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Johnny Wood, WCYB-TV news anchor, read with interest my recent column containing remembrances about his station from Frank Santore. It brought back memories for him.

“I went to college with Don Garland and Don Bagwell,” said Johnny. “I worked at WOPI Radio with John Thomas who had the greatest internal time clock of anybody I ever knew. He did his play-by-play broadcasts and also all the commercials from the site of the game. I ran the control board back at the studio and logged all the commercials. John’s 30 and 60-second commercials were always exactly on time. He never used a watch or script and adlibbed the commercials.”

Johnny was at WOPI when Ed Spiegel, then manager at radio station WCYB, hired him. He had the pleasure of working with Eddie Cowell and Don Sluder. He remarked that Eddie was a radio pro with a great internal clock. “Us radio disk jockeys,” said Wood, “prided ourselves in our production qualities of spinning records, talking, running and reading commercials and hitting the network right on the second when the big hand on the clock hit twelve. I accomplished this by keeping a running time of my 30-minute segments on a piece of paper and then back timing the final record to finish before the network news break came on the hour. Eddie was just the opposite. He just grabbed a stack of records, did his commercials and everything seemed to time right out. His on-the-air banter was innovative, timely and always different.”

The news anchorman recalled that Don Sluder was one of those radio pros that did it all – wrote and produced most of their commercials, pulled a board shift, handled promotional activities and did most of the production work.

In the late 1960s, Wood received a call from Art Countiss at the WCYB-TV News Department asking him if he wanted to come across the street and work at the TV station in the Sports Department. He accepted the offer: “Later, six of us – Art, my supervisor and TV mentor; Merrill Moore; Evelyn Booher; Jim Edwards, the early morning man; and I – comprised the News Department and worked for Walter Crockett. Art gave me my start and taught me television; Evelyn instructed me a lot about reporting; and Merrill showed me how to do all the stuff on the air. We reported, wrote, shot the film, edited and produced three half-hour newscasts, numerous morning updates and did hourly newscasts for radio. We were quite busy and I quickly learned a lot.”

Johnny said Booher was a pioneer in television news in an industry dominated by men. She was hired by the station to write, report and air the half-hour long newscast at 1:00 PM: “This lady was one of those great reporters who had great news contacts. Something would happen and she knew someone who could give her the lowdown on who had the information. I watched her do this time and again.”

Wood indicated that Crockett was a story in himself: “He was one of those gruff, hard-boiled, hard driving old-time newsmen who often wore a Fedora hat. Walter had a very compassionate side to him. I did many stories about the charities and causes that he supported. He was also one of the most well read people I ever met. During my early days, I got to do Looney Tunes, Kiddie Kollege and Klassroom Kwiz after Don Sluder and Ed Spiegel left so I got some great experience doing live television.

Johnny offered these parting words: “Thank you for reminding me of the past and letting me indulge in my memories.” 

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I received several written correspondences from Frank Santore, a former resident of Bristol, with strong memories of several WCYB-TV personalities of the 1960s.

Frank first mentioned the “Looney Tunes” broadcast that was aired at 4:30 pm on Channel 5. He wonders if any Press readers remember this show. “Ed Spiegel was the host of the program,” said Frank, “which had a rotating crew of sponsors that included Foremost Milk. He would have a bunch of kids on live and would interview them in a peanut gallery like studio in between Popeye cartoons.”

The former Bristol resident recalled his late father taking him to the old WCYB studios on Cumberland Street in Bristol on Nov. 9, 1965 to appear on the program on his 6th birthday. This event coincided with the memorable New York City blackout.

Frank remembered a joke he told on live television: “Knock, Knock. Who's there? Dwayne. Dwyane Who? Dwyane the bathtub, I'm dwouning.”

Santore continued: “I remember that this program ran for many years and one of the people who contributed to one of your articles, Don Sluder, took over from Ed Speigel.”

Frank said his six-year-old eyes couldn’t believe seeing Evelyn Booher, WCYB newswoman in person that day. After the show, his father took him to one of (Jack) Trayer's Restaurants in Bristol to eat.

Somehow, I just knew that Frank would mention the legendary Eddie Cowell and he did: “Eddie Cowell hosted Klub Kwiz on Monday nights at 7 pm on Channel 5.

