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“Clang, clang, clang went the trolley; Ding, ding, ding went the bell.” These familiar words are from “The Trolley Song,” the featured musical composition in the 1944 film classic, “Meet Me In St. Louis.”

In 1887, the first successful electric street railway in the United States began operation in Richmond, Virginia. Five years later, the Johnson City and Carnegie Street Railway became a reality with a four-mile span of metal track. The trolley soon evolved as the city’s chief mode of travel, bridging the distance gap between inner-city dwellers and suburb inhabitants.

People in the outskirts of town could jump on the trolley and ride downtown to shop, watch a flick at a movie theatre, roller-skate at a local rink or attend a concert or lecture at Jobe’s Opera House. Likewise, urban residents could ride a streetcar to Lake Wataussee (later Cox’s Lake) for a fun day of boating, swimming and picnicking or stopover at spacious Soldier’s Home (now V.A. Center).

Trolleys permitted people to affordably commute to their work places. The Blondie newspaper comic strip often showed the always-late-for-work Dagwood Bumstead leaping desperately into the air to grab the trolley end pole just as the vehicle departed. Moreover, streetcars took people to school, church, the doctor, family gatherings, sporting contests and social events. The endearing little cars became a vital influence in the city.

The trolley barn was located at 100-102 N. Roan Street, former site of the Johnson City Power Board. The uniquely designed building contained ample space for storing streetcars that were not in service. After exiting the terminal onto Roan Street, the trolley driver had a choice of turning north to Carnegie Hotel and Lake Wataussee or south to the Normal School (later ETSU) and Soldiers Home.

Traveling south took the trolley to E. Main where it turned west and navigated to Fountain Square. Two route options emerged at this location; the trolley could go left onto Buffalo or continue west on Main. The Buffalo choice brought it to Walnut where it bore right and passed Model Mills (later General Mills). According to Ken Harrison, it turned left onto Southwest Avenue and then right onto W. Pine before arriving at the Normal School. The other Fountain Square route was to travel west on Main and eventually head south toward Soldier’s Home.

Leaving the trolley station and going north took it to Watauga where it proceeded east to a short passing section of two parallel tracks that provided a spot for trolleys going in opposite directions to pass. The trolley continued east to Oakland where it turned right and then left onto Fairview to the Carnegie Hotel. On weekends and special occasions, the company offered a trip north on Oakland and northwest toward Lake Wataussee. 

Frank Tannewitz said it cost a nickel to ride the trolley. Many people walked rather than ride because a nickel was a lot of money in those days. A wire on top of the trolley connected it to the main power line. When the trolley got to the end of the line, the attendant switched the main supply wire from the front to the back to reverse the car’s direction. The attendant then flipped the seats over for the return trip.”

In my next column, I will relate how modern comfortable buses arrived in the city in 1931, causing the demise of the nostalgic little streetcars and silencing the familiar “clang, clang, clang” and “ding, ding, ding.”  

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In early 2005, I wrote two articles concerning Johnson City’s charming “Lady of the Fountain.” This bronze statue stood in Fountain Square atop a water fountain between 1909 and 1937 and at Roosevelt (Memorial) Stadium for about six additional years.

In 1943, the Lady began a 40-year residency in a garden at the Zollicoffer family home in Henderson, NC. On Sept. 20, 1983, it made a heralded return to the city. I recently received correspondence from Carol Grissom, Senior Objects Conservator of the Smithsonian Institute, who shed new light on our prized artifact that represents a large chunk of Johnson City’s history.

Ms. Grissom stated that while writing a book, Zinc Sculpture in America: 1850-1950, she located the two Johnson City Press articles on my website: “I immediately recognized it as a statue sold as the ‘Greek Water Carrier.’ The Lenoir City foundry mentioned in your article may have made the cast iron fountain base, but I can guarantee that the statue was made in New York.”

Carol was delighted to learn that Johnson City possesses a rare essentially intact statue. She hopes to make a trip here soon to examine it. Ms. Grissom’s forthcoming publication contains this entry: “Greek Water Carrier with an urn held in both hands above her head and drapery flaring outward from her shoulders on each side. Water issued from the mouth of the urn and ran down the figure. This elegant figure was sculptured by Alan George Newman (1875–1940) and copyrighted in 1905 by the J.L. Mott Iron Works (118-120 Fifth Avenue, NY).”

