Kingsport Spirit

I was saddened to learn of the passing of Roger Ball, the man behind the redevelopment of the Kingsport Mall (now East Stone Commons).

Our paths first crossed in 1997. I had just been promoted to Development Services Director at age 35, and Roger had acquired one of Kingsport’s most prominent development sites at the corner of Eastman Road and East Stone Drive. Once called “The Golden Mile,” it had more recently been described by a local economic developer as “Downtown Beirut”—once the Paris of the Middle East, later war-torn and bombed out. A sad observation, but true. The task was daunting.

Blink twice, and that’s nearly 30 years ago.

My job was to recruit, retain, and facilitate economic development—and he owned one of the prime properties.

I was young and inexperienced, looking to be taken seriously. He was a teacher from Claiborne County who was also inexperienced (at this scale anyway) and looking to be taken seriously. Honestly, I don’t think either one of us knew what we didn’t know, but we were full of optimism and an unusual drive to prove our credibility.

I liked Roger from the get-go. I could relate to him. He had an accent like mine. And I knew outsiders often labeled our accent as not to be taken seriously. I knew that was a big mistake.

When we met for lunch at Chop House, he would “whisper” something he was working on and say, “Don’t tell nobody.” The problem was that Roger couldn’t whisper. He joked that he learned to whisper in a sawmill. I was convinced the surrounding diners heard every word, and rumors would fly like wildfire (as they always do in a small town).

As Roger’s efforts to redevelop the mall dragged on, I had a boss who wrote on his whiteboard, “Until we have credible developers, we will never have credible development.” He was ready to write off Roger.

I warned him not to underestimate a motivated Appalachian, adding that many are “dumb like a fox.” I knew writing Roger off would be a mistake—plus he owned the property, and we couldn’t take it from him. I figured if he was successful, then we’d be successful.

But he didn’t have a track record, and public officials are naturally risk averse. I always said to myself, “We cannot speculate with public money.” So we developed guard rails and dumbed down financial projections to be the most conservative they could be. We kept taking one step at a time. Roger was patient with me, and I was patient with him.

Roger was the most tech-savvy person I had ever met to date—and that surprised me. How was a guy from a place even more rural than Kingsport that advanced? He was saying all these smart things through that thick accent. Over time, I learned to trust him.

I learned that Roger had a lifelong thirst for education. He knew the value of trying new technology rather than shunning it. He wanted young people from East Tennessee to grow beyond their backyard. He mentored many, and I consider myself one.

His daughters were a great case in point. Over time, I heard so many stories about his girls, and he heard stories about my kids. One daughter went to medical school and practiced in Memphis. The other went to Emory University and got involved in a foreign exchange program between the State of Georgia and the Republic of Georgia. She became the personal English tutor for the first family of Georgia.

When I heard that, I liked to imagine there’s an enclave in Central Asia that speaks English with our East Tennessee accent.

When I asked how he stayed in touch with them, he said, “Skype” (now you have to say it with a long “I” sound like you’re from Appalachia). I’d never even heard of that technology. He showed me the finer points of a mobile phone and all its capabilities. He unlocked a curiosity in me that still stands today. I try to stay ahead of the curve on new technologies and trends, largely because of his influence.

One time, we went on a recruiting day trip to woo a retailer. We rode in his big Crown Victoria, and I was concerned we’d look like Boss Hog and the Dukes of Hazzard rolling into town.

When we arrived at the corporate headquarters, the parking garage was full of Volvos. I mean the same model, only differentiated by color. If you’ve never driven into a parking garage full of identical vehicles, it’s surreal—especially when you’re in a vehicle that stands out like a sore thumb because of its size.

Inside, the office was abuzz with young, preppy employees who looked like they were just coming from Bama rush. We couldn’t have been any more different.

At lunch, during small talk about whether his project might be a good fit, they asked Roger about his financial business partner. He said, “My partner is Dr. Rose, he specializes in gallbladders, hit’s a wonder there’s a gallbladder left in Claiborne County,” and laughed out loud—drawing attention from other patrons (remember, he learned to whisper in a sawmill).

I could see their faces snarling in judgment. What I saw was a male version of Dolly Parton—country as cornbread, full of honesty, and a keen wit.

One day, Roger told me he had called TJMaxx headquarters in Boston. I mentioned it to my boss, and he said, “You don’t just call TJMaxx,” implying they wouldn’t take a call from an East Tennessee developer and that I shouldn’t be so gullible.

Well, there’s been a TJMaxx in Kingsport ever since.

For every person who underestimated Roger, he proved them wrong. I loved that about him.

When he decided to buy the Kingsport Mall in the first place, he saw the advertisement that the distressed property was for sale. He drove to the attorney’s offices in Knoxville without an appointment. When he walked in, a junior lawyer was sent out to see what he needed.

Roger said he was there to buy the Kingsport Mall.

The junior lawyer went to the back and told his superiors there’s a guy out here who says he wants to buy the Kingsport Mall. It’s a bank holiday, but he says he can get the bank opened and a check cut and have it here in whatever time it takes to drive from Tazewell to Knoxville and back.

And he did. Once again—overlooked and underestimated.

Early on, Roger brought an extremely young associate to the table: Dixon Greenwood. Dixon was Roger’s right arm. Roger believed in Dixon like he believed in so many of the people he mentored.

Dixon was a Knoxville native and more polished. He didn’t have an accent, but he had all the local knowledge of East Tennessee and its culture. He could seamlessly navigate from the roadside office in Tazewell to the boardroom in any major city in the U.S.

After completing East Stone Commons (the redeveloped Kingsport Mall), Roger and Dixon moved on to the old Modern Bakery site just across Reedy Creek from the mall. I was party to so many conversations about what they thought they could do there. It sounded as risky as the mall.

But they chipped away and created Reedy Creek Terrace, and it’s humming along to this day.

Dixon will deliver Roger’s eulogy.

Eventually, we all moved on to different projects and lost daily contact, but I never lost my interest or respect for both of them—and their willingness to take a chance on Kingsport when no one else was at the table.

Recently, I noticed Dixon was approved by the State Building Commission to lead the “865 Neyland Project”—one of the most exciting projects in the history of UT athletics. It’s a public-private plan to build a mixed-use entertainment district next to Neyland Stadium on the riverfront, transforming the current G10 parking garage site into a hotel anchored by restaurants, retail, and gathering spaces.

And I smile, because Kingsport took a chance on Roger, Roger took a chance on Dixon, and those ripples continued out. They say hindsight is 20/20, but you don’t have that benefit at first. Sometimes you have to take calculated chances.

As a token of his appreciation to Kingsport, Roger donated the baseball sculpture at the entrance to Heritage Park. Thousands of parents and young athletes have passed by it over the years, likely with no idea of the backstory. That’s probably true of many gifts like that.

For me, it will always be a reminder of Roger and his big personality—one of the nicest, smartest, most tech-savvy people I ever met. He was underestimated by almost everyone, yet he changed my life and helped change our community for the better.

I don’t have much to offer in return, other than my words and my enduring gratitude.

Rest well, my friend, until we meet again.