April 2014

Charlie Morris, a 1961 SHHS graduate spent 40 years on the Clinchfield Railroad (CRR), knowing from his first day on the job that it would be his life-long career.

After graduation, the baseball standout went to work at the Jewel Box on E. Main Street. One day, he was approached by a baseball scout suggesting that he try out for the big league. He did so and ended up playing two and a half years with the St. Louis Cardinals. Then, after serving a stint in the Marine Corps, he returned to Johnson City to seek a job.

Newspaper Advertisement for the Clinchfield Route, 1930. Charlie Morris When He Played for the St. Louis Cardinals, Charlie Coming into Erwin Yard on Engine 917, 1976.

In July 1964, Charlie was offered employment with the Clinchfield Railroad in Erwin, Tennessee, thanks to the efforts of his uncle, Roy Morris, who worked there; Paul Britt, train master; and D.C. Peterson, railroad detective.

The Carolina, Clinchfield, and Ohio (CC&O) Railway was a merger of unfinished railroads acquired by George L. Carter. Over the years, it would be known as the Clinchfield Railroad, the Seaboard Coastline Railroad and the CSX.

The late 1940s ushered in a new era of diesel locomotives. Gone were the nostalgic steam-driven vehicles. The few existing ones on the yards sat idle until they were either sold to amusement parks or discarded for scrap metal.

Charlie recalled: “When I initially reported to work, six of us were scheduled to train as brakemen. We were assigned to make six trips to the south end of the old Clinchfield Railroad and six trips to the north side.

“The trip north from Erwin to Elkhorn City was known as the 'business' end of the line while the one south from Erwin to Spartanburg was the 'scenic' one. It's hard to describe in words the beauty of the southern end. The north side was in the heart of coal country where we hauled 14,500 tons of coal per train, with 3-15 trainloads per day. Those deliveries increased substantially over time.

“Erwin is 100 miles from Dante, 136 miles from Elkhorn City and 144 miles from Spartanburg. The train speed ranged from about 20-44 mph, depending on traffic, weather and other factors. In those days, we were allowed to work 16 hours, which was considered a full day.

“In the course of our training, the six of us proceeded to make our assigned six trips each, north and south. They presented us with numerous situations and graded us on our understanding of all aspects of the job.”  

Charlie explained that a train crew consisted of five positions: engineer, conductor, head brakeman, fireman and flagman. The yard brakeman's duties were different from the road brakeman. The yard brakemen worked the yards around Erwin, Johnson City and Kingsport while the train brakemen rode the trains and worked the roads over which they traveled.

On November 15, 1964, the former Marine received his orders to climb aboard a locomotive engine. He had made the grade, figuratively and literally. At exactly 12:01 p.m., he made his first trip on the railroad for which he drew pay. After that, he worked all over the road, especially at Dante, Virginia where manpower requirements were especially heavy. Although the home terminal was Erwin, the crew worked all over the line in both directions.

“We hauled mainly coal and mixed freight,” said Morris. “Cars were weighed at Dante. The train pulled from about 144 to 220 cars, usually dropping off from 50 to 60 of them at Kingsport.”

One of the rotating duties of working for the railroad was being on-call for 24 hours, seven days a week. That meant staying close at home so as to, within one hour, quickly assemble in the Diesel Shop for any railroad call-in need. Although they had radios back then, they were heavy, cumbersome and uncomfortable to carry on your shoulder.

After Morris had worked about 18 months, running constantly between Dante and Erwin, he was reassigned primarily at Erwin and stayed there until about the middle of 1966. Since the majority of the employees had been on the railroad for some time, they were eager to assist the new recruits in learning the ropes.

By 1968, technology had advanced to the point that Clinchfield acquired several more powerful engines than the existing ones. With time and increasing exposure to the job, Morris became like a sponge, absorbing all facets of the jobs. 

Each July, there was a two-week vacation for coal miners that caused a corresponding trickle effect back to the railroad. This caused a temporary reduction of seniority among its employees.

“The brakeman would issue the orders for the day,” related Charlie, “such as Erwin to Dante or Erwin to Elkhorn City. We had a number of places where we set off cars (meaning to park them, empty or full, onto a sidetrack). We would also pick up cars (meaning to remove them from a side track and attach them to the train). 

