Appalachian History

Great numbers of Hungarian immigrants came to the United States around the turn of the century. The wave of immigration from 1880 to about 1915 was called the 'Great Economic Immigration' for Hungarians, and it drew about 1.7 million Hungarian citizens, among them 650,000-700,000 real Hungarians (Magyars), to American shores. These immigrants came almost solely for economic reasons, and they represented the lowest and poorest segment of the population. The outbreak of World War I in 1914 halted mass migration, but by 1922 7,300 Hungarian-born Magyars had found their way to West Virginia. The exclusionary U.S. immigration laws of 1921 and 1924 pushed the Hungarian quota down to under 1,000 per year.

Many Hungarian immigrants came hoping to make money and then return to their home country with enough capital to make themselves into prosperous farmers. Few of them achieved this goal---25% of Hungarian immigrants returned to Hungary---and virtually all of them became unskilled or semiskilled workers in America's bustling industries. They were the peons of America's Gilded Age, who contributed their brawn to American coal mines and steel smelters, and who produced the mythical Hungarian American hero, Joe Magarac, who could bend steel bars with his bare hands. It was they who unwittingly created the negative "Hunky" image of Hungarians, which then was transferred to all of the East and Southeast European immigrants.

Michael Bartucz’ story is fairly typical: born in Debrecen, Hungary in 1879, he became a barber in the Hungarian Army, according to his grandson, James Nagy. When he read in a newspaper that he had been declared dead, he deserted a wife and the army and fled to the U.S. around 1900. With his uncommon name, he feared that he would be easily found out, so he changed his name to Charles Nagy. He became a coal miner in West Virginia but finally settled in the Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania area.

Family structure was very important to Hungarian immigrants, and they created close knit communities with their churches and other cultural societies. For example, the Hungarian Evangelical and Reformed Church in Morgantown, WV offered Sunday school instruction in Hungarian between the two World Wars.

Hungarian immigrants were likely victims of exploitation: they were handicapped by language barriers, used to abominable working conditions and were usually willing to take almost any kind of work. Traditionally, Hungarians typically look down on government aid and very few Hungarians ever received handouts. Some Hungarians, totally unaware of the labor conditions in this country, were brought to the coal mining regions of West Virginia and Virginia as strikebreakers. Much hatred and violence was directed against them because of this.

Új Elore, a Hungarian-language labor newspaper based in Cleveland, published countless short stories and poems, starting in 1921, which conveyed the many hardships endured by Hungarian immigrant laborers. The stories were written about fictional characters, however, they were based on actual incidents related by the immigrants themselves.

There were short stories published about the mining towns of Pennsylvania and West Virginia, where many of the Hungarians found initial employment. The writings conveyed the degradation of living in shabbily constructed company shanty towns, of having to work underground and breathing the soot and smoke of the mine. There were many other stories as well: of children who were orphaned due to industrial accidents and of young girls who worked in sweatshops under stifling, unhealthy working conditions for meager wages.


sources: www.clevelandmemory.org/Hungarians/pg241.htm
http://feefhs.org/ah/hu/hurl.html
www.energyofanation.com/f2790e65-0b2d-438e-925d-1175535c4053.html?NodeId=:
www.everyculture.com/multi/Ha-La/Hungarian-Americans.html


Hungarians+in+West+Virginia Magyars Morgantown+WV Új+Elore appalachia appalachian+history appalachian+mountains+history west+virginia+history Joe+Magarac

Napoleon Hill’s book 'Think and Grow Rich' is the all time bestseller in the success motivation field, with over 100 million copies sold around the world.

Napoleon Hill was born in 1883 in Wise County, in the western part of Virginia, not far from the West Virginia border. Hill's view of his childhood was very negative and would probably have resulted in little if any success in his life were it not for Martha Ramey Banner. Napoleon Hill’s mother, Sarah, died when he was ten years old and his father James married Martha when Napoleon was twelve. Up to this time Napoleon was the scourge of Wise County, running wild and even carrying a pistol.

She saw the value in young Napoleon where most had written him off as a ne'er-do-well. Martha did something that was a turning point in young Napoleon's life. She asked him to give up the pistol that he had been carrying for the past several years and replaced it with a typewriter. This typewriter opened a new world for the young boy. He would eventually turn to writing articles for the local paper and achieve recognition for his accomplishments rather than his infamy.

Napoleon Hill in a 1904 portrait.

This developed Napoleon’s writing talent and established the skills needed to write his books about the power people possess for achieving success.

In 1900, after graduating from high school, Napoleon left Wise County and traveled a little less than one hundred miles to attend business school in Tazewell, VA. The school’s one year curriculum consisted of shorthand, typing and basic bookkeeping. Though this sounds like training for a secretary, at the time, it was the traditional entrée into business for even the most ambitious young man. And Napoleon Hill was determined not to return to Wise County ever again without being a singular success.

As Hill neared graduation from school, his goal was to work for a prominent attorney with many business holdings named Rufus Ayres. Ayres was a very powerful figure in the region and Napoleon would have a difficult time to find a more influential person to work for at the time. Through his audacious approach to Ayers for a job, even saying he would pay Ayers for the first three months to have the privilege to learn from him, Hill got the job.

He took to the job quickly, arriving early, staying late, providing meticulous service by “going the extra mile to render more service than compensated for”…a future principle of success. Through a series of circumstances that allowed Napoleon to shine by exhibiting his ability to handle difficult situations and extreme honesty, he became manager of one of Ayers’ mines at the age of nineteen responsible for three hundred and fifty men.

A 1906 cover of Bob Taylor’s Magazine.

One of the traits Napoleon Hill exhibited throughout his lifetime was first demonstrated when, though he held a lofty and influential position, he decided there were other things he wanted to do than manage a mine. Hill set his sights on becoming a lawyer. At this same time, his young brother Vivian was determined to go to law school. Hill announced to his family his intentions and that he would pay his and Vivian’s tuition at Georgetown University in Washington, DC by going to work for Robert L. Taylor, a former governor of Tennessee.

Taylor published a magazine called Bob Taylor’s Magazine that was based on the possibilities that ordinary people have to achieve wealth and power. Napoleon’s law school ambitions lasted less than a year. He realized he could not do the curriculum work, nor make the money as a freelance writer he had achieved as the mine manager. He told his brother he could not pay his tuition and Napoleon dropped out of law school.

Hill’s next stop was a lumberyard where he took the job as sales manager. Again, Napoleon excelled and by age twenty-two, he was a partner in the business. His success continued for the next two years but in early 1907, the economy was in turmoil. The stock market was reeling with large corporations and banks failing. By 1908, the lumberyard was out of business and so was Napoleon. Here was a young man at twenty-four who had achieved great success twice only to find himself broke with no job or prospects. Hill returned to Washington, DC and went back to work for Bob Taylor’s Magazine.

Andrew Carnegie in 1913.

As a correspondent for Bob Taylor’s Magazine, Hill managed to schedule an interview with Andrew Carnegie, at that time, the richest man in the world and a leader in the steel industry. Hill went to Carnegie’s home in New York City with enough money to return to Washington after he completed his interview.

During the interview Carnegie liked what he saw and heard from the young writer. Hill was looking for information from Carnegie about how someone achieves the kind of wealth and success Mr. Carnegie had achieved. Carnegie talked about the men he knew, and he knew many…Edison, Ford, Firestone, and every other person of prominence at the time. He focused on their success and what a great a gift it would be if someone were to organize this information.

In the Author’s Preface of ‘Think and Grow Rich,’ Hill relates “When he saw that I had grasped the idea, he asked if I would be willing to spend twenty years or more, preparing myself to take it to the world, to men and women who, without the secret, might go through life as failures. I said I would, and with Mr. Carnegie’s cooperation, I have kept my promise.”


