“Dang, maybe we’ll save our money and go there for a weekend sometime.”

The Greenbrier resort owner Jim Justice used the homespun enthusiasm above as part of his invitation for regular West Virginians and Virginians to visit the famed resort for a special $59 a night during selected weekends between now and February, the Charleston Daily Mail reported.

Jim, you’re right. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. Like you, I grew up without any extra cash dangling from my pants pockets. I wasn’t poor, mind you, I just thought it was the greatest thing to go on vacation to the Smoky Mountains and buy a whole bottle of pop to drink by myself.

Hotel spokesman Lynn Swann told the Daily Mail that Justice wants people who live near the resort to be able to experience it for themselves. Since the resort’s founding, kings, princes and presidents have visited.

That’s a pretty cool deal.

When I was the reporter covering Greenbrier County for this newspaper, my assignments occasionally took me to the legendary spa. Justice said people are intimidated by the resort’s fabled history and lavish luxury. I certainly was.

I remember thinking that everyone up there knew I was poor white trash the moment I walked into the carpeted lobby. I felt that I gave off that vibe even though I was dressed as well as the paying guests.

But I learned a secret that changed everything. When I was wrapping up a series on the historic spas of the Virginias, I needed to return some material that The Greenbrier historian Bob Conte had loaned me. Bob told me I could park right in front of the hotel if I didn’t want to park and walk from a distant lot just to drop off the envelope.

And that’s when he told me the secret. Park as close to the front door as possible, and leave the key in the ignition. He said the valets would move my vehicle if it was in the way.

Dang, valets would park my car! So I pulled my muddy Dodge Dakota with the Tall Oaks Farm license plate on the front and a 4-H decal in the window into the closest spot open in the circular driveway. I got out and sauntered into the lobby to leave Bob the envelope.

OK, I still felt like poor white trash but poor white trash who knew her way around.

I’m a historian by avocation, and I love the notion of The Greenbrier as this mountain oasis for the rich and powerful. Because some of the sister resorts were in Monroe County, the land of my nativity, I feel a certain kinship to all the communities in the region where the spas called home. It binds that part of all our histories together and reminds me that bereft poverty isn’t our only heritage.

While we don’t have the money of the pre-Civil War landed gentry Southerners, we know southeastern West Virginia is a good place to live and their patronage confirmed it. The inferiority complex that seems to seep into most West Virginians’ psyche gets a momentary reprieve.

Several months ago in this very space, I expressed optimism that someone would step in to save The Greenbrier because someone just had to. It appears Justice has done that.

However, he didn’t make the millions to buy the resort by giving away everything.

The regular nightly rate at the Greenbrier is $275. If visitors who pay $59 a night to stay for the weekend spend just $78.50 a night in the resort’s new casino, Justice will have gotten his money back.

Once these local gambling visitors see the amenities of the casino, they will come back to gamble even if they don’t stay the night.

Dang, Mr. Justice, that’s pretty smart.

— Young is a Register-Herald columnist.

E-mail: ynerissa@verizon.net

© Nerissa Young 2009