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On August 9, Johnson City lost one its crown jewels, 79-year-old Chester “Chet” Willis, who was born in Washington County and moved away for several years before returning to the city. He retired from the City of Johnson City’s Department of Services and Water Department, became a member of the Cemetery Survey Team of Northeast Tennessee and had recently worked for the Oak Hill Cemetery Friends and Volunteers.

Alan Bridwell introduced me to Chet about a year ago. We drove to the cemetery one afternoon and found the kind unassuming gentleman going about his work of maintaining and restoring the historic old graveyard. He faithfully opened the gates each day at sunrise and closed them at sunset. His impressive contributions to Oak Hill can best be noted from an excerpt of comments made by Bridwell at his friend’s funeral:

“I have known Chet Willis for the past three years. I met him while wandering around Oak Hill Cemetery one afternoon looking for a gravesite. I saw a gentleman with a cowboy hat working around a gravestone. I asked him if he had ever seen the grave of Ted Laws, the noted artist who painted railroad scenes. He walked over to a white pickup truck, pulled out a large cemetery registry and took me right to the grave that I had been trying to find for several weeks. This was the beginning of a rewarding friendship.

“Let me describe Oak Hill Cemetery before Chet Willis started working there. It is a very old cemetery in Johnson City with burials starting around 1870, shortly after the town was incorporated. It includes the graves of Henry Johnson and several founders of Johnson City. Over time it was essentially abandoned and frequently vandalized. Weeds and vines had overtaken the perimeter fences and many people likely did not even realize that a large city cemetery was located there.  A small colony of homeless people was actually living in a lower portion of the property. 

“Chet basically adopted the cemetery to clean and restore it. He repaired over 100 gravestones that had either been vandalized or deteriorated with age and cleaned around 2,700 gravesites. In addition, he transcribed and created a detailed registry of all people buried there and developed a grave numbering system complete with stenciled markers denoting each row of graves. This was a tedious and painstaking task to accomplish. 

“One day in October 2007, I found Chet very downhearted after some kids had knocked over and damaged about 20 markers that he had earlier spent days repairing. Later that week, I saw him back at the cemetery quietly repairing the damaged graves.

“I once asked Chet why he worked so hard at Oak Hill, knowing that he had no family member buried there or other obvious connection to the graveyard. He said that his reward was seeing more people visit the cemetery, put flowers on graves and express gratitude for finding an ancestor’s grave with the registry he developed. Chet never sought publicity; he simply saw work that needed to be done and set out to make a difference by getting it done.”

“Chet was a spiritual man. His Bible was evident and close by his chair in his living room. As Chet was undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatment, he would hold up his hand for prayer and pray for strength to go through the next phase. There is no doubt to me that his work in the cemeteries was an inspired work that gave him a spiritual lift.”

Alan ended his eulogy appropriately with a quote from 2 Timothy 4:7: “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith.” The passing of Chester Willis left some very large shoes to fill at Oak Hill Cemetery. 

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Johnson City resident, Peggy Harvey Street, a member of the Harvey Family Singers, called the Press recently to remind readers that Paul Anderson, a former Elizabethton weightlifter, won a gold medal in the 1956 Olympic games held in Melbourne, Australia.

Paul was born on October 17, 1932 in Toccoa, Georgia. After winning a football scholarship to Furman University in 1950, he returned to his parents’ home in Elizabethton one year later with a strong desire to become a weightlifter.

Paul began developing innovative ways to lift weights and increase his strength. For example, he would squat all day every other day and on alternate days, work on the bench press. He placed objects in concrete to lift them and would sift through junkyards in search of heavy objects to use. 

In 1955, the muscleman broke two world records at the World Championships in Munich, Germany and became world champion in his weight class. Upon his return home, then vice-president, Richard Nixon, thanked him for being a goodwill ambassador for the United States.