From “A Lifetime of Riches: The Biography of Napoleon Hill," by Michael J. Ritt and Kirk Landers, Duttons Books, 1995

We post a new episode of Appalachian History weekly podcast every Sunday. You can start listening right away by clicking the podcast icon over on the left side of your screen. If you'd rather grab the show off itunes for later listening, click here:



We open today's show with the story of the White Caps of Sevier County, TN. This vigilante group formed in approximately 1892 by citizens who wished to rid Sevier County of individuals (mostly women) whom they deemed lewd or adulterous. 

Their modus operandi was to leave the offending party a note signed "White Caps," occasionally accompanied by hickory switches, warning them to leave town. If this tactic proved ineffective, the group escalated to whippings. In 1896 a cold blooded murder by two White Cappers finally brought the law down upon them.

We’ll pause in between things to catch up on a Calendar of Events in the region this week, with special attention paid to events that emphasize heritage and local color.

The Glades are Maryland's largest and most open mountain peatland. They are of great scientific interest because they are fed solely by rainwater (an ombrotrophic system), and contain peat up to a 9 foot depth. This area is one of the oldest examples of mountain peatland in the Appalachians.

Annie Taylor could get away with anything she pleased at school. Her father Champ was feared in Catawba Falls, NC by every teacher who had ever tried to rein her in; he'd threatened to kill several, and had literally run one out of town. Then Annie crossed swords with Miss Daintry Graham one day in class, and got the whipping of her life. It wasn't long before Champ came in search of Miss Graham. Here’s Daintry Graham’s telling of the story.

Next, we’ll hear an old Kentucky folktale titled 'Old Farmer Was A Miser Of The Worst Kind! His Love Of Gold Led To Great Misery,' as told by McCreary Roberts in 'Kentucky Explorer' magazine. The title pretty much gives away the end of the story, but Roberts spins a colorful yarn in the course of making the moral point.

We’ll wrap things up with a nod towards St. Patrick’s Day. Kentuckians have long shared, among other things, their love for horses, whiskey making and music with the Irish. Listen carefully to Eastern Kentucky’s fiddlers and you‘ll hear the refrains of Irish jigs and reels. And Kentucky’s buck dancing, or clogging, is a particularly vigorous and often undisciplined cousin to the Irish jig. And so March 17 is not just any ordinary day in Kentucky. It’s time for Eastern Kentucky vs. State, corned beef and cabbage, and of course parades.

And, thanks to the good folks at the Internet Archive, we’ll be able to enjoy some authentic Appalachian music from an anonymous Scottish band in a 1920s recording simply labeled: “Scottish music played at an informal house session on fiddles, guitar, dulcimer.”

So, call your old blue-tick hound up on the porch, fire up your corn-cob pipe, and settle in for a dose of Appalachian History.

Just here it may not be amiss to refer to those broad, wholly enclosed valleys whose meandering streams are often bordered by rather marshy ground. Such valleys are known in Garrett County as Glades, while any valley which has steep bounding slopes and slightly marshy flood-plain is called glady country.

These poorly drained areas are calculated to attract attention in a district where the sharp relief of the country in general insures unusually well-drained soils. To one familiar with the poor drainage of the glaciated districts of the United States, glaciation at once offers itself as an explanation of this topography. There are, however, none of the other signs of glaciation, such as transported boulders, striated ledges or morainic material. Moreover, it is possible to adequately explain the Glade Country by appealing to processes acting there at present and during the past.

The Glades are Maryland's largest and most open mountain peatland. They are of great scientific interest because they are fed solely by rainwater (an ombrotrophic system), and contain peat up to a 9 foot depth. This area is one of the oldest examples of mountain peatland in the Appalachians. The Nature Conservancy has purchased 601 acres in the area to set aside as a preserve. This 2008 photo was taken in the preserve.

The following explanation, based on recent geological studies in the Glade districts, is offered by Mr. A. C. McLaughlin of the Maryland Geological Survey:

"The typical Glades of Maryland are located on the strip of Jennings and Hampshire shales which lies between Backbone Mountain and Hoop Pole Ridge in the vicinity of Oakland and Deer Park.

"This broad, gently rolling valley is drained by two rather sluggish streams known as North Glade run and Green Glade run, both of which unite beyond Hoop Pole Ridge to form Deer Creek, a tributary of the Youghiogheny. Hoop Pole Ridge is a monoclinical ridge of Pocono sandstone which offers considerable resistance to erosion and has retarded both of the streams crossing it. While thus retarded at the edge of the Glades by this sandstone ledge, the headwaters of these streams have been working on the yielding shales until they have been reduced very considerably, in fact, quite to the level of the stream crossing on the sandstone.

"The stream grades are now so flat here that they cannot carry away the debris washed by the rains from the low shale hills. The result is that immediately along the streams the accumulation of alluvium has been so rapid that the stream is slightly choked and has thus become marshy. The Glades therefore are simply a well-reduced local base-level plain determined by the marked contrast between the yielding shale and the investing barrier of resistant sandstone.

"It might be added that possibly the inability of the two streams to remove the alluvium may be due to decreased volumes, resulting from recent captures by the headwaters of the Savage or the Youghiogheny rivers, both of which have tributaries on the shales in the immediate vicinity of the Glades."


excerpt from "A general report on the physiography of Maryland," Cleveland Abbe, Jr, 1898 PhD dissertation from Johns Hopkins University online at: www.archive.org/stream/cu31924000080691/cu31924000080691_djvu.txt

Annie Taylor could get away with anything she pleased at school. Her father Champ was feared in Catawba Falls, NC by every teacher who had ever tried to rein her in; he'd threatened to kill several, and had literally run one out of town. Then Annie crossed swords with Miss Daintry Graham one day in class, and got the whipping of her life. It wasn't long before Champ came in search of Miss Graham:

"I got me a piece of chicken wire and went out into the river to wade, because that was the most defiant thing I could think of. There was a fish in that river that I'd tried for days and days to catch, and couldn't. I decided to seine him up; and I did. I know now, and I didn't then, that he was a big-mouth bass and that he would have weighed approximately seven pounds. He was a whale of a fish. I strung him onto a forked alder stick.

"Then I heard Champ Taylor coming down that river, cursing at the top of his voice: 'Git in that road and git to running, I'm a coming and I'm a-going to cut you into shoestrings and strew 'em from here to Old Fort. Come out from under that bed and git to running.' I just calmly waded along, because I had buckled on a .38 by the side of me before I went into that river and I made up my mind that if that man bothered me I was not going to waste a bullet; that I was going to shoot about the third button of his shirt. I knew that I could hit it, too, because I'm that kind of a marksman.

"Anyway, he was raising Cain until he came down and got even with me. There were alder bushes along the creek and he couldn’t see me till he got right even.

"I said, 'Oh, wait a minute, wait a minute, I want to show you my fish.'

"Well, I had decided when I got that fish what I was going to do, and I'd put a nice little bullet hole right through between its eyes. I held it up: 'Look, see my fish. This river makes so much noise, I've got to come further out.'

Rural One-Room School, P. R. Young and pupils, Transylvania County, NC, 1903, left half of photo.

"So I waded out nearer to him, and all the time my mind was going two ways. I was talking like somebody that had no sense, but my mind was saying: 'Don't shoot him unless he takes his hands off of that saddle. As long as he holds that pommel of that saddle, don't shoot. Don't shoot till he tries to come down; watch his hands, then aim for the third button on his shirt and just let one bullet do it all.'

"But I was talking. I said, 'Look at my fish. I had to put a bullet between his eyes, but I got him. Didn't take but one bullet. I got me five more in here,' and I waved the gun out and sashayed it around. I said, 'I've got five more shots in here, all ready, and I think I've got six more in my pocket. Yep, I can re-load if I want to.'

