Saving Green Springs

Green Springs is a beautiful old Virginia community where nothing very momentous has happened since the Confederate cavalry fought Union horsemen at the Battle of Trevilian Station, June 11-12, 1864. There has been virtually no building since then, not a single supermarket, not even a gas station. The rich, rolling farm land is still dotted with fine 18th and 19th century houses in a variety of styles: modest Colonial, ample Federal, exuberant Victorian. Indeed, says Frederick Hartt, chairman of the University of Virginia's art department, Green Springs is an "American equivalent" of France's chateau region or the villa-studded hills outside Florence. So it was here that the Commonwealth of Virginia decided, in its infinite wisdom, to build an $8,000,000, 200-acre concrete prison complex, complete with guard tower.

The prison itself is undeniably needed. Serving as a "reception center" for all newly convicted felons, it would help replace an antiquated and overcrowded facility in Richmond. It therefore must be located in a central part of the state, near good roads and close to well-equipped hospitals. Green Springs, in Louisa County, filled all the requirements. In 1970 the county board of supervisors, delighted at the prospect of gaining part of the prison's $1.5 million annual payroll, endorsed the project. As for the historic architecture, said Supervisor R. Earl Ogg, "Why, Virginia is full of houses like that."

Parlor Pig. Green Springs' 200 residents were aghast, as were other true-blue Virginians. They foresaw that the prison would not only deface the pastoral area but also attract new housing projects for guards and motels for visitors. It was, residents often said, like "leading the pig into the parlor." Architects, historical societies and garden clubs bombarded state and federal officials with indignant letters. If the prison were built, said one, it would be "an affront to the past and an insult to the future." The area around such important houses as Boswell's Tavern, a supposed haunt of Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and Patrick Henry, required protection and preservation.

Virginia Governor Linwood Holton and his department of welfare and institutions brushed away the complaints like gnats on a summer day. So a group of Green Springs' principal property owners, led by Colonel and Mrs. Hiram Ely, who own a renowned Tuscan-style villa named Hawkwood, turned to the courts. They demanded federal intervention, since Washington was to pay $775,000 of the prison's construction costs. In one resultant "environmental impact" statement made last summer, the U.S. Justice Department called the historic site "undesirable." Then a study by the Interior Department concluded last month that any grant of federal funds to the project would be "inconsistent" with laws designed to preserve the U.S.'s cultural heritage. The state's reply: It would go ahead and build the facility without Washington's help. As for the Louisa County supervisors, they blamed "pseudo intellectuals" for miring the prison in "federal muck."

Governor Holton did feel the accumulating pressure, however. Last week he announced that he would relocate the prison to another site--if Green Springs property owners would give the state easements to assure the preservation of the area. At week's end jubilant residents promised the state easements on at least 2,000 of the district's acres, in effect freezing the land in its present condition.

Even so, the battle is not over. Green Springs, it now turns out, is nestling on rich deposits of vermiculite, a mineral used in making insulation and packing materials. A business conglomerate has already bought prospecting rights from several owners, so Green Springs faces a new threat: strip mining. Cried the proleptic Mrs. Ely: "We'll sue!"

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