“Ed Spiegel had Klassroom Kwiz on Wednesdays at the same time and Art Countiss emceed Kiddie Kollege on Fridays. Art was the only guy I know who grew more hair as he got older.”

Frank further mentioned Jack Mallon on Channel 5, and Don Bagwell, Don Garland and others on Channel 11. He also noted some television programs such as “Nick Carter's Furniture Time,” “The Kathryn Willis Show” and “Memo from Ilo.” 

Santore was delighted to read Dr. Herb Howard's feature story in the Press. He took some graduate courses in Communications under the former WJHL-TV news and weather announcer at UT and became well acquainted with him.

“I wonder if anyone could recount in detail the history of Walter Crockett?” Ed inquired. “As youngsters, we always used to run around doing our Walter Crockett impressions in a gravelly voice, importuning viewers to place their litter in waste baskets, and other ‘scintillating’ subjects.

“Mr. (Berlin) Benfield (“Pecos Ben”) had left Channel 11 in Johnson City by the time I was born. Merrill Moore knew my father and, I think, my grandfather, John Armstrong. He was an attorney here for many years and had a penchant for colorful dress such as fire engine red suits with bow ties. 

“John Thomas may have been WCYB’s first ever full-time sportscaster. He was on ETSU radio after Dick Ellis and for years was the play-by-play voice of the Tennessee High Vikings on WOPI. A salesman, Tom Gentry, worked for WCYB Radio for a year in the mid-60s.  He is now general manager of WMQX-FM in Charlotte and a family of associated AM stations in the Charlotte area.”

I can imagine that Frank has spurred some remembrances from area readers by mentioning the names of so many WCYB television personalities. I welcome your comments. Next week, I will extend this discussion by featuring comments from WCYB’s news anchor, Johnny Wood, who provided additional remembrances after reading Frank’s letter.  

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Williams Grocery, once located at the northeast corner of Unaka and Oakland opposite Stratton School, served neighborhood customers for 28 years. Bob and Myrtle Williams started the business in 1938, taking over the former site of (Elbert) Lowe’s Grocery and running it for 13 years.

Williams Food Market

When Bob passed away in March 1951, son and daughter-in-law, Lee and Dorothy Williams, assumed ownership and ran it another 15 years. Rosalie Odom, Lee’s sister, recently provided me with some old photographs of the store and arranged for me to talk to her brother about the business. Lee is particularly proud of the store’s reputation for high quality meats.

“We bought meat that had been grain fed for 6-8 weeks before slaughter,” said Lee. “We then trimmed the fat from it and aged it for another two weeks before selling it. We bought U.S. prime and choice beef from such suppliers as Rath, Hormel, Kingan and Swift. Lee recalled working at his father’s store each weekday after Junior High School and on Saturdays; stores were closed on Sundays then. He said that during the war years his father had difficulty getting enough workers because so many men were in military service.

The future storeowner initially delivered groceries on his bicycle that was fitted with two large baskets. He traveled up to about eight blocks from the store serving customers mainly on Fairview, Myrtle, Watauga, Unaka, Holston, the Gump Addition and adjoining streets. “I later began driving my Dad’s Studebaker to make deliveries,” said Lee. “At first, I drove it without a license. The store clerks filled the car full of groceries before I arrived there from school. My first job was to distribute them. “It was not uncommon for someone to order a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk or two RC Colas and two Moon Pies. We filled almost all requests. Those were simple and different days.”

Lee Standing by His Studebaker in Front of His Business

Gary Thomas worked at the store from 1959-1960 while attending Junior High School. “I had the privilege of doing a lot of different jobs,” said Gary, “such as sweeping floors, stocking, cashiering and cleaning up in the meat department. I have many good memories of my days there.” 

Randy Taylor worked at Williams Grocery about 1964 and recalled something unique about the operation: “They extended credit, which to my knowledge was not offered by any other major grocery store. This dovetailed nicely with home delivery service. “The employees at that time were Mildred Berry and Wanda Cade, cashiers; Ralph Evans, butcher; George Minnis, produce manager; and Earl Smith, delivery truck driver. My mother, Mildred Taylor, and one of my aunts, Sue Goff, worked with Aunt Dorothy in the bakery from time to time.  You would have to go a long way to find a better group of people to know and work with than those individuals.”