According to Carol: “This company was known mostly for bathroom fixtures, but had a fairly active production of ornamental cast-iron fountains during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.” She attached a Mott advertisement from a 1909 edition of “The Monumental News,” a sculpture journal that operated between 1889 and 1938. The publication carries a picture of a “Greek Water Carrier,” which appears to be identical to our “Lady.”

Ms. Grissom further avowed: “The firm probably did not actually make the zinc statues, but instead subcontracted them to M.J. Seelig & Co., a zinc foundry in Williamsburg, New York, an area now part of Brooklyn and fashionable among young people and artists. Mr. Newman was probably best known for his statue of a Spanish-American Soldier, available from several foundries in bronze but also sold by Mott in zinc. The ‘Greek Water Carrier’ is one of the few statues introduced in the twentieth century, as generally the company sold replicas of the same statues from about 1875 onward.”

Only three “Carrier” statues, including the one in Johnson City, are believed to be in existence today. Milton Hershey, founder of the Hershey chocolate empire, purchased one in 1913 for the front of his home. It was subsequently moved from Hershey, PA to nearby Harrisburg. The magnate also procured a Spanish-American Soldier statue. The cast zinc sculpture, known as “Rebecca Fountain,” was painted gray and installed on a concrete pedestal. Today, it sits on a concrete block with the portion below the knees missing.

A second statue once stood at the National Park Seminary, a school for young women established in 1894 in Silver Spring, MD. It stood atop a low pedestal in a garden between a sorority house known as Chiopi and the Chapel.  It was stolen in 1996, prompting a reward for its return.

Ms. Grissom offered some concluding comments: “As far as I know, your city’s statue is the only one of its kind that remains in public hands intact, discounting the damaged one in Hershey Park. Your ‘Lady’ is also important from an art historical standpoint because a known artist modeled it. In many ways, your copy is unique. Personally, I find it a rather charming statue and something of a period piece, evocative of the early 20th century.”

Let me extend a heartfelt “thank you” from Johnson Citians to Ms. Grissom for sharing the Lady of the Fountain’s birthright with us. 

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There was a time in Johnson City history when produce stores and stands were bountiful with such names as Burbage, Lowry, Sell, Deck & Noe, Gilmer & Garland, Street & Dougherty, Tittle, B&B, Lacy, Willis, C.W. Lane, McKinney, Tri-City, Garland, Kelly, Bond, Crouch, Miller, E&T, Ben Garrison (bananas) and Hicks (tomatoes).

Without question, the one I recall the most from the 1950s was Earl Hicks Produce, located at 124-126 W. Market at Commerce and adjacent to Guy’s Restaurant. My great uncle, Walter Bowman, and his son, Shirley, worked there for years. Almost every time I strolled past the stand on my journey to town, I stopped and conversed with Walter.

Boones Creek resident John Hughes fondly recalls his association with the businessman: “I never worked directly for Earl,” said Hughes. “I was an independent driver along with Bob Chandley; cousins, Bill Hughes and Lindsey Hughes; and my brother, Raymond. We hauled tomatoes exclusively. Earl employed 30 people plus kept nine smaller store trucks in operation.

“Pat Bryant was Earl’s buyer. He went to Patterson, CA every September 15 for a couple of months and bought tomatoes, eventually working his way south and back east. My job was to follow behind him and bring back to Johnson City the tomatoes he bought. Over the next eight months, I drove to Laredo, TX; Humboldt, TN; Homestead, Fort Pearce and Immokalee, FL; and Beaufort and Lady Island, SC to pick up tomatoes.”

Repacking operation at Hicks Produce, John Hughes is shown at the right

John related how Pat often bought all the tomatoes a farmer had long before they were grown, that being his way of getting quantity and locking in the price. The store needed a minimum of 36,000 pounds of green tomatoes coming in each day between Sept. and July. John alleged how Earl would occasionally go to a fruit auction in Moultrie, GA and bid two or three times the going price, identifying him as a serious buyer and causing sellers to take notice of him.

Earl rented a temperature control storage facility on E. Fairview in the Carnegie section close to the railroad that he used to insure that his tomatoes stayed cool and did not over ripen. Even during truck transports in hot weather, drivers had to frequently stop for ice and use a fan to circulate air in the truck.

 According to John: “Earl had what we called a repack operation at his Market Street store, which separated ripe and partially ripe tomatoes from green ones. As tomatoes were fed onto a conveyor belt, workers positioned on each side of it removed unripe ones and placed them in a storage cooler. The remaining tomatoes continued to the end of the belt where they dropped through one of several different sized holes, allowing tomatoes of the same approximate size to be shipped to customers. These tomatoes were then repacked and delivered to large supermarket chains all over the northeast.

