Appalachian History

"Some time between 1 o'clock and daybreak, Horace Devaughn will be led into the death chamber to pay the penalty for the murder of A.B. Moore and Mrs. Ruby Thornton in Birmingham last January," reported The St. Petersburg Times on April 5, 1927. Three days later Devaughn, a black man, was executed at Kilby Prison, marking Alabama's first use of the electric chair. Two weeks later, Virgil Murphy, a veteran of World War I who was convicted in Houston County of murdering his wife, became the first white man electrocuted in the chair.

In 1923, legislation had provided for state-performed executions to be carried out by electrocution. Prior to 1923, executions were the responsibility of the counties, and in Alabama, that generally meant hanging.

The electric chair was first used in 1890. The execution box consisted of a simple electrical panel with three buttons: an orange power button, a red stop button and a solemnly black execute button. The chair was subsequently used by more than 25 states throughout the 20th century, acquiring nicknames such as Sizzlin’ Sally, Old Smokey, Old Sparky, and Gruesome Gertie.

Alabamans referred to their electric chair as Yellow Mama; the chair acquired its yellow color from a contribution of highway line paint from the adjacent State Highway Department lab. It was built by a British inmate in 1927.

Yellow Mama now sits unused, inside the execution chamber at the Holman Correctional Facility in Atmore, Alabama. The last execution to occur in the chair was that of Lynda Lyon Block on May 10, 2002. Following her execution, a bill was passed that would allow for execution by either lethal injection or electrocution.


sources: www.patrickcrusade.org/YELLOW_MAMA_RETIRES.html
www.spiritus-temporis.com/yellow-mama/

Today, Holzer Medical Center-Gallipolis is the largest employer in Gallia County, OH with 1,123 people on the payroll.

Dr. Charles Elmer Holzer (1887-1956) came to Gallipolis in 1909, as a resident surgeon at the Ohio Hospital for Epileptics. Recognizing the need for a community hospital, he returned in May 1910, after completing his training. With a local loan, he converted a private home into a seven-bed infirmary just a stone's throw from the Ohio River.

In 1913, Holzer furthered his training in surgery, closing the hospital temporarily to study in Europe (where he in a few short years would volunteer as a surgeon during the World War). He returned to Gallipolis in 1914, married nurse Alma Vomholt and resumed his practice. The couple bore a son, Charles Elmer Jr, in 1916. That same year Holzer senior began construction on the First Avenue Holzer Hospital, the first general hospital in southeast Ohio.

The new facilities opened in 1917, and Holzer Hospital continued to expand until further growth in that location was no longer possible. Dr. and Mrs. Holzer meantime opened the area’s first school of nursing in 1920.

Holzer Hospital in the 1930s. Courtesy of the Gallia County Historical Society, photo by the late Dick Thomas, retired photojournalist, Gallipolis Tribune.

Dr. Charles E. Holzer's contributions beyond the field of medicine include founding The French Art Colony, a regional multi-arts center. It occupies a historic Greek Revival house, "Riverby,” on a site continuously occupied since 1796. Dr. George Livesay constructed Riverby between 1855 and 1858. Originally, the building had three stories, six rooms, a large front hall, and a winding stairway.

The Holzers purchased four adjoining city lots and the home in 1918 for $5,700.00. Alma Holzer is credited with naming the home "Riverby" after seeing that phrase in a book, "A Journey Down the River," by naturalist John Burroughs. The Holzers made a number of physical changes to the house, adding a large front porch and a swimming pool where Mrs. Holzer gave swimming lessons to area children. The couple remained in the home the rest of their lives.

Charles Holzer organized construction of the Silver Bridge in 1928, joining the capitals of Ohio and West Virginia; purchased land for an airport; and initiated the first air ambulance service in Ohio.

In 1933, the Holzers bought an old Gallipolis tavern---‘Our House’---originally built in 1819 by a Henry Cushing and his sister Elizabeth, and furnished it. The tavern had been the center of the community's social life for many years. General Lafayette, on his triumphant tour of America, was entertained there on May 22, 1825. Gallipolis still celebrates Lafayette's visit with a ceremony each spring.

Jenny Lind, internationally recognized singing sensation of the mid-nineteenth century, stopped at Our House in the 1850s during her American tour. The Cushing family owned and operated Our House until 1865.

In 1936, the house opened as a public museum, The Our House Museum, and was given by the Holzers to the Ohio Historical Society in 1944 as a memorial to the French families who founded Gallipolis.

In 1949, the Holzers gave the growing Holzer Hospital to the citizens of the five county area, to be administered by the Holzer Hospital Foundation. After outgrowing its downtown location, Holzer Medical Center opened on Jackson Pike in 1972 with 269 beds.


sources: www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WM2KMM
www.oll.state.oh.us/your_state/remarkable_ohio/marker_details.cfm?marker_id=553&file_id=3904
www.wegoplaces.com/OHGallipolis_Region_510_Cat_Attractions.aspx



Charles+E.+Holzer+Sr Gallipolis+OH medicine+in+appalachia appalachia +appalachian+history history+of+appalachia

It still stands on record as the 5th deadliest twister in American history. Shortly before 9:00 A.M. on the morning of April 6, 1936, the citizens of Gainesville, a prosperous northeast Georgia textile mill center, were dealt an agonizing blow when a series of deadly tornadoes ripped through the heart of the city.

Eyewitness reports recalled seeing at least two tornadoes strike the southwest section of Gainesville, then move northeast through the commercial district and on to the residential neighborhoods near North Green Street. From the northeastern residential area, the tornado traveled east two miles towards the textile center of New Holland where it destroyed nearly one hundred homes, as well as the Pacolet Manufacturing Company. The whole thing was over in under ten minutes.

William M. Brice, a prominent citizen and correspondent for the Atlanta Journal and Associated Press, described Gainesville in his writings as "a city laid waste."

"We were talking about how dark it had become,” then teenager John "Rudy" Rudolph remembered many years later. “My friends and I stopped in front of a store in downtown when the owner came out and told us to take cover. I really didn't understand what he meant. It was daytime, but the sky was as dark as night.

"We'd never seen anything like it...just before it struck there was a sound so loud that I felt in my body... When I woke up, I couldn't move my leg. I waited for what seemed like hours for someone to come and help me...my leg was broken (from falling debris)."

Minutes after the attack, numerous fires erupted throughout the Public Square and downtown area. Damage from the tornadoes immobilized the Gainesville Fire Department and forced rescuers to dynamite buildings on the Public Square as a means of controlling the rapid spread of fire.

The most tragic of these fires occurred at Cooper Pants Factory, a two-story garment factory located on the corner of West Broad and Maple Streets. When the tornado struck, many of the 125 workers, most of who were young women and girls, rushed to seek shelter in the basement level of the factory. The sudden clamor of the employees coupled with damage sustained from the tornado caused the building to collapse and ignite into flames. Sixty of the factory's employees died.

In the days following the tornado disaster, an army of 2000 relief workers converged to haul away the millions of tons of debris in the city's business section. The American Red Cross reported that over 500 homes were destroyed and nearly 750 dwellings were damaged. More than two hundred men, women, and children were killed and an estimated 1,600 citizens were injured.

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt paid two visits to Gainesville, a brief one three days after the tragedy and one two years later. Of the rebuilt city he stood before in 1938, he noted "You were not content with rebuilding along the lines of the old community. You were not content with throwing yourselves on the help that could be given to you by the State and by the Federal Government.