"You see, what I was doing was letting him know that I could blow him off of that mule if I wanted to. And I was letting him know that he'd better 'tend to his own business, but I was doing it in a very gentle way.

"I was giving it time for the idea to soak into his weak mind. Well, he didn't know what to do, for the last thing he expected was to see the teacher in a short dress, wading in the water, with a fish in one hand and a gun in the other hand.

"And the last thing he expected was one that could talk in a calm voice and that was just like a little girl so excited over a fish.

"Directly, when I saw that old Adam's apple begin to jump up and down in his old long throat; it began to go up and down before he could. . . he didn't know what to say, and I knew he was up a tree, and when I saw his shoulders sink, I knew right then that I had won. When his shoulders slumped, I knew right then that the day was mine.

"I said, 'Oh, you'll have to excuse me for being so enthusiastic over a fish. I've got to tell you something: you're the very man I wanted see.' I said, 'You know something, I had to whip your daughter today, because she went through these woods down here to meet those old wagon drivers, and I know that you and your wife want to raise decent children and you don't want any unexpected grand-children, and the proper procedure is to just keep those girls out of that road, and I told them I'd switch 'em if they went down there and they did, and I switched them.

"'More than that, I've got another supply of switches on hand, and if they don't mind me, I'm going to switch 'em again.'

"'That's right, Miss Graham, put the wood to 'em, and if you can't do it, just report it to me.'

"Big change in attitude, I mean. I wasn't letting him know that I'd heard all that cursing coming down the road. I was making him think that that water made too much noise, and that I couldn't hear him.

After that, I had no trouble."


Daintry [Graham] Allison
(b. 1896 in Old Fort, NC)
Interviewed July 24, 1975
Southern Highlands Research Center
Louis D. Silveri Oral History Collection,
D. H. Ramsey Library Special Collections,
University of North Carolina at Asheville

Part 2 of 2 ---

“I guess in all he [Bob Catlett] must have come to me some twelve or fifteen different times and I at last consented to kill the Whaleys for him, for which he agreed to pay me fifty dollars, and if I got into any trouble over it he was to pay my attorney's fees and keep me out of jail by making bond for me.

“On one occasion I told Catlett I had spoken to Pleas Wynn to go with me and that he had agreed to go. He asked me if I thought Pleas would be all right and I told him I did. It was agreed that Catlett should go south with some stock and that the Whaleys should be killed while he was gone in order that he might not be suspicioned.

“Catlett went through Sevierville on Monday morning the 28th of December 1896 with some horses and as he was going out of Sevierville near the upper end of town and about opposite the Southern Methodist church I met him and helped him straighten out one of his horses. While there he said to me, 'Be certain and attend to that job tonight!'

J.C. "Catlett" Tipton, from 'The White-Caps: A History of the Organization in Sevier County.'

“Jim Catlett, a brother of Bob, told me that evening that Bob had left the money with him to pay for killing the Whaleys whenever the work was done, and that he Jim would pay the money. This talk was had in the presence of Pleas Wynn near the old jail place in Sevierville.

“That night the 28th of December 1896, Pleas Wynn and I by agreement met at Ben Bailey's in Sevierville, and about dark we left there, going first to Bailey's shop near the bank of the west fork of the Pigeon River.

“There I got my shot gun out of my tool chest together with some cartridges. Leaving the shop, we went down the bank of said river to the point or junction of the two rivers, and crossing the bridge over the east fork of the river, we proceeded down the bank of said river on the north side to the Capt Wynn farm.

“When we got even with the Whaley house, we left the river and went up the hollow to where the Whaleys lived. We stopped a short distance from the house. We saw a light in the house and heard some one talking within. Wynn as I now remember made a noise by coughing, and a man who I suppose was John Whaley, came out with a light and did some fixing about the crib door.

“He returned to the house and in a short time left. Wynn and I then masked ourselves heavily and proceeded to the house, where the door was bursted open, and we entered the house. I had my shot gun and Wynn had a pistol. I there killed both Whaley and his wife by shooting them in the head. I never spoke to anyone after I entered the house, nor did either William or Laura Whaley speak after they were shot, to my knowledge.

“I reloaded my gun and then Wynn and I returned to Sevierville. We did not return as we went, but took a nearer route across the ridges, coming into the road near where the Andes boys live, just below Sevierville. I took my gun back to the shop and put it in the tool chest and got some dynamite I had there and met Pleas Wynn near the Mitchell corner in town.

Pleasant "Pleas" Wynn, from 'The White-Caps: A History of the Organization in Sevier County.'

“He said he had been to Otis Montgomery's. From there we went to Mark McCowan's, a half mile below town, called him out, talked to him awhile, and asked him to go fishing with us, but he declined, saying his folks were sick. We got his canoe and went down the river a short distance and dropped two sticks of dynamite in the river. The result was we got six fish: one salmon and five suckers. We took the canoe back to the bank and left it where McCowan told us to. Before leaving the canoe we there burned our masks.

“We then went on to Sevierville where we divided the fish, he taking the five suckers and I the salmon. I went to Ben Bailey's, where I boarded, and went to bed and I suppose Wynn went home.

“I was barely acquainted with Wm Whaley; knew him when I saw him. I never saw Laura Whaley until the night she was killed. I never had had any trouble with either one of them and had no ill will or malice toward them. Jim Catlett came to Sevierville the next day after the Whaleys were killed and paid me the fifty dollars according to agreement, and on the following day I think it was I gave Pleas Wynn half of it.

“When I gave the package of money to JR Yett to deposit in his safe for me Wm Marshall and Miller Yett were present and when I took it away George Nichols and one or two others were present. I never deposited money or anything else with JR Yett & Co at any other time to my recollection.”


Sources: The White-Caps: A History of the Organization in Sevier County, by Ethelred W. Crozier, publ by Bean, Warters & Gaut, Knoxville, 1899
http://dlc.lib.utk.edu/f/fa/fulltext/2513.html

Part 1 of 2 ---

The White Caps of Sevier County, TN, were a vigilante group formed in approximately 1892 by citizens who wished to rid Sevier County of individuals (mostly women) whom they deemed lewd or adulterous.

Their modus operandi was to leave the offending party a note signed "White Caps," occasionally accompanied by hickory switches, warning them to leave town. If this tactic proved ineffective, the group escalated to whippings.

The White Caps were extremely popular between 1892 and 1896 and thus hard to control legally. Local law enforcement turned a blind eye to their doings and even when arrested White Caps would frequently tamper with juries to ensure their acquittal. In this atmosphere of tolerance, the beatings gradually increased in severity.

But then in December of 1896 the White Caps brutally murdered Laura and William Whaley in front of their infant child. The Whaleys were generally considered poor but honest citizens of Sevier County, and their savage deaths turned public opinion against the White Caps. J.C. “Catlett” Tipton and Pleasant “Pleas” Wynn were convicted of the Whaley murders, and hung on July 5, 1899, at Sevierville. Here is Tipton’s confession from his trial transcript:

“I was born and raised in Sevier county; am about 38 years old. In December 1896 I was living about two miles from Sevierville, but was at that time staying with Ben Bailey, my brother in law, and working in the blacksmith shop with him.

“I know the defendant Bob Catlett and have known him pretty much all my life. On the Saturday evening that the November term of the circuit court adjourned, Bob Catlett came to me and said he wanted to have a talk with me. We went into Fred Emert's store and upstairs into a back room. He there told me that William Whaley and wife had gone before the grand jury at that term of court and had indicted him and Bob Wade, his brother in law, for shooting into Walter Maples house.