“The old main line ran right through Johnson City. We had a speed restriction of 10 miles per hour in that vicinity. We would usually set-off at Harris Manufacturing Co. The yard was directly behind the old Johnson City Foundry. Sometimes we would set-off just off Greenwood Drive.

“The set-off and pickup stops were specified on our daily list,” said Charlie. “The company tried to schedule all of them in one location, which took a significant amount of planning. The conductor went over the list with the rest of the crew. Although the engineer had total responsibility for the operation of the train, the conductor was the senior man onboard.”

Although there were no passenger trains running by the time Charlie went to work there, Clinchfield made an occasional roundtrip special excursion for customers from Erwin to Elkhorn City in one day. They also scheduled trips to Marion, NC or Spartanburg. This occurred about 1975 on weekends; the designated train became known as the “One Spot.”

Sidetracks were also used to permit one train to wait while another unit passed it. It operated on a signal system with a dispatch in Erwin, having the all-important job of controlling both ends of the railroad. Locations included Hannum, Johnson City, Boone, Fordtown, Kingsport, Kermit, Starnes, Millyard, Moody, Dante, Tramel, Allen, Dinleo, Powers and Elkhorn.

Train problems were generally caused by external circumstances such as derailments, rockslides and broken rails. In 1969, two trains collided causing two fatalities. Charlie said that was the worst thing that happened while he was with the railroad. “My biggest fear while driving a train,” he said, “was hitting a loaded school bus. My second one was colliding with a gasoline truck. 

“When a car occasionally stalled on the track, every attempt was made to relay the specific location to the engineer to allow him sufficient time to stop his vehicle. There are several emergency brakes on a train, thereby allowing other crew members to use them when necessary.”

Charlie said that some drivers foolishly think they can outrun a train. He said he once hit a Cutlass Supreme with a glass top whose driver was trying to beat the train, trapping two passengers inside. Morris and others carefully removed the broken glass to free them from the vehicle. They were injured, although not severely. An old railroad saying proclaims that there is no such thing as a tie in a race between a train and a car.

Hobos frequently hopped onto trains. Many of them were crafty, having advanced knowledge of where each train was heading and which cars were the easiest to ride. They jumped on coal cars, empty hopper cars, boxcars and even on top of the braking equipment. 

The former pro baseball player vividly recalls Aug. 25, 1984 as his last run of the Clinchfield Railroad with issued orders. The train left for Spartanburg that day as the Clinchfield Railroad and returned that same night as the Seaboard Coastline Railroad. He still has the orders as a souvenir of that memorable trip.

Engine 821, a “Covered Wagon” Style Locomotive with Rare Dual Headlights. Morris (shown on the right) on the 60th and Last Santa Claus Train, 2004.

Charlie was passionate about one aspect of his railroad career: “I had the pleasure nine times of being the engineer on the Chamber of Commerce sponsored Santa Claus train for area youngsters. It ran between 1944 and 2004. I was fortunate to make its last run. 

“The train cranked up in Erwin and made a total of 18 stops for eagerly waiting youngsters. We distributed 15 tons of candy and toys. The crowd ranged from a sizable number to perhaps a dozen or so. The train ended its run in Kingsport with Santa getting off the vehicle and being escorted onto a float for the downtown Christmas parade there. Country music singer, Patty Loveless, participated in several of the events.”

Charlie gave honorable mention to several of his co-workers: Bud Chapman, John Kelly, Red Chaffin, George Osborne, Spud Chaffin, Doc Heffner, Sylvester Leonard, Sherman Leonard, Sonny Brotherton, Hubert Leonard, Phil Laws and Windy Whittimore.  

Charlie concluded by saying: “I thoroughly enjoyed my career as locomotive train man, conductor and engineer. Although it was a constant challenge handling these trains, I loved every minute of it. I had a great career and worked with some fantastic people.”

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In 1911, The Progressive Farmer, a popular rural oriented monthly magazine, started a crusade to promote the painting of southern farmhouses. The publication noted that painting a house added greatly to its beauty and attractiveness of the entire farm on which it was situated. In addition, there could be no doubt that it created a subtle psychological effect in bringing the residents to a more cheerful frame of mind.

