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On June 10, 1984, Terri Higgins, Johnson City Press-Chronicle staff writer, composed an article titled, “1934, Bad Times and Good Times.” It concerned the 50th anniversary of the newspaper, which began publication on June 12, 1934.”

The Press Used to Publish the First Johnson City Press in June 1934

Photo Courtesy of Eddie LeSueur

The country was deep into the Great Depression with job shortages, little cash on hand and people wearing worn and patched clothes. Local residents, who numbered about 25,000, somehow managed to savor life. “Draggin' the Main,” became a popular amusement with youth who cruised the downtown area just to see who was present. Trendy stores included King's, Dosser's, Beckner's, Masengill's and Kress's.

Popular hangouts were The Chocolate Bar, The Shamrock, Peoples' Drug Store, The Savoy and The Gables. The Smoke Shop provided an atmosphere where young men could hang out and partake of tobacco products. In the 1930s, girls on dates usually had to be home by 11 p.m. at the latest. It was common for couples to date together, frequently gathering on someone's front porch and talking for hours.

Dances were held regularly in people's homes where thick, breakable 78-rpm records were played on windup Victrolas. The fox trot and waltzes were popular. Songs included “Stardust,” “Sophisticated Lady,” “I'm Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover,” “I'll Never Smile Again” and “I'll Always Be in Love with You.” Upscale dances were held in the John Sevier Hotel Ballroom where the Buddy Dean Band and others regularly performed. The hotel was also the center of social activity for businessmen and women who assembled there for lunch in the trendy restaurant.

Afternoon tea dances were all the rage. Ballroom dances were dress-up occasions where young men wore suits and ties. Young women usually owned one or two evening dresses that could be slightly altered for each use. No one ever laughed at hand-me-down or worn-out clothes because it was more the norm than the exception.

Downtown entertainment venues provided “picture shows” at the Majestic, Capital (later Tennessee)  and Liberty theatres. George Arliss could be seen in “The Green Goddess” or John Wayne in “Sage Bush Trail.” Sometimes live shows were provided in the theatres with traveling magicians, dance teams and actors, making routine appearances on the downtown stages.

At the beginning of the tobacco season, everyone flocked to the Big Burley Warehouse on Legion Street for visits by big bands with such leaders as Sammy Kaye, Ted Fio Rito and Guy Lombardo. The cost  was $2 a couple.

In the summer months, the Sur Joi swimming pool (now the Carver Recreation Center) at W. Watauga and W. Market was the place to go. Women wore wool swimsuits that cost between $2 and $6 and covered their head with plain white swimming caps. Men's outfits were cheaper at $1.50 to $3.50. Pool admission was $.30 for adults and $.20 for the youngsters. Season tickets were also available.

A nickel ride on one of the five streetcars in operation in the city would take the traveler to Soldiers' Home, East Tennessee Teachers College, Carnegie or the recreation area that carried a variety of names: Lake Wataussee, Lakeview Park and Cox's Lake. Two streetcar conductors warmheartedly remembered from that era were D.T. Cash and John Lusk.

Cabs became a necessity because not everyone owned an automobile. People often rented cars for special trips and dates. Although driver's licenses were not required, vehicles had to have a tag on the front and back. Longer trips called for a ride of one of the nostalgic steam locomotives that chugged through the city daily.

This was the way of life on June 12, 1934 when the Johnson City Press opened for business, 80 years ago.

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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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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 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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In April 1895, Charles Russell, a longtime resident of Jonesborough, Tennessee, gave readers of the Herald and Tribune newspaper an unusual story to read. Here is a paraphrase of his account.

“Early one morning, I fell into a deep sleep in my comfortable porch swing near downtown Jonesboro. When I awoke from my slumber several hours later, I quickly noticed that my surroundings seemed strangely different with curious noises that greeted my ears. I looked in the distance and saw factories on every side of the town, but oddly observed no smoke emitting from any of them.

“I hurriedly went into my house, donned my coat and vest and scurried down to the street where I encountered another surprise. The streets and sidewalks were no longer dirt. The roads were granite and the sidewalks were granolithic (crushed granite and cement) in every direction. I thought surely I must be dreaming. This was not the Jonesboro I knew before my nap.