"On the contrary, you determined in the process of rebuilding to eliminate old conditions of which you were not proud; to rebuild a better city; to replace congested areas with parks; to move human beings from slums to suburbs. For this you, the good people of Gainesville, deserve all possible praise."


sources: http://dlg.galileo.usg.edu/tornado/history.php
http://ngeorgia.com/weather/gainesvilletornado.html
http://www.gendisasters.com/data1/ga/tornadoes/gainesville-tornadoapr1936.htm


Gainesville+GA tornadoes FDR+in+Gainesville appalachia appalachian+history appalachian+mountains+history

Shenandoah Herald
Woodstock VA
April 2, 1909

'To Find Your Affinity'

Your affinity is your mate, but unless you know the six types of happy married folks on Olympus, up to date, you may miss yours. Jupiter, king of heaven, ruler of men, house and business, must marry Juno, the queenly woman, plump, domestic, wise as Minerva, yet loving as Venus.

Venus should mate with Apollo, but being fond of all men and usually pretty, a Venus woman marries any one, often several times. Marry and be petted and adored she must or die.

Minerva, on the contrary, can be happy only with a Vulcan, a man her counterpart, wise, lofty, patient, a reformer, teacher and philosopher. Both have contempt for frivolity and meanness and vice.

Most all of the elderly single women in the world, especially those descendants from Puritan or Calvinistic stock, are single just because they are the Minerva type and too wise to marry anyone but Vulcans. And Vulcans, being the best of their sex, are scarce.


source: Library of Congress/Chronicling America: http://tinyurl.com/cxfzyg



appalachia appalachian+history appalachian+humor history+of+appalachia marriage+customs

Lydia Ann Kimble married Isaac Graham, who’d served as a drummer boy in the War of 1812, in 1869, when he was an elderly man and she was a woman of 32. Her husband by a previous marriage reared 11 children, while Lydia and Isaac went on to have three daughters of their own. The Grahams lived in Brushy Run, near Franklin, WV.

"My husband was born on May 12, 1793. This was during Washington's administration, you know, and the year that the cornerstone was laid for the National Capitol. I remember my husband used to smile, when asked his age, and say that he was as old as the National Capitol. He had a vivid memory, and enjoyed talking about the war, the gold rush, pioneer days, and so forth, right up till the time of his death, which occurred on November 10, 1881."

Mrs. Graham shared her reminiscences with a reporter for the West Virginia Review in 1934, when she was 96 and the sole remaining widow of a War of 1812 veteran. She was born during Van Buren's administration, near the place where she spent her last years.

At the time of the interview she lived alone in her mountain cottage, raising chickens and cultivating her garden, living comfortably on the $50 check she received each month from the veterans' administration.

She had no modern conveniences - running water, lights, or gas - but still used kerosene lamps and carried in her own fuel.

"Though I have always lived in Pendleton County," she said, "nevertheless, I have been a resident of two states. I lived in Virginia until I was twenty-five," she explained, "at which time this part of the state separated from the Mother State and became West Virginia.

“I never had a desire to live elsewhere. I love my hills and my mountain home. Though I have lived to see this country pass through four victorious wars, and was united in marriage to a dear old soldier who had served his country faithfully in another, I have no desire to talk about wars. I have seen and heard too much about them, I suppose.

“I trust we never have another war. I would much rather think about the beauties of nature." Her eyes brightened as she glanced through the open door at the distant hills. "And here, stranger, nature is at its best. The beautiful sunsets, the towering mountains, the cooling springs, the green pastures, the crystal rivers, the shady forests, all help to make this one of the most charming places that can be imagined.

Lydia Kimble Graham lived in Brushy Run, near Franklin, WV, shown here in 1913.

"When I was young I dearly loved to climb those rugged mountains to their summits. The view from those advantageous points never fail to awe, silence, and inspire me. I am no longer able to go up there, but, like the Hebrew poet of old, thank God, I can still 'lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence my strength cometh.' I have dwelt among these hills all my life, love them dearly, and desire that others may see and love them and benefit from them as I have. To me they are always a source of inspiration."

Her son-in-law, Down Calhoun, said Mrs. Graham retained striking cheerfulness throughout her advanced years, always welcomed callers and never grew impatient except when efforts were made to "hurry" her in her work. Then she showed, he said, sharpness suggestive of a much younger person.

Lydia Kimble Graham of Pendleton County, WV, the last surviving widow of a War of 1812 veteran, died on April 1, 1936.


source: www.wvculture.org/history/thisdayinwvhistory/0401.html



Lydia+Kimble+Graham War+of+1812 Pendleton+County+WV appalachia appalachian+history history+of+appalachia

Mountain Echo
Hyden, KY.
Jan. 18. 1897

NOT MURDERED......BUT TURNED BOY!

The mystery of the disappearance of Miss Polly Feltner has been cleared up. She was found on the head of a creek called Leatherwood in Perry County, forty miles from here.

She became angry at her parents because they refused to send her to Charlie Mutzenburg's writing school, and resolved to leave home and friends, and on Saturday, January 2d she left home going to the top of the mountain, where she had previously prepared a suit of male attire, and in which she clothed herself, then by following a torturous and unused mountain path she avoided discovery until she had left the immediate neighborhood.

Stopping at a country store several miles from home, she purchased a hat, pants and suspenders and other things necessary to complete her masculine attire, then going to the above named vicinity she found employment under the name of Ray Feltner.

When found by the searching party she was busily engaged in clearing ground and splitting rails. She positively refused to return under any circumstances, preferring to cast her lot among strangers and pass her days acting the man.

She is the daughter of Louis Feltner, a well to do and highly respected citizen of this county, and twenty one years of age, consequently Mr. Feltner will not make any effort to get her to return, but let her try the experiment of being a "farmer's boy."


source: http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~kyclay2/newspapers/misc.html



Clay+County+KY runaways appalachia appalachian+history history+of+appalachia

It was the city’s worst flood up to that time. The March 1924 deluge left most of Westernport MD, which sits in a valley at the confluence of the North Branch of the Potomac River and Wills Creek, under water.

Original caption: This was the scene March 29, 1924, just after the Westernport-Piedmont bridge washed out from high waters of the raging Potomac River. Heavy snows followed by a warm rain brought on the trouble.

A nor'easter had struck on March 10th and 11th, bringing between 10 to 15 inches of heavy snowfall to Maryland’s Allegany and Garrett Counties. High winds during those two nights blew down utility poles and crippled telephone, telegraph, and lighting systems.

Several weeks were required to restore wire service, and railroad and inter-urban electric schedules were interrupted until poles could be removed from tracks. The loss of poles and wires was estimated at nearly $1 million.

Original caption: This old auto didn’t quite have the horses to make it home and was trapped in the rising waters at 3rd and Lyons Street, Piedmon. The William Frederick residence is in the foreground with Trinity Methodist Church immediately behind.

Another nor'easter struck on the 21st, this time dumping 15 to 20 inches of snow locally. The month’s heavy snow left many roads blocked, and winds produced high drifts in some cases 15 to 20 feet high. There was 3 to 4 feet of snow covering the mountains. Then, on March 28, the temperature topped 70 degrees at Cumberland.

Heavy rains moved in overnight into the 29th, with over an inch and a half falling in 6 hours. By 8 am, the gauge on the Potomac in Cumberland had already risen almost 4 feet from the previous day. The Potomac rose at a rate of 1 foot per hour until 3 pm, then 1.5 feet per hour until 6 pm, when it peaked at a height of 19 feet and 2.5 inches. Westernport was 5 to 6 feet under water. A family of 5 were drowned at Kitzmiller.

