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The Johnson City Sessions' celebration has come and gone after much advanced publicity, four days of interviews, speeches and old-time music performances that included the rollout of the Bear Family Records box set. Several of my Bowman family members and I were privileged and honored to be among the participants.

Richard Weize, founder of Bear Family Records, captured and preserved the old-time music from the 1928 and 1929 Columbia Record sessions. This included the conversion of the original vintage 78-rpm records to digital format, documenting the musicians' personal stories and acquiring timeworn photographs of the performers. The compilation is a high quality set of four CDs (100 songs), accompanied by a corresponding book of old photos and informative text.

In today's column, I wish to single out some behind-the-scenes individuals, both living and deceased, whose contributions to the project were noteworthy. 

When I learned that there were no recordings available for the box set for two of my family members, Pauline and Jennie, known professionally as the Bowman Sisters, I sent Richard a CD of their four songs from my heirloom record collection. To my dismay, Richard called me saying that my records were too scratchy for inclusion in the collection and it appeared that the box set would regrettably go forward without the Bowman Sisters' songs.

Fortunately, Mary Lou Weibel, Charlie Bowman's youngest daughter, came to the rescue. She possessed a set of relatively good quality discs that she acquired from eBay. Richard sent a recording engineer to her home in Atlanta to transcribe them. As a result and to our delight, the Bowman Sisters' music was included in the project. 

One bit of data that was conspicuously missing was the location of the 1929 make-shift studio. A newspaper ad in the fall of 1928 confirmed the address of the first sessions to be 334 E. Main Street. Pauline once told me that the 1929 recordings were conducted in a building on the north side of W. Main Street, just east of and within walking distance of the intersection with W. Watauga Avenue.

Renowned country music historian, Charles Wolfe, learned from Jack Jackson, a participant at the 1929 sessions, that the site was a vacated store building that had been used for a cream separating station. He described it as a relatively small old red brick structure with a front section about 10 by 12 feet in front, then a wall and a small window that resembled a bank teller's window and an entry door into the building.

When I was in Johnson City last February, I contacted Bill Durham, a SHHS classmate of mine who grew up in the W. Main Street area, to see if he knew which of those buildings might be the one in question. We drove there early one morning and, in the sheer peacefulness of the town, took photos of every structure on that block.

Bill then called Eddie Baldwin, a friend of his who also grew up in that neighborhood. Bill gave him a verbal description of the building and asked if he had any thoughts about which facility might be the one for which we were seeking.

With little hesitation, Bill and Eddie mutually agreed that the studio was located at 248 W. Main Street, which at the time of the recording sessions would have been a relatively new building. The structure, which today is painted white, is the property of the West Main Street Christian Church that borders on Sidney Street.  

Bill recalled going by the edifice many times in his youth when it was the Rowe Radiator Repair Co. A current photo of the building is included in the box set. Bill further recalled that the structure was a large open room with a partitioned restroom in one corner. A roll-up door was located on the east side for automobile entry.

My final contributor was Clarence Howard Greene, son of Clarence Horton Greene who recorded “Johnson City Blues.” I became acquainted with him through the efforts of Alan Bridwell. The younger Clarence walked in the same footsteps as his famous father, becoming a great musician of old-time music in his own right. He sent me a CD of his songs along with several old photos that I forwarded for use in the sessions project. Sadly, Clarence died a couple years ago. 

Thank you Bear Family Records for the wonderful box set and your participation in the corresponding four-day city celebration.

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The 1916 black and white silent film version of Davy Crockett was a dramatic contrast to the 1950's Technicolor one.

L to R: The Real Davy Crockett, The 1916 Movie One, The 1950's Television Crockett

The 1916 movie starred American singer, dancer and actor, Dustin Farnum, as Davy and Winifred Kingston as his sweetheart and future wife, Eleanor Vaughn (fictitional). The distribution company, Paramount Pictures and the production company, Pallas Pictures produced a 50-minute movie on five 10-minute reels.

Crockett, in name and reputation, conjures up the image of a tall, brave mountaineer, ready at any given moment to tackle anything that could be thrust upon him on the ground or through the air. Although Davy was somewhat famed as a hardy huntsman, in the Pallas picture, he was portrayed more as a lover than a fighter, in spite of the fact that he could not overcome his shyness around women. Although he found it impossible to tell Eleanor how much he loved her, his acting as a lover was made creditable. That would have been more the case had the Pallas script used an earlier version that was released as an opera.

Critics that year noted that there could not have been a better actor to act portray Crockett than 42-year-old Farnum. Although he performed three heroic scenes during the 50 minute production in accepted style, that was about all the film had to offer its expectant audiences. For the rest of the motion picture, the actor was mushy at times, working with a story line that was soggy plus an elongated unrelated side narrative that distracted from the intended subject. 

