What an urban hodgepodge, all those little cities crammed into the southeast corner of Virginia, each with tiny populations by modern big-city standards, each unknown to most of the people in the land. Yet all that separated the little cities were lines on a map and sometimes water (always bridged) and a bunch of individual city councils, each doing its own self-important thing.
By coming together, the little cities could have turned from separate backwaters into a mighty Colossus overlooking the entrance to the Chesapeake Bay. Why not one strong city government, with representation from all of its subdivisions and practical autonomies for each?
The sprawling new city in southeast Virginia would even be larger in land area than New York City, and have a more subdivisions than New York’s five boroughs, and each could retain its original small-city name. One great city with a population in the millions that the rest of the nation could no longer ignore. And consider all the other benefits of such a large city with so much growth potential: the economies of scale in unified city services, the great increase in bargaining powers, the massive increase in clout both statewide and nationally.
But habits and traditions and egos (of big fish in small ponds?) are hard to buck. None of the little cities wanted to be dictated to by any of the others. A brawl even loomed over where to place the new City Government Complex, though a dedicated administrative district, similar to the District of Columbia, could have been carved out of two or three of the old, smaller cities.
They’d never even been able to come up with a name for their region that would register in the national consciousness. Since none of them wanted to take a back seat to any of the others, a moniker like “Norfolk/Virginia Beach Metropolitan Area,” as twin-city trendy as some thought it, could never have worked. And while “the 757? had the ring (no pun intended) of brisk hipness to its proponents, it seemed callow and short-sighted to those who remembered the last time the phone company switched the area code. Every past regional moniker, from “Tidewater” (a geologic name for a much larger region) to “Hampton Roads” (the deep-water estuary they surrounded) to “Coastal Virginia” (better on an easy-living magazine) had failed to ignite excitement, since none of them named a distinctive city rather than an amorphous, and ambivalent, urban stew.
But then a miracle happened. The little cities finally did come together! They even came up with a name that worked. They realized that situated at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay, they boasted the best natural harbor in the world. The surrounding waters were their lifeblood of commerce, as well as recreation, touching their every part and aspect.
But rather than take the name of the body of water in their midst, as they had before, they decided to capture the inviting spirit of their world-class natural harbor. They proclaimed to the world that their grand new city was the bustling portal to the commonwealth of Virginia, its gateway to the seafaring world, its invitation to all the beach and history loving tourists who flocked there.
So they named their thriving new city by the sea Port Virginia.
Yes, there was more to their new city than just its seaport. But their port was at the heart of all things aquatic and nautical and maritime and naval and beachy. Virginia’s newest, greatest, most energetic metropolis and all its wonders soon became known around the world: the Port Virginia International Harbor, Port Virginia International Airport, Port Virginia Beltway, Port Virginia Hyperloop, Port Virginia Seawall System, Port Virginia Space Center, Port Virginia agriculture, Port Virginia wind and solar farms, Port Virginia beaches, Port Virginia lifestyle.
But alas, it was all just a tall tale. All the little cities remain little-heard-of backwaters to this day.
Ray Gregory is a life-long resident of Norfolk, Old Dominion University graduate and retired Norfolk businessman.