The Luke mill halted operations for about three weeks due to damage from the high waters.

The entire Luke mill was flooded. A total of 289 motors and related pieces of equipment were underwater. No. 3 machine basement was filled with mud and sand up to the level of the windows. The mill’s water intake also received damage from the raging waters.

Mr. Allan Luke was Mill Manager at the time, with “Pop” Baker serving as Chief Engineer. Baker inspected the flood damage in the mill yard on horseback.

Ferry boats were kept busy after the flood taking passengers from one side of the river to the other. A month after the flood, the Western Maryland Railway Bridge had been repaired, but the highway bridge between Westernport and Piedmont was still out.

---'The Great Flood of 1924,' April May 1969 newsletter, Westvaco Fine Papers Division/Luke, MD

Westvaco (then called West Virginia Pulp and Paper Company) wasn’t the only key business in town decimated by the flood. The town’s other major employer, the American Cellulose and Chemical Manufacturing Company, also experienced production delays and financial problems because of it.

Damages resulting from the flood ran between $3 million and $4 million (around $36-48 million in 2009 dollars).

The 1924 flooding was the final nail in the coffin of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. The canal, which ran from Cumberland to Georgetown alongside the Potomac River, had been in operation since 1850. But the costly repairs that would have been required weren’t worth it for a business already deep in financial woes.

Original caption: Transportation takes many forms when necessary. This is the ferry boat that was put in operation after the bridge washed out.


sources: http://modern-us-history.suite101.com/article.cfm/western_maryland_floods_of_1924
http://www.erh.noaa.gov/lwx/Historic_Events/md-winter.html
April May 1969 newsletter, Westvaco Fine Papers Division/Luke, MD: http://usgwarchives.org/md/allegany/history/1924flood1.jpg



Westernport+MD Allegany+County+MD Potomac+River floods appalachia appalachian+history history+of+appalachia

Ramps are the first green thing of spring in Appalachia, and certainly the smelliest. Mountain folks have traditionally looked forward to the return of the ramp after a winter of eating mostly dried foods, often believing the ramp to possess the revitalizing power of a spring tonic (not unreasonable: they are high in vitamins A & C.)

The "little stinkers" are typically served with ham, bacon, fried potatoes, brown beans, cornbread, and a dessert. If you’re a serious aficionado of allium tricoccum, you know it’s an acquired taste: take garlic and multiply that intensity by about ten. The mere scent of those who have recently eaten a mess of ramps has been known to clear a room.

Opening day of The Ramps & Rainbow Festival takes place tomorrow at the Cherokee Indian Fairgrounds in Cherokee, NC, kicking off a month and more of festivals celebrating the most loved bulb in Appalachia. The high points of these community fundraisers include the Ramp Festival at Cosby, TN, and the Feast of the Ramson (this year is the 71st one) at Richwood, WV. But many smaller events proliferate throughout April and well into May.
Feast of the Ramson? Ramson is a variety of garlic, but there’s a more poetic answer to the question: the first sign of the Zodiac calendar is Aries, which ushers in spring during March and April. Aries is the Arabic word for Ram, the male of the sheep family---stout, rambunctious, and a bit odoriferous! It only makes sense to call spring's first green shoot the "Ram's Son."

When the first ramp feed was held in Cherry Bottom, VA (now Richwood) is lost to history. That there were springtime get-togethers of frontier settlers with ramp feeds is certain. Ramp feasting as an event began about 1921 when some Richwood men met for a cookout during ramp season. Eventually their gathering moved indoors and came under the jurisdiction of the Chamber of Commerce. The success of the Richwood event inspired other communities to start their own dinners. The town went on to become home to the NRA—the National Ramp Association.

Festivals celebrating a community point of pride were not commonplace in 1954 when the Cosby Ruritan Club of Cocke County TN decided to establish a celebration centered around the ramp. The first Festival attracted a crowd of between 5,000 and 6,000, including the Tennessee governor. Although the festival differs from year to year, there have been common threads: bountiful food, music, dancing, politicians, and a young woman who is crowned "Maid of Ramps."

In 1955, the Festival was attended by ex-President Harry Truman. In 1959, at the sixth annual Ramp Festival, attendance approached a never-again-topped 30,000 due to the featured guest, "Tennessee Ernie Ford," a popular television celebrity, and native of nearby Bristol. Other festivals have featured entertainment notables such as Eddie Arnold, Roy Acuff, Bill Monroe, songstress Dorothy Collins of "Hit Parade" fame, Minnie Pearl, Brenda Lee, and Dinah Shore.

But no matter which of the many available ramp festivals you choose to attend, two factors remain unchanged: the celebration of the region and its culture, and the return of spring and the adulation of the ramp.

related post: "The salient feature of ramps is the smell"

sources: http://lcweb2.loc.gov/diglib/legacies/TN/200003547.html
www.richwoodwv.com/ramp.asp


Cosby+TN Richwood+WV ramp+festivals allium+tricoccum ramps appalachia appalachian+history appalachian+mountains+history

Here is a little insect that with all his faults, and they are many, possesses certain virtues. He has solved the problem of race suicide, for he multiplies with astounding rapidity. He adapts himself easily, not to say gracefully, to uncomfortable, even unsanitary surroundings, and if he were permitted to speak in his own defense, would doubtless challenge you to show on all the pages of history any great military success attained by an army not accompanied and "egged on" as it were by cooties. Personally, I believe you would have difficulty in producing such an example.

--- The Tar Heel World War Record 1917-'18, by J. R. Graham

Louse infestations during WWI were common and concern about louse-borne disease was so great that after the armistice of 1918, returning troops were deloused at home ports and quarantined for 2 weeks.

From the book, "In the A. E. F. With an Artist," by Lieut. Jno. B. Mallard, reproduced in The Tar Heel World War Record 1917-'18, p 153.

At the beginning of WWII, louse control involved dusting with NCI powder (96% naphthalene, 2% creosote, and 2% iodoform) or smearing vermijelli, made of crude mineral oil, soft soap, and water, along clothing seams. The delousing powder of choice was MYL, with pyrethrins as the active ingredient. Until DDT came along.

In 1942, a team of USDA entomologists, led by one Walter E. Dove, were drafted into the project of preventing louse-borne typhus in troops. They worked methodically, testing every chemical they could find to see what would kill lice. Among thousands of other samples, they received a waxy, granular substance from the Geigy Corporation in Switzerland.

Swiss chemist Paul Mueller had labored intensively at Geigy for four years to synthesize dichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane (DDT); the basic Swiss patent was granted in 1940. This compound was originally made in 1873 by an Austrian student, but had never received any particular attention.

Field trials now showed it to be effective not only against the louse; but also against a wide variety of pests, including the common housefly, the Colorado beetle, and the mosquito. Geigy began manufacting two products based on DDT, Gesarol and Neocide, in 1942.

Gesarol did kill lice, and every other insect in the lab, but a crumbly wax doesn't work well as a delousing treatment, so the USDA crew did the unglamorous but essential job of reformulating it. By 1943, they were producing large quantities of several formulations, including powders and sprays, and they were referring to Gesarol by its generic name, abbreviated to DDT.