“Earl closed the store every year, between July 4 and Sept. 15, which corresponded to the time homegrown tomatoes were available locally. This gave the workers a much-needed vacation and me the opportunity to make other truck deliveries.”

John fondly recalls the time in 1955 when Press-Chronicle writer, Dorothy Hamill, interviewed him in a back alley off Commerce Street soon after he arrived at the produce stand with a truckload of tomatoes. She had a Press-Chronicle photographer take his picture while in his truck and then featured him in an article for the newspaper.

John concluded: “I really enjoyed hauling tomatoes for Earl Hicks between about 1952 and 1958.” That was a half century ago. 

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Imagine attending a lecture in 1910 at the Hippodrome Opera House at W. Main and Whitney streets. The speaker is Dr. Alvin Davison of Lafayette College lecturing from his latest textbook, Health Lessons, Book 2, American Book Company. His address would likely go something like this: 

“Let me commence by presenting some sobering mortality figures from my book. Although Americans now live twice as long as their forefathers did, only two people out of 100 die of old age; the other 98 perish from disease or accidents. One-fourth of children born in this country die within 12 months and less than half of our population lives beyond 55 years of age. Fortunately, we can now identify the germs associated with such common deadly illnesses as typhoid fever, tuberculosis, malaria, pneumonia, diphtheria, grippe (influenza) and plague.

“However, our ongoing challenge is to prevent these often-lethal microorganisms from attacking and ravaging our bodies. Our delicate living machine can be seriously damaged and even destroyed by negligence. In 1885, just 25 years ago, polluted water was regularly supplied to our cities and towns from sewage-laced upstream sources. Today, this has essentially been corrected; most municipalities now furnish safe clean water. As individuals, we can improve our health by striving to augment the nutritional value of the meals we consume. This effort can have a bonus advantage of lowering our grocery bills.

“For instance, ten cents worth of corn meal furnishes as much nourishment as $2 worth of oysters. A dime spent for stewing beef or 12 cents for two quarts of milk will produce more food value than a one-pound 24-cent sirloin steak. The daily cost of feeding wholesome meals to a family of five need not exceed 75 cents. Healthful yet inexpensive choices include wheat bread, corn meal mush, beef stew, small dried beans, potatoes, oatmeal, milk and in-season fruits and green vegetables.

“Also, food should be chewed more than a dozen times before swallowing. Two thirds of a pound of properly chewed victuals offers the same dietary benefit as one pound of carelessly consumed fare. Dyspepsia (indigestion) is a common ailment caused by swallowing food before it has been crushed into very fine particles.

“Milk, an essential element of our diet, must be handled with extreme care. Bad milk is responsible for sickness and death of young children. More than twice as many people die from bacterial tainted milk as from old age. Milk of questionable quality should be pasteurized by heating it to just below the boiling temperature, stirring it frequently for 20 minutes and then cooling it rapidly with additional stirring. The product must then be consumed within 24 hours.

“On another subject, it is healthier to sleep at night with one bedroom window open at least a foot at the top and bottom. This insures adequate breathing of fresh air and should be done even in the coldest weather.

“In recent years, health sentinels have become quite commonplace is most cities and towns. Their job is to detect contagious diseases and isolate them from other households. It is imperative that we obey their directives. These guards have the authority to restrict people from having visitors or mandate compulsory detention, known as quarantines, inside their homes until the health threat has been eradicated.

“Let me conclude by addressing the health teachers in the audience. Imparting instruction that invites health and happiness will bless not only those of today, but generations yet unborn.”  

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Ray Reaves, a charter member of the Johnson City Rescue Squad, is proud of his approximately seven-year affiliation with the decisive organization.

“Our unit was about the first one established in these parts,” said Ray. “The squad was organized sometime in the mid-1940s with 15 to 20 of us. We wore distinctive looking white coveralls. The people whose names I remember were George Livingston, Bill Prevette, Elihu Widener and S.S. Jones, our unit head.”

Mr. Reaves went on to say that the squad met every two weeks upstairs at the Main Street fire station. This facility offered adequate room for them because they had very little equipment then. Ray continued: “Meetings usually consisted of a guest doctor who instructed us how to assist with various types of emergencies. Surprisingly, we had no prior formal training before joining the squad.” 

