritage Commission, confirmed the existence of the dealerships and added that before Route 120 was paved, the area was rural and that the low-slung building that had provoked my interest was probably the first structure built there in the 1960s. Before then the land might have been used for logging. “This modern and spacious automotive service center on the new Route 120 between Hanover and Lebanon is a prime example of business growth in the Upper Valley,” the Valley News declared shortly after Hillcrest opened in 1966.
So there you have it—and though this all reads like an informal history, it’s also a record of the kindness of over a dozen people who were willing to help a stranger with odd questions about a nondescript building on the edge of town. And in this increasingly frenetic world, it’s a testament to the pleasure of indulging one’s curiosity occasionally, slowing down, and diving deep.
Sarah Copps lives in Enfield with her husband, cat, and dog. Her writing includes newspaper reporting, freelance writing, and literary fiction.