In one scene, a scheming gambler planned to ensnare Eleanor, who was the daughter of a wealthy southern gentleman. The character was played by Page Peters, who tragically drowned soon after the film was released. To see Peters alive in action on the big screen, knowing that he was deceased, suggested a possible money-making opportunity. Families of fair means could have its members individually filmed with just enough footage to revive them later from the grave, allowing them to live forever on celluloid. The idea apparently never materialized.

Hoping to inspire Davy, Eleanor read a book titled Lochinvar to him. It was a fictional romantic hero of the ballad “Marmion” (1808), written in 1808 by Sir Walter Scott. However, even a famous romantic poem about a man who saved the woman he loved from marrying someone else made little impression on Crockett.

Soon after, another suitor who was interested in Vaughn's family sizable fortune advanced to the screen and began courting the impatient Eleanor. Even though she loved Davy, she agreed to marry the man, but on the wedding day, Davy decides to call out Lochinvar from England and transport him to the wild frontier. Just before the bride and groom exchanged marriage vows, Davy grabbed his prize, whisked her away and soon married her.

In other action, Crockett was attacked outside his cabin by a pack of ravenous wolves. Using his bare arm as a door brace, he displayed extraordinary bravery that highly impressed his audiences. Later, Farnum expertly broke an unruly horse and, in doing so, performed some fine bronco riding to the delight of his fans. Another scene found the actor expertly trapping a bear.

In summary, the movie's scenic surroundings were very entertaining and were it not for a somewhat drawn-out and padded story, this “Davy Crockett” production could have been a film disaster. It was the opinion of a reviewer that, with Farnum playing the lead role, the possibilities existed for another film of similar title and plot that learned from the failures of the first one. The critic encouraged Pallas to pursue another Davy Crockett movie along more active lines.

Something conspicuously absent in the 1916 version was the hit song from the 1950s titled, The Ballad of David Crockett.” It was recorded by several singers, but Bill Hayes's version became the most popular.

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It is enjoyable to explore the genealogy of old buildings in downtown Johnson City. In particular, one edifice at 236 E. Main had a long and varied subsistence. Many of us associate several businesses with that location: Wallace Shoe Store (1970-72), Jo-Ann's Shops (1950s-60s), Christiansen's Cafe (late 1940s) and Dinty Moore Cafe (early 1940s).

Edisonia (top), Criterion (middle), Edisonia

Some of our more mature Heritage page readers might also recall three theatres that operated at that address from 1909 until 1937. In 1909-11, the Edisonia Theatre appeared to offer stage shows and plays that included a variety of vaudeville performances. Although the site was empty in 1913, it reopened soon after, apparently for the purpose of showing silent black and white movies. 

“Edisonia,” a name that stirs nostalgia for many theatre devotees, sported an admission price of a jitney (nickel), becoming a landmark for popular-priced amusements in the city.

The name Edisonia became a synonym for theatre in the minds of many fans in earlier days, according to Mrs. Jessie Jones Keys, widow of George Keys, an early movie house pioneer in Johnson City. George entered the business when he bought half interest in the theatre from his brother-in-law, Loftus S. “Loaf” Jones. A document bearing the date of March 5, 1913 was in the possession of Mrs. Keys. Her residence was listed as 408 E. Unaka Avenue.

Over time, George became active in operation of the Majestic and other nearby theatres. Mrs. Keys recalled when people would say, “Let's see what's going on at the Edisonia and then go over to the other Edisonia. The “other” one referred to the Majestic Theatre, located directly across the street.

A former projectionist at the Majestic and other local theatres here, John Ralph Perkins, recalled the old days: “The Edisonia,” he noted, “was also operated by George Keys and 'Loaf.' I went to work at the Edisonia in 1924 as an operator, a position that eventually became known as a projectionist. I remember that, at the Edisonia, we showed mostly westerns and serials.”

Some of the old stars included Elmo Lincoln (billed as the strongest man in the world and who became the first Tarzan in the era of silent pictures), Pearl White, Eddie Polo and many others. Some of the western stars were William S. Hart, Bronco Billy Anderson, Wild Bill Cody, William Farnum (and his brother, Dustin Farnum), Hoot Gibson, Jack Hoxie, Buck Jones, Harry Carey, Jack Holt, Tex Ritter, Gene Autrey ('I'm Back in the Saddle Again') and Leo B. Carrillo (who became recognized as Pancho, the humorous broken-English sidekick of  The Cisco Kid).

 “Another thing about the Edisonia,” said Perkins, “is that we would pack them in on weekends at 10 and 15 cents. Since seating was limited, when the house became full, Jones would holler up to the booth and tell me to speed up the machine so could finish the picture quicker, get the old crowd out and fill the house again.”