“He said he wanted them put out of the way and would give one hundred dollars to kill them; that he wanted to make an example of them to teach people that they could not swear against him. I told him I did not want to do it and would not do it. This was about all that occurred there, and we went out of the store. Bob Wade was present during this conversation.

“There was a meeting of an Odd Fellows lodge that Saturday night at Pigeon Forge, about eight miles above Sevierville. Wm Wynn, Jesse Atchley and I went to it; leaving Sevierville that evening I went in a buggy with Wm Wynn, I think.

“Some time after the lodge had been in session Bob Catlett and Bob Wade came in. That is the first time I ever knew Catlett or Wade in that lodge and have never seen them there since. It was about fourteen miles from there to where Catlett lived. As we were returning from the lodge that night, I stopped on the road near Henderson's Island at a turnip patch and got some turnips and distributed them among the crowd. There were several along including Bob Catlett, Bob Wade, Arthur Seaton, Schuyler Atchley, Jesse Atchley and Wm Wynn.

“Wade and Catlett were riding horse back and when ready to leave the turnip patch Bob Catlett suggested to Wade that he take my seat in the buggy, and for me to get on Wade's horse, as he wanted to talk with me.

“This change was accordingly made and I rode from there to Rambo's Lane, about three miles, with Bob Catlett. On this trip he again brought up the subject of the Whaleys and renewed his proposition to me to put them out of the way for him. I told him I did not want to do it, but before leaving me near the Rambo Lane, he handed me an envelope and said for me to take it and that it was mine when the Whaleys were put out of the way. I took the package and went on home alone from that point.

“I examined the contents of the envelope and found it consisted of four twenty dollar bills and one twenty dollar gold piece. I kept the money until the next Wednesday evening and then I took it to Yett's store in Sevierville, and gave it to JR Yett, and told him to put it in his safe for me a short time.

“I let it stay there until Friday following when I got it and gave it back to Bob Catlett, saying to him at the time that I had decided not to do the job and returned his money. Catlett replied that he was glad of it for he could get it done for one half of that amount. It was not long however until Catlett returned to me again and began to beg me to comply with his wishes by putting the Whaleys out of the way.

End of Part 1

Sources: The White-Caps: A History of the Organization in Sevier County, by Ethelred W. Crozier, publ by Bean, Warters & Gaut, Knoxville, 1899
http://dlc.lib.utk.edu/f/fa/fulltext/2513.html

A Kentucky folktale

Back in the olden days, an old man lived alone in a big house on his farm. He never married or raised a family. To him, a wife would have been too expensive. Raising a family would have cost at least half of his farm profit. And money, he believed, was too precious to waste on children. Besides, he believed he would need to spend all his spare time keeping his lazy share croppers busy, or else he'd find himself a pauper.

Over the years, the man who, no doubt, was a miser of the worst kind, accumulated more gold coins than he could carry. He kept the money hidden in small bags, scattered about the house. Then he became afraid that he might forget where he had hidden one or two of these many, small bags, or somebody might break into the house and find some of those many small bags. So he dug a hole inside his cellar, put the money into the hole, then he used a long pry-pole to move a large, flat rock over the hole.


Every time he collected money, he exchanged the silver for gold, pried the rock off the hole in the cellar, and deposited his money. After that, for an hour or more, he passed the gold coins through his hands and gloated.


But as more money piled up in the cellar hole, the miser became afraid someone might watch him go to his hidden money and steal it. Instead of going to his money, two or three times a month, he went only once every six months. Then he handled the money and gloated over it for two hours instead of one.
Then after going for one of his six months, he noticed the heavy, flat rock didn't seem to be in the exact position he'd left it in six months before. As fear gripped him, he snatched his pry-pole and heaved, until the heavy rock slid off the hole. The hole was empty!


The old man fainted for a few seconds, as his arteries almost cut off the supply of blood to his brain. When he recovered, his screams were heard nearly a mile away. The nearby neighbors heard the old man screaming and crying and shouting, "My money is gone!" Several came running to the old miser's house to find out what had happened. Through his sobs and cries, he finally explained how he had his money hidden in the hole he had dug in the cellar. He ended with the sob, "I'll never again go in the cellar and look at the rock my precious gold was buried under. Oh, poor me!"


The oldest and wisest man there said, "Cheer up! You really have lost nothing. The gold did no one any good under that rock. Put the rock back over the hole, then come here everyday. Look at the rock and imagine the gold is under it. It will do you as much good as it always did; as gold is really good, only when wisely spent!"


'Old Farmer Was A Miser Of The Worst Kind! His Love Of Gold Led To Great Misery,' as told by McCreary Roberts in 'Kentucky Explorer,' April 2000 online at http://kentuckyexplorer.com/nonmembers/4-tales.html

We post a new episode of Appalachian History weekly podcast every Sunday. You can start listening right away by clicking the podcast icon over on the left side of your screen. If you'd rather grab the show off itunes for later listening, click here:



We open today's show with the story of the hellbender. North Carolina is home to at least 48 species of salamanders, and the mountain counties are the most productive with at least 35 species. And among those 35 species is the hellbender (Cryptobranchus alleganiensis), one of only three giant salamanders found in the world.

We’ll pause in between things to catch up on a Calendar of Events in the region this week, with special attention paid to events that emphasize heritage and local color.

“In early days for some strange reason, the little town of Keystone, WV sported one of the biggest red light districts [Cinder Bottom] in existence,” P. Ahmed Williams tells us in his 1977 essay "Black Culture," from the West Virginia book of essays Mountain Heritage.
”On payday Saturday nights, men, young and old, came from far and near to pay their respect to the "ladies," and for other sports such as drinking and gambling.”



Before the days of T.V.A. and large power companies, electricity was supplied to rural areas by such imaginative and pioneering men as Arthur Abernathy Miller. In 1925, Miller, a brilliant self-educated electrical engineer, built the first hydroelectric dam in north Alabama --- the DeSoto dam in Ft Payne, AL.

Next, we’ll hear a selection from the 1939 “WPA Guide to Kentucky, Compiled by the Federal Writers’ Project of the WPA for the State of Kentucky. “His ancestors were sturdy men and women, steeped in traditional ways, independent and as little humble as possible,” says the guide. “The mountaineer is that way too. He cares neither for ease nor for soft living. He is hospitable. "Welcome, stranger, light and hitch," is the salutation, and the stranger is bidden to take "damn near all" of whatever the table offers.”

There is no more sacred spot in upper South Carolina than the Old Stone Church and its adjoining cemetery, where many of South Carolina's most distinguished dead lie sleeping. The old church stands as a silent tribute to the piety and heroism of our first settlers, many of whom came over the mountains from Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia and North Carolina to make their homes in this beautiful but savage wilderness.

We’ll wrap things up with a quick look at SW Virginia’s Melungeon community, as seen through the eyes of Bonnie Sage Ball in her 1969 book “The Melungeons, Their Origin and Kin.” “Church picnics were always attended by Melungeon boys, but my mother once had a difficult time persuading young Willie that he must have a bath and wear a suit in order to participate in a children's day program. So he appeared, grinning broadly, in my brother's hand-me-down.”

And, thanks to the good folks at the Digital Library of Appalachia, we’ll be able to enjoy some authentic Appalachian music from Carl Jones, Don Pedi, and James Bryan in a 2002 recording of the old fiddle tune “Stump-Tail Dolly.”

So, call your old blue-tick hound up on the porch, fire up your corn-cob pipe, and settle in for a dose of Appalachian History.

