History on the Strip: from a blacksmith’s anvil to a modern hub — how Peter Simpson put a city on the map
October 28, 2026
By Barbara LeForge, Golden Strip News Editor
Right now, the center of Simpsonville hums with backhoes, pavers, and utility crews carrying out a multimillion-dollar overhaul of downtown. Drivers navigate detours, pedestrians step around work zones, and Curtis and College streets are being reworked into a one-way traffic loop designed to serve the city for decades to come.
Nearly two centuries ago, getting through this same stretch of ground required a team of horses, wooden wagon wheels, and a steady eye on a rutted dirt track known as the Old Stage Road.
A Forge at the Crossroads
In the 1820s, Upstate South Carolina was a loose scattering of agrarian homesteads connected by rough trading paths. A stagecoach stop was already operating about 12 miles south of the Greenville courthouse, right where the Old Stage Road crossed an old Cherokee trail that later became known as Georgia Road.
In the late 1830s, a farmer from Laurens District named Peter Simpson arrived and opened a blacksmith shop at the intersection. For 19th-century travelers, a skilled smith was an essential lifeline: horses constantly threw shoes, wooden wagon axles cracked on rocky terrain, and basic iron hardware wore down and had to be reforged.
Simpson soon anchored a small cluster of pioneering businesses. Silas Gilbert opened a general store around the same time, and in 1838 the settlement was awarded its first post office.
Interestingly, the federal government didn’t name that original postal station after Simpson—it was officially christened “Plain.” Simpson later served as postmaster himself, from 1844 until his death in 1847. Yet as his forge grew into the most recognized landmark along the route, locals increasingly referred to the settlement simply as Simpsonville, a colloquial name that gradually eclipsed the official postal designation.
The Rails Cement the Name
Growth, however, did not come easily. In 1853, the Greenville and Columbia Railroad laid its tracks several miles east of the crossroads. The new rail depot pulled away vital wagon traffic, leaving the rural hamlet largely stagnant for the next three decades.
That fortunes changed dramatically in the mid-1880s with the arrival of the Greenville and Laurens Railroad.
Seeing the coming boom, local merchant Sidney J. Wilson had commercial lots and streets surveyed alongside the new tracks—a grid that many downtown corridors still follow today. The post office was officially renamed Simpsonville in the mid-1880s to match local usage. By 1900, the bustling depot town had emerged as a regional cotton-processing hub, culminating in its formal municipal incorporation on August 13, 1901.
Still a Crossroads
Standing on Curtis Street or Main Street today, it takes an imaginative eye to picture the red-clay road where stagecoaches once pulled up beside Peter Simpson’s anvil.
Yet as construction crews systematically rebuild downtown’s foundation—installing modern stormwater lines, burying utilities, upgrading decorative lighting, and widening pedestrian walkways—Simpsonville is engaged in the very same business that first gave it life: adapting to how people move, work, and gather at a crossroads.
The equipment has evolved from a hand-cranked forge and hammer to excavators and asphalt pavers, but the city still owes its identity to the modest blacksmith shop that first gave travelers a reason to stop.
About the Author
Barbara LeForge is a passionate storyteller, dedicated community leader, and active participant in the Mauldin community, where she serves as her neighborhood’s HOA board president. A former educator, Barbara now homeschools her four amazing children, balancing daily lessons with the vibrant chaos of a busy home. When she isn’t running community meetings or editing local news, you can find her tending to her backyard oasis as an experienced gardener or working on her next literary project as a published author. She loves sharing her practical tips, local insights, and a little Southern humor with her neighbors through her regular column space.