The USDA scientists promoted DDT only for a few circumscribed uses, including delousing and malaria control. Indeed, project director Walter Dove specifically cautioned against spraying the stuff willy-nilly outdoors, arguing as early as 1944 that DDT was "definitely poisonous," and that its environmental consequences might be bad.

It's the only pesticide celebrated with a Nobel Prize: Paul Mueller won in 1948 for having discovered DDT's insecticidal properties. But by then problems related to extensive use of DDT were already beginning to appear; DDT was discovered to have a high toxicity toward fish. Rachel Carson's 1962 book "Silent Spring" raised alarm about DDT's carcinogenic affects on humans. The insecticide was subsequently banned in the United States in 1973, although it is still in use in some other parts of the world.

This WWII-era Army poster from the collection of the National Museum of Health and Medicine at Walter Reed Army Medical Center instructs how to delouse an incoming recruit with DDT. "Both sleeves then three shots fore and three shots aft at both the neck and waistband." "When numbers are to be treated a seat for the subject saves the back of the operator. Don't forget the head and hat."


sources: http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/medicine/laureates/1948/muller-bio.html
"Delousing Procedures for the Control of Louse-borne Disease During Contingency Operations," Published by the Armed Forces Pest Management Board Defense Pest Management Information Analysis Center Forest Glen Section/Walter Reed Army Medical Center, 2005, http://www.afpmb.org/pubs/tims/TG6/TG6.pdf
The Tar Heel World War Record 1917-'18, by J. R. Graham, World War Publishing Company, Charlotte, N. C., 1921
http://scienceblogs.com/deltoid/2007/07/walter_e_dove_and_ddt.php

"The Bishop family had come to inspect the house. They stood at the bottom of the weed-infested driveway. The girls surrounded their mother. About six feet away Mrs. Kanukaris, whom Urie had already christened Kan-of-Kerosene, was talking to P.Q. He cocked his head toward her affectedly, pretending to be engrossed in every word she said.

"'We’ll take it,' said Mrs. Bishop loudly.

"Although the house was located across the railroad tracks, it was separated by two acres of land from the shanties of the Negro section. It stood on a knoll. Oaks and butternut trees shaded it. A crumbling stone well stood in the yard, protected from the weather by a peaked roof supported on four posts.

"There were three other outbuildings. A yellow one-room cabin, Mrs. Kanukaris explained to them, had been an outside kitchen in Civil War days. Its roof hove slightly, and some of the tin shingles were dropping off. There was a bleached, bony barn, from which protruded wisps of hay like stuffing. And there was a shed.

"The house was a weathered, broken-down farmhouse, which had been added onto several times. A living room opened onto a frail and tottering porch. Another room opened onto a wide shack kitchen. The addition section was a hallway, wide as a room, which led down to the bathroom, an afterthought.

"On the other side of the bathroom was a bedroom. The house had a second story, but there was no stairway to get to it. Two ancient and crumbling chimneys gave the house its sole support. The floors tipped away in all directions from them. The roof was tin. The underpinnings were rotted. The windows were irregular with cracks in their seams. Panes were broken and rags stuffed in.

"The front steps of the porch were rotted. Cracks between rotted boards opened to the inside of the house. Walls and ceilings were tongue-and-groove boards. Once they had been glued with newspapers to keep out the cold, but the newspaper had been torn away.

"'This is one of the oldest houses in Ephesus,' announced Mrs. Kanukaris, tramping through the rooms before them. 'Of course it wasn’t no good to begin with. You know, a man got shot right at this kitchen sink. The man that owned this house shot him right through this window on account of his having moved in here with his no-good wife. He was shaving.'

"Loco Poco gave a delicate twitter. Mrs. Kanukaris looked in her direction and then moved into another room.

'This is a Niggershack,' whispered Irene, trying out the sound of it.

"It was the extravagance of its lowliness that made it suit the Bishops. Not that it appealed to them, but that it personified their predicament. A regular house would not do. The rottenness, the many outbuildings, the forlorn red field, the slatternly, abandoned house, the nearness of the Negro section, beckoned fallen angels. They had to be received on earth. Their adventure was beginning."

---From ‘Entering Ephesus’
by Daphne Athas


Daphne Athas (1923- ) is best known for "Entering Ephesus," which made Time magazine's Ten Best List in fiction in 1971. This semi-autobiographical novel is about a young girl’s coming of age in fictionalized pre-World War II Chapel Hill (Ephesus), a setting that provides a creatively charged mix of intellectual arrogance and southern poverty.

Entering Ephesus won the Sir Walter Raleigh Award fort the best work of fiction by a North Carolinian in 1972.

Born in Cambridge, Mass., Athas moved with her family to Chapel Hill at age 15. She earned her undergraduate degree at UNC-CH and did graduate work at the Harvard University School of Education.

She taught near Boston and later served as the director of a service club for the US Air Force in London (1952-58). Athas returned to North Carolina in 1965, teaching at Durham Technical Institute before joining the creative writing program at the University of North Carolina. She was Fulbright Professor of American Literature at the University of Tehran in the mid-1970s, and was cited in the "Pushcart Prize Collection" for 1984 as an "Outstanding Writer in Non-Fiction" for her essay "Why There are No Southern Writers."

Exploring her Greek heritage, Athas has sometimes set her work in Greece and depicted her larger-than-life Greek father. She’s published four novels, a play, a personal reminiscence, and a volume of poetry, as well as essays, short fictions and poems in magazines and anthologies.


Sources: http://www.unc.edu/news/archives/mar97/athas.html
“Southern Writers,” by Joseph M. Flora, Amber Vogel, Bryan Albin Giemza, LSU Press, 2006



Daphne+Athas Chapel+Hill+NC Greek+heritage appalachia history+of+appalachia appalachian+history

That spring, I gathered up suitable pieces of scrap lumber wherever they could be found in order to construct a brooder house. Many of these boards came from a discard pile of surplus materials at the mill where Daddy worked. He often reclaimed a lot of useful items that were otherwise destined to be hauled off to the town dump.

The seven by eight foot structure had a shed roof and was only five feet high at the back. The sacrifice of head room in the design limited the space to be heated during March and April. Initially, the only source of light was a large window installed at floor level. Its southern exposure brought an abundance of afternoon sunshine, providing some solar warmth before the balmy spring days arrived.

Our neighbor Bernard Butler sold us a small top-loading coal burning stove. A removable round sheet metal hover radiated the warmth downward.

Daddy suggested an easy way to hoist and securely dangle the stove in midair. He appended a wire bail to the hover and attached a snap buckle fastened to one end of a rope pulley. A lip on the top of the stove helped keep it suspended about six inches from the floor. This gap allowed the chirping chicks to go to and from the heat at will.

The lifting device was easy to operate and gave enough working room to remove the ashes from the stove as well as to clean the area where the chicks nightly huddled. A fresh bed of wood shavings every day restored the space to spic and span sanitary condition.

The stove had a regulating apparatus of sorts to control the updraft, which in turn helped govern the rate of combustion. There were two opposing mercury-filled metal chambers, each one shaped like a small pancake, that acted as a thermostat. Their expansion when heated caused the damper to open and slow the coal’s burning rate. As they contracted, the closed system got the fire going again.

This assemblage wasn’t perfect. When falling temperatures called for more heat, the movable plates that regulated the draft didn’t always respond properly. Also, the small stove required constant restoking. Given these circumstances, the habitat of my little charges needed fairly constant monitoring, both day and night. The first two weeks were critical, a time when young chicks are really susceptible to chills, and the greatest losses occur.