 In the 1920s, the Edisonia was given a name change to Criterion and some modifications after the business acquired a large sign from the Criterion Theatre in Atlanta, Georgia. However, the clientele remained essentially the same. Perkins noted that the sign was quite large, being the biggest upright sign displayed in Johnson City at that time.

Interior modifications included painting, eliminating the large scenic panels along the side walls, removal of electric fans in favor of a better cooling system that utilized bigger fans attached to the roof upfront and moving the piano from the left side to the a spot directly beneath the screen.

A change in theatre designation also brought forth a fresh new crop of cowpunchers that included Bob Steele, Bill Elliott, Roy Walker, Bill Boyd and numerous others, but this was still the era of silent movies so the audience could not hear them. This would change shortly with the advent of “talkies.”

The theatre basically became a western theatre with good guys, bad hombres, cow towns, ghost towns, pretty girls and stunning horses galloping across the screen. Occasionally, management would display a different genre, but soon returned to what patrons wanted –  the western format. The Criterion and its predecessor, the Edisonia, also had a goodly fare of comedies and shorts.

Harry Cook, a former employee who became traffic manager at ET&WNC Transportation Co., worked for several other theatres that including the Majestic and Criterion, beginning work in 1929 while still a student at Science Hill High School. He served as an usher, ticket collector, relief cashier and assistant manager. He left theatre work after about eight years.

About 1935, the Criterion became the State. By this time, the building needed a major overhaul to stay competitive, especially now that sound movies had been ushered to the front. Extensive remodeling was performed that included improved sound equipment, comfortable seating, a new screen, new floors and a thorough cleaning that involved removing tobacco spray from the walls. In spite of the improvements, the theatre lost its patrons, who drifted to other nearby downtown theatres such as  the Majestic, Sevier, Liberty and Deluxe (later Tennessee).

 The theatre did not survive its  new name and upgrades. It closed its doors about 1939 and was put on the market for other commercial use. The first company to display an interest in the property was Dinty Moore's Restaurant, who had just lost its lease on the opposite (north) side of Main Street and moved into the remodeled theater building.

In 1944, Henry Christianson resigned as manager of nearby Sterchi's Furniture Store and bought out Moore. He had the premises remodeled in 1947 but in early 1948, closed the business and rejoined Sterchi's Knoxville operation. 

The next retail to show interest in the property was Keyburn Restaurant, whose name was derived from the two owners, Keys and Burnham). Hugh Millard managed the restaurant for about a year and then closed it. Later, the Jo Anne Shop, a woman's apparel store, occupied the building for an extended period of time.

W.F. “Burgess” (“Shorty”) Smythe, who operated Smythe Electric Co. next door for many years, recalled attending movies at the old theatres. His firm performed the electrical work for much of the remodeling efforts during the numerous changes at the old theatre's location.

The next enterprise to acquire the location was Wallace Shoe Store, Inc. They left the large sign in place to remind customers that their establishment was linked to the old theatre's storied history with all of its amusement, glory, tumult and declines. That portion of our city's downtown entertainment history had seen its day and abruptly faded into yesteryear.  

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Dr. Frans M. Olbrechts (1889-1958), a Belgian anthropologist with the Smithsonian Institute, became known for his work with seven Indian tribes, which included the Cherokees. Of particular interest was his documenting of atypical native American customs.

For instance, “Catch a green snake, hold it horizontally extended by the neck and tail, run it seven times back and forth between your two rows of teeth and then turn it loose. Eat no food prepared with salt for four days following this procedure.” The person was said to be protected from a toothache for the rest of his or her  life (if they survived the trauma of the snake). The toothache theory, Dr. Olbrechts explained, was that a ghost transmutes the particles of food lodged about the teeth into worms, which then burrow into a tooth. Cures were supposedly effected by a phantom squirrel that pulled out the worms and carried them away.

Other examples of toothache prevention were “Whenever you see a shooting star, you must immediately spit or you will lose a tooth shortly afterwards. If you always heed this advice, you will keep all your teeth for as long as you live.” Also, you were never supposed to throw anything into a fire that had been chewed, such as a wad of tobacco or the skin of an apple, or the flames will “chew your teeth.” The method of preventing boils was to swallow the body of a living daddy-longlegs after first pulling off its legs.

Some of the prophylactic methods came from skunks and buzzards. “The odor of the skunk,” said Dr. Olbrechts,” “is believed to keep away contagious diseases. The scent bag is taken out and hung over the doorway, a small hole being pierced in it in order that the contents may ooze out over the timbers. At times of an epidemic, the entire body of the animal is hung over the door and as an additional safeguard, skunk oil is rubbed over the skin.”