Jonesboro Court House as it Appeared About 1960

“I continued my stroll toward town and soon encountered a gentlemen whose attire was much different from mine. I introduced myself and he said his name was James Dosser, a familiar name in Jonesboro's business past. He wore knee pants and shoes with a platinum buckle and a short roundabout with a fancy silk shirt. His cap had a gold band around it with numbers on it. I noticed another man similarly dressed nearby with a silver band on his cap and different numbers. Where was my Jonesboro?

“Charles stunned me when he told me this was Jonesboro, Tennessee and showed me the date on his morning newspaper – April 1, 1960. Before I took a nap, it had been April 3, 1895, but after my snooze, it was 65 years later. I seemed to have traveled forward in time during my nap. 'Ah,' Dosser said, 'When you went to sleep, electricity was in its infancy and not readily available; now we do everything by electricity. It is a way of life with us. The women even wear essentially the same type of clothing as men.'

“I asked Charles the meaning of the gold and silver bands on the different caps worn. He explained to me that they indicated the wealth of the individual, which the law required them to wear in order to accurately collect income tax. 'The gold bands,' he said, 'signified billionaires, of whom there were four in town: John D. Cox, L.W. Keen, Ed Boyd and me, Charles Russell.'

“I asked him how the four gentlemen came to accumulate such a sizable fortune. He explained that Mr. Cox had been banking all his life; Mr. Keen had invented a process of taking pictures by electricity; Ed Boyd was in the wholesale grocery business; and, as for himself, he secured a position as post office inspector and made some good investments.

“The silver bands represented millionaires and there were quite a number of them in town. Among them were J.J. Hunt; proprietor of 'The Lightning Elixir;' S.H. Anderson of the Bicycle Feed and Sale Stable; Tate L. Earnest, Secretary of the Treasury; T.B. Hacker, attorney; and Cramp Smith, Editor of 'The Baptist Howler.'

“I was surprised to learn that all my old friends were still living and asked for an explanation. He told me that in the year 1900, the Old Mill Spring was found to possess something that extended life to those who encountered it. In fact, since that time, there had been only one funeral in Jonesboro and that was of a citizen who died while in Washington D.C. seeking  political office.

“Russell showed me public parks in various parts of the city with fountains and statuaries, among which I noticed were statues of Walter Brownlow, Sandy Stuart, Bob Dosser and R.M. May, who had donated the parks to the city. He escorted me to some of the principal factories, where almost everything was made.

“Where Col. Dungan's house once stood was a large poetry factory where about 200 employees were rapidly filling orders for poems, which the superintendent informed me were to go to 47 different states. He didn't indicate which state was missing and I didn't ask. 'No two places' he said, 'want the same kind of poetry. For instance, one package of a certain dialect goes to Massachusetts, while in nearby Johnson City, one of our suburbs, we cannot sell anything but blank verse.' After that remark was made, I perceived the presence of a distinct rub between Jonesboro and Johnson City.

“We next visited a sermon factory situated at the junction of the Atlantic, Pacific and Flag Pond Railroad and the old Southern. Here I had the pleasure of meeting the Rev. B.B. Bigler who was being measured for a two-hour sermon.

“We next visited other factories and public buildings and, as we returned from Telford on a mid-air car, we heard the electric chimes ringing from the tower of a large cathedral. My guide informed me that it was to celebrate the marriage of A.C. Britton, one of the former mayors of the city.

“I next inquired about some of my old friends and found various changes had taken place. Since the discovery of the medical properties of Old Mill Spring, physicians had nothing to do in their line of work. Therefore, Dr. Hoss was farming by improved methods, having his farm lighted by electricity so he could now raise two crops where he once raised only one.

“Dr. Stuart was now the Congressman from the district and Dr. Pierce was celebrated as a hypnotist, having large audiences every night at the auditorium. Jasper Peoples had become mayor, edging out Bridge Baxter by only seven votes in the previous election. Silas Cooper was still clerk of the court, while his oldest son Joe was manager of The Electric Sausage Plant, situated on the Fall Branch and New York Railroad. Peter Tierney was still Governor.

Two Jonesboro Advertisements from 1895

“I was delighted to meet so many of my old friends as they looked 65 years later and found out that they were doing so well. I met Scott Hickey who was running a large egg factory, the only one of its kind in the South. Joe Febuary was proprietor of the Embreeville Steel and Tool Works and his large factory was under the management of Charley Brown.

Captain McPherson was one of the postmasters and Wright Hoss the other. I saw a large nine-story building of white marble, occupied by Herbert McPherson & Sons, wholesale jewelers, who had a large trade with South American cities.