My vigil began several days before the cute fuzzy chicks arrived. I lit the stove, kept the fire going to dry out any dampness, and made sure everything was hunky dory. Maintaining a uniform environment demanded discipline. Once we settled the chicks in the brooder, I had to set an alarm clock and get up at least twice on the chilliest nights to keep close check on our investment. Once I had dressed and bundled up for these nocturnal visits, a bright beam from a flashlight pointed the way. Sometimes the heavens, luminous with the full moon’s radiance, projected my shadow along the pathway.

Opening the door to discover cozy warmth insider the brooder house both soothed my shivers and reassured me that all was well. I routinely added more coal and waited for the embers to burn brightly before returning to the house and crawling back into bed.


Excerpt from 'The Day is Far Spent,' by Kenneth A. Tabler, Montani Publishing, 2006
b. 1926, Martinsburg, WV



chicken+house farm+chores appalachia appalachia+history history+of+appalachia

Moseley’s Administrator v. Black Diamond Coal & Mining Co.
Appeal from Muhlenberg Circuit Court filed April 16, 1908
Opinion of the court by Judge Carroll, reversing.

James Moseley was employed as night fireman and engineer by the Black Diamond Coal & Mining Company. The engine room was situated some sixty feet from the mouth of a shaft sunk from the top of the ground to the coal stratum, about one hundred feet below the surface.

The opening of this shaft on the surface of the ground was sixteen by sixteen feet. It was divided into two compartments, in each of which was a cage or elevator used for hoisting and lowering the employees and material from and into the mines. When a person in the bottom of the shaft desired the elevator to be lowered or hoisted, he could notify the engineer by blowing a whistle which could be heard by the engineer.

Moseley was not the regular engineer or fireman, and was only temporarily in charge of the engine on the night he met his death. On that night, a party of young people had gone down into the mine, in company with Tilden Bridges, who was one of the bosses.

After the party went down into the shaft, the regular engineer went off duty, leaving Moseley alone in charge of the engine. A short time after this, Bridges, who was at the bottom of the shaft, blew the whistle to notify the engineer to hoist the elevator, and at this moment, or immediately afterwards, Moseley fell into the shaft from the top, landing in the bottom, fatally injured. He never recovered consciousness.

Postcard showing Coil Coal Company Mine, Madisonville, KY. Early 20th century, no date. The engine room, or 'engine,' is far right. The vertical shaft elevator structure leading down to the mine is on the left.

In this action by his personal representative to recover damages for his death, the trial judge, at the conclusion of the evidence for the appellant [Moseley’s representative], directed the jury to return a verdict for the appellee [Black Diamond.] The correctness of this ruling depends upon the question whether or not there was any evidence to show that Moseley’s death was caused by the negligence or carelessness of the company.

The opening in the shaft was enclosed by a fence, and it is not probable or reasonable that the deceased, who was in his right mind and a sensible man, would have climbed a fence and deliberately precipitated himself into a hole one hundred feet deep. There is no suspicion in the record that Moseley desired to commit suicide, or that he was laboring under any mental disease; and the only reasonable explanation of the manner in which he came to his death is that he walked through the open gate and fell into the open shaft.

Section 2731 of the Kentucky Statutes provides in part: “And at every mine operated by a shaft there shall be provided an approved safety catch, and a sufficient cover overhead on all cages used for lowering and hoisting persons.”

[Black Diamond] partially complied with this statute by enclosing the opening or mouth of the shaft with a fence, provided with gates, through which persons desiring to go in or come out of the shaft might enter, but there was evidence tending to show that the gates were constantly left open, and could not be closed on account of coal and other material that had accumulated and was allowed to remain about the gates. To provide a gate and then permit it to be and remain in such a condition, for any cause, that it can not be closed, is the same as if no gate had been provided.

The argument is made in behalf of the company that, although it may have been negligent in this respect does not render it liable in damages for the death of Moseley, because his duties as engineer and fireman did not require him to leave the engine room, or go to the shaft.

It is said that, in going to the shaft, he was not in the performance of any duty owing to the company, or acting within the scope of his employment. That if he had remained at the place where his duties required him to be, he would not have fallen into the shaft or have been injured.

Moseley’s duties as engineer and fireman placed him in charge of all the machinery connected with the lowering and hoisting of the elevators by the engine. It was as much a part of his duties to see that the pulleys and cables attached to the elevators were in working order and good condition, as it was to see that the machinery directly attached to the engine was in proper condition.

It can not be said that his duties were confined exclusively to the engine house, or that he had no right to go about the shaft where the elevators operated by the engine were located. He was not a trespasser, but was rightfully on the premises.

Nor, in view of the darkness of the night and the failure to have the premises lighted, can it be said that the shaft into which Moseley fell was so obviously dangerous, or the hazard in going about it so apparent, that a person of ordinary prudence would not incur risk.

We are of the opinion that there was evidence sufficient to authorize a submission of the case to a jury, and the judgment is reversed, with directions to grant a new trial.


Source: The Kentucky Law Reporter, by Kentucky Court of Appeals, Vol 33 No 8, pp. 110-13, Published by G. A. Lewis, 1908



mine+safety Black+Diamond+Coal+&+Mining appalachia appalachian+history history+of+appalachia

When the NCAA Tournament tips off, you may know every team's star player and its odds to win the title. But how well do you know the mascots? Not just what the teams are called, but where those names came from? Let's take a look at some of the tourney's more unusual nicknames.

East Tennessee State Buccaneers: It wasn't until 1935 that ETSU athletic teams were referred to as the "Buccaneers;" previous teams were called "The Teachers." The school was known as the East Tennessee State Teachers College in 1925, shortened to State Teachers College, Johnson City in 1930. Coach Gene McMurray was credited with coming up with the name 'Buccaneers' in 1935.

"The Teachers sounds too innocent and academic, and they wanted more of a fighting name," says author Robert J. Higgs, professor emeritus of English from ETSU.

An English professor and coach at that time, Willis Beeler Bible, had an objection to the name. Bible believed that pirates had an unsavory reputation. The name stuck despite the disagreement.

"'Bull' Bible joked about the name buccaneers and said it sounded like a bunch of bandits," Higgs said.

The Buccaneer is a fine mascot for a coastal school, but ETSU is decidedly landlocked. What gives? A group of spelunkers found an underground river in the university area, known as Pirate Creek. The creek runs throughout subterranean tunnels in a southeasterly direction. Geologists theorize that Pirate Creek could have led to the Atlantic Ocean.

Local legend holds that Pirate's Creek was once home to pirate Jean Paul LeBucque (LeBuc), who had fled from the coast to hide his treasure. Thus, an inland school has a pirate mascot.

Wake Forest Demon Deacons: Wake's teams originally called themselves the Tigers, but that name didn't stick. People started referring to the squads as "the Baptists" due to the school's religious affiliation, and when the football team beat arch-rival Trinity (which would later become Duke) in 1923, student newspaper editor Mayon Parker dubbed them the "Demon Deacons" to honor both their Baptist affiliations and their 'devilish' play. Henry Belk, Wake Forest's news director, liked the title and used it often, so the popularity of the term grew.

The actual mascot made its first appearance in 1941. As the "Demon Deacon" terminology became more popular, Jack Baldwin (1943 Wake Forest graduate) took the first step and became the first in the long line of Deacon mascots.