Buzzard feathers frequently were hung over a doorway because this bird preys upon carcasses. It is supposed to be immune from ill effects caused by bad odors and able to communicate this trait to those who have its feathers.

Dreams and omens played a prominent part in Cherokee “medicine.” According to the doctor, anyone who dreams of birds will instantly become insane. Bees or wasps appearing in a dream are predictive of blindness, while dreaming of a burn indicates an impending snakebite. When one dreams of a ballgame, the complete burning of a cabin or of some relative leaving home, it means that some member of the settlement will soon pass away. A dream of a rushing bull or of a windstorm is prophetic of an impending epidemic.

Constant sickness was thought to be caused by malicious animal spirits and witches. The proper procedure was to find the responsible cause and then call upon some opposing force for help. If a disease is thought to be caused by worms, for example, various birds that are worm eaters are solicited to bring about a cure. Should the most striking feature of the disease be its obscurity, such a sly and wary creature as the otter is commanded to effect the cure.

The Indians have a considerable “materia medica” (a body of collected knowledge about the therapeutic properties of any substance used for healing). Olbrechts found the uses of plants were determined by their peculiarities of growth, rather than any real effectiveness.

For example, a shrub growing in the cavity of a hollow tree is used against “painful remembrance of the dead, because as it was explained by the medicine man, “when we tear away the roots stubbornly clinging to the tree, we will, when we drink a decoction or concentrate of the roots also be able to pull out of our minds the remembrance that makes us sick.” A boiled down mixture of ferns, therefore, will give the rheumatism patient the power to straighten out the rheumatic muscles of his or her limbs.

Dr. Olbrechts spent several months in Cherokee country gathering material to complete a study of the medical native lore. A report combining the work of him and James Moody, another Smithsonian pioneer of Indian medicine folklore, was issued in Nov. 1932 by the Smithsonian Institute. 

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May 31, 1909 was a momentous day in Greeneville, Tennessee – the former 17th president of the United States, Andrew Johnson, was eulogized. He lay at rest among the sprawling greenery in the National Cemetery, which for the previous 34 years had served as the resting place for the remains of the former president.

purchased by the government and made into a national cemetery. It was a beautiful where, for several years in his early life, Mr. Johnson had worked as a tailor. The property was meticulously provided for and commanded a fine view of the mountain range which separated Mr. Johnson’s adopted state of Tennessee with North Carolina, where he was born.

Thousands of the descendants of his neighbors and friends in East Tennessee took advantage on that special occurrence. They were there to honor the memory of the former distinguished citizen by organizing the Andrew Johnson Memorial Association.

People came from all portions of the expansive and picturesque East Tennessee countryside. While most were of the present day generation, some were old-timers who spoke about him with much fondness and boasted of having known the “Courageous Commoner,” as he was known in his day. 

The keynote speaker of the occasion, Martin W. Littleton, a U.S. Representative from New York, offered a glowing eulogy of the former president who, during his term of office, was tried on impeachment charges but came up one vote short of conviction. Littleton, a native of East Tennessee, assessed, at great length, the life of the distinguished man in whose honor the people had assembled and further predicted that the day would come when the entire country would pay homage to the memory of Johnson.

Outside visitors as well as local residents found exceptional pleasure in pointing out the still preserved sign of “Andrew Johnson, Tailor,” which continued to adorn one of the most unassuming buildings. The people also took much pride in the fact that, notwithstanding the almost successful effort to forcibly eject Mr. Johnson from the White House, the private cemetery in which he was buried became the first of such cemeteries to be given national status by Congress.

Among those present and participating in the proceedings was the popular Honorable Walter P. Brownlow, member of Congress from that district, who was a near relative of the late Parson Brownlow. Although Walter Brownlow, who was largely responsible for the creation of the National Cemetery, occupied no assigned part on the program that day, he was by common consent awarded a position of prominence.

In addition to Mr. Littleton’s speech, the program consisted of the singing of “America” and the “Star Spangled Banner” by a choir of 200 voices, an invocation by Rev. John S. Eakin and the introduction of Mr. Littleton by Honorary James C Park, closing with the official formation of the Memorial Association.

There was a notable group of musicians in attendance, several of whom were old-time fiddlers, who had furnished music at the political gatherings during the notable Johnson-Gentry gubernatorial campaign prior to the Civil War. Many of them were in a reminiscent mood and between tunes manifested great willingness to entertain visitors with stories of the dim and distant past.

Before the President's death, he made his wishes known: “When I die. wrap my body in the flag of my country, pillow my head on its Constitution and carry it to one of those beautiful hills in Greene County and there let me sleep until resurrection morning.” His wish was carried out to the letter. A silk flag, a gift from a lifelong friend, was used as a shroud, while the head rested on a worn copy of the Constitution, which he read and studied often.