Primary services included dragging area lakes for drowning victims, responding to automobile wrecks and setting up oxygen tents in people’s homes. They were also required to respond to plane crashes, but Ray could not recall any such disasters. “We were a volunteer organization,” said Reaves, “even furnishing our own vehicles and gasoline. All of us had regular jobs. I worked for Mullins Hardware on Market Street near the Southern Train Depot at the time.”

Squad members’ work bosses had to agree to let them respond to emergencies with short notice. Also, their respective employers paid them while on serving with the Squad during normal work hours. That commitment took some very understanding business owners.

Ray went on to say: “When we got the call to go to an emergency, we went directly to the crisis location. We kept a list of each others’ phone numbers handy and would call whoever was available. We were often shorthanded. We averaged about two calls a week, although I can recall times when we were needed twice in one day.”

Ray noted the difficulty of dragging a lake: “The squad had three boats for use. One boat pulled as many as three lines at a time. Each line had a board at the end of it about 18 inches long containing ten hooks that were each 3-4 inches long. Each hook was attached to a small chain, giving it some leave way. On occasion, we were called into Virginia and North Carolina, especially around the French Broad River. We seemed to be about the only ones around who could perform this kind of work. Sometimes we hooked something only to find out it was a limb, log or stump.

“Sometimes, we had to break a hook to free the line. Hooking debris was a recurring aggravation for us. Sometimes we started dragging early in the morning and continued until late that night. The use of lights allowed us to work through the night. I recall one occasion when a man abandoned his car along an area lake and vanished. We dragged for about 40 days before learning that he had been spotted in Florida. Over time, nearby cities formed a rescue squad. Greeneville, Kingsport and Elizabethton soon had one. We began pooling our resources and assisting each other in a cooperative effort.”

Eventually, the members became more specialized and the work more complicated and regulated. The Johnson City squad eventually acquired a paid manager and a new office. Ray concluded with these words:

“I feel really good about my service with the Rescue Squad. It always gave me a good feeling to be able to assist people with emergencies. Even dragging operations usually brought closure to a tragic event.” 

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The Jan. 1951 edition of Trains magazine (Kalmbach Publishing Co.) contained a most attention-grabbing article about the East Tennessee and Western North Carolina (ET&WNC) Railway abandoning the narrow gauge portion of its line.

Writer Jack Alexander had the enviable opportunity to ride “Tweetsie” on Oct. 16, 1950 as it made its last official roundtrip run between Elizabethton and Cranberry, NC. At 10:10 a.m. in near perfect weather, Jack boarded the seven-car train, pulled by Baldwin 4-6-0 engine No. 11. His description of the train’s noisy departure was “with a whistle screaming and a feather (puff of white steam) on the pops (above the safety valves).”

Jack identified train personnel as Walter R. Allison, engineer; C.C. (Brownie) Allison, fireman; Clyde Simmerly and Mack Luttrell, brakemen; and C.G. “Cy” Crumley, conductor. Cy then swung the “highball,” indicating the train had received priority to proceed at safe full speed and began moving uphill at a rapid pace, heading for treacherous 4% elevation grades and 32-degree curves.

“Tweetsie” journeyed across a bridge into Valley Forge, up the valley, over a covered bridge and into a tunnel below Hampton. The wheels seemed to mournfully click out memories of the many hours the riders had spent riding this popular train when there were three daily round-trip passenger runs, traveling over 34 miles of track in two states. A feeling of sadness encompassed Alexander; he felt like he was riding a funeral train with “Tweetsie” being the deceased. Although World War II brought about a demand for more ore, postwar circumstances of depleted mines and declining timber reserves caused a gradual decline in rail traffic.

After briefly stopping in Hampton, the train soon entered the magnificent Doe River Gorge. After additional stops at Blevins and Roan Mountain, “Tweetsie” rested at Elk Park at 12:15 p.m. to give passengers a lunch break. The crew ate with guarded conversations and far away looks in their eyes; a sense of stoic nostalgia had overwhelmed them. After lunch, the crew did some switching in the yard and then boarded the train for its remaining two miles to Cranberry, NC. After spotting Engine No. 11 for water at the Cranberry tank, “Tweetsie” began her final return trip to Elizabethton. It was 1:30 p.m.