"Practically all Melungeons preferred a care-free existence with members of their own clan. For many generations they seldom married outsiders, and virtually all families in each area were related. Nearly all Melungeons, young and old chewed tobacco. They lived largely on bacon, corn pone, mush, and strong coffee. In early spring they gathered crow's foot from the woodlands, and bear's lettuce from spring branches, and ate them raw with salt. They liked wild fruits and berries to eat from the bush, but cared nothing for canning and preserving them. The holiday for Melungeon men was a week in late summer, after the crops were laid by, to be used for a ginseng expedition. No camping equipment was taken along except a water pail, knives, and a frying pan. They slept under the cliffs.

"No fisherman could compete with the Melungeons. He simply waded into the stream, shoes and all, and searched with his fingers for fish hiding under stones. It no time he emerged with a nice string of fish.

"Theirs was a hardy race, and seldom did they rely on a doctor. They applied many home remedies for injuries and brewed herb teas. Childbirth was a casual matter, usually attended by mountain midwife. Babies, as a rule, grew and thrived without any pretense of comfort or sanitation.

"Their religion was of the simple Protestant type. They often attended their neighbors' churches, and occasionally had a patriarch-preacher in their group. They learned some of the old ballads and gospel songs from memory, for few of them could read or write. They accepted attendance at school, in most cases, an 'unnecessary evil.' Church picnics were always attended by Melungeon boys, but my mother once had a difficult time persuading young Willie that he must have a bath and wear a suit in order to participate in a children's day program. So he appeared, grinning broadly, in my brother's hand-me-down.

"Then came industry to the Appalachians - coal, timbering, and railroads. The change was slow. World War I drew Melungeons into industry as well as military service. Coal towns grew up rapidly, and the Melungeon, like other tenant farmers, loaded up his few belongings on a wagon and headed for the 'public works.' A few remained behind and bought little hillside farms. For some reason their number appears to have decreased sharply in the past three decades, probably a result of long intermarriage, or perhaps many have been lost in white blood. Soon they may become just a legend - a lost race."

The Melungeons, Their Origin and Kin, by Bonnie Sage Ball, self-published 1969

related post: "Educating the Melungeons"

Bonnie+Sage+Ball appalachia appalachian+history appalachian+mountains+history Melungeons

North Carolina is home to at least 48 species of salamanders, and the mountain counties are the most productive with at least 35 species. And among those 35 species is the hellbender (Cryptobranchus alleganiensis), one of only three giant salamanders found in the world---the other two are the Chinese Giant Salamander and Japanese Giant Salamander. The hellbender's one of the largest salamanders found in the United States. Only the amphiuma, a salamander shaped like an eel, is longer.

According to a Missouri state herpetologist, Jeff Briggler, early settlers thought the hellbender looked like a creature from hell, where it was "bent" on returning, which is how this salamander got its name. In Western North Carolina hellbenders are also called 'water dog,' 'devildog' or 'Alleghany alligator.'

During the Middle Ages, people believed salamanders were born from fire, because they observed salamanders scurrying out of damp logs burned for fuel. Consequently, in some languages, the word salamander means “fire lizard.” Leonardo da Vinci wrote that the salamander “has no digestive organs, and gets no food but from the fire, in which it constantly renews its scaly skin.”

Other early myths about salamanders claimed their saliva destroyed human hair. While salamanders probably did scurry out of damp logs back in the day, they no doubt did so to escape the fire, not to be born from it. Further, salamanders do not lack digestive organs, do not have scales, and do not have saliva that ruins human hair.

Hellbenders are not venomous, though their skin secretions are somewhat toxic (don't touch your eyes after handling one!). They will bite, but only if they are really provoked. A common myth is that hellbenders will 'ruin' good fishing streams by eating all the fish. This couldn't be farther from the truth. In fact, if you see hellbenders in a stream, this is an excellent indication that the water quality is still good.

They feed almost entirely on crayfish, but will also eat small fish, invertebrates, and other hellbenders. The hellbender is a nocturnal animal with poor vision; consequently it relies on touch and smell to catch food. They will scavenge for anything that smells good -- this is why they are often caught on fishing lines.

The hellbender's voracious appetite for crayfish also means that they are very important for keeping a stream's food chain balanced, and this is good for fish and the entire ecosystem.

Mature hellbenders breathe entirely through their skin. Young hellbenders are born with gills. Gill slits located at the base of the throat replace the gills when the young reach 1 1⁄2 years. The young hellbender is then able to absorb oxygen through its skin.

Because hellbenders rely on the thousands of capillaries found in the fleshy folds of skin along their body and legs to get oxygen from the water, they spend nearly all of their time in fast-moving water where dissolved oxygen is plentiful.

In North Carolina, the hellbender can be found in mountain streams that drain toward the Ohio and Tennessee River systems. Streams noted for their hellbender populations include New River, Watauga River, South Toe River, Mills River and Davidson River.

The oldest known hellbender in captivity was 29 years and individuals in the wild likely live that long or longer. Because they live so long, the removal of adults from the wild can cause populations to dwindle.

North Carolina is fortunate that national forests protect many of the hellbender’s mountain watersheds, yet development in some mountain watersheds threatens its habitat. Stream conditions have been detrimentally impacted by increased urbanization, poor agricultural and forestry practices, and road-building. As these streams are disturbed, sediment builds up and smothers the rocks under which the hellbenders live.

The hellbender's habitat has also been impacted as more rivers have been dammed. Damming of rivers has converted many of the free-flowing waterways into slow moving lakes no longer suitable for species like the hellbender.

The N.C. Wildlife Resources Commission has designated the hellbender as a species of Special Concern. This designation prohibits the taking and sale of hellbenders.


sources: www.bio.davidson.edu/people/midorcas/outreach/NCWRC%20species%20profiles/Amphibians/hellbender.pdf
www.tvthrong.co.uk/nick-bakers-wierd-creatures/nick-bakers-wierd-creatures-friday-october-26
www.hellbenders.org/abouthellbenders.html
wildsouth.org/index.php/species-spotlight/154-hellbender
http://woodlandstewards.osu.edu/articles/files/salamander.pdf

There is no more sacred spot in upper South Carolina than the Old Stone Church and its adjoining cemetery, where many of South Carolina's most distinguished dead lie sleeping. The old church stands as a silent tribute to the piety and heroism of our first settlers, many of whom came over the mountains from Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia and North Carolina to make their homes in this beautiful but savage wilderness.

As was the custom with the Scotch-Irish, as soon as they were settled in their new homes, they banded themselves together for public worship and immediately set about the establishment of a church. Following the church, there was a school; for with them religion and learning must go hand in hand.

The old church has stood for more than a century and a quarter, and its gray walls have recorded the hardships of the sturdy pioneers and the march of progress. Some of her worshipers followed Pickens into the battles of Ninety-Six, King's Mountain, Cowpens and Eutaw Springs. The accurate fire of these men with their flint and steel rifles drove fear into the hearts of the British. The sight of the coonskin caps which these men wore made them quake.

It has witnessed the early days of the new republic, the tramp of the feet of an invading foe, and still continues, although without regular services for almost a century to witness for God and the right.

On October 13, 1789, the people of Seneca appealed to the Presbytery of South Carolina to be taken under its care. In compliance with this request the Rev. John Simpson of New Jersey was sent to preach one Sabbath in the month. In 1790 he was installed as pastor of the log church, which stood about 80 rods from the dwelling of the late Ezekiel Pickens on the north side of the road. A tablet now marks the spot, though doubtless overgrown with brambles.

The growth of the congregation soon made a larger and more commodious church necessary. The foundations of the present church were laid in 1797 on 16.94 acres of land given by John Miller, the printer.