I quizzed Lee as to why they closed in 1966. He responded that large chain stores, such as the A&P at Chilhowie and Roan, were rapidly coming on the scene and offering cheaper prices to customers than smaller grocers could charge. They simply could not compete. Another factor that led to the store’s demise was that too many people were buying on credit and not paying their bills promptly.

Randy recalled something Lee once told him: “Son, one of these days you will look back at this time of your life and say ‘boy I had it made.’” I think many of us can reflect back to our special yesteryears and express that same cherished sentiment. 

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Recently, a city resident whom I will call Mary revealed two stories to me that evolved around her late father, Frank (assumed name), a once well-known and successful downtown businessman in his day. In 1945, Frank escorted his young daughter to the Windsor Hotel to reveal a long-held secret that would be talked about by family members for years.

Frank lamented that the once magnificent grand hotel had fallen into disarray as evidenced by tattered velvet curtains, cords that had fallen down and dirty windows everywhere, a far cry from its heyday. After walking past the hotel lobby, the pair climbed the steps to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, Frank pointed to a block of private rooms along the north end that he said were once reserved by hotel management for special guests and events.

Mary indicated that her father always had a love for ‘a good card game’ and routinely met at the hotel with three of his closest friends to play cards in one of the private rooms. Frank remembered when some men, discreetly identified as Al Capone’s bodyguards, joined them and became regulars in the card games whenever they were in town. This occurred from about 1921 to 1926.

Mary further explained: “Daddy said ‘Capone’s boys,’ as he called them, came in after dark, played several hands of cards and then left. They were never seen in town in the daytime. Everything was done quietly and with as little fanfare as possible. Daddy believed the ‘boys’ either stayed at the hotel or left in the early morning hours.”

On one memorable evening, Frank got the surprise of his life when Al Capone abruptly walked into the room, sat down at Frank’s table and began playing cards with his group.  Frank emphasized that this was one isolated occurrence and that he established no rapport with the underworld kingpin that night; he simply played cards with him.

Mary later learned from her father that “Scarface” routinely ran alcohol from Newland, NC to Johnson City along a 44-mile stretch of two-lane dirt road. He said the straight section of road between Newland and Elk Park became known as “Smokey Straight.” 

Mary then offered a story of her own: “In the summer of 1946, our family went on vacation to Miami Beach as we often did. During the trip, Daddy and I drove over to Al Capone’s estate (on diminutive Palm Island in nearby Biscayne Bay). Along the way, Daddy told me that because Al was very sick and near death, he had been granted an early release from prison to return to his Miami home. When we arrived at the Capone main gate, Daddy walked over and spoke some words to the guard. I stayed behind in the car.

“Although we were not permitted to go through the entrance to the house, we were allowed to walk around the outside of the metal fence to the pool area. “Daddy pointed through the sparse shrubbery to a frail looking man slumped over in a beach chair. It was Al Capone. He looked terribly sick. “While we were standing there, some men came over to us and began talking to Daddy through the fence. A few of them appeared to know him. I stayed back a short distance.”

Al died at his Palm Island home about six months later on January 25, 1947 at the age of 48. Mary said she has replayed these two events in her mind hundreds of times over the years.

Mary concluded by saying: “It was important to Daddy that his family know about his brief encounter with Al Capone and his ‘boys’ in downtown Johnson City. Now I want to share it with others.” 

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My two columns on Johnson City's Junior High School brought back treasured memories to an area resident. Dr. Jim Bowman, retired ETSU professor, provided me with an assortment of written reminisces covering his attendance at the school between 1949 and 1952, which he described as “three great years”:

 “I recall the perennial ‘coin drop’ when guys would flip a penny in someone's chili or vegetable soup – two staple items of Billy Carpenter (son of the cafeteria manager, Mary Carpenter). The victim had to make a hurried choice: either take a risk by devouring the contaminated substance or leaving the dining room hungry.”

An unusual act by a disgruntled student who assumed he was being punished too severely for playing hooky occasioned a second tale from Bowman: “The youngster retaliated by removing the handles from the water coolers' faucets. However, the brave plumber was smart enough not to tamper with the ones near the principal's office. The perplexed faculty and staff never knew the culprit's identity.”