In 1956, the 304-pound contender became an Olympic gold medal winner, beating Humberto Selvetti of Argentina. Although both men lifted the identical amount of weight, Paul won because he weighed less than his competitor. It was during this time that he turned professional.

Mrs. Street said her husband, the late A.J. Street, became acquainted with Anderson about 1954: “A.J. liked to skate a lot back then and spent a lot of time at the Recreation Building. I believe it was there where they first met.

“When my husband and I were dating, we often took in a movie at the Majestic or Sevier Theater. Frequently while attending the theatre, we would meet Paul and his date, a pretty petite blond lady. Back then, people dressed up when going on dates. I remember seeing Paul dressed in a beige suit and a shirt with a pointed collar. His neck was so big that he probably couldn’t get a tie around it so he just left his collar open.”

Peggy said that soon after Paul won the 1956 Olympics, she and A.J. saw him again at the Majestic Theatre, not in person, but on the big screen during a Movietone Newsreel. When news of Paul’s winning an Olympic gold metal was announced, the crowd whooped and hollered; this was their local hero from neighboring Elizabethton.

In one Newsreel scene, Paul is shown with his hands and feet bound so as to keep them from bursting under the tremendous amount of weight he was lifting. 

Paul was invited to appear on the hit quiz show “I’ve Got a Secret,” emceed by Garry Moore, He amazingly lifted the panel, consisting of Faye Emerson, Bill Cullen, Jayne Meadows and Henry Morgan. He also appeared on the popular Ed Sullivan Show. A Johnson City Press-Chronicle newspaper showed a picture of him lifting his wife into the air with one hand. In a movie clip, he was seen carrying a large cow around on his back. Paul was even able to lift the front end of an automobile. An impromptu visit to his garage in Elizabethton often found him doing squats with 800-900 pound motor blocks.

In 1961, Paul and Glenda, his wife became devout Christians and took the gospel message inside prison walls. Later, he founded the Paul Anderson Youth Home for troubled youngsters in Vidalia, Georgia. Over time, he received many letters from appreciative fans, including one in 1963 from J. Edgar Hoover.

The “World’s Strongest Man” died in 1994 at the age of 61, but not before leaving an impressive mark on the world of sports. Thank you, Mrs. Street for reminding us of him. 

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As a huge fan of old cowboy flicks, I regularly attended the Liberty and Tennessee theatres as a young boy. The films were low budget productions, but most were anything but second rate; they made a profound impact on the youth of my generation.  

Bill Durham sent me two good Internet resources on the subject: Boyd Magers’ “Western Clippings” and Chuck Anderson’s “The Old Corral.” He also gave me a DVD movie, “Song of the Drifter,” by cowboy singing star, Jimmy Wakely, my favorite western crooner. In one scene, Jimmy offers his horse, “Lucky,” a drink from a wooden pail and then proceeds to swig from the same bucket. (Don’t try this at home.) Wakely made 28 westerns for Monogram Pictures between 1944 and 1949.

I acquired my fondness for Wakely’s singing in 1950 after my grandmother, Ethel Carroll, bought me a 78-rpm record containing two songs, “When a Speck in the Sky is a Bluebird” and “On the Strings of my Lonesome Guitar.” I now possess a fairly large collection of Wakely songs, many having been copied from breakable old dusty discs.

Some time ago, Mack Houston mailed me a copy of Bobby Copeland’s “B-Western Boot Hill – A Final Tribute to the Cowboys and Cowgirls Who Rode the Saturday Matinee Movie Range.” Sadly, most of the western heroes who once galloped across the big theatre screens in downtown Johnson City are deceased and residing in a “Boot Hill.” The lone exception (as of this writing) is 89-year-old Monte Hale (“Shoot low; they might be crawlin’”).

The book chronicles the people who helped make B-westerns a reality – cowboy stars, sidekicks, favorite heroines and supporting actors. The compilation also includes those actors who starred in serials (“Don’t miss the next exciting chapter of … at this theatre next week”).