The church was completed in 1802 and stands as an enduring monument to the workmanship of John Rusk, father of the late United States Senator Rusk of Texas. The church was built by public subscription and the session book records that the principal contributors were Gen. Pickens, Gen. Anderson, George Reese, William Steele, Capt. McGriffin, Hardy Owens, Messrs. Whitner, Calhoun and Earle. The seats and pulpit were of walnut and were contributed by Gen. Pickens individually. Unfortunately the interior of the church was destroyed by a forest fire many years ago.

The church was named Hopewell-Keowee for the home of Gen. Pickens, only a short distance away.

The Rev. Thomas Reese, a distinguished scholar and patriot, was installed as pastor in 1792. He died in 1796 and was said to have been the first buried in the adjoining cemetery. The cemetery is enclosed by a substantial granite wall, and passing through the iron gate we pause at his grave. Ramsay, the historian, said of him in part: "That his admired essay on the Influence of Religion in Civil Society is an honorable testimony of the literature of South Carolina in 1788." His arduous pursuit of his studies shortened his life. He was the first South Carolinian to receive a degree from Princeton.

John Miller, the publisher of the famous Junius Letters, and many of his descendants, lie buried in the east corner. A native of London, England, he knew well the writer of the famous letters, but carried the secret to his grave. Settling first in Charleston, he published the South Carolina Gazette and Advertiser, which he sold, and moved to Pendleton, where he began the publishing of the Pendleton Weekly Messenger, using the old printing press of Gen. Nathaniel Green. His sons, John and Crosby Miller, were faithful members of the old church. His descendants continue to uphold the honor of the family. The family of one John Miller has furnished two foreign missionaries, one outstanding home missionary and two splendid physicians.


Excerpt from 'Historic Oconee County, South Carolina,' by Mary Cherry Doyle, written 1935, published by Old Pendleton District Historical Commission, 1967
online at http://files.usgwarchives.net/sc/oconee/history/H-12.txt

In early days for some strange reason, the little town of Keystone, WV sported one of the biggest red light districts [Cinder Bottom] in existence.

On payday Saturday nights, men, young and old, came from far and near to pay their respect to the "ladies," and for other sports such as drinking and gambling.

Big open top automobiles were in style during the early twenties. The Chalmers, Pierce Arrows, Peerless, Packard and Cadillac were possibly the more expensive and elaborate machines. Anyone who could afford one or two of these machines usually used them for public conveyance as taxis. One gentleman is reputed to have owned at least three of these expensive machines, each driven at various times or the other by one of his sons, for the purpose of hauling passengers mainly from town to town and most assuredly to and from the Bottom.

A 1922 Chalmers car.

It was common to speak of "going to catch some air." This meant going for an automobile ride purely for pleasure. In the back of my mind there is a pleasurable memory of seeing carloads of "ladies" dressed in their finest garb, being driven through various communities in the county waving to those they knew as friends and vice versa. Suffice to say the young bucks gaped in awe, while some of the older clientele, wishing not to be recognized on their home territory, shied away shamefully.

There is one truism which must be mentioned. To my knowledge, which of course on this subject may be limited, the "ladies," whenever in public, always conducted themselves in a most ladylike manner. This is even more remarkable in face of the fact that public dances were attended by all segments of society. Dances were the main source of diversion and were always invitational social events. Those who wanted more exclusive social life attended private home parties or sociables sponsored in homes by small private clubs or individuals. All social events, public and private, were definitely chaperoned.

Keystone WV, no date.

Music for dancing at home parties was usually furnished by individual guests who accepted it as correct and proper to take their turn at the piano. Anyone who played a fairly good jazz piano was always assured of an invitation. Music for the better public dances was almost always furnished by the Edward Watkins Saxaphone Orchestra from Bluefield. This organization was reorganized in the early twenties and became known as Edward's Collegians, employing exclusively young musicians who were students at leading Negro colleges. The group remained intact for a long period playing dance engagements in many of the large cities throughout the South, East, and Middlewest.


--excerpt from "Black Culture," by P. Ahmed Williams, from Mountain Heritage, McClain Printing Co, Parsons, WV,1977

Before the days of T.V.A. and large power companies, electricity was supplied to rural areas by such imaginative and pioneering men as Arthur Abernathy Miller. In 1925, Miller, a brilliant self-educated electrical engineer, built the first hydroelectric dam in north Alabama --- the DeSoto dam in Ft Payne, AL.

Miller had furnished electrical power for two towns in Virginia and one in West Virginia before coming to Fort Payne from Chattanooga in 1921. He knew he had found an ideal location for his plant at this picturesque spot atop Lookout Mountain. His initial goal was to help supply power to his Little River Power Company, later sold to Alabama Power Company, which he constructed below the falls on the west side of the gorge.

After he decided to build his electric plant at DeSoto Falls, Miller's first problem appeared to be the area's inaccessibility. There were no roads at all and Miller's heavy Lincoln mired deeply in the muddy log trail on several occasions before he and Baltimore developer Phiffer Smith built the first road to DeSoto Falls. The road connected the falls with the brow of the mountain, where a road already ran to Valley Head.

Miller hired many local men for the construction of his dam, which was first built to a height of 10 feet. Later various people of the area contributed sufficient funds to raise the dam an additional 10 feet in order to increase the size of the lake.

The heavy diesel machinery purchased by Miller posed a problem, as he was at the south end of town and some distance from the depot. There was no double track to aid in the unloading, and train officials emphatically declared they could keep the train stopped for no longer than 30 minutes. They were certain this amount of time was totally inadequate for unloading such massive equipment. However, after skillful and detailed planning, Miller accomplished the feat in the allotted time.

At first Fort Payne was furnished with electricity from dark until midnight. Then, after a number of local women had purchased electric irons, power was supplied on Thursday afternoons to allow this task. Later electricity was made available all day and night.

As there was no central switch for the street lights, Ernest Wallis, a young school boy, became Fort Payne's equivalent of the "ole lamp lighter", riding his bicycle up and down the streets at dusk to turn the lights on and returning after dawn to turn them off.

On many occasions Miller jumped up from his evening meal and rushed through the darkness from his home on the corner of Third and Gault to restore electric service after an incident of power failure. But his worst such experience was to keep the power flowing during a carnival's visit to town. Every time the merry-go-round made a few turns, all the machinery stopped and the lights went out.

Miller and his partner Smith saw great possibilities in further development of this beautiful area and purchased 300 acres of land surrounding the falls. They formed the DeSoto Falls Development Company, with Smith as president and Miller as secretary and treasurer. Their tract of mountain land was divided into 266 building lots, and plans were made for a community clubhouse and tennis courts. A historic old fortress area below the falls was to be preserved as a park. However the descending Depression years prevented the further development of their park.

Arthur Abernathy Miller’s generator has long been out of commission, but the dam, waterfalls, canyon and reservoir above the dam are now a tourist attraction. A square concrete base still marks the spot where electrical power was generated for Fort Payne, Mentone, Valley Head, Collinsville, AL and Menlo, GA.

sources: www.desotostatepark.com/lol-aamiller.htm
www.tourdekalb.com/history%20-%20A.%20A.%20Miller.htm


Arthur+Abernathy+Miller DeSoto+Falls Ft+Payne+AL hydroelectric+dams appalachia appalachian+history appalachian+mountains+history

We post a new episode of Appalachian History weekly podcast every Sunday. You can start listening right away by clicking the podcast icon over on the left side of your screen. If you'd rather grab the show off itunes for later listening, click here:



We open today's show with a story from the boyhood of Ulysses S. Grant. Grant, the 18th U.S. President and Union general-in-chief during the Civil War, grew up in Georgetown, OH, the son of an Ohio tanner. In this segment from Grant’s memoirs he describes trading a horse with a Kentucky farmer when he was fifteen. Trouble was, the horse had never pulled a carriage before. Grant bought it anyway, much to his regret when halfway home the horse starting bucking the carriage wildly. It says quite a bit about the future soldier how he solved the problem, as you’ll hear.