The Popular Progressive Farmer Magazine, February 1940

The Farmer noted that there was something depressing about a weather-beaten, unpainted house with its negative consequence upon the temper and disposition of its occupants.

Therefore, the magazine advised its country readers to paint their farmhouse. They believed that the task would almost immediately persuade the occupants that they also needed to extend their hospitality to their surrounding farm. This would be extended by clearing ragged patches, stopping ruinous gullies and curing galled and sickly spots on the property. The assertion was that these residents would then take more interest in their own appearance. Once started, the benefits of painting seemed endless.

The publication further claimed that the newly painted house and farm would have a far reaching effect on the surrounding community. Since lumber was expensive and becoming more so all the time, paint would help preserve and lengthen the life of lumber.

The Progressive Farmer “scolded” the South for being the only section of the country in which the painted house was the exception rather than the rule. They strongly desired to reverse that. One excuse for the South's perceived backwardness was that cotton was selling for only five or six cents a pound while farm lands were worth from $7 to $10 an acre. Still, it was believed that most farmers could afford to paint their houses if they really wanted to.

“We would like to have every Progressive Farmer reader,” said the Raleigh-based company officials, “enlist himself or herself in this crusade for well-painted farmhouses and farms in the South. Of course, farmers who has had a great deal of family sickness, experienced some costly misfortune or who was struggling to pay off a mortgage, would be excused.”

For small-scale farmers in debt or boarders of the house, the house and other building could always be painted with inexpensive whitewash. This product was wholesome and had the capacity to brighten even the lowliest home.

The Progressive Farmer made a second appeal two years later saying, “We haven't lost one bit of interest in our campaign to make the South a land of painted farmhouses. If paint didn't help the wood at all, but only made the buildings look brighter, cheerfully, happier, more progressive, thrifty, more as if real folks lived there, it would even then pay handsomely to paint every farm building.”

One individual took the Farmer's advice seriously and offered his conclusion after painting his farm: “The very first coat brought my old house to life. It's wonderful what paint will do. It didn't make the house look new in the sense of making it appear like a house of today, but rather it carried it back to its youth. It was like making an old man young again.

“We could hardly wait for the paint to dry before starting the second coat,” said the gentleman, “and that carried us back another 25 years. Even my wife, who at the start had allowed that the old shack wasn't worth the effort, admitted that it looked nice.

“And the inside of the house looked as fine as the outside. When we began, the woodwork was discolored from both age and dirt. This made the whole interior look worse than a cheap tenement. Just $25 of white lead and oil changed this as though by magic into a clear white fresh look, as it had been when the house was first built. In three weeks, my $400 investment added $1,500 in legitimate value to the place.”

It would be interesting to know if this campaign met with any degree of success.

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In the early 1970s, my wife, Pat, and I occasionally drove to Nashville to see the Grand Ole Opry, which was located then at the downtown Ryman Auditorium. Recently, I uncovered a souvenir program from a visit we made there on Saturday, March 27, 1971.

Although there was one Friday Night Opry performance (7:30-10:30) and two Saturday Night Opry shows (6:30-9:00 and 9:30-midnight), we always chose the second Saturday night one because we wanted to see our favorite singer, Marty Robbins. The singer performed toward the end of the show because he was a racecar driver in Nashville and often had to make a mad dash to get to the Opry stage for his allotted air time.

Marty, a definite crowd pleaser, frequently went past his designated time slot, something that only he could get away with. During one show on a cold, snowy night, he turned the stage clock back one hour; the audience loved it.

Food items (and prices) at the snack bar were Coca Cola (.15 and .25), popcorn (.15), peanuts (.10), hamburgers (.25), hot dog (.25) and candy (.10). They also sold a souvenir program for .25 that listed the performers for both nights. 

During our visits to the Grand Ole Opry (GOO), we always managed to buy a Goo Goo candy bar from the snack bar. It still stands tall as my favorite delicacy. It was marketed as “The “Original Southern Confection with Real Milk Chocolate.” Created in Nashville in 1912 by Howell Campbell and the Standard Candy Company, it is still very much alive and well. Its catchy jingle was “Go get a Goo Goo … right now.”