As always, the engine was not turned at the east end of the line, but instead, run in reverse at the head end of the train for the remainder of the journey. Alexander climbed upon the tender car and rode the water-hatch cover for a better view of the local terrain. The train then dropped down the hill across the Tennessee border into Shell Creek and on to Roan Mountain and Blevins. As Jack sat there thinking of bountiful past years and pleasurable associations with the crew, Tweetsie bounced through several tunnels and rattled across numerous bridges.

Consistent with a longstanding tradition since 1882, local residents sadly ran out of their modest homes to tearfully wave goodbye to the crew and watch their favorite train chug by one final time. “Tweetsie” suddenly reduced speed as it crept around Pardee Point, dropped down and out of the gorge, crossed the covered bridge, traveled through Hampton, sped across the high bridge over the river and entered Valley Forge.

Alexander abruptly concluded his article with these words: “Extra 11 West entered the yards at Elizabethton at 3:30 p.m. The crew made a Dutch drop to get the cars in the yard, then ran No. 11 over the pit and dropped the fire. Tweetsie’s last ride was over.” 

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Last week’s column featured memories from 104-year-old Pansy Oliver Torbett as related to me by Joann Conner, her daughter. Mrs. Conner also supplied me with information that included a beguiling document dating back to April 1928.

“I read with interest,” said Joann, “your recent column concerning the former waterspout and foxhunts that were frequent occurrences on Buffalo Mountain. My husband, Joel, grew up on the south side of Johnson City and explored this mountain many times as a young boy. Hiking to White Rock was a Sunday afternoon thing to do in the 30s and 40s. Your article made me recall the stories my grandfather, Dave Oliver, used to tell about foxhunts on his farm where I now live in Piney Flats.

“Granddad related how the men and their hunting dogs would initially congregate on the “ridge” at his farm and then go into the connecting woods. My grandmother, Cordelia Oliver, dreaded these planned fox hunts because the ladies had to cook so much cornbread to feed all the dogs. They used all the pans they had and spent hours over small wood fired stove ovens cooking the quantity of bread needed.”

Joann said the dogs were not fed before the hunt because they needed to be agile in order to corner or tree foxes. Since they scurried across more than 100 acres of land during the chase, they returned from the hunt tired and hungry. Joann’s grandfather and the other hunters broke the bread into small chunks for the canines to devour. 

 “I remember Grandfather Oliver speaking of Gov. Alf Taylor,” said Mrs. Conner. “Mother told me several years ago that her father had received a special invitation to join a foxhunt that was to be held in honor of the (80-year-old) former governor. A few months ago, while sorting through some old records, I found the invitation she told me about. It was mailed to my grandfather on March 28, 1928 from Bluff City with a two-cent postage stamp.”

The hand-drawn letterhead at the top left of the invitation depicts Ole Limber hot on the heels of a fox. Below the caricature are these words (written as shown): “Ole’ Limber; The Elizabethton Hunt Club; Request the honor of your presence; at an; Old time East Tennessee Fox Hunt; at Elizabethton, Tennessee; Given in honor of Ex-Governor, Alf A. Taylor; on Friday, April the thirteenth; Nineteen hundred and twenty eight; at three o’clock P.M.; It will be the South’s Greatest Fox Hunt. R.s.v.p.; Alex Shell; Elizabethton, Tenn.”

This was three years before Alf died; it is not known if he participated in the sporting event. The right side of the invitation contains the names of the 15 Elizabethton Hunt Club members, which includes some of Alf Taylor’s sons: Alex L. Shell (Chairman), E.D. Houston (Secretary), Nat B. Taylor, E.C. Alexander, Frank H. Lovette, Winton Chambers, Willard G. Shell, Blaine Taylor, Alf A. Taylor, Jr., Edwin H. Hunter, G.R. Patterson, W.D. Rudy, Walter P. Dungan, Jno. (John) Alf Taylor and J.W. Denny. Piney Flats resident, Mack Houston, believes E.D. Houston to be his grandfather’s brother, Ed.

Thanks to the selflessness of Mrs. Joann Conner, another important historical artifact from the region’s celebrated past has been located and duly preserved for inspection at ETSU’s Archives of Appalachia. 

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Mrs. Joann Conner believes her 104-year-old mother, Pansy Oliver Torbett, may be the oldest living person in Sullivan County. 

“My mother,” said Joann, “was born in 1903 in a log house that stood along (old) Jonesboro (Jonesborough) Road in Piney Flats. This old stagecoach road stretched between Abingdon and Jonesboro, passing through the Rocky Mount estate. “Between 1910 and 1915, the David and Cordelia Smalling Oliver family rode to Johnson City on a farm wagon to attend the carnival. Chairs were placed on the wagon for adults; kids sat on the floor. 