Copeland’s paperback book provides newspaper reports of the passing of 66 “shoot-em-up” heroes; Gene Autry, Charles Starrett, Hopalong Cassidy, Johnny Mack Brown, Rod Cameron, Sunset Carson, “Wild” Bill Elliott, Allan “Rocky” Lane, Lash LaRue, Tex Ritter, Roy Rogers, Charles Starrett and Bob Steele were among them.

Another section documents 23 deceased sidekicks, the likes of Pat Brady (Rogers), Smiley Burnette (Autry), Pat Buttram (Autry), Andy Devine (Hickok) and three who appeared with numerous cowboys – Gabby Hayes, Fuzzy Knight and Al “Fuzzy” St. John.

Not to be excluded were 47 leading ladies, the most recognizable being Gail Davis (later guest starred on the Andy Griffith Show), Patsy Montana (yodeler, member of the National Barn Dance) and Linda Stirling (remembered for her “The Tiger Woman” cliffhanger serial).

“Boot Hill” also provides honorable mention to 60 B-western contributors such as songsters Johnny Bond (guitarist, country songwriter), Spade Cooley (western swing fiddler, singer, band leader), Bob Nolan (Canadian born singer, songwriter, member of the Sons of the Pioneers), Foy Willing (singer, teamed with the Riders of the Purple Sage) and Bob Wills (“King of Western Swing”).

The book likewise credits several desperados whose weekly dastardly deeds provided the good guys with someone to pursue. Every Saturday matinee idol probably “killed” bad hombre, Roy Barcroft, a dozen times, but after “dying” in one flick, he amazingly appeared in good health in the next one. I was surprised to see his name in “Boot Hill.”

Most of those who masterfully orchestrated the B-western films of yesteryear are now buried “on the lone prairie,” but they still firmly reside in the memories of us hard-core cowboy devotees. As Roy Rogers would say: “Happy trails to you until we meet again.”  

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Paul Gill, a former resident of Johnson City, sent me a package chocked full of documentation about his family history that has numerous links to the city’s past. One story in particular caught my attention; it deals with the 93rdbirthday of Tenna Sherfey Leighton, Paul’s aunt, on August 17, 1957. She was born on August 17, 1864, eight months before the Civil War ended. 

This was a memorable occasion for the 1410 East Unaka Avenue resident. While opening her many congratulatory cards that arrived in the mailbox that week, she was astonished to find one with a return address of “The White House, Washington.” The sender of the correspondence was Mamie Eisenhower, wife of the 34thpresident of the United States. The First Lady penned the letter just prior to her entering a DC hospital.

Mrs. Eisenhower congratulated the elderly citizen on her milestone: “Dear Mrs. Leighton: It is a pleasure for me to extend warm and cordial congratulations on your approaching birthday on August 17. May peace and happiness be yours in abundance in the years to come.”

The president’s wife learned of Tenna’s accomplishment from Sherfey Hodges, a great-nephew of hers and retired Naval officer. He wrote Mrs. Eisenhower and made the request of her. Mrs. Leighton was so delighted with the letter that she took it to her church, the First Church of the Brethren, and showed it to her pastor, the Rev. B.J. Wampler, who, in turn, read it to his congregation.

Not to overlook this act of kindness by Mrs. Eisenhower, Mrs. Leighton sent a “thank you” note to the White House. When asked what she wrote, she responded: “I thanked her and sent her my best wishes and I enclosed a pretty ‘Get Well’ card too.” Tenna, a stanch Republican, always admired Mrs. Eisenhower, a fact she insisted had nothing to do with her political affiliation. “She is a fine woman,” she said, “and I respect her, regardless of politics.”

The elderly lady lived alone in the home that she had occupied since 1940, cooking her own meals, doing the daily cleaning and washing all but heavy articles. She canned tomatoes, peaches, corn, beans, apples and prunes.