The first show that Saturday night featured 26 acts:

6:30-6:45 (Mrs. Grisson's Salads): Billy Walker, Del Wood, Ray Pillow).

6:45-7:00 (Rudy's Farm): Jack Greene, Jeannie Seely.

7:00-730 (Luzianne Coffee): Bill Monroe, Earl Scruggs, Ernie Ashworth, The Carlisles.

7:30-8:00 (Standard Candy Company): Bill Anderson, Jan Howard, Grandpa Jones, George Morgan, The Crook Brothers, Tennessee Travelers.

8:00-8:30 (Martha White Flour): Roy Acuff, Tex Ritter, Loretta Lynn, Willis Brothers, Lonzo and Oscar.

8:30-9:00 (Stephens Work Clothiers): Porter Wagoner, Dolly Parton, Hank Locklin, Justin Tubb, Stringbean, Fruit Jar Drinkers.

The second show that Saturday night was comprised of 28 acts.

9:30-10:00 (Kellogg's): Bill Anderson, Jan Howard, Willis Brothers, Ray Pillow.

10:00-10:15 (Fender Guitar): Bill Monroe, Earl Scruggs, Del Wood, Carlisles.

10:15-10:30 (Union 76) Billy Walker, Grandpa Jones, Ernie Ashworth.

10:30-10:45 (Trailblazer Dog Food): Roy Acuff, Grandpa Jones, Ernie Ashworth.

10:45-11:00 (Beechnut Chewing Tobacco) Porter Wagoner, Dolly Parton, Stringbean, Crook Brothers, Tennessee Travelers.

11:00-11:30 (Coca Cola) Tex Ritter, Loretta Lynn, Hank Locklin, George Morgan, Sam and Kirk McGee, Fruit Jar Drinkers.

11:30-1200 (Lava Soap) Marty Robbins, Justin Tubb, Lonzo and Oscar.

Sadly, most of these stars are deceased. Two revered groups that performed that night were the Crook Brothers and the Fruit Jar Drinkers. The first one consisted of Herman Crook, Lewis Crook, Bert Hutcherson, Jerry Rivers, Staley Walton and Goldie Stewart. The second one featured Sam McGee, Kirk McGee, Dorris Macon (son of Uncle Dave Macon) Claude Lampley, Hubert Gregory and Tom Leffew.

When the Opry concluded around midnight, we walked around the corner from the Ryman to the free standing room only Midnight Jamboree radio broadcast at the Earnest Tubb Record Shop on Broadway.

Our finale in the early morning hours was to walk (yes walk) back several blocks to our motel, Tudor Inns of America, and listen to Ralph Emery play records over his live WSM radio broadcast. 

After finishing this article, I am ravenously motivated to climb in my car and “Go get a Goo Goo … right now.” 

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The East Tennessee State University's Archives of Appalachia is a gold mine of area history. Case in point is a newspaper clipping from the Lester Moore Collection containing a reprint of an undated Johnson City Chronicle article written by John Smalling, a grandson of city founder, Henry Johnson (1809-1874).

Johnson City Founder, Henry Johnson (photo courtesy of Betty Jane Hylton)

The family member noted that he was 74 years of age. His mother, Sarah Jane Johnson was the only daughter of Henry and Mary Ann Johnson. His mother was married in 1856 to Abram G. Smalling and to this union was born eight children.

John's grandmother, before her marriage to Henry Johnson, was Mary Ann Hoss, a sister to Elkanah, Landon C. and Matt Hoss and cousin to Montgomery Hoss and the late Bishop E.E. Hoss.

In John's boyhood days, when he was from 7 to 14 years old, he spent much of his summer months at his grandfather’s home and there learned a good deal about the early settlers of the little village that became Johnson City. When Henry Johnson came to what was first called Johnson's Tank, there was no railroad present. However, it had been surveyed and the track laid to a location near Carter’s Depot (Elizabethton), which later became Watauga Station near the Watauga River.

Henry Johnson bought a parcel of land on the north side of the railroad survey and built a large house which later was used as his residence. It also housed his general merchandise store and the post office, for which he was later named postmaster. Furthermore, he kept a boarding house and rooms for lodging. The entrance to this building was from what is now Market Street.

