Author: Brian D. Hamilton

Luke Ramsey learned to clean brick and de-nail old lumber as a kid. His dad would move the family into an old house that needed to be brought back to life, and they’d work on it for four or five years before moving on to the next one. “Every house I’ve ever lived in was an old house being restored,” Ramsey says. He loved it. 

When his dad passed away about 15 years ago, Ramsey took over the family business: Lewis Ramsey Construction Company became Ramsey Restoration. 

The Lovingston-based company does the kind of restorations too technical and time-consuming for most builders. It’s become best known for work on 19th-century log cabins—rebuilding them in place or even dismantling them and moving them somewhere new. But the team also works on towering plantation houses, idyllic barns, and grandiose mansions. “A lot of times they’ll be falling down, in terrible shape, and they’ll have a few people looking at them saying they can’t be saved,” Ramsey says. “Then they’ll hear about us.” They might have to jack up the entire structure to level it out again or rebuild a roof. It can get dangerous. But they get it done.

“So many people want to modernize the old buildings,” Ramsey says, “but I really try to make them the way they originally were.” 

He’s a kind of architectural archivist, having inherited a deep love for old architecture and the craftsmanship of earlier eras from his dad. He talks excitedly about turn-of-the-century plasterwork and parquet wood floors, about old staircases and even older tobacco barns. From the places that can’t be saved, Ramsey has built up a warehouse of old parts and materials that he can use in future restorations.

His most recent projects have been in Danville, Virginia, on a strip called Millionaires Row, which has posed a new set of challenges. “All architect-built Victorian homes, each completely different from the other,” Ramsey says. “I didn’t have a lot of experience with the Victorian houses before coming to Danville—I usually work on Federal style, early 1800s stuff—but it’s really starting to grow on me.” 

He even bought one of the old places to fix up himself: a 6,000-foot brick house he picked up for $10,000. He’s been working on it for a year, and he imagines he’s got another year to put in it. 

Clearly, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

The first time Chris Alan saw Vince Morris do his stand-up was on an episode of “Def Comedy Jam.” “After watching it, I go, ‘What the hell was that? Was that even comedy?’” Alan reflects. “It was funny, it was very poignant, and—this was the early 2000s—it was pretty pro-Black stuff. And I was like, man, this guy is just—he’s so different.”

Some years later, Alan was starting to do his own comedy while stationed in Las Vegas. One night, after his show ended, he met a friend at Harrah’s casino. “We’re at this outdoor club party thing,” Alan says, and his friend wants to introduce him to someone who’s working the Improv Comedy Club on weekends. “He taps this guy on the shoulder and he turns around, and there’s Vince Morris, the guy that blew my mind.”

Morris showed Alan how to get started in the world of comedy. And a lot of Alan’s signature style—his love of crowd work, his quick wit, his firm belief that comedy can speak to people’s real lives—came from Morris.

When Alan retired from the military (his last duty station was here in central Virginia), he decided to make a go of comedy full-time. Then the pandemic hit.

The last year has been a surprisingly fruitful time for Alan. He did a number of Zoom shows with The Southern, where he’d already been hosting the LYAO Comedy Showcase for a while. He produced live shows called “He Got Answers” and “Do You Believe?” and a podcast called “Negro Please.” He got a new laptop and started writing sketches. And he recorded his first full comedy album, Off Script. 

One thing the pandemic has taught Alan is that he’s more comfortable off script, even in his comedy. “I’ve learned so much about myself, why I operate the way I do, why I think the way I do,” he says. “I hate being put into boxes and given all these restrictions, which is weird because that’s exactly what the military was for 20 years.” Like his mentor, he’d just rather be different.

The Fralin Museum of Art had to close its doors during the pandemic, but it did not close its collection. For the Fralin from Home initiative, the museum recorded talks with curators, faculty, students, and community members, and even designed art projects that families could do at home.

About 20 miles of trail ring the City of Charlottesville, developed and tended by a dedicated group of volunteers. Walking the Rivanna Trail will take you through nearly all of our major parks and waterways. And note: Plans are currently in motion to develop a new leg, called the Three Notched Trail, to run from Charlottesville to Afton Mountain.