The Sherfey family once lived on a farm along what in now Austin Springs Road. Her father named her “Tennessee” because her mother had the privilege of naming their first child, “Virginia,” the home state of the mother.

The family later moved closer to Johnson City. “Tennessee” had many fascinating memories of the days when the city was a village and the population was sparse. She recalled that it a grand occasion to come to town, riding behind her mother on a horse. They brought butter and eggs with them to sell, after which they would use the money to buy groceries before returning home.

During the 1896-97 school year, a grownup Tenna taught third grade at Martha Wilder School on Myrtle Avenue, then considered to be the newest and finest of educational institutions in the area. She married Charles D. Leighton in 1898 and went with him to live on a farm near Lawrenceburg, TN. In 1919, the family relocated to California. They returned to Johnson City after the death of her husband.

“Tennessee” was an avid reader of newspapers and magazines. She commented that her favorite book was the Bible. She kept records in the back of it that showed where she had read it from cover to cover 24 times.  

The 93-year-old’s special birthday came and went with little fanfare, which is the way she wanted it. Her many well wishes extended from as nearby as her household and as far away as Washington, DC. The hardy Johnson Citian lived another 12 years, departing this life at the age of 105.  

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East Tennessee has been blessed with capable leaders who helped shape the Volunteer State into what it is today. Test your knowledge of the region’s pioneers by matching their names with their contributions. The answers are located at the end.

Choices: A- Daniel Boone, B- Tidence Lane, C- Andrew Jackson, D- Elihu Embree, E- William Bean, F- John Sevier, G- Katherine Sherrill, H- William Blount, I- Samuel Doak, J- Henry Johnson, K- Andrew Johnson, L- David Crockett and M- Bob Taylor.

1. This individual was among the first Baptists to set foot on Tennessee soil, having the distinction of pastoring the first permanent church organization of any denomination in the state of Tennessee, Buffalo Ridge Baptist Church in the Gray community.

2. President George Washington appointed this veteran of the Revolutionary War to serve as governor of the Southwest Territory and superintendent of Indian affairs. He later became the first U.S. senator to be impeached.

3. Reported to be the first white settler west of the Alleghenies, this person became a companion of Daniel Boone in 1760. In 1768, he and his family settled at Boone's Creek, a small tributary of the Watauga River.

4. Known as “Bonnie Kate,” this hardy and adventurous woman became the wife of John Sevier after he bravely pulled her to safety during an Indian attack at Fort Watauga at Sycamore Shoals.

5. This trailblazer, pathfinder and Indian fighter gave pioneers and settlers courage to penetrate the vast wilderness regions. He left his mark on the area by carving his initials in a large beech tree north of the city.

6. The American Presbyterian clergyman and educator who became an advocate for the abolition of slavery. Later he established an academy that became known as Washington College, the first one west of the Appalachians.

7. This Washington County native, son of a Quaker minister, abolitionist leader and publisher of the first abolitionist paper in the United States, “The Manu-mission Intelligence,” became an ardent anti-slavery advocate and remained so until his death.

8. This pioneer arrived in the area in 1856 and established a city that would later bear his name. Over time, he built a combination residence and merchant store, train depot and water tank.

9. “Old Hickory,” so named because of his robustness, was a colorful Jonesboro lawyer, Indian fighter and leader of the “Tennessee Volunteers” in the Battle of New Orleans. He became the first United States president from west of the Appalachians.

10. This 17thpresident of the United States assumed office upon the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. He led the nation during the Reconstruction era and became the first president to be impeached.

11. The witty Democratic contender for governor of Tennessee during the famous 1886 “War of the Roses” campaign served one term in the U.S. House, three as governor and one in the U.S. Senate. He co-founded The Comet, an early Johnson City newspaper.

12. The Tennessee hero of the Battle of Kings Mountain in South Carolina became governor of the State of Franklin, first governor of the State of Tennessee, Indian fighter and state-builder.