There was another entrance on the southwest side of the building leading in from the railroad track, which led to the dining room and was used significantly more than the Market Street entrances.

“Tip” Jobe, as he became known, arrived soon after Johnson and purchased the tract of land on which a large spring was located. However, he did not build a home on it until later where he reared a large and influential family. Among his boys was Ike T. Jobe, about six years older than John Smalling. They played together on property which we now refer to as Fountain Square.

After the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia (ETV&G) Railroad was completed, Henry Johnson built a depot on the site naming it Johnson’s Depot. Through the influence of Major Goforth, who was then supervisor of the railroad from Bristol to Bulls Gap, Henry was appointed depot agent. In a short time it became a regular stop for all trains.

The little village began to grow over time, including some familiar family names: Hoss, Miller, Patton, Reeves, Yeager, Pouder, Carr, Toppin, Jones and Swingle. According to John, these folks were of that hardy pioneer stock that knew nothing but honesty and fair dealings.

The Henry and Mary Ann Johnson family consisted of three sons and two daughters (one died in infancy). Edmond, the eldest, married Ann Swingle; John was wed to Hattie Alexander; and Harrison, the youngest, died during the Civil War.

Other progressive merchants soon followed: John W. Hunter; King, Hoss & Hodge, succeeded by Christina; Hoss & Hodge; and Johnson and Bowman, who erected a modern building on the corner of Market street facing what is now Fountain Square. This building was later used by a Mr. Bruner, who operated the first “racket (five and ten cent variety) store” available in all the adjacent countryside.

The Hodge mentioned in the firm of King, Hoss & Hodge, who was more affectionately known to his associates as “Wis,” was still living in Johnson City when John penned his article. The first man to operate a then-modern hotel was Elkanah Hoss, who numbered among his guests many notable characters, one of them being Mrs. Fred Artz.

Smalling concluded his informative work by noting that he had Henry Johnson's diary, which also contained references about Andrew Johnson, the 17th president of the United States). A question begs to be asked; does anyone know the whereabouts of this actual diary or a copy of it? That would be a historian's dream.

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East Tennessee State University's Archives of Appalachia is a gold mine of area history. Case in point is a newspaper clipping from the Lester Moore Collection containing a reprint of an undated Johnson City Chronicle article written by John Smalling, a grandson of city founder, Henry Johnson (1809-1874).

Portrait of Johnson City Founder, Henry Johnson (Photo Courtesy of Betty Hylton)

The family member noted that he was 74 years of age. His mother, Sarah Jane Johnson was the only daughter of Henry and Mary Ann Johnson. His mother was married in 1856 to Abram G. Smalling and to this union was born eight children.

John's grandmother, before her marriage to Henry Johnson, was Mary Ann Hoss, a sister to Elkanah, Landon C. and Matt Hoss and cousin to Montgomery Hoss and the late Bishop E.E. Hoss.

In John's boyhood days, when he was from 7 to 14 years old, he spent much of his summer months at his grandfather’s home and there learned a good deal about the early settlers of the little village that became Johnson City. When Henry Johnson came to what was first called Johnson's Tank, there was no railroad present. However, it had been surveyed and the track laid to a location near Carter’s Depot (Elizabethton), which later became Watauga Station near the Watauga River.

Henry Johnson bought a parcel of land on the north side of the railroad survey and built a large house which later was used as his residence. It also housed his general merchandise store and the post office, for which he was later named postmaster. Furthermore, he kept a boarding house and rooms for lodging. The entrance to this building was from what is now Market Street.

There was another entrance on the southwest side of the building leading in from the railroad track, which led to the dining room and was used significantly more than the Market Street entrances.

“Tip” Jobe, as he became known, arrived soon after Johnson and purchased the tract of land on which a large spring was located. However, he did not build a home on it until later where he reared a large and influential family. Among his boys was Ike T. Jobe, about six years older than John Smalling. They played together on property which we now refer to as Fountain Square.

After the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia (ETV&G) Railroad was completed, Henry Johnson built a depot on the site naming it Johnson’s Depot. Through the influence of Major Goforth, who was then supervisor of the railroad from Bristol to Bulls Gap, Henry was appointed depot agent. In a short time it became a regular stop for all trains.