The retired prof offered a third anecdote: “One of the oddest events involved Mr. Hart, the shop teacher. One day a husky ex-Marine appeared in class. The teacher welcomed the impromptu visitor. Standing by a mound of sawdust, the young man challenged the instructor to a friendly fight. A few seconds later, the able-bodied youth emerged from the room with a mouthful of sawdust.”

A fourth yarn occurred just after basketball practice: “I heard some guys yell for me to run. They related how they had managed to lock one of the coaches in the locker room.  I don't remember who let him out, only that it was far into the night.

“As a newcomer to the seventh grade, I was warned not to cross the path of our mechanical drawing mentor, Mr. Hillenbrand.  When I asked why, I was told his paddling would virtually lift its targets off the ground. When I saw the man's small stature, I doubted their word. Thus, I thought I'd find out for myself; I’d just put Mr. H to the test.  After all, Mr. Presnell, the physical education teacher, had struck me before, and I barely felt a thing. In this case, however, my first-hand experience led me to conclude that my peers were more right than wrong.”

Jim’s most vivid memory is of a newcomer to the faculty ranks, Mr. Terrell Ponder: “About all I had heard about the lanky teacher's past was that he was a good left-handed baseball pitcher. That set well with me. After all, Don Akers, Jack Parks and Marion Winebarger were three baseball gurus who captured my attention every day at lunchtime. But Mr. Ponder was more to me than a gifted athlete. Every day I noticed that he stayed at the rear of the line when his students filed in to the cafeteria, refusing to eat until all of his boys and girls had acquired their tray of food.  

“Terrell Ponder stayed in the education profession throughout his career. Eventually, the ‘you-first, me-last’ gentleman became superintendent of the Johnson City schools.  He had an uncanny knowledge of curriculum and an undeniable love for children. However, the economy took its toll on some of our other male teachers.  To make a decent living, four of them chose to estrange themselves from us, going to work with Tennessee Eastman Co., the FBI, Tri-Cities Airport and General Shale.”

Jim concluded his remarks with a positive recollection of the educational facility: “Our teachers always forgot our misdeeds at school and never entertained the thought of telling our parents about our silly misdemeanors.”  

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In 1948, I was weak and frail after recovering from rheumatic fever that had confined me to bed or a chair for almost a year. Now I was finally permitted to engage in limited outside activities. I soon had a chance encounter behind our apartment with the neighborhood bully whom I will call Billy. This little obnoxious terror quickly branded me as easy prey for his shoving and tough talk. 

I quickly found myself turning into a “Walter Mitty,” the main character of James Thurber’s short story, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” This timid individual spent much time daydreaming about what he could never carry out in real life. In his fantasy world, the protagonist was a daring fighter pilot one moment and a football star the next. I soon began seeing appealing advertisements in comic books and magazines promoting the Charles Atlas bodybuilding course. Atlas was billed as “The World’s Most Perfectly Developed Man.”

Two separate ads from that era stick in my mind. Perhaps the most memorable one was titled “The Insult That Made a Man Out of Mac,” consisting of seven comic strip frames. Atlas is shown along the right side of the ad flexing his bulging muscles, while wearing a pair of short leopard skin briefs.

The first frame depicts Mack, a skinny young man, and his pretty girlfriend sitting at the beach on a blanket under an umbrella. A bully muscleman runs past them and slings sand into their faces. Mac tells the intruder to stop kicking sand on them. The brawny intruder informs Mac that he would smash his face were it not for the fact that he was so skinny that he would dry up and blow away.

To add insult to injury, the girlfriend says to him in frame 3, “Oh, don’t let it bother you, little boy.” Frame 4 displays an angry Mac who is sick and tired of looking like a scarecrow. He abruptly sends off for the Charles Atlas bodybuilding course. In frame 5, a muscular Mac stands in front of a mirror admiring his newly acquired physique. This means another trip to the beach and another encounter with the bully. The outcome is quite predictable. The final frame shows the now well-built Mac walking along the beach with his girlfriend and being admired by beachgoers. He has become an instant hero.

Another advertisement is a five-frame version of the first, but with identical results. Joe overpowers the bully and receives praise from his girl: “Oh Joe, you are a real he-man, after all.”   