13. This celebrated 19th-century American folk hero, frontiersman, soldier and politician was born on the Nolichucky River near Limestone, Tennessee and died fighting the Battle of the Alamo in Texas.

Answers: 1B, 2H, 3E, 4G, 5A, 6I, 7D, 8J, 9C, 10K, 11M, 12F and 13L. 

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A Monday, July 27, 1925 Johnson City Press-Chronicle contained a unique full-page advertisement that caught my attention. The main title said, “Try The Drug Store First.” The premise of the ad was to get patrons to subscribe to the idea that a drug store sold much more than drugs, a concept that carries well over to today. 

Downtown Johnson City had its share of pharmaceutical dispensaries. In addition, most of them had fountain service where the customer could sit down at a counter or some small booths. I recall numerous such establishments from the late 1940s thought the 1950s. People were not for lack of choices of druggists within a short distance of the downtown business district.

One of the most popular was Liggetts (257 E. Main at Roan). This two-story brick building was known as the King Building with “King” and “1907” visibly engraved across the top of it. Farther west down the block was Cole Rexall Drug Store (233 E. Main), later becoming Revco. Opposite this business on the south side of the street was Peoples Drug (216 E. Main). Going west from Peoples Drug was Jones Vance Drug (Main and Spring). Diagonally across from it on Fountain Square was Anderson's Drug (201 E. Main, advertised as “The Convenient Corner”).

Just around the corner from Jones Vance was Snyder Jones Drug (100 Main). Traveling west on Market across the railroad tracks was Market Street Drug (134 W. Market, “Your Rexall Store”). Further down the block was Chambers Williams Drug (200 W. Market at Boone). Continuing west several blocks brought you to Wilson Pharmacy (273 W. Market at Watauga). Motoring up Roan Street past Junior High on the right revealed Hospital Pharmacy (602 N. Roan).

One of the last holdout survivors in the downtown area after the business district fell on hard times was Liggett's, but it too eventually closed its doors. Wilson Pharmacy successfully moved to Walnut Street and Revco relocated to North Johnson City.

Each firm had its specialty. My favorite spot in Liggetts was the candy counter just inside the store to the left. Cole had really good hamburgers with the option of adding slaw to them. They also made good malts and delicious milk shakes. I vividly recall a smiling Guy Wilson and a large comic rack at Wilson Drug. 

There is a story from my family that proved the essentiality of these early establishments. It involved a good deed performed by my great uncle, Elbert Bowman, in the late 1920s as recalled by one of his sons, Weldon. My uncle, Stanley Carroll, a young boy living along Gray Station Road in Gray Station, once contacted a bad case of the flu that rendered him very sick and weak physically. 

Late one evening, Dr. McCollum, a well-known local country doctor, was called to the Bowman home to examine the lad. After finishing his examination, the doctor pushed back from the bed where the sick boy lay and just sat there in deep thought. He then proceeded to write a prescription, handed it to Elbert and told him to get Stan some much-needed medicine as soon as possible.

The nearest drug store was in Johnson City so Elbert and Weldon got in the family’s Model A Ford and drove to the nearby town. When they got there, it was approaching midnight. In spite of the late hour, they were able to locate a pharmacist, get him to open his store, obtain the medicine and expeditiously return to Gray Station and a sick little boy. According to Weldon, Stanley “snapped right out of it,” thanks to Elbert Bowman and an unknown Johnson City pharmacist of yesteryear.  

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On Feb. 27, 1939, the Commercial Club of Science Hill High School issued a 4-page publication titled, “Commercial News,” a periodical originated in the previous year. This organization, comprised of 27 students participating in business courses offered by the school, met each Thursday morning during “club period.”

