By: Megan Wright
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| Rome, Georgia unfolds from the top of Clocktower Hill, its rooftops stretching into the evening haze. The view is peaceful, but it only tells part of the story. |
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| Downtown Rome is a patchwork of old brick buildings and new developments. The past and future sit right beside each other, not always in agreement. |
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| The historic towers of Rome’s First Presbyterian Church rise over the rooftops, casting a shadow older than most of the streets below. Built in the late 1800s, the stonework still tells stories of a town built to last. |
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| Wanda Whitten leans forward with quiet pride inside the Rome Little Theatre. “I’ve lived here my whole life,” she says. “And some of the places I loved most are just sitting there, rotting.” |
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| Ellen Axson Wilson stands forever at her easel, cast in bronze along Town Green. Rome remembers her as the First Lady who designed the White House Rose Garden. |
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| A nearby plaque tells the story of her life, her art, and her impact on the country. It’s a clear example of history that’s been carefully protected. |
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| Fresh roses bloom beneath her statue, planted with care and intention. Someone made sure this piece of her story was remembered. |
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| Ellen Wilson’s statue looks out with quiet poise, surrounded by flowers and framed by care. But walk a little farther, and you’ll find that not every piece of Rome’s past is given the same kind of attention. |
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| A historic home in one of Rome’s neighborhoods sits sealed shut, its windows covered in plywood. Nature has started to reclaim it. |
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| The front porch is lined with flaking columns and moss-covered steps. It feels like the kind of place that once hosted weddings and rocking chairs, now only quiet. |
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| The red doors at 318 Broad Street are locked, with dust and debris left behind in the window. Whatever was once planned here never got the chance to finish. |
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| A scratched lockbox clings to the handle, its numbers long unread. Time hasn’t been kind to this corner of Broad Street. |
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| Inside, a broken dining table and tools sit in the display window. It’s a glimpse into something that was paused and forgotten. |
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| The Partridge Restaurant sign still hangs downtown, its neon letters barely holding on. It once lit up the sidewalk for families coming in for fried chicken and pie |
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| Today, the bulbs are missing and the tubes are dusty. Its charm remains, but the light is gone. |
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A yellow newspaper box leans sun-faded and dented. The Rome News-Tribune inside hasn’t changed in weeks, as if the stories stopped being told. |
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This splintered wooden cabinet was left outside an antique shop after foreclosure, now sinking into the overgrowth like a forgotten relic. Once displayed with pride, it's now just another reminder of what gets left behind. |
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| The same white house, now splitting at its seams, holds one final surprise—green sprouting through its broken gutter. It’s a quiet reminder that even when history cracks, something living might still grow from it. |
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| Back where the story started, the clock tower still watches over the town. But after everything seen below, it’s clear that not all of Rome’s history is being watched over in return. |