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The recent announcement by Dolly Parton that a $300M expansion was coming to Dollywood prompted today's column. Dolly's dream park evolved over a duration of 25 years through a series of ownership and business name changes.

The earliest offering, Rebel Railroad, was built to compete with the successful Tweetsie Railroad park that was located between Boone and Blowing Rock, NC. Next came Goldrush Junction, Goldrush and Silver Dollar City, the latter being a 75-acre venture that opened in 1977 in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.

Many people recall when Silver Dollar City was in its prime. In 1978, after the park increased in size by 33%, it announced that it needed singers, musicians, actors, actresses and dancers. It boasted of more attendance that year than most New York City Broadway shows.  

In 1980, more than 75 professional craftsmen demonstrated old-time skills during their Fourth Annual National Crafts Festival. The event brought an 80% increase in attendance from the previous year. Crafts ranged from the functional to the ornamental, with emphasis on being “one of a kind.”

A year later, the park began actively hiring senior citizens to augment the work force. These individuals were ideally qualified for making decorative crafts and working with vintage machinery. The park also began promoting “Older American Days” during the month of September; guests 55 and older were admitted at a reduced admission price.

The “City's” 1982 Sixth Annual National Crafts Festival in autumn of that year featured some of the best pioneer craftsmen in the breathtaking setting of the Smoky Mountains. This included authentic steam sawmill operation, glassblowing, grain threshing, cider making, needlepoint, wheat weaving, toile painting , doll making and more.

In 1986, Dolly Parton became a partner of the business with impressive ideas for the park. She commented that she always yearned to change the first letter on the famous “Hollywood hillside sign in California to make it “Dollywood.” The park acquired that name on May 1, 1986. Over the next quarter century, the impressive venture doubled to 150 acres with 10 secondary theme areas. 

When Parton left the hollows of the Smoky Mountains where she was born, the most exciting ride in town was the family horse. Twenty years later, East Tennessee and Dolly had changed. New attractions, included “River Rampage,” an artificial version of white-water rafting, and a steam locomotive that chugged through the surrounding park thrilling the passengers.

In a news conference at the park opening, Dolly said, “East Tennessee gave me life, enthusiasm and inspiration. And it's good if you can give something back. I was born a dreamer and I love the Smoky Mountains. I think it's a very beautiful place for someone with a creative mind.”

The singer/actress was especially pleased that her new business provided employment for the community surrounding where she was born. She said her favorite part of the site was a museum of souvenirs taken from her life, including the “coat of many colors” that she wore as a child, which inspired a song of the same name. Every time she went in the building, it was like looking back at her life.

Dolly's museum did not contain the three-room cabin where she once lived because its present owner would not  part with it. Subsequently, Dolly recreated the cabin as Parton's Back Porch Theater and used it for stage shows. The new owner said she planned to spend as much time as possible at the park during its first summer.

Tourism officials estimated that Dollywood would draw a million visitors a year, compared to a half million that Silver Dollar City park drew its last year. Dolly's influence was significant because of her drive and the fact that she spoke the same language as the people who lived there.

Dolly Parton, the local girl who hit it big, did not forget her humble roots and the fact that she was brought into this world by a mountain doctor who was paid only a bag of cornmeal for his work.

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Today's column deals with the stirring news of the grand opening in June 1926 of the Majestic Theatre's new $20,000 Wurlitzer pipe organ. The information was gleaned from a full-page advertisement sent to me by Jerry Honeycutt, a frequent contributor to my articles.

In the summer of 2010, I wrote a column about the purchase of the new organ, noting that it was later donated to Milligan College where Prof. Edward Lodter played it for a weekly Sunday afternoon broadcast over WJHL radio.

The complex musical instrument was constructed in 1926 in North Tonawanda, NY with two manual keyboards and 511 tubes (seven racks with each containing from 61 to 97 individual pipes). The unit arrived in the city from Cincinnati on a Southern Railway train. Company technicians placed the pipes in concrete-lined chambers that were bored into the walls of the theatre.

The pricey device provided background music in an age of silent movies to audibly supplement the action being shown on the movie screen. It produced numerous special effects: a train whistle, airplane, ocean surf, sirens, bells, horses hoofs and numerous others. When ‘talkies’ appeared in 1927, the need for the organ diminished and was relegated for patriotic sing-alongs, organ concerts and recitals.

“For Your Approval,” said the newspaper ad, “accurately defines the policy and intent of the management of the theatre in the recent installation of this mammoth organ, the latest type to be developed by Wurlitzer.”