Outgoing officers were Dorothy Wilcox, Editor-in Chief; Alice Garland, Assistant Editor; Nellie Moyers, Social Editor; Theresa Bayles, Class Editor; Frances Stone, Club Editor; Dorothy Scott, Secretary; Virginia Livingston, Assistant Secretary; Robert McKee, Business Manager; Miss Newton and Mr. Maddux, Faculty Sponsors. Incoming officers were Harry Burdick president; Louise Richardson, vice president; Dorothy Scott, secretary; Alice Garland, treasurer; and Frances Stone Club Reporter. The club’s Social Committee was comprised of Merle Cross (chairman), Theresa Bayless, Helen Mettetal and Jewell Vest. The Program Committee consisted of Theresa Bayless (chairman), Jewell Vest and Mildred Lowe.

Five topics were featured in the magazine, the first being “Traits of a Secretary.” Students conducted a survey of area businesses to determine what secretarial traits were most desired by their bosses. Accuracy topped the list; secretaries needed to spell perfectly and pronounce people’s names correctly. The second most important trait was assuming job responsibility without having to be closely supervised. 

Under “Class News,” it was reported that the second period typing class was comprised of beginners. Of the 24 members in the class, Mary Louise Meredith was deemed the most outstanding student. Another one, Jim Ellis, was razzed for having missed several days of classes and still using the old “hunt and peck” method. 

The seventh period typing class members proved their skill by averaging 38 words a minute. Other scores were first period, 36; fourth period, 30; and fifth period, 31. The girls were said to be superior to the boys. 

Under another title “Antique Typewriter,” Giltz Corley brought to school an old-fashioned 50-year-old typewriter that had belonged to his grandfather. Unlike most devices, it used an inkpad instead of a ribbon. The letters were on a cylinder instead of individual keys that rotated to the desired key before striking the paper. The result was script that resembled beautiful handwriting.

The second period shorthand class set a standard for students to read 100 sentences in 15 minutes (or 50 in 8 minutes). Theresa Bayless was recognized for reading 50 sentences in four minutes. John Gregg, creator of the shorthand method in 1888, authored the students’ shorthand book. One club member wrote that Mr. Gregg had worked in a grocery store during his youth and, during slack hours, practiced writing shorthand on brown paper bags. The bags were so rough that it was difficult for him to make an angle between two letters. This challenge resulted in his developing blends of elliptical figures and straight lines.

One Commercial Club member, Mildred Stout, offered an amusingly comment about shorthand saying that she thought the subject should be taught in the first grade so students would not have to learn the traditional way to write.

The final section of the publication, “Cracks from a Dark Corner,” closely resembled student gossip pages from a typical high school yearbook. The newsletter’s editor ended the publication with these words: “Well, I’ll say good-bye for this time. I’ve already told too much, but don’t you say a thing about what I’ve told you.” Mums the word, Dorothy.  

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In 1952-53 while in Mrs. Alf Taylor’s fourth grade class at Henry Johnson School, I was introduced to the game of marbles, soon becoming an avid devotee of the sport.

The instant our teacher escorted us to the east side playground for recess, several of us boys immediately began organizing a marble game. I cannot recall ever seeing girls engage in the competition; it was definitely a boy’s amusement. The first thing we did was to choose classmates with whom we wanted to play. I seem to recall that two to four people made an ideal match.  

The site of the contest had to be carefully selected. It needed to be free of grass, weeds, rocks, clumps of dirt and debris. Most of our games were held in the clay dirt along the east backside of the playground next to the Fox residence. Once having found an ideal spot, we played on it repeatedly. On rare occasions, we used the sidewalk, but a paved surface was rough on the knees compared to softer ground. Besides, playing in the dirt was more fun for us tough guys.

After we selected our players and located a spot, it was time to get down to serious business. Using a stick, we first drew a one to two foot diameter circle in the dirt. Marbles varied in color from the bland to the very beautiful “catis eye” (referred to as “cat’s eyes”) that were made of clear glass with a swirl of color inside. We each put an agreed upon number in the ring, after which they became common property.