“On the way back most all the kids slept, while the adults talked softly. Mom remembers fording the river and how the moon shimmered in the water as the horses splashed across it. “Sometimes while traveling to Johnson City, they crossed over on a ferry that was located near the current Austin Springs Bridge. People drove their horses up to the riverbank and rang a bell for service. A lady came out of a shed and skillfully operated the ferry; this always impressed my mother.”

Pansy started school at the nearby small two-room Locust Grove School. The Oliver sisters were fortunate to have ponies to ride to school. On rainy, snowy or very cold days, they rode a covered buggy harnessed to a pony. After graduating from Mary Hughes Institute in 1920, Pansy attended the Normal School in Johnson City and boarded at a house at Unaka and Boone. She rode the train to and from Johnson City on weekends and the streetcar to and from the campus each weekday. After obtaining a teaching certificate, Pansy taught at Chinquapin Grove (grammar) School, often walking to and from work.

When the Oliver family moved to a new brick house in 1923, they were fearful that their furniture might get damaged during the move on the old horse-drawn farm wagon, resulting in family members carrying some items on foot. Joann said that the nine-room dwelling was built at a cost of $5000 using lumber harvested from trees on the farm. Telephone service was added about 1930, electricity in 1939 and an indoor bathroom in 1940 using water that gravity flowed from a cistern located on a hill next to the barn.

An event occurred around 1914 that Pansy’s mother attributes to bringing her daughter and her future husband together. The family was on their way to Piney Flats to sell eggs and shop. Pansy held a basket of eggs on her lap. Clifford Torbett and his father were riding with them. Suddenly, a motorcycle came over the hill making a loud noise. It scared the horses and caused them to run frantically off the dirt road until the wagon eventually hit a stump. The only damage was a broken harness; even the eggs survived the mishap. Mr. Oliver repaired the harness with his belt and they continued their journey.

Pansy and Clifford eventually began “courting.” When the lad visited his sweetheart, he sat on one side of the parlor while she sat on the other. When they walked to church, they were always on opposite sides of the road. The couple married in 1925. “Church was always the center of mother’s life,” said Mrs. Conner. “After serving in Popular Ridge Christian Church, Union Church and Dunkard Church, she joined Edgefield United Methodist Church where she played piano and organ.”

The good-natured Mrs. Torbett was asked to what she attributes her longevity. Her quick and witty reply was “staying out of doctors’ offices.” She continued by saying to “work hard, stay active and take care of yourself.”  

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A lady recently showed me two pre-1915 long narrow tin advertising signs that she found attached to the back of a cabinet that her father built years ago. One contains the words: “Peirce’s Quality Shop, Ready to Wear Garments for Men and Women, Men’s Furnishings, 109 Buffalo Street, Johnson City.” The other one is for “Pedigo Co., Waists That Fit, Shoes, 259 Main Street, Johnson City.”

While brief facts are available for Pedigo Company, Peirce’s Quality Shop is not found in any of the available city directories. I conferred with Norma Myers, resident history sleuth and director of ETSU’s Archives of Appalachia, to see if she had anything to offer regarding the two stores. She replied: “Pedigo’s was listed in the 1911 city directory but not the 1908 one. Edward S. Pedigo was president of the company, his residence shown to be Bluefield, WV. L.W. Oaks was Vice President and J.T. Hall was Secretary-Treasurer. Mr. Oaks’ home address was also listed at 259 E. Main, indicating that he lived upstairs over the enterprise.”

Although 259 E. Main does not exist today, older city directories reveal a renumbering of the businesses along the north side of Main at Roan, indicating some building changes occurred along that end of the block. According to a 1915 Chamber of Commerce publication, Mr. Pedigo owned the early Johnson City business and another one in Bluefield, WV. He managed the West Virginia operation while Oaks and Hall operated the Johnson City one.

The Chamber’s report further states: “Pedigo Company is one of the good firms of Johnson City, the location being at 208 E. Main Street (second location and future site of the Hollywood Shop). The business has been established for some six years. The Pedigo Company handles all kinds of men’s and boys’ clothing, shoes, hats and gents’ furnishings. Goods of high quality and the best manufacture only, are handled, and the prices are altogether reasonable. There is genuine satisfaction in dealing with the firm, and Messrs. Oak and Hall, who are always to be found in the store, take a kindly interest in customers and desire to please each and every patron.”