The little village began to grow over time, including some familiar family names: Hoss, Miller, Patton, Reeves, Yeager, Pouder, Carr, Toppin, Jones and Swingle. According to John, these folks were of that hardy pioneer stock that knew nothing but honesty and fair dealings.

The Henry and Mary Ann Johnson family consisted of three sons and two daughters (one died in infancy). Edmond, the eldest, married Ann Swingle; John was wed to Hattie Alexander; and Harrison, the youngest, died during the Civil War.

Other progressive merchants soon followed: John W. Hunter; King, Hoss & Hodge, succeeded by Christina; Hoss & Hodge; and Johnson and Bowman, who erected a modern building on the corner of Market street facing what is now Fountain Square. This building was later used by a Mr. Bruner, who operated the first “racket (five and ten cent variety) store” available in all the adjacent countryside.

The Hodge mentioned in the firm of King, Hoss & Hodge, who was more affectionately known to his associates as “Wis,” was still living in Johnson City when John penned his article. The first man to operate a then-modern hotel was Elkanah Hoss, who numbered among his guests many notable characters, one of them being Mrs. Fred Artz.

Smalling concluded his informative work by noting that he had Henry Johnson's diary, which also contained references about Andrew Johnson, the 17th president of the United States). A question begs to be asked; does anyone know the whereabouts of this actual diary or a copy of it? That would be a historian's dream.

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In May 1933, Tennessee was set to activate the plan of President Roosevelt. Folks along the banks of the Tennessee River were preparing for the “New Deal.” One unidentified southern resident offered this delightful description of the situation:

“The Tennessee River, which runs about 650 miles, is formed by the confluence of the Holston and French Broad rivers near Knoxville, TN and follows a U-shaped course to enter the Ohio River at Paducah, Ky. Navigation has long been impeded by variations in channel depths and by rapids, such as those at Muscle Shoals.

“However, the Tennessee Valley Authority converted the river into a chain of lakes held back by nine major dams. As a result, river traffic increased, flooding was controlled, a water-oriented recreation industry was established and hydroelectric power generated at the dams attracted new industries to the region.

“The languid Tennessee, Belle of the South's river clan and coquettish like a debutante, is ready for its billion dollar coming-out party with President Roosevelt serving as chaperon.

“It is a lazy old river, haughty with its heritage of romance and glamour, and the folks who stir the dirt of its valleys and dig the wealth of its hills are proud that the Tennessee has been chosen by the President for a gigantic experiment of development.

“For unless the best laid plans of men go awry, the Tennessee, “Tenne-seeee” as locals call it, will be the government's lucky charm for the forgotten man, the first trump of the new deal.

“The Tennessee is the favorite child of Dixie's river family. The South holds the Mississippi as headman of the bunch and fears the capers of the Arkansas, but the Tennessee, from its source to its mouth, is the pride and joy of river lovers with its 900 miles of power. It is formed at Knoxville by the Holston and Broad rivers along with numerous mountain streams.

“At Knoxville, it bents south. The Great Smoky Mountains, the venerable hills that were old when the gardens of Babylon were new are to the west. Factories dot its banks. Tobacco and grain farms splotch its valleys like green silk in a patchwork quilt.

A Stereoscope Card Made for 3-D Viewing Shows a Photo on the Banks of the Tennessee River

“The Tennessee gathers speed as it hurries toward Chattanooga, sweeping around great bends and singing a symphony of strength. Its waters turn giant wheels and of its power are born things men need, such as cloth and furniture.

“The mountains fall away as the river hustles down its path, but rises again as it reaches Chattanooga. It makes a hairpin turn at Moccasin Bend and salutes Lookout Mountain, the last mountain sentinel on its southward course and then runs off, being Alabama bound.

“All of a sudden, the country starts to look different. The folks are notably different. Cotton takes the place of wheat and men along the banks follow plows instead of fancy machinery. But the mighty river doesn't change; it waters the land that feeds  the folks. At Guntersville, it changes its mind and, instead of continuing south, sweeps around a bend and heads north again. The climb is tortuous even for the powerful Tennessee.

“It gathered all its strength and makes a spectacular plunge toward Muscle Shoals. There nature cuts a hole in its bed and the Tennessee roars and tosses over the shoals, picking its way through Wilson Dam and then tears away again, free to run its race to the Ohio River.”