We took turns shooting a special marble, appropriately called a “shooter” or “taw, from anywhere outside the large circle, trying to knock one or more marbles out of it. We always had a couple of special “shooters” that we would not part with at any price.

Shooting a marble required the use of your thumb, index finger and middle finger. The middle and index fingers held the thumb and marble in place together in a cocked position until the player was ready to propel the marble forward. The shooting hand had to touch the ground while shooting; failure to do so resulted in an infraction called “fudging,” resulting in the individual losing his turn.

Whenever a marble exited the ring, it became that player’s possession. If you knocked a marble out of the ring and the shooter stayed inside the circle, you continued shooting from where it landed. Driving two or more marbles out of the ring with one attempt was called “dubs.” Anytime your shooter exited the circle, your turn was over. The game ended when all marbles had been cast out of the ring.

There were two varieties of the sport. One was “funsies” (playing for fun), where every participant went away with the same number of marbles that he had when he began. The other was “keepsies” (playing for keeps) that allowed you to keep all the marbles you shot out of the ring. The latter option was later considered by many schools to be a form of gambling and, consequently, not permitted.

I stored my marbles at home in an old Easter basket. When I took them to school, I carried them in an old sock. A status symbol on the playground was for us boys to parade around with marbles bulging from our pockets, indicating we were big game winners. This self-directed recognition was all we ever received for our efforts.

My marble playing days rolled away after I began attending Junior High School in the mid 1950s. Regrettably, I parted with my basket full of marbles by hitting each one with a wooden baseball bat, spraying them into a vacant lot adjacent to our Baxter Street residence. My pleasurable sport of yesteryear became passé.  

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When I was about seven years old, my mother and I were walking in the vicinity of McClure Street just off W. Market and observed a man on the opposite side of the street who appeared to be under the influence.

As the hapless high-stepping chap staggered along, one of his feet literally slapped the pavement as if he had no control over it; the truth was, he didn’t. I asked Mom what was wrong with him. While I cannot recall her explanation, I now suspect that he likely was a victim of a malady known as “Jake Leg,” a term describing someone affected by ingesting large quantities of Jamaica ginger, a product containing a high concentration of alcohol. 

In early 1930, newspapers in the American South and Midwest began reporting an unidentified new paralytic illness that was affecting relatively large numbers of people. Oddly enough, the problem was not that prevalent in other areas of the country. The assignable cause was soon linked to Jamaica ginger, an advertised medicinal tonic legally marketed and sold as a remedy for a number of illnesses.

“Jake,” as it became known, had been in use from about the time of the Civil War. With the passing of the Volstead Act in 1919, the production of all commercial alcohol was forbidden in the United States with one notable exception – medicinal products.

Over the next several years, 50,000 to 100,000 people, mostly males, were permanently crippled with partial paralysis from the drink. The problem quickly crept into hobo jungles along railroad tracks of the affected routes. Compared to whiskey, Jake was much cheaper and had higher alcohol content. The product sold between 1920 and 1930 caused no significant health problems other than the usual alcohol related concerns.

The dilemma occurred when manufacturers decided to add an industrial plasticizer to the drink known as TOCP, which was mistakenly thought to be harmless. The tasteless, odorless and colorless additive was put in the drink to mask the high alcohol content detected during government tests of the product. Also, Jake was highly adulterated with molasses, glycerin, and castor oil to lessen the objectionable ginger taste, making it somewhat more palatable to consumers.

Jake leg caused neurological damage to the body particularly to the spinal cord. The first visible sign of it was a gradual paralysis that affected the lower extremities, thus giving it its name. As a rule, the condition was temporary but sometimes became permanent and even fatal.