 A Mr. Wilson, described as a noted theatre organist and composer of numerous numbers, played classical and popular music. His years of training on Wurlitzer theatre organs gave him perfect control of the hundreds of special effects which were built into the instrument, enabling him to produce virtually every sound needed to furnish perfect accompaniment to any and all theatre productions.

During “Opening Week,” the management extended to every patron an invitation to visit them at 239 E. Main and to pay particular attention to the organ preludes that preceded each program.

Patrons who visited the theatre weeks prior to the grand opening noted increased activity throughout the building that was done mostly at night to prevent disruption of programs. In addition to the new organ, work included the installation of new cozy and comfortable opera chairs that increased the enjoyment of the programs.  Thousands of dollars were invested in the upholstered chairs.

Other work included the installation of the most complete and perfect cooling system obtainable anywhere in that era. Huge blowers pumped a steady flow of fresh air into the theatre, which spread it throughout the auditorium in a scientific manner so as to prevent drafts and to maintain a steady pleasant temperature in the theatre. This, they said, made the theatre “the coolest place in town,” making it ideal for watching movies and programs.

A general renovation and redecoration of the interior of the theatre was made by adding modest touches, all aimed at increasing comfort and pleasure for customers.

The company further noted that special features, choice programs and improved services were an ongoing focus as specified in the Public Theatre policy, which had been announced some months earlier.

The movie on Monday and Tuesday that week was the Paramount production of “That's My Baby,” starring Douglas MacLean. A “short” was then shown along with their “Majestic News” feature. A newspaper ad said, “'Yes Sir, That's my baby; Doug's best and we don't mean maybe; some title, some picture, some gags, some laughs.”

The Wednesday showing was “Wild Justice,” featuring Peter the Great, the newest and best known German Shepherd dog star of 1926. Thursday and Friday brought about the featured “His People,” along with comedy, news and novelty. 

The organ's demise is not a happy one; it was sold in 1972 to an individual whose residence was afterward destroyed by fire, bringing a dramatic end to the prized relic. 

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In 1903, it was deemed to be the supreme Soldiers' Home in the country. The National Home for Disable Volunteer Soldiers, located near Johnson City in East Tennessee, was only a short journey over the mountains from Asheville, NC, site of Vanderbilt’s immense palace.

The Home's grounds were laid out in the shape of a rectangle, covering nearly a square mile. Its 36 buildings stood on a commanding plateau overlooking the loveliest of landscapes, with scenic mountains majestically posing in the distant horizon.

Magnificent forests of pine and maples stretched in every direction displaying a dazzling landscape picturesque with streams, glens and cliffs. The beauty was indescribable. Although somewhat remote, the outside world was within easy access to the Home. The Southern Railway made plans for a station to be built at the entrance to the grounds along with a connecting spur there from the main line at Johnson City.

Credit for the noble national venture belonged to Colonel Walter P. Brownlow (nephew of “Parson” Brownlow, the famous Union leader and editor of the Jonesborough Whig, which later relocated to Knoxville.

The colonel asked Congress for a $1.8 million appropriation for the home. They, in turn, voted to grant Brownlow's request in recognition of her loyalty to the government during the Civil War. The payout was reported to be the largest amount the government had granted for a soldiers' home.

General Martin McMahon ably directed the task of selecting the site and erecting appropriate buildings on it. He became the driving spirit in the effort and to him was due the honor of having a complete, comprehensive plan prepared at the outset for the grounds, buildings and interior finish.

When the Home opened in October 1903, it was put under the executive direction of John Smith, resident governor of the institution, along with an ample staff of officers. Colonel Brownlow, the father of it all, appropriately became the local manager.

The home comprised 30 buildings. Approaching it from the railway station and walking up the central drive displayed an imposing view with a glorious landscape stretching away and mountains breaking the distant horizon.

 Ascending the steps of the main entrance, the visitor observed the Administration building on the left and the Governor's residence on the right. Also to the right were the buildings of the hospital group and the home for nurses. In the center was the mess hall that measured 500 by 400 feet and contained a grand dining room where 1500 residents could comfortably sit at tables without crowding one another or inconveniencing the waiters.

Farther back was the impressive library financed by Mr. Carnegie that contained an estimated 17 thousand volumes. Next came the barracks measuring 300 feet long, then the chapel and finally Memorial Hall, an entertainment venue aimed at helping veterans get their minds off their physical and mental ailments.

The grounds also contained a storehouse and combination barracks where soldiers could be cared for and fed without having to go to the big mess hall. It also contained powerhouses, laundry facilities, stable, ice plant, propagating houses, guard barracks and a hospital with an adjoining morgue. The calm conservatory was an institution within itself, being an attractive part of the general scheme.