Roosevelt's plan came that same year on May 18 in the form of the newly-acted Tennessee Valley Authority. TVA addressed a wide range of environmental, economic, and technological issues, including the delivery of low-cost electricity and the management of natural resources. The Tennessee River would never be the same.

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The late Ralph McGill (1898-1969) is one of my favorite newspaper writers of yesteryear because of his history focus on the South. The Vanderbilt graduate was winner of the “Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Writing” while working for the Atlanta Constitution, authoring several books, including one humorously titled, “The Fleas Come With the Dog.”

In 1928, the former WWI Marine received a formal written invitation to attend Alf Taylor's 80th birthday foxhunt celebration in the Happy Valley community of Carter County, Tennessee.

According to one of Ralph's editorials, titled “Foxhounds and Politics,” from a 1963 Toledo Blade newspaper, he told of being offered two foxhounds from a man whose job was transferring him from a spacious farm in the country to a cramped apartment in a large city.

“I had to say no to him,” said Ralph, “although I yearned to have them. But a city is no place for trained hounds where they will be lying around the house all day and looking up hopefully and accusingly when you come home each night.

“There is something about a hound. His footprint has been alongside man's as they came over the rim of the new world into recorded history. He and the fox were a part of the ritual of the Druids (a priestly class among the Celtic peoples of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, and possibly elsewhere during the Iron Age). There has been a ritual of hunting of the fox ever since.”

That special day, the Chattanooga native saw the greatest display of foxhounds ever assembled anywhere. Alf was a mighty hunter and in his day had been a great blower of fox horns, being able to launch a blast back into the deep hollows and valleys of the Great Smoky Mountains.

Alf Taylor and His Favorite Hunting Canine, Old Limber

Alf had campaigned for governor of Tennessee in 1920. By his side was often his favorite hound that he usually had near him when he gave speeches. His four-legged companion, which he affectionately named “Old Limber,” became a symbol of his political campaign.

Early in the morning of Alf's birthday on a great high ridge in the Smokies, the fox hunters of East Tennessee, Middle Tennessee and Virginia, assembled with their hound dogs. The aroma of meat was cooking over barbecue pits, along with a stew of squirrels and gat hens with dumplings being prepared in a large iron pot. More than 400 foxhounds were assembled there that morning.

“Loose them, gentlemen,” said Alf as the guest of honor. The eager hounds, minus the aging limber who stayed with his master, went spilling down and along the slopes.” Included was a mixture of black, white, tan and liver-spotted dogs that consisted of Walkers, Julies, Red Bones and Trigs. McGill described it as a sight to behold. The former governor sat close to other old hunters who talked about their dogs from many years of hunting.

McGill spent occasional nights at the Taylor house, sitting there on the wide, screened porch and talking politics with Alf who was a Republican. His late brother, Bob, who was more mercurial than Alf and also a fiddler of great renown was a Democrat.

In 1886, the brothers opposed each other in a friendly election for the governorship of Tennessee. Their mother sent them off together in a buggy after pinning a  white rose on Bob and a red rose on Alf. The race was called “The War of the Roses,” named after the old English wars that occurred between York and Lancaster.

Bob reveled in practical jokes. Once, while Bob and Alf were staying as guests at the mountainous home of an old Republican and his wife, the crafty Bob, usually a late sleeper, awakened before dawn, dressed, slipped into the barn, milked the cows, fed the animals and had coffee brewed by the time the hosts arose from their slumber.

“Don't wake my brother,” he told them. “He likes to have his breakfast in bed. I'll carry it to him as soon as he awakes.” The farmer chewed that bitter cud for a few painful minutes and finally spoke: “Breakfast in bed?,” he said. “I never thought I would vote for a Democrat, but I'll be danged if I could ever vote for a man who eats in bed.”

Bob won the election with a close vote. Alf would become governor in 1920 for one term. Ralph noted that visions of the 1928 foxhunt still reverberated in his heart: Alf's laughter, campaign speeches and images of Old Limber resting at his master's feet while a cast of 400 canines eagerly performed on the grandiose, magnificent stage of the Great Smoky Mountains. 

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