Charles Atlas, whose real name was Angelo Siciliano, was born in Italy in 1892 and immigrated to the U.S. in 1903. Supposedly, Angelo experienced a “sand in the face” experience while he and a lady friend were at Coney Island. The embarrassed 97-pound weakling vowed to become a muscle man. Thus began a lucrative career for him and another entrepreneur by selling their Dynamic Tension bodybuilding course to millions. The business continues to this day.

In my Mittyesque fantasy world of 1948, I pictured myself as a very young fully developed Charles Atlas, wearing leopard skin briefs and unmercifully beating the stuffing out of Billy, all the while receiving a thunderous appreciative ovation from my neighborhood buddies.

In reality, my Bully Billy problem was corrected over time without throwing a punch. The two of us got older, eventually rendering us friends. My once pressing need for Walter Mitty or Charles Atlas became passé. 

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East Tennessee has produced a few area residents with a special knack for originality that resulted in clever laborsaving inventions. Some aspiring inventors fostered their unique creations past storms of adversity until they eventually rained profits for them. Others met with overwhelming difficulties causing them and their innovation to drift into obscurity.

As reported by the Johnson City Press-Chronicle in 1969, one successful local resident, Sam Guinn, made his mark on history in the early to mid part of the century. Although Louis V. Aronson (“Ronson”) is credited for designing and patenting the first mechanical lighter in 1910, allegedly the patent for the first flint lighter went to Sam in 1917. Sam’s brother, Tom, and a nephew, Tom Mitchell, once vouched for the claim. 

About 1904, the two brothers owned a store in Johnson City that sold tobacco products, soft drinks and fine candies. The two of them, along with four sisters and four other brothers, grew up on a farm in the Sulphur Springs community. Within a few years, they closed their store. Tom went back to farming while Sam moved to Cincinnati and began traveling for Detroit Stove Works. It was during this time that he began working on a design for a flint lighter.

In 1917, Sam secured a patent for his innovation. Initially, he fabricated the lighters in Cincinnati, but at the urging of the Johnson City Chamber of Commerce, he began producing them here. Guinn obtained an elongated brick building on E. Maple Street and established his business, eventually acquiring a workforce of about 20 employees.

All lighters of his design had a handle that when lowered struck a piece of flint and ignited. The inventor crafted three types of brass lighters. The cheapest one was small enough to be carried in a pocket or purse. A mid-sized model satisfied those patrons who wanted a stationary one for their desk, table or stand. It measured 5.25” x 3” wide and weighed 1.9 pounds. A third heavy-duty lighter was larger and designed for use in such public places as hotel lobbies. 

A tag on the bottom of the desk model (shown with this column) contains these words: “A Guinco Product, Pats. App. For U.S. and Foreign, S.E. Guinn Mfg. Co., 617 E. Maple Street, Johnson City, Tenn.”

A 1928 City Directory offers more information about the venture: “S.E. Guinn Manufacturing Co.; brass and bronze novelties; S.E. Guinn, pres.; E.J. Wagner, v-pres.; V.B. Guinn, sec.” Sam’s ingenuity was not confined to flint lighters. He also invented a pilot light for gas stoves that was heralded by the public because it could be lighted without matches. By flipping a lever on the cord that was attached to the stove, the stove would be lit.

Tom once displayed a copy of the April 1919 “Popular Science Monthly” that featured the new invention and carried a picture of his brother. He recalled when a company offered to buy Sam’s lighter patent for a staggering $100,000, but he refused the offer. 

Several factors led to the demise of the once profitable business in the early 1930s. The Great Depression was starting to hover over the financial horizon. Soon, raw materials became difficult to obtain, substantially slowing production. About this same time, Sam became ill.

The lucrative E. Maple Street business that had been spawned in the late teens soon turned to bankruptcy. The entrepreneur passed away in 1935.  

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July 4thholidays of yesteryear were observed with colorful flag displays, community synchronized events and wholesome family get-togethers. The one for 1897 was no exception with festivities being held the following day on Monday.