"Some of my fraternity brothers and I were just sitting around one evening," Baldwin recalls, "and came to the agreement that what Wake Forest needed was someone dressed like a deacon -- top hat, tails, a black umbrella and all that. We wanted him to be more dignified than other mascots, sort of like an old Baptist Deacon would dress."

West Virginia Mountaineers: WVU's 'Daily Athenaeum' reports that individuals served as the Mountaineer as early as 1927, when Clay Crouse was chosen. However, it was not until 1934-35 when trackster Lawson Hill served that a more stable selection process was established. Starting in 1937, the Mountaineer was appointed annually by the Mountain Honorary - the school's prestigious senior honorary.

The Mountaineer mascot first appeared at WVU sporting events during the 1936-37 school year. Boyd H. "Slim" Arnold, a physical education major from Bayard in Grant County, was the first Mountaineer selected to serve three years in succession (1937-38-39) and was the longest tenured until Rock Wilson equaled it in 1993. (1991-92-93).

During Arnold's tenure, he became the first Mountaineer to wear the now traditional buckskin uniform. Minutes of Mountain meetings from the late 1930s indicate that a donor gave the Honorary several deerskins asking that a buckskin costume be made for the Mountaineer. Prior to that the Mountaineer wore overalls, a flannel shirt, coonskin cap, a sheep or bear skin type vest and carried a rifle.

The Mountaineer's costume is tailored to fit each winner, and male Mountaineers customarily grow beards during their tenure to go along with the coonskin cap and rifle.

The rifle is a true flintlock that requires the user to become schooled in the amount of powder required to fire the charge.

UT Chattanooga Mocs: The school's athletic teams are called the Mocs. Taking the name from Moccasin Bend in the Tennessee River, UTC adopted a water moccasin as its mascot in the 1920s.

Along the way the school changed the mascot to a Cherokee tribesman: Chief Chattamoc, and in the 60s & 70s a moccasin shoe served as UTC's mascot. In the late 70s the mascot returned to a Cherokee tribesman, this time Chief Mocanooga.

The Chattanooga InterTribal Association criticized UTC for using the mascot, because they believed Native Americans were portrayed in an unfavorable manner. Chief Mocanooga wore feathers and warpaint, and the association and other Native Americans said Southeastern Indians were not warriors.

The university assembled a 17-panel committee to discuss the issue and come to a decision. UTC adopted a new mascot in the '96­-'97 school year – Scrappy.

The name came from A.C. "Scrappy" Moore (a former football coach.) Scrappy is a mockingbird (Tennessee's state bird) and dresses as a railroad conductor. The school's main athletic logo features Scrappy riding a train (a reference to Chattanooga's history as a major railroad hub and to the song "Chattanooga Choo Choo".)


Sources: http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/23743
http://www.utc.edu/About/History.php
http://www.msnsportsnet.com/page.cfm?section=9614
http://wakeforestsports.cstv.com/genrel/100808aab.html http://www.etsujournalist.com/article/Journalism/Campus_Connections/Why_we_are_the_Buccaneers/18422



sports+in+Appalachia NCAA+championship+teams appalachian+sports appalachia +appalachian+history

"Benito Fernandez, known by all the Spaniards as Benito El Tuerto because he couldn’t see out of his left eye, lived just two houses away from our house on Ashton Lane. His wife, Cristina, was a short, heavy woman who spent most of her time sitting in a rocking chair and saying her rosary beads. She always had a small bag of asafetida on a string around her neck and did little of anything except keep her daughters, Juliana, Felipa and Marta busy with the cooking, washing, milling and other household work. She was very religious and sent her daughters to church regularly, while the padre would come to see her every Friday morning to give her communion.

"On St. Joseph’s Eve, she would never forget to perform the egg-in-a-glass ritual and would be the first one in the morning to hurry to the window to see what had taken place in the glass during the night. For this custom, a fresh-laid egg (it would have to be laid on the eve of the Saint’s Day) would be broken just before midnight into a glass filled three-fourths to the top with well-drawn water. Care was taken so that the yolk would not disintegrate. Then the glass would be placed on the sill of an open window.

"The next morning a ship in full sail might be formed in the glass, with the yolk forming the hull of the ship and the white of the egg making the sails. This would signify that some member of the family would be making a trip somewhere by ship. If instead of a ship, however, one saw a long, white candle with what looked like a flame on top (the white of the egg would form the taper and the yolk the flame), this would mean that some member of the family would die within the next twelve months.

"If on the morning after putting out the glass, Cristina let out an Hay, Dios mio! Ave Maria purisuma!, her husband and daughters would know she had seen the candle. On this particular morning, however, she exclaimed, Gracias a Dios! She had seen the ship.

"A few days later, she received a letter from her parents telling her they were going to sail from La Coruna within the next two weeks. This meant that they were on the high seas at the moment she had looked at the sailing ship on the window sill!

"When her husband, who was always telling her that she was too superstitious, came home from work, the egg was beginning to disintegrate in the water. She told him about it having been a ship and said that her parents were coming to Coe’s Run to live. He said, 'I’ll have to see them before I believe there’s anything to this foolishness.'

"She decided to make a believer of him. Instead of showing him the letter from her parents, she brought forth a calendar and said, 'They will arrive in Clarkston on either this day, this day or this day. Mind what I tell you. If they do come within the days I point out, will you then believe in what you call superstition?'

"'Yes,' he replied. 'If that happens, you’ll have made a believer of me.'

"And sure enough, on the first day she had pointed out on the calendar, a telegram came from New York City. It had been sent by Valentin Aguirre and said the Senor and Senora Ovies would arrive by train at five p.m. on the B&O train from New York City.

Que te parece! Benito exclaimed after hearing the telegram read to him. Now I believe in the egg!

"The egg in the glass had long been a Spanish custom. According to the local Italians, it was also a custom in Italy. Although the Italians enacted the custom on St. John’s Eve, it was done in the same manner and had the same significance."

Pinnick Kinnick Hill, an American Story
by Gavin W Gonzalez (b 1909),
WV Univ Press, 2003
Spanish (Asturia) immigrant
Clarksburg, WV


appalachia appalachian+history appalachian+mountains+history Appalachian+religious+customs Asturian+immigrants+in+WV Clarksburg St+Josephs+Eve

Like many locations in Georgia, many of Rabun County's place names are derived from Indian names. In Rabun County that would be the Cherokees. In most Indian place names, we know the English spelling of how the Cherokees pronounced the word, but no actual translation of what the word means. For example, both Chattooga and Chechero were the names of villages. Chattooga was derived from the town which once stood on the South Carolina side of the river, near the mouth of War-woman Creek.

It was abandoned, probably in 1760, because it lay on the route of two British Army expeditions. When explorer John Bartram passed by in 1776, he noted town ruins in the area.

The area where Clayton is now located was once an important intersection of major Indian trails known as Dividings. One route that branched to the southeast, along what is now Highway 76 East, passed an Indian village mapped by Henry Mouzon in 1777 and called "Chichirohe." That derivation is easy to see in the community we call Chechero.

The word "Tallulah" has often been said to mean 'terrible.' There was an Indian village near the great falls and gorge in the late 1600s called 'Talulu.' By 1725 there was another village in the same area called 'Turura,' a variation of 'Talulu.'