The garment business was in operation between approximately 1909 and 1928, closing probably as a casualty of the Great Depression. Ms. Myers then directed her comments to Peirce’s Quality Shop: “The first time that anything shows up in the city directory about ‘Pierce’ (different spelling) is 1921. In that directory, it shows ‘Pierce & Pierce, first class shoemakers and repairers, 106 Buffalo.’ The owners are listed as William C. Pierce and Rex D. Pierce. The company was still on Buffalo in 1931.”

In 1921, 106 Buffalo reveals Pierce & Pierce and 107-109 Buffalo housed the New York Bargain House (clothiers). In 1928 and 1932, 109 Buffalo was shown to be A&P Tea Company with Pierce & Pierce still doing business at 106 Buffalo. In 1935, the shoe firm was still in business with Rex listed as the sole owner of the establishment.”

Norma was perplexed that the tin sign shows Peirce’s Quality Shop at 109 Buffalo and the directory reveals Pierce & Pierce at 106 Buffalo. The Archives director and I conclude that the two businesses were separate and that “Peirce’s” was short-lived and not shown in available city directories.

Thanks to a local lady’s generosity in sharing two old tin signs, another chunk of Johnson City’s nearly forgotten colorful past has been spotlighted and examined.  

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Chad Baxter sent me a poem written in Germany in 1918 during WWI by his grandfather, James Preston Baxter, to his future wife, Olivia Dykes. A company clerk typed the elegy on a roll of thick toilet tissue.

While in France during the battle of Hindenburg Line, James, a messenger with the 117th Infantry, needed to get a communication to another allied forces sector.

“Grandfather did not smoke or chew,” said Chad, “but a fellow soldier, Bill Martin, gave him a plug to help ease the stress of war. As Grandfather attempted to make his way through enemy lines, he spotted a patrol heading his way. He lay down in the mud near a creek and dropped the plug of tobacco into the water. ‘They might get me, but not Billy’s plug,’ he thought. “Several in the patrol kicked him as they went by thinking he was dead. Afterwards, he worked his way through the line under fire and delivered the message.”

 

The 19-verse poem that Baxter wrote, “The Girl I Left Behind,” expressed the feelings of a 24-year-old homesick soldier in war-torn Germany for his favorite girl back home:

“Dear when I’m far away, From you somewhere in France, I ask you to always think of me, And pray that I have a chance.

“To leave you dear was hard, The hardest thing of all, But I am no slacker, When I hear my country’s call.

“To be at home with you little girl, Is happiness that is true, But I cannot see the enemy, Down the red, white, and blue.

“I used to be with you often, Those beautiful happy days, But it makes me blue to think, That we are so far away.

“Some day in the near future, This great conflict will end, And the soldier boy who loves you, Will come back to you again.

 “It is the duty of every girl, Who is left behind, To always remember the boy she loves, Who is on the firing line.

“He did not want to leave you, For he is gone to risk his life, He is a true American, And upholds the stars and stripes.

“The girls here are beautiful, Most everywhere you roam, But are nothing to compare, With the ones at home.

“When the boys go marching by, In step with some national hymn, It thrills my heart to know, That I am one of them.

“I told you when I kissed, Those lips of yours sweet, That I was going to leave you, And again we may never meet.

“Don’t give up my dear, If you love me you will wait, If we don’t meet on earth again, We will meet at the golden gate.

“Some girls are not patient, Who will not wait so long, Will go and love a slacker, When their soldier boy has gone.

“When he goes to fight the battle, For his country and for you, His thoughts are always resting, On the one he thinks is true.

“When he returns in years, And finds you false, His whole life will be ruined, And his happiness lost.

“Don’t bear this strain little girl, Make your love be true, Greet the boy in khaki, When he comes back to you.

“Throw your arms about his neck, Let him kiss your sweet little lips, Then he will joyfully tell you, All about his wonderful trip.

“Do not respect a slacker, They deserve not even a chance, The boys who you should honor, Are the boys who go to France.

“I will close this letter hoping, You will be mine some day, As I bid you good-bye for this hour, And good-bye for the day.

“If it’s good-bye for a month, He loves you true as ever, Good-bye for a year, And good-bye perhaps forever.”

After receiving a Bronze Star in early 1921, James married Olivia in October in Fall Branch and eventually raised seven children.   

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