A significant feature of the architect's plan was housing for officers; it was designed for each resident's individualized use and comfort. The structures were separated with each one being surrounded by an attractive garden. North of the grounds was the cemetery that was ornamented and improved annually. In front of the spacious home in the center of a grand circle was a bandstand used to entertain visitors and patients with daily concerts.

At the imposing main entrance of the facility was a national flagstaff mounted on a pedestal of bronze, rising from the center of the elevated plaza through which would be observed by those on their way to the mess hall.

The six buildings, though separated, were connected by closed corridors, all enclosing a rectangular garden 400 by 700 feet with a fountain in the center. It was an Italian garden, beautifully laid out, ornamented with trees, shrubbery, benches and chairs so as to provide a delightful place of rest and comfort for the heroes of the great wars.

The kitchen, another model in design, represented every modern convenience known to mankind. Food was delivered at the pantries of the ward and elevated to the floors in the shortest possible time, ensuring hot meals from the kitchen. Also, there were private dining rooms for officers and mess rooms for surgeons.

Each of the 36 buildings had individual features, each differing somewhat from the others, so that picturesque harmony would charm every visitor's eye. Each one was the result of long and careful study of the purposes for which it was to be used.

The most modern ideas in arrangement and equipment were introduced into every department and every building from icehouse to laundry and morgue, from barracks to the Administration Building and dwellings for officers. This was achieved because there was a definite overall plan covering the entire enterprise that was established at the beginning of the project when the grounds were only wild fields in the midst of mountains and distanced from the nearest town, Johnson City.

Thus were created the improvements and conveniences of a city, which became known as “a city within a city.” The purest soft spring water from the pristine mountain reservoir was judged to provide healing for many an old soldier. 

Another feature was the system of barracks. Rotundas surmount two of these buildings. There were grand balustrades on each floor for promenading and lounging, an improvement deeply appreciated by the aged soldiers. At the ends of the barracks were ''recreation porches” open in summer and converted into sun parlors during winter.

The dominant note in the architecture was in keeping with Southern climate. A reminiscence of the Spanish architecture was suggested in the heavy overhanging roofs and wherever striking effects were produced. This was particularly true of the fine tower of the mess hall. A glit ball surmounted the slate cupola roof. In the veranda hung a big bell that chimed the hours, while a great dial indicated the time on the terra cotta face of the tower. Below under the balconies, one has a spacious view of the countryside.

As initially stated, the National Home for Disable Volunteer Soldiers was deemed to be the finest soldiers' home of its kind. Johnson City had something for which they could truly be proud. A drive-through the complex today takes the visitor back to 1903.

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The Powell County “history mystery” that I wrote about a few weeks ago has been partially resolved, thanks to the excellent publication, History of Washington County (compiled by the Watauga Association of Genealogists, Upper East Tennessee, 1988). 

According to the book, the northwest corner of Washington County, centered around the Fall Branch community, became the focal point of an attempt to form a new county. In 1821, citizens of the northwestern portion of Washington County, the northeastern portion of Greene County, the southeastern portion of Hawkins County and the southwestern portion of Sullivan County petitioned the Tennessee legislature to combine selected portions of the four counties into a new one. It was to acquire the name Powell County in honor of Judge Samuel Powell of Northeast Tennessee. 

The request resulted because of the remoteness of the surrounding area, poor roads and lack of adequate vehicular transportation, making it exceedingly difficult for residents to attend courts, musters, elections and conduct other business. The distance was often 15 miles or more to each of the county seats of Rogersville (Hawkins County) Blountville (Sullivan County), Greeneville (Greene County) and Jonesborough (Washington County).

After the local residents conjured up the idea of forming the new district, for whatever reason, little progress was made to carry out the work between 1821 and 1836.

In 1836, new life was breathed into the effort when the legislature appointed six commissioners for the proposed new county: Elijah W. Headrick, J.J. James, William Hall, Terry White, Alexander English and Robert Hays with specific instructions to “have the bounds of said county marked and also to hold elections to determine whether the qualified voters in the affected counties were willing to surrender land for Powell County.” 

Elections were conducted as specified. When the voting results were made known, 498 residents were in favor of the new county with only 24 opposing it, demonstrating the serious concerns the citizens had about travel. The minor opposition came mainly from residents of Greene and Hawkins counties. The county boundaries were then laid out on maps as noted in my first column.