Some Indian names are Anglicized; Warwoman is one example. The most important route out of Dividings ran along War-woman Creek to the east, forded the Chattooga River, and forked in South Carolina to trails that then led to Virginia and Charleston. The creek name (later the community's name also) came from an honored titled among the Cherokee. It was their custom to take a woman along on war parties, primarily to cook and sew, but when one proved her mettle on several expeditions, she was given the designation 'War Woman.' We don't know which specific woman was referred to because the Warwoman Creek has held that name for more than 200 years.

Timpson Creek's name does not seem to have an Indian connection at first glance. But it is, in fact, name for a Cherokee, John Timson, who was the first convert made by Baptist missionaries in 1823.

Other Indian names abound in Rabun County. Stekoe Creek was first called 'Sticcoa' by the Cherokees, and Hiawassee Street is named for the great trail known as 'Hiwassee' that connected the Cherokee settlements around Franklin, NC to those of the valleys further south and west. Even Savannah Street, which many believe to be named for Savannah Bleckley, may actually be of Cherokee derivation because it is the English equivalent of 'Hiwassee,' meaning grassy valley.

When the Cherokee were removed and Rabun County was created in 1819, the white settlers started their own naming. Rabun comes from Governor William Rabun, who died in office shortly before the county came to be. Clayton, originally Claytonville, was named for Supreme Court Judge and Congressman Augustus Clayton of Clarke County. Dillard was named for the Dillard family, among the first white settlers in that locale. Mountain City was originally called 'Pass Over' by settlers because it was part of the great valley pass through the Blue Ridge. By 1915, it was known as Mountain City.

According to Mrs. Della Watts' recollections, Tiger was once called 'Kerbytown,' after a prominent resident who ran a general store there. Some say the name 'Tiger' derived from a Cherokee chief named 'Tiger Tail;' other oral history says the panther’s cry from the mountains reminded early settlers of English origin of the eerie cry of the tiger of India.


Source: ‘Rabun County Place Names,’ by Carol Law Turner, The Vintage Rabun Quarterly, Vol 3 No 1, January 2009



Rabun+County+GA Cherokees place+names appalachia history+of+appalachia appalachian+history

Following is a family history written in 1985 by Ethel (Barrows) Shilling, of Washington County, OH. Grand Ma & Grand Pa Seevers were: Mary A. Severs (1821-1909) & Samuel Severs (1809-1877)

Some History of Grand Ma / Grand Pa Seevers.

Reports are and have been they have Indian blood, and perhaps they have; who hasn't? But, I too perhaps think Grand Father might of been of the Indian Tribe. I'm that age. Seems the public wants to class them of the Indians. I never heard of any comment from my mother as such. They surely could of been associated with them in those days.

Grand Mother knew a lot about wild life, nature, etc. You name it. She was a great Herb Doc. She was the main Doc of the county, and saved a lot of lives and brought many lives into the community. Emma Limpert says Grand Ma brought her into the world. Also she saved one of her sisters from diphtheria, from her herb doctoring.

Grandma lived in a log house as I remembered, one side sloped down to ground like a shed, an outside dug cellar with sod banked at the side, herbs of all kind were hanging inside drying. She had curly hair (of which I don't think Indians have), wore black, and a black hood or a fascinator, she chewed tobacco, pieced comforters and quilts (by hand sewing) in the winter. She also knew how to rob the squirrels of their winter nuts; by finding them in rotten logs and stumps she would always come up with all she could pack.

I used to sometimes sleep with her. Before going to sleep she would make noises of different animals, especially like a bear. I used to curl her hair when a little girl.

When she got older, so I understand she pieced each grandchild a quilt. These pieces were very small; she never had no waste to throw away. Her fingers were very much drawn crooked by her age.

She stayed with us when she got old. My father built her a bedroom all her own. We lived down on Fountain St. Uncle Jim Seevers her son was her guardian. This log house was joining Uncle Sam Seever’s farm, back a lane, perhaps a mile. She went fishing in what you call Little Lake close to her home. She was a great fisherman.

She was quite a person in her age. She passed away at the age of 87. Her funeral was at the Logan Church. I was about ten years old and well remember it all. She passed away at Aunt Tan Cole’s home. She and Grandfather and two babies lay at Six Corners Cemetery about in middle of the big section with a large brown marker. The only brown I think in that side. You cannot miss it.

I cannot give you any dates. I don't have any records of such. Only as I remembered down through time. My mother never said much about the life or I was too young to get it.


Source: http://www.geocities.com/mikehall7142003/histories.html



granny women, Washington County OH, appalachia, history of appalachian history,

Fans like it because it is short, completely independent (in more ways than one), and sticks staunchly to steam power---represented by three extraordinary locomotives, the like of which there is not anywhere else. They like also its galloping rails, which are rough enough to thrill but not sufficiently out of line or surface to derail more than once a trip.

Railroad historians are well hardened to tales of corporate vicissitude, but even they grow weepy when confronted with the hard luck story of the Smoky Mountain Railroad—a fit subject for Voltaire’s “Candide.” It never did have a smooth middle class existence; from the year it was opened it never found a visible means of support and, like a street Arab, wandered from lease to lease with a reducing trip through the courts in between tries.

W.J. Oliver is said to have built the old Knoxville, Sevierville & Eastern in 1909 for the purpose of selling it to the Southern, but somehow, the sale fell through. Local banks took over the property and tried to get as good a deal as possible for trackage rights of 2.2 miles between Vestal and Knoxville over the Southern’s Marysville branch. Since lumber formed most of the traffic in those days, rapid deforestation brought the line to its first financial crisis: in 1921 the little railroad took its first whirl through the courts and emerged shirtless, though still trousered, as the Knoxville & Carolina Railroad.

SM Pacific No. 110 takes the mixed train over Boyd’s Creek trestle. Baldwin built the low-drivered (47-inch) 4-6-2 for the Little River Railroad, which sold it to the SM back in 1940.

Five years later its management eyed the courts once more---this time with a threat to take the matter up with a junky. But the taxpayers of Sevier County were still paying interest on the $150,000 in bonds issued to aid original construction and were anxious to keep the road going. Hence, they offered to waive county taxes for five years, and the local trade volunteered to order in its merchandise by rail.

With these as talking points, the road’s management offered the property to the Tennessee & North Carolina then operating a lumber road from Newport, TN 21 miles up the Pigeon River to Crestmont, NC and a separate 25-mile line which, connecting with the Southern’s famed Asheville-Murphy branch at Andrews, ran in circles through the woods to Hayesville. Neither of these T&NC roads was located anywhere near the other or the Smoky Mountain.

Nevertheless, their owners liked the proposition; they announced plans to run motor trucks for l.c.l. (less than container load) over the 24-mile gap between Sevierville and Newport; and, with personal funds amounting to $75,000, acquired the Smoky, the territory of which was described at the time as 75% in timber, 15% under cultivation and 10% in pasture.

Weaklings united do not make for strength. Late in 1937 the T&NC interests sold their Smoky stock to Max Kesselman and Joe Silverstein, acting as the Midwest Steel Company, of Charleston, WV—a junk outfit. On the first day of 1938 the T&NC, with approval of the Interstate Commerce Commission, abandoned its Newport Division, ending the daily service of a quaint “gasoline passenger bus” for passengers, l.c.l. and mail.

In April the T&NC sought to abandon operation of the Smoky, while, at the same time, Midwest Steel asked for permission to dismantle the property. The latter proposal was not successful, and on October 14 the Smoky undertook independent operation under its scrap dealer managers.

