I love old houses. Recently, I spent a few days in Columbus, Georgia with my granddaughter and her family. Her husband was graduating from Cavalry training at Ft. Moore, but that’s another story. We stayed in a refurbished shotgun house in the historical section of town. You’ll find these cottages scattered about the South, usually in traditionally poor neighborhoods. Many have been destroyed and replaced with more modern dwellings, but lately people have come to appreciate their history and charm.
Shotgun houses are long and narrow, one room wide, each room built behind another. It is said that if you open both doors and fire a shotgun through the front door, the shot would exit the back door without hitting anything. They were built for the climate, windows in every room and high ceilings. This was the first time I’d been in a shotgun house and I was impressed by the efficiency of it. That, too is another story.
On my way to Columbus, the highway was under construction all the way from Moultrie to Albany—45 mph all the way! Wanting to avoid that stretch of highway on my return home, I chose a route to avoid Albany. However, my GPS kept trying to put me on a “faster route” through Albany. Whenever I heard, “There is a faster route…” and not being able to punch buttons while keeping my eyes on the road, I had to stop and argue with my phone.
We finally settled onto Rt. 37, a pleasant drive through rural southwest Georgia, little traffic, nice scenery, and no construction zones. I passed occasional points of interest but didn’t stop. I wanted to get home before dark.
Then I saw it—a magnificent ruin beside the road. It was too amazing to ignore. I turned around and went back for a second look. Pulling off onto the side of the road, I peered out my window. My eyes hardly registered the boarded-up windows, unpainted siding, and broken porches. What I saw standing before me was the two story façade of a once-grand Southern Gothic mansion, columns with Doric capitals, trimmed gables, decorative animals standing watch from the rooftop.
The yard was papered with “No Trespassing” signs, suggesting that the owners meant business. I cautiously exited my vehicle. How I wanted to get closer, to walk around the house, perhaps peek through windows! But something held me back, as though the ghost of an angry woman, armed with a rifle, warned me not approach. I noticed a mailbox in front of the mobile home next door and was tempted to ask the inhabitants about the house, but something told me not to bother them.
I had to be content to admire it from the roadside. Such a shame to let something once so beautiful fade into forgotten history. One of the columns was missing, a tall pole supporting the portico. In front of the house, off to the side, was a stack of lumber. Nearby, a rounded form was covered by a tarp—the missing column! I was happy to see evidence that someone was attempting to restore the house. After filling my eyes and imagination, I snapped a few pictures and went on my way.
How could I find out more about this place? Where was I anyway? I’d noticed a sign saying Elmodel, but what kind of name is that? My roadmap (yes, roadmap because I can’t always depend on GPS) didn’t even show a town, only Elmodel WMA (Wildlife Management Area). Roadmaps not being what they once were, I stuck the name into my brain until I could get home and research it.
My route took me through Madison, Florida, a proud antique town. The historic district boasts many beautiful old houses gleaming with fresh white paint, but none compared to what I imagined this yet-to-be identified home would have looked like in its prime.
When I googled Elmodel, Georgia, the first image I saw was my beautiful ruin! And I was not the only admirer. The McRainey house is featured on at least three blogs, a Facebook page, and other sites. There are comments by travelers like me and local residents, many who have fond memories of the house and its inhabitants.
Not as old as I first thought, the mansion was built in 1909 by Malcolm Archibald McRainey, who had made his fortune in timber, turpentine, and lumber. His home was the first in the county to have running water, electricity, and indoor toilets. Unfortunately, he had only five years to enjoy his lovely residence before he died, leaving two sons. One, Malcolm Angus McRainey, married twice. His second wife, Effie Holt, outlived him and was given a lifetime estate, allowing her to occupy the house until her death. After this, ownership was to revert to the children of his first marriage.
After she was widowed, Mrs. Effie remarried. When the house became too much for them to manage, she and her second husband moved into a trailer next door. In their absence, the house was looted and vandalized. This broke Mrs. Effie’s heart and she lost trust in anyone that came near her property. She was known to pull a gun on those, like me, who stopped to look. Strangers were warned, “If you have any notion of trespassing here, don’t be surprised if you’re met with a hail of gunfire.”
My sixth sense had proved accurate, if not timely. Mrs. Effie died in 2017. Today, only her spirit guards the place. However, if and when I return, I will heed the No Trespassing warnings, just in case.
In 2018, Hurricane Michael’s 100 mile per hour winds blew down two of the columns and some of the roofing, but the building survived, a testament to its sturdy construction. The property remains in the hands of the McRainey family who are optimistic about renovating it, although it will take time and a considerable amount of money. I hope to go back one day to see this battered treasure restored to its former grandeur.
For further exploration, visit
Southwest Georgia in Photographs
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