“After seeing more of the sights of the city, Charles and I walked down a sharp incline in one of the parks. I managed to collide with a horse rack at the old court house and received a sudden shock. Suddenly, I awoke and found myself back in 1895 Jonesboro again. Charles was nowhere to be seen and the streets and sidewalks were dirt again. Apparently, I had been dreaming and walking in my sleep.”  

After finding this clipping, I decided to share it with my readers as my April Fool expose. Although the story is quite whimsical, the people were former residents of Jonesboro.  It is interesting that Mr. Russell's imagination, as to what 1960 Jonesboro would look like, was a bit off the mark. It never grew into a massive city, but instead retains that wonderful charm and quaintness to this day. Don't change Jonesborough; we like you just as you are.

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If George Washington is considered to be the “Father of our Country,” who then is the “Father of Tennessee?” In spite of all the great men who helped found “The Volunteer State,” the accolades likely belong to John Sevier.

The American soldier, frontiersman, politician and one of the founding fathers of the State of Tennessee was foremost among the pioneers of the territory and arose to a beloved leadership through his bravery, daringness and valor in Indian wars.

In 1913, it was proposed that Tennessee's contribution to Statuary Hall in the Capitol building in Washington DC would be Andrew Jackson and John Sevier. The hall is an impressive chamber devoted to sculptures of prominent Americans. It consists of a large, two-story, semicircular room, located immediately south of the Rotunda, with a second story gallery along the curved perimeter.

A

Andrew Jackson (left) and John Sevier

Concern was raised about one of the two individuals selected. Any youngster raised in the Volunteer State would readily identify Andrew Jackson and his contributions to the state of Tennessee. However, the deciding committee was not so sure about John Sevier, although his credentials were certainly overwhelming. In any event, the choices were Jackson and Sevier and they were selected. Their statues in Statuary Hall are shown in my column photo.

I checked my old seventh grade school book, The Story of Tennessee, by Joseph Parks and Stanley Formsbee, that was used by Miss Dora Huddle, Junior High School's Tennessee history teacher. There were 18 references to Sevier, who was portrayed as a great hero in our state.

The selection of Jackson and Sevier was ironic because the two men became bitter personal and political enemies. The competition was strong between them as each wanted to be the leader in Tennessee affairs. Jackson denounced Sevier for his ignorance of the Constitution and failure to respect the rights of the people. Sevier countered by calling Jackson a “poor pitiful pettifogging lawyer.” In spite of their differences, the fair-minded Governor Sevier appointed Jackson a judge of the Superior Court.

Once the governor of North Carolina picked a quarrel with Sevier and the latter was arrested unjustly and taken to Morgantown to be tried for treason and outlawry. The comrades of Sevier did not sit idly while their chief was being condemned. Instead, they took action.

One night a party of four men – James Crosby, Major Evans and Sevier's two sons, John and James rode up over the mountains through the green fertile valleys and arrived at the edge of the village of Morgantown. Crosby and Evans left the party and, disguised as poor farmers, rode to the courthouse holding the reins of one of Sevier's swiftest horses. When the two arrived, they noted that court was in session; through the open door, they could hear the busy hum of voices within.

Crosby got off his horse, went into the courtroom and approached the judge's bench. He looked his honor squarely and firmly in the face and thundered in a stern voice, “Are you not about through with this man?”

The judge sank into speechless amazement at the man's boldness. The jailers, the spectators, the lawyers – all looked at Crosby not sure what to do. Meanwhile. the bold backwoodsman cast a significant warning glance at Sevier and then at the door. Sevier peeked over and saw his horse pawing the earth expectantly. He knew what to do.

While all eyes were on Crosby and in the confusion of the moment, Sevier quickly, quietly arose and walked briskly out of the room, the bewildered crowd giving way to form a line where he could walk. Once at the door, he gave one bound, landed on his horse and dashed away in a cloud of dust.

“He's gone!” gasped the judge in a dazed manner and looked doubtfully at the sheriff. The confusion deepened and everyone forgot to consider the newcomer who had planned the coup. But this was exactly what Crosby had counted on. He discretely slipped away, found his horse again at the edge of the village and overtook his comrades on the road back to Tennessee.

Sevier continued his services for the cause of the colony and years later was made military governor of the territory of Tennessee by General George Washington.

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