The 1897 Comet newspaper revealed 42 city merchants and individuals donating $90.55 for the city’s festivities. Some of the businesses (and their contributions) included the following: Ward & Friberg ($5); M.P. Dyer & Co. ($5); McFarland & Bolton ($2.50); Kirkpatrick, Williams & Bowman ($1); Webb & Worley ($2); J.A. Mathes & Co. ($1); Piedmont Hotel ($2); Whitlow & Co. ($3); Gump Brothers ($2); Hart & Smith ($2); City Grocery ($1); Wofford Brothers ($2); Wofford & Co. ($2.50); and Wolfe & Co. ($1.55).

Expenditures included two Spaulding balls ($2.50); general labor ($3.15); railway fare ($12.80); lumber/labor ($5.80); brass band ($20); meals ($4.10); prize money ($17.60); printing ($18.25); advertising $7.98, which included telegrams and drayage (wagon rental for hauling goods); dynamite ($1.18); and carriage rental ($1). The final tally was $94.36, leaving a deficit of $3.81.

The day was kicked off at Fountain Square with a gun salute at sunrise. Mayor W.W. Faw welcomed the crowd at 9:30 followed by an oration by Gov. Bob Taylor at 9:45. The guest of honor spoke for 10 minutes, telling his constituents that America was the greatest country on earth. He humorously expressed his delight to look into the faces of those among whom he was born and among whom he expected to die.

In his characteristic witty style, Taylor told a few amusing stories, but wound up with a solemn admonition to keep the fires of patriotism perpetually burning as the country was threatened by “the money power.” After chiding the people of Washington County in a pleasurable way for loving him so much and voting so hard against him, he concluded his speech. People then crowded around their idol to shake his warm hand and get a glimpse of the “merry twinkle of that bright eye.”

The ensuing day’s events were well attended. John Lusk won first prize in the obstacle race on Market Street and Garner Range finished second. Norman White of Boones Creek carried away first honor in the hurdle race with Garner Range placing second. Will Caldwell took first accolade in the foot race and Norman White second. Earl Smith of Bristol won the bicycle race and Maxwell Willoughby of Washington College came in second. Finishing the morning’s activities was an exhibition by the city fire department.

The afternoon entertainment moved to Lake Wataussee with picnicking, a swimming race and a tub race. Norman White was first prizewinner in the swimming competition with Charles Collett finishing second. At 3:30, a baseball game was played between Johnson City and Greeneville. After seven innings, the game was called because of darkness with the score 10 to 2 in favor of the home team. Frank Hart umpired and was highly complimented for his unbiased calls.

The Jonesboro brass band, described as the handsomest band in the nation and composed of young men of about the same age and size, was on hand and furnished some good music for the occasion.

At the conclusion of the long day, a fatigued but contented patriotic crowd journeyed back to their respective abodes on foot, horses, wagons, streetcars and trains, having celebrated yet another of our nation’s birthday. The Comet complimented the streetcar system for providing excellent service throughout the day. 

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In 1986, area resident Dana Love shared with Dorothy Hamill his memories of working in the banking industry in downtown Johnson City. The 88-year-old Erwin native earned his degree from Draughton Business College in Knoxville. After serving in the Army Signal Corp. during World War I, he became interested in the banking business.

“I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do,” Love said, “I’d had my financial training and wanted to use more of it, so I went to work in 1921 with Jim Pouder, president of the Tennessee Trust Company. George Keys, who owned the Majestic Theater, was vice president. The bank was located next door to the Arcade Building on Main Street.”

Love’s job was that of bookkeeper and teller. He recalled that there were only three employees besides Pouder. When the Unaka National and City National banks merged in 1924, Love soon joined the new conglomerate, which was aptly named the Unaka and City National Bank. The business occupied the large building at the southeast corner of Spring and Main streets. Older residents will recall that site being the Hamilton National Bank.

Officers were L.H. Shumate, president; Henry C. Black and William B. Miller, vice presidents; C.H. Hunter, cashier; Tom Roland, note section; and Frances Bewley and Bess Tatum, secretaries. The bookkeepers were located upstairs. Love became head paying teller with the new firm; the others were Dave Hunter, Sid Corpening and Arthur Earnest. Tellers made $75 to $100 a month, a decent sum of money at that time. The bank operated Monday through Saturday noon.