Some of the Washington County inhabitants residing inside the proposed limits of Powell County are listed below. Pay particular attention to those with Bible names, including those of Meshack, Shadrach and Abednego:  James Whillock, Thomas Whillock, Levi Archer, Enoch Whillock, Sr., George Whillock, Enoch Whillock, George Irvin, William Irvin, Thomas Whitaker, John Whillock, John English, Nathan P. English, Jesse Hedrick, Thomas Fulkerson, John Fulkerson, Josiah Wood, George Hale, Jonah Keen, William Leadmon, John Crawford, Cage Grimsley, John L. Crumley, J.J. James, William Stephenson, Hiter Crouch, John Graham, Stephen White,…

Meshack Hale, Sr. Meshack Hale, Jr., Shadrach Hale, Abednego Hale, Amon Hale, Isaac Horton, Solomon Hale, Jesse Mullins, Thomas Charleton, Billingsly Gibson, John Bowser, Terry White, David White, Daniel Denton, David Gibson, Thomas Gibson, George Jackson, Joseph Grimsley, John Whillock, Sr., John Whillock, Jr., John Haws, Joseph Howard, Charles Hale, Enich Hale, Sevier Tadlock, Carter Tadlock, Bird Hale, William A. Crawford, John Pursell, Benjamin Archer, Michael Martin, Patrick Anderson, Stephen Keen, Jr., Jacob Robertson, John Robertson, James Robertson, William Robertson, Alexander Ford, William Haws and Mark Bean.

In spite of the vote and elaborate preparations  to launch Powell County, it never materialized. Perhaps the further delay was due to the enormous amount of work and cost to bring it to fruition. The project seemed to cool off again like it did from 1821 to 1836. Today, the areas that would have formed the new county are still firmly attached to the original counties of Washington, Greene, Hawkins and Sullivan. The ill-fated Powell County faded into yesteryear.

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Robert “Bob” Taylor and Alfred “Alf” Taylor are notable in Tennessee for their legendary 1886 brother-against-brother “War of the Roses” gubernatorial campaign, acquiring its colorful name from the original 1455-85 “War of the Roses” conflict fought for the throne of England between supporters of the houses of Lancaster (red roses) and York (white ones). Bob emerged the victor.

In 1899, after completing two terms as governor (1887-91 and 1897-99), Bob Taylor quit the field of politics (at least for seven years) when he lost his third bid for the job. In typical poetic form, Governor Taylor commented on his difficult pronouncement. Note in his words the adoration he expresses for his beautiful East Tennessee mountain home:

“I am about to shuffle off this mortal coil of politics and fly away to the haven of my native mountains where I may think and dream in peace, safe from the sickening sting of unjust criticism, safe from the talons of some old political vulture, safe from the slimy kiss and keen dagger of ingratitude.

“I do not mean to say that all politicians are vultures or that they are all hypocrites or assassins, for the great majority of our public men are upright and honest and worthy of the confidence reposed in them by the people. Yet there are black wings in the political firmament and reptiles crawl and hiss in every capital.

“But thank God, the live thunders of eternal truth always clear the atmosphere and the heel of justice will surely bruise the serpent’s head. I do not retire from this office with the ranking of disappointment and chagrin in my bosom, but rather as one who retires from labor to rest, from war to peace, from trouble to happiness.

“I do not retire, the ‘somnambulist (sleepwalker) of a shattered dream,’ but with all the buds of hope bursting into bloom and all the bowers of the future ringing with melody. I am contented with my lot in life. Three times I have worn the laurel wreath of honor (U.S. House of Representative and two terms as governor), twined by the people of my native state and that is glory enough for me.

“While I believe that the good in politics outweighs the bad, yet how thorny is the path and how unhappy the pilgrimage to him who dares to do his duty. There are no flowers except a few bouquets snatched from the graves of fallen foes; there is no happiness except the transient thrill of cruel triumph, which passes like a shadow across the heart.

“Every honest man who runs for office is a candidate for trouble, for the fruits of political victory turn to ashes on the lips. To me, there is nothing in this world so pathetic as a candidate. He is like a mariner without a compass, drifting on the tempest-tossed waves of uncertainty, between the smiling cliffs of hope and the frowning crags of fear. He is a walking petition and a living prayer; he is the packhorse of public sentiment; he is the dromedary of politics.

“I am no longer a candidate. Never again will I be inaugurated into public office. The ark of my humble public career now rests on the Ararat of public life and I stand on its peaceful summit and look down on the receding flood of politics. The dove of my destiny has brought me an olive branch from happier fields and I go hence to labor and to love.

“I take with me a heart full of gratitude and a soul full of precious memories – gratitude to the people for their unwavering confidence in me – precious memories of my friends who have been kind and true. The record I have made is an open book to all. I am willing to live by that record. For whatever mistakes I may have committed, I have kept steadily in view the honor of the State and the happiness of the people.”

“Our Bob” made good on his retirement promise from 1899 until 1907, but changed his mind and was elected a United States Senator from Tennessee. The distinguished Happy Valley native sadly passed away in 1911 while still serving his first term. Brother Alf became governor in 1920.

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