Arguing that the road was in terrible shape, President Silverstein asked the ICC to approve an RFC “rehabilitation loan” of $40,000, a request which the Commission denied promptly, on grounds that present and future earning power was insufficient to sustain it and that the movable security which the Smoky offered comprised but two combine cars, two flat cars and one box car---all exceedingly old and disheveled.


Source: ‘Smoky Mountain,’ by William H. Schmidt, Trains magazine, December 1949, pp. 28-30
full article here



appalachia, appalachian history, history of short line railroads, Smoky Mountain Railroad

An open letter to the readers of the Appalachian History blog, from Cynthia Fife Coughlin, a student at Radford University:

I began reading the mission of Radford University as included in RU's 7-17 Strategic Plan after my major, Anthropology, was eliminated from Radford's curriculum two days into the semester.

It reads, "The vision and mission of this student-centered community of learners are driven by these core values:" one "being an active partner in the viability of our region." Of course our region is our Appalachian region. Two other core values pertinent to this conversation are "diversity and the richness it adds to our University; and shared governance and participation at all levels within the University community."

I believe the Radford University administration has not acted in accordance with its own stated values by failing to make transparent and public the University's plans to recreate our school into something other than a liberal arts school. Furthermore, the decisions heretofore (eliminating the Anthropology department, giving departments only days to justify their programs) have clearly not been born of the collaborative, inclusive, and honest tenets of our country's new president, Barack Obama. In his inauguration speech he said, "And those of us who manage the public’s dollars will be held to account-to spend wisely, reform bad habits, and do our business in the light of day-because only then can we restore the vital trust between a people and their government."

Appalachian Studies is being considered for elimination as are many of the diverse departments that, collaboratively, define the erudite liberal arts experience at Radford University. I would like to be considered for Radford University's graduate school program in English and I would like to work for a certificate in Appalachian Studies. I would like to cultivate in Americans a heartfelt attachment to Appalachia which is the second most bio-diverse region in the world. In the event of the catastrophic climate changes predicted, it will be the seed and fruit of the Appalachian mountains that will revive the United States and maybe the world. The rate of development in the United States makes the Appalachian mountains to the nation what Central Park is to New York City. I would like to complete my studies at Radford University precisely because there is an Appalachian Studies component.

The Appalachian Regional Studies Center at Radford University.

Ours is a simple request. Please practice fidelity to our stated core values and begin to practice shared governance and participation at all levels within the University community. Please make public all data used in making program decisions and allow the students, parents, and alumni input. Please agree to refrain from making decisions over the summer break, agreeing instead to move on the public forum immediately or wait until the return of students in the fall semester.

Trusting that President Penelope Kyle and Provost Wil Stanton welcome our input I invite you, dear Appalachian History readers, to share your concerns about their plans to reduce Radford's Appalachian presence. President Kyle is from Galax, Virginia and will, no doubt, be relieved that so many of us are proud of our heritage. They receive correspondence at the following addresses:

President Penelope Kyle
Radford University
Box 6890 Martin Hall
Radford, Virginia 24142
president@radford.edu

Wilbur Stanton -Provost
Radford University
Box 6910 Martin Hall
Radford, Virginia 24142
wstanton@radford.edu

Thank you for kindnesses and your support.


Cynthia Fife Coughlin
Radford University Senior
March 13, 2009
ccoughlin45@yahoo.com


Ms. Coughlin kindly requests that you cc: her if you email Ms. Kyle or Mr. Stanton

From the 1927 divorce case filed by James R. Seawall against Dorothy Elizabeth Seawall in Knox County Fourth Circuit Court, Knoxville, TN:

"After their marriage, and in the year 1923, the defendant began to neglect him, and to absent herself from his home, and to spend the greater part of her time with her parents; that from December 1923 she has wholly separated herself from him and has lived with her parents.

"He respectfully avers that he has done all that he knows how to do to make her a loyal husband, and to properly provide for her and their children, but avers that she has not reciprocated, and that she has wholly separated herself from him, willfully and maliciously and without any just or reasonable cause, for two whole years and more, to wit four years next preceding the filing of this bill. And so complete has been the separation that this Complainant has not so much as seen the defendant since January 1924.

"Complainant would further show that he is a traveling salesman covering all the Southeastern part of the United States, and that as such he was sent to Knoxville more than two whole years ago next preceding the filing of this bill, and that he took up his bona fide residence at Knoxville on or about April 1, 1925. That he has since continually resided here, as his home, and that he is a bona fide citizen and resident of Knox County, TN.

"He would show that the separation herein complained of took place in the State of New York on or about December 30, 1923, and was wholly uncalled for, and inexcusable, and that it was without any just or reasonable cause. That the only cause which could have been assigned was a difference in religious affiliations, but this Complainant respectfully avers that the defendant knew his affiliations before their marriage, and that she, a Catholic, could not convert him to her belief, and therefore, and for no other cause, deserted him and his home."

INTERROGATORY PROPOUNDED to Mrs. Lela Guerard by the Complainant in the above styled cause, and answered by the said witness under oath.

Q. Please state your name, age and residence?
A. Lela Seawall Guerard, 32, San Antonio, TX.

Q. Do you know whether, during the marriage relation, or during the time when Mr. Seawall and his wife were living together, the Complainant supported his wife as a husband should?
A. I saw a good bit of them for about two months after the marriage; at that time his wife and her family seemed very much attached to Mr. Seawall. She wrote me several times between that time and the time I heard of the separation; there was nothing in the letters to suggest that she was not happy with him; certainly no complaint of his conduct towards her.

Q. State fully, if you know, how Mrs. Seawell conducted herself with reference to properly keeping her home, remaining with her husband, preparing his meals, doing his mending and housework, and general work that is ordinarily done by a housewife for her husband?
A. So far as I knew up to the time I left there was no complaint; from the time that I came to Texas I only know of what happened by complaints he made about the way things were going. He complained in his letters about her frequent and repeated absences from the home and neglect of household duties.

Q. Did you know Mrs. Seawall's parents?
A. Yes.

Q. What was their attitude toward the homelife of James R. Seawall and his wife? That is to say, did they at any time so interfere with the affairs of his home as to cause his wife to be less affectionate toward him? And did they, or either of them intermeddle in the affairs of his home so as to estrange his wife from him?
A. The attitude of Mrs. Seawell's parents up to the time I came to Texas was very friendly; their attitude later I only know from his letters to me, and what he told me when I visited him about two years ago during the time he was separated from her; in those conversations he attributed his entire trouble to differences in religion and interference in their affairs by his wife’s mother and father.

Q. Was Seawall kind and good to his wife?
A. Judging from what I saw during the time I was with them, from his and her letters, and his talk of her with me, I would say that he was.

Q. Was there anything in his conduct toward her that would justify her in leaving him and going to her parents and remaining out of his home for days at a time, or weeks, and finally deserting him?
A. Nothing in the world that could be imagined from what I know of their affairs, or know of the parties.

Q. Have you been in frequent and continued correspondence with Mr. Seawall since he and his wife’s marriage and separation?
A. Yes; I am his sister.

Q. Do you know of any reason why these parties cannot get along and live happily together except what you have already stated?
A. None in the world; I verily believe that though she is an ardent Catholic and he a Protestant, that this obstacle could be overcome, but for the interference of her family. With those two situations I see no chance of happiness for them. She has evidently chosen her parents and their wishes in preference to those of her husband, and between him and her parents there is a gulf that can not be bridged.


Full document here, from collection of Tennessee Electronic Library/Volunteer Voices



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