The plight of these sufferers became the subject of numerous country songs with such titles as “Jake Leg Blues,” “Jake Bottle Blues,” “Jake Walk Blues,” “Jake Leg Wobble,” “Got The Jake Leg Too,” “Jake Leg Rag,” “Alcohol and Jake Blues,” “Jake Liquor Blues” and “Jake Walk Papa.” Artists of that era included Lemuel Turner, The Allen Brothers, The Ray Brothers, Byrd Moore, Narmour and Smith, Tommy Johnson, Ishman Bracey, The Mississippi Sheiks, Daddy Stovepipe and Mississippi Sarah, Asa Martin and Willie Lofton.

After the Food and Drug division of the U.S. Department of Agriculture took a serious aim at the problem, the popular drink became illegal, but many habitual users skirted the law and managed to locate supplies of it.

After about six years, Jake Leg became history. Today, only the scratchy echoes of the old songs taken from worn out 78-rpm records remind us of the affliction of yesteryear: “You're a Jake walkin' papa with the Jake walk blues; I'm a red hot mama that you can't afford to lose.” 

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I received a letter from Lynn Williams, former chief engineer at radio station WBEJ in Elizabethton, saying he fondly remembers their remote broadcasts from atop Elizabethton’s Dutch Maid Drive-In on Elk Avenue.

“As engineer,” said Lynn, “I took care of the nuts and bolts of the operation, but was not averse to donning another hat, such as the ‘Musical Penthouse’ production. This was a creation of Bill Hale, a ‘ball of fire’ program director and future station manager. In 1956, I agreed to operate the studio equipment at night during the on-location program.”

According to Lynn, WBEJ transmitted Monday through Saturday nights from 7 pm until sign-off at midnight. The engineer recalled several announcers from that era: Curley White, Jim Berry, Ed Howze, E. Lee “Leaping Lee” Brown, Larry Hinkle and Harold “Hap” Henley Ziggy Ziggy Higgenbottom. Hap was the well-liked host of “Hap’s House in Session.”

The Dutch Maid penthouse, a four-foot by six-foot enclosure above the eatery, had plate glass windows on four sides, allowing outside patrons to observe the announcer. A bright florescent light fixture was mounted on the ceiling, making the disc jockey even more visible from below. The transmitting booth contained only the necessary equipment to play records over the air.

Climbing to the broadcast penthouse was no easy task. The announcer had to unsteadily scamper up the backside of the building, while carefully hanging onto the guttering and downspouts. This dicey inconvenience was deliberate; it kept people from going up to the booth and disturbing the deejay or falling off the roof.

A gold painted galvanized water bucket was used to accumulate song requests. It was routinely lowered and raised by the announcer to collect song titles from diners. A large wooden box contained 100 45-rpm records, representing the top hits of the day. These unbreakable vinyl platters had to be returned to the studio each night lest the sun’s heat ruin them the next day.

Williams further commented: “The brightness of the penthouse attracted oodles of flying bugs, forcing the announcers to make a choice – keep the door closed to keep out bugs and endure the heat or open it and let in cooler air and bugs.

“The station scheduled a 30-minute break at precisely 10 pm. I gave the news, sports and weather from the main studios. This allowed the deejay to ‘shinny’ down the drainpipe, visit with fans and get something to eat. Occasionally, he was late returning to the booth, prompting me to segue records until he arrived back at his post. This gave the illusion to listeners that the music was coming from the Dutch Maid. I occasionally chatted over the air with the remote disc jockey, but I was incognito known only as “Prof,” preferring to remain in the background.”

Lynn occasionally invited high school students into the studio through the unlocked door to play some of the ‘break time’ records. He taught them to operate the equipment and even helped a few obtain a license to work in radio. Fifty years later, he still recalls some of their names: Jim Luther, Don Swanner, Doug Greer and Bob Coffman.

The Dutch Maid remote continued intermittently until its demise in 1964. Lynn concluded his letter by saying: “It was a great time and it is too bad that it all came to an end. Sadly, most of the people I worked with at WBEJ are no longer living.” Like so many pleasurable things in life, they so quickly and quietly slip into yesteryear never to return. 

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