Last Thursday afternoon, I found myself walking through a place that once felt like a second home. I had returned to Historic Arkansas Museum in Little Rock (Pulaski County) for a memorial service honoring a friend and former co-worker, Pat Proctor.
The occasion was a solemn one, but the gathering was warm. Faces I hadn’t seen in years filled the room: people like Aisha, Felicia, Katie, and Leon, who had once shared lunch breaks, exhibition openings, and the everyday rhythms of museum work. Some had retired, some had moved on to other careers, but for a little while, we were all back where we used to be, remembering someone who had been part of our small family (commonly called our HAMily).
The service itself was simple and heartfelt. Stories were shared, laughter occasionally broke through the sadness, and the memories painted a picture of someone who had meant a great deal to those around them. Memorial services often carry a quiet weight, but this one also carried something else, gratitude for the time we had known our friend and for the place that had brought us together in the first place.
After the service ended, several of us walked outside onto the historic museum grounds. The afternoon air was cool, and the sun was shining, and for a moment we stood quietly among the historic buildings that have been preserved there. For those of us who once worked at the museum, the grounds hold a particular kind of familiarity. Every path, fence line, and weathered board carries memories.
Historic Arkansas Museum sits in the heart of downtown Little Rock, but when you step inside its gates, it feels like stepping into another century. The museum is best known for preserving and interpreting some of the oldest surviving structures in central Arkansas. Several of the buildings date back to the early 1800s, when Little Rock was still a rough frontier town along the Arkansas River.
Among them are the Hinderliter Tavern (the oldest standing building in Little Rock), the Woodruff Print Shop, and other restored structures that once formed part of the early settlement. These buildings survived events that reshaped the city, including the turmoil surrounding the American Civil War. Their survival is remarkable in itself; many structures of that era were lost to time, fire, or development.
The museum as we know it today owes much to the vision of Louise Loughborough. In the 1930s, when historic preservation was still a relatively new idea in Arkansas, Loughborough recognized the importance of saving what remained of the city’s early architecture. She worked tirelessly to protect the Hinderliter House and eventually helped establish what became the Arkansas Territorial Capitol Restoration, the early name for the museum.
Over time, the site grew into a full museum dedicated not only to historic buildings but also to Arkansas history, decorative arts, and traditional crafts. Galleries filled with artifacts, tools, and artwork help tell the story of the state, from its territorial days to the present. Outside, interpreters demonstrate historic skills such as blacksmithing, printing, and woodworking, bringing the past to life for visitors of all ages.
For many Arkansans, school field trips to the museum are a childhood memory. I remember visiting the museum in the fifth grade. Students wander through cabins and workshops while learning how people lived two centuries ago. For others—like those of us gathered there last week—it’s also a workplace that becomes part of your life story.
Standing on those grounds again, I was struck by how much history the place holds, not just the official kind recorded in exhibits, but the personal kind that lives in memory. Every museum preserves objects, but places like this also preserve relationships. Co-workers become friends. Visitors become regulars. Over time, the museum becomes part of the city’s shared story.
As the afternoon sun dipped lower, our group slowly began to drift apart. There were hugs, promises to stay in touch, and the familiar “we should do this again sometime.”
Walking back toward the gate with my friend, Katie, I glanced once more at the old buildings standing quietly against the skyline of modern Little Rock. They’ve witnessed nearly two centuries of change—wars, growth, and thousands of Arkansans passing through.
Last Thursday, they witnessed something else: a group of old friends remembering one of their own. And in a way, that felt fitting. Places dedicated to preserving history remind us that every life leaves a mark. Our friend may be gone, but the memories remain—woven into the stories we tell, the friendships we keep, and even the old places that brought us together in the first place.
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