We’ll pause in between things to catch up on a Calendar of Events in the region this week, with special attention paid to events that emphasize heritage and local color.

On Oct. 14, 1980, Stella Fuller Day was proclaimed by the mayor of Huntington, WV to acknowledge her lifelong efforts in helping the poor and disadvantaged of that community. And in 2008 she was posthumously inducted into the Greater Huntington Wall of Fame for her 60 years of service. But she wasn’t always so well honored. After 25 years of exceptional service with the Huntington chapter of the Salvation Army she was expecting to be nominated for the top job in the post. But she left under a cloud, bitter at the back room politics of it all. The story has a silver lining, however, and one that she herself did not anticipate.

Even in the 1930s he thought of himself as both a journalist and a hiker in equal measure. “I’ve learned,” said Louisville, KY native Howard Hardaway in a late life interview, “that the most interesting places are not right on the road. On the back roads, at the little country stores where the road crews gather for a quart of milk and a moon pie, that’s where you find some real historians.” In this excerpt from a Louisville Courier-Journal article he introduces us to some backwoods characters from Clinton County, KY.

"You want to know when l really entered public life. I did not enter; I was shot into it, as by a catapult, and I learned politics in front of Gatling guns and Mauser rifles,” says Rebecca Latimer Felton. Until late in her life, Felton saw her career as tied completely to her husband's. William Felton served three terms (1875-81) in the U.S. Congress. From 1884 to 1890 he served another three terms in Georgia’s state legislature. In this selection from Mrs. Felton’s book “Country Life in Georgia in the Days of My Youth” she furiously attacks North Georgia politicians who made millions off the convict lease system of the late nineteenth century.

We’ll wrap things up with a quick look at the song ‘Liza Jane,’ an old mountain ballad. Two influential recordings were made of the tune in the 1920's which helped spread its popularity among early country musicians.

And, thanks to the good folks at the Digital Archive, we’ll be able to enjoy some authentic Appalachian music from Gerry Dempsey, Ian Jacks and Tom Joad in a 2004 recording of the traditional tune “St. Anne’s Reel.”

So, call your old blue-tick hound up on the porch, fire up your corn-cob pipe, and settle in for a dose of Appalachian History.

When I go a-courtin',
I'll go on the train.
When I go to marry,
I'll marry Liza Jane.

Chorus:
O Law', Liza, po' gal,
O Law', Liza Jane,
O Law', Liza, po' gal,
She died on the train.

The hardest work I ever did
Was a-brakin'on a train;
The easiest work I ever did
Was a-huggin' Liza Jane.

When I went to see her,
She met me at the door;
Her shoes and stockings in her hand,
And her feet all over the floor.

When I went to see her,
She wrung her hands and cried;
She swore I was the ugliest thing
That ever lived or died.

I ask little Liza to marry me-
What do you reckon she said?
Said she would not marry me,
If everybody else was dead.

Goin' up the mountain
To raise a patch of cane,
To make a barrel of sorghum
To sweeten up Liza Jane.

Whisky by the barrel,
Sugar by the pound,
A great big bowl to put it in,
And a spoon to stir it round.

I wish I had a needle and a thread
As fine as I could sew,
I would sew all the girls to my coat-tail,
And down the mountain I'd go.
Old corn likker's done made,
Still's tore out an'gone.
What will pore little Liza do,
When I'm took off an' gone?

Don't you weep, my darling,
Don't you weep nor cry;
I'll be back to see you
In the long old by-and-by.

You can climb the cherry tree,
And I will climb the rose;
How I love that pretty little gal,
God'lmighty knows.

From American Ballads and Folk Songs, Alan Lomax, Macmillan Company, New York, 1934

Two influential recordings were made of the 'Liza Jane' tune in the 1920's which helped spread its popularity among early country musicians, says music historian Charles Wolfe (1991). The first was by the east Tennessee string band The Hill Billies, who released it under the title "Mountaineer’s Love Song," and the second was by another band from the same area, the Tenneva Ramblers, as "Miss Liza, Poor Gal." Bob Wills (Texas), the father of western swing, said this was the first tune he learned (as "Goodbye, Miss Liza Jane") to fiddle.

Here is a list of early recordings:

Old Liza Jane- Uncle Am Stuart 1924
Liza Jane - Riley Puckett 1924
Liza Jane - Henry Whitter 1925
Goodbye Liza Jane - Fiddlin' John Carson 1926
Mountaineer's Love Song - The Hillbillies 1926
Miss Liza Poor Gal - Tenneva Ramblers 1928
Liza Jane - Carter Brothers and Son 1928
Old Eliza Jane - Doc Roberts and Asa Martin 1928
Liza Up the Simmon Tree - Bradley Kincaid 1928
Poor Mary Jane - Charlie Craver 1928
Liza Up the 'Simmon Tree - Bradley Kincaid 1929
Liza Jane - Kessinger Brothers 1931


sources:www.bluegrassmessengers.com/master/blackthemboots4.html
www.blueridgemusiccenter.org/The_Hill-Billies.aspx


bluegrass+lyrics The+Hill+Billies Tenneva+Ramblers appalachia appalachian+mountains+history appalachian+history

EVERY CREEK'S A STORY IN CLINTON COUNTY
Ridge hikes and crossroad chats yield a bumper crop of legends 
down near the Tennessee border.

By Howard Hardaway ---Louisville Courier-Journal, no date, 1930s


The ‘New Era’ is Clinton County, Kentucky's only newspaper. W. H. Nunn has been the publisher for a number of years. He tells a story on his predecessor of forty years ago.

"Tom Neat, of Adair County, was running for office in a district that included Clinton," Mr. Nunn relates. "The editor of the New Era opposed him. Tom decided to beard the lion in his den. During a speech in the Albany Court House Tom called on the editor to stand up.

"Take your dirty little sheet and fight me," Tom challenged. ‘It won't amount to a damn, because I can stand on the court house steps and spit all over its circulation."

Howard Hardaway, b. 1898, referred to himself as 'The Old Hiker.' “I’ve learned,” said the Louisville, KY native in a May 1959 interview with Alabama newspaper ‘The Florence Times,’ “that the most interesting places are not right on the road. On the back roads, at the little country stores where the road crews gather for a quart of milk and a moon pie, that’s where you find some real historians.”

His writing career started from his habit of going up to Canada each summer for a one-day hike. The Louisville Courier called him in and wanted him to write up some of his experiences. He averaged several pieces a year for the journal and some for other publications at the time of this interview.

Those same court house steps on which Tom offered to stand and spit were treated with indignity once by Uncle Marion Gibbons of the Duvall valley neighborhood. Uncle Marion, in a holiday mood, rode his horse up the steps and into the hall of the court house. This was a bit too informal. The presiding judge called Uncle Marion before him and assessed a $10 fine. The prisoner before the bar fished out his roll, peeled off a twenty, and handed it over to the judge.

"I'm afraid I haven't change," admitted the judge.

"Oh, that's all right," Uncle Marion waved it off. "Just keep the change. I enjoyed it all so much that I think I'll go out and do it again."

Albany has good fresh spring water. Down at one edge of town a large lake is formed by a sheet of water that gushes from below a broad shelf or rock. From the lower end of the lake the water flows by a flume to a flour mill. The water has also been used to generate electricity for town use.

East of Boiling Springs, where Clinton County thrust a long narrow wedge between Wayne County and Tennessee, "happy oak" used to stand on the State line. In days gone by, when one State was wet and the other dry, purveyors of mountain dew would meet their customers on the line at the oak tree. Should an officer of the law of one State be present, the lawbreaker would merely keep on the opposite side of the oak tree-out of the officer's jurisdiction.

Passing northward through a mountain gap at Doc Powers' place. I started down the valley of Koger's Creek by a narrow trail that is passable only by horseback or afoot.

"There have been wagons up there," I was told later, "but not for a longtime."

And, yet people live up there, and apparently live very well. The farms up in the gap look well-tended and prosperous.

In this neighborhood is a cave, a "bottomless pit," known as Georgie's Hole. No one knows the depth of the vertical shaft.
Georgie was the name of an old woman who lived hereabouts many years ago. Georgie and her husband "got their backs up" at each other. They couldn't seem to patch things up.

One day, out in the pasture, Georgie is said to have maneuvered around so that she got her old man with his back to the hold. A quick shove - and Georgie was a willing widow.

Georgie's Hole and its story has served as a warning to Clinton County husbands for 100 years to patch up differences quickly with the wife - or else stay away from bottomless pits.

Rolan, at the junction of Koger and McIver Creeks, was the scene of an exciting episode in the lives of two preachers of a century ago. These two preachers, having heard of certain cults or of individual prophets laying claim to ability to foretell events, including the exact date of the earth's dissolution, became conscious of such a knowledge within themselves.
They traveled afoot, warning and exhorting. On the very eve of the fateful day they covered a wide territory and held numerous meetings. The last night caught them far from home, weary and footsore. Where Rolan now stands they found a haystack and climbed into it.

During the night, from some unexplained cause, the haystack caught fire. The glare and heat aroused one of the sleeping prophets. "Wake up, John!" he yelled. "The Judgment Day is come - and look where we are!"

Once back on the ridge trail, I passed a score of log or box houses along the boundary between Clinton and Wayne Counties and came to the narrow bridge of land where four trails cross. From here Duvall Creek flows off to the south while Gap Creek leads northward to Alpha on the Monticello-Albany Road.

Thanks to a short ride with the young schoolmaster at Savage, I got back to Albany just as supper was being placed on the table. An unexpected feature at the home where I found lodging was a big batch of ice cream made by the hand of the landlady's son. I required one fish of it for every ten miles of walking; that is three.

My sixteen-hour day had me ready for the feathers before 9 o'clock.


sources: http://kykinfolk.com/clinton/everycreek.html
'The Florence [AL] Times,' May 3, 1959, Pg. 1, "Hiker Proves He's Half the Man Grandpa Was," by Lorene Frederick

On Oct. 14, 1980, Stella Fuller Day was proclaimed by the mayor of Huntington, WV to acknowledge her lifelong efforts in helping the poor and disadvantaged of that community. And in 2008 she was posthumously inducted into the Greater Huntington Wall of Fame for her 60 years of service. But she wasn’t always so well honored.

Fuller joined the local chapter of the Salvation Army in 1916, and for the next quarter century her humanitarian instincts blossomed. Fuller attained the title of "Envoy Fuller" in the Army and headed a new branch that opened at Johnson's Lane in Huntington, where she built a recreational program with the assistance of the WPA, consisting of softball and basketball teams. In 1941 the Army was considering building a new outpost ‘to be dedicated to Envoy Stell A. [sic] Fuller who will complete twenty-five years of service on October 1.’

And that’s when it all came to a head.

"In the time that Stella Fuller had served [in the Army], about ten commanders had come and gone, each having to adjust to the community and to the local personnel while establishing his own authority,” writes Nancy Whear in ‘Missing Chapters: West Virginia Women in History.’ “Officially there could never be any question as to who had the authority; but the person who’d been on the spot for 25 years, earning an exceptional amount of independence and building wide community appreciation, had an authority of a different sort. It was a classic setup for confrontation; the only surprise is that it had not come sooner.

Stella Lawrence Fuller (1883-1981). Photo courtesy The Herald-Dispatch [Huntington WV]. No date.

“The overt cause of the rift was the softball program which had been breaking the Army’s strict Sabbath rule with Sunday games. The league teams, which had had good years but had never won a state or tri-state tournament, surprised local fans with a stunning victory in a tournament in Charleston, won another round at Elkins, and were selected to represent West Virginia in a regional meet.

"The sports page was full of the feats of “Envoy Stella Fuller’s Salvation Army Outpost team.” The phrase “managed by Envoy Fuller” and the picture of the team with Fuller prominent on the back row were probably not very soothing to the already unhappy corps. There were outside complaints to [official post commander] Major Morris about the Sunday games. They were ordered stopped, but they continued.

"With society’s attention on the War rather than on social problems, the resources of the Salvation Army were strained. To Mrs. Fuller the success of the teams demonstrated the healthiness of the youth programs and justified the cost. But to the Army it was an extravagance for a program which not only flouted the rules, but mostly benefitted persons not involved in their religious mission.

Crowd in Huntington, WV watching a baseball game. No date.

"The roots of the strain went much deeper than softball. To the organization her activities represented improper independence and outright insubordination. She had overstepped her position. In reality she had outgrown it; her capabilities, experience, and personality equipped her for high-level management, but there was no possibility within the Salvation Army’s structure for her to be the manager.

"Lines of loyalty were drawn and sides had to be taken. The dispute reached the papers in January 1943. There had been a visit for consultation by the division commander who was, by coincidence, the brother of the earlier commander under whom Envoy Fuller had so freely developed her outpost.

"In the meantime Fuller had privately consulted the Volunteers of America about starting a chapter in Huntington. The Army’s Board of Advisors was put in an awkward position an a few resigned to side with Mrs. Fuller.

"The formal break came through another classic impasse: she was offered a contract which she felt she could not sign. Though it did give her charge of the outpost, it had other unacceptable restrictions. The evening newspaper headed its story “Envoy Fuller Ousted from S.A., She Says.” But the morning paper followed with “Stella Fuller Resigns Post.”

"She claimed she was pressured to sign before she could meet with the advisors. Major Morris’ rebuttal insisted that when she did not sign by the specified date, her resignation was “of an ‘automatic nature’ and not due to any action, official or otherwise, on his part.”

"It was not quite over, for public and private accusation, rumor and complaint on both sides continued for months, carried on in Letters to the Editor, poison pen letters, and doubtless in many heated verbal encounters.

"In late February 1943 a long ‘Huntington Advertiser’ story on the upcoming opening of the Volunteers of America listed its advisory board and outlined its program, with ‘Captain’ Stella Fuller in command. The announcement was premature, since the city’s Public Solicitations Committee ultimately turned down the VOA application.

"In fact, the program was already in place informally in a building rented by Mrs. Fuller. She had opened on January 10, in a spot very near the [S.A.] outpost, with very little except her own resources and the good will and volunteer help of the neighborhood. Many times in years to come she would express her gratitude at the city’s rejection of the Volunteers of America.

"For now there was only one way to go: an independent settlement with no confusion as to who would pilot its course. The incorporators (later the board of directors) included prominent persons from a wide range of occupations: lawyer, doctor, industrialists, school principal, labor leader. The years of association with the whole spectrum of the population now made this support available. The board had no trouble selecting the name: the Stella Fuller Settlement was born!”

Under Fuller’s leadership, the settlement went on to expand into the area's largest haven for the deprived and homeless. The woman who’d been snubbed for the Salvation Army post’s top position spent the last 37 years of her life, more time than all the years she’d spent with the Army, continuing to minister to the needs of Huntington’s poorest, but this time doing so her own way.


Sources: “Stella Fuller gave her time to help the needy,” The Herald-Dispatch [Huntington], September 30, 2008
“2008 Wall of Fame inductees announced,” The Herald-Dispatch [Huntington], August 14, 2008
‘Missing Chapters: West Virginia Women in History,’ West Virginia Women’s Commission, Fuller profile by Nancy Whear, 1983