Dana was present on Sept. 30, 1932 when the Unaka and City National Bank was taken over by the Hamilton National Bank. The majority of the employees continued their employment with the new firm, except Henry Black who was hired by People’s Bank located at Spring and Tipton streets. Love recalls when a popular luxury hotel in Linville, NC did business with Hamilton Bank and always wanted new money when they opened for the season each year.

The bank had accounts with most local businesses that included Miller Brothers Furniture, Empire Chair Co. and Harris Manufacturing Co. The Tennessee National Bank was another downtown bank located at the southwest corner of Main and Spring streets. This institute was relatively short lived; it folded after the 1929 stock market crash and onset of the depression.

When Franklin D. Roosevelt closed all banks in early 1933, Hamilton Bank officials made a strategic move. They contracted the Muse-Whitlock Printing Co. to print scrip that would be used when currency was frozen. Scrip was issued in 1, 5, 10 and 20-dollar denominations. The newly printed bills became valid when the president, vice-president or cashier signed it. A 10-dollar one dated Mar. 10, 1933 shows: “Ten dollars of a deposit in the Hamilton National Bank, Johnson City, Tennessee has been assigned by the depositor hereof to the bearer hereof.”

Local stores accepted this paper in lieu of money during the time the banks were closed. When they were allowed to reopen, Hamilton promptly redeemed the script. Dana left the bank in 1933 and returned to the Army. In 1948, he worked at the VA Medical Center at Mountain Home until his retirement in 1960.

Love’s preserved banking memories offer yet another glimpse into Johnson City’s rich past.  

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I love to receive correspondence from folks who have experienced firsthand the history of yesteryear. Such was the case when Martha Culp, widow of Dr. D.P. Culp, former president of ETSU sent me this letter:

“I love to read the history articles on Monday’s Heritage page in the newspaper,” said Mrs. Culp. Although I was born 91 years ago on a mountain farm in Alabama, I consider Tennessee to be my true home. I moved here on Feb. 8, 1968 at 3:30 in the morning. In my first year in a two-room school, it had eight grades. The custom for students was to finish or fail out of the seventh or eighth grade and fool around a year or two. Many girls got married at 15 or 16. My father was not going to allow the future of his 12-year-old first-born daughter be determined in that fashion.”

Ms. Culp’s grandmother and an aunt lived two blocks from a high school and invited her to live with them until she graduated. Her parents accepted their offer: My father picked me up after school every Friday. I spent the weekend with my family, cooking, churning, washing dishes, making up beds, sweeping and mopping, as country girls were supposed to do. We went to church on Sunday, had company for dinner and in the late afternoon, Dad drove me to my grandmother’s in our 1925 Model T Ford. It was an advanced model with a self-starter.”

Mrs. Culp alleged that many people were still driving buggies and two-horse wagons then. They considered her father to be a wild driver, attaining automobile speeds of up to 40 mph. The late university president’s wife related a humorous story: “When I was in the seventh grade, there was a heavy rainy season and all the creeks rose. A small nearby one was so shallow that it was not bridged. All cars and wagons forded it and foot travelers crossed on a large flattened log. The creek was wider and deeper than usual on that Friday when Dad came to take me home. He drove through it with no problem on the way to school, but rain had fallen heavily on the mountain with rainwater heading for that little creek. It was deeper and swifter on the way back, spreading over more than 70 feet of the road. The rain had slowed to a sprinkle.

“Dad had no choice. He drove slowly into the shallow spread of water. There was no problem until we reached the creek bed, where the water was swift and deep, rising to the floor of the car. The engine sputtered and died.  Dad tried to start it with no luck. There was no time to spare, for the creek was rising. Dad quickly removed his shoes and socks, tossed them into the back seat and rolled the legs of his overalls above his knees. He took a dry handkerchief from his pocket and stepped out in rushing water up to his knees. He unlatched the side cover of the hood that sheltered the engine, lifted the cover and dried the spark plugs and magneto with his handkerchief. “He closed the cover and climbed dripping wet into his seat under the steering wheel, pressed the starter and the engine responded. He drove out with bare feet and we went home with no further problems.”

Mrs. Culp recalled their previous car was a 1921 Ford that had to be cranked by hand. She said if they had been driving that car, they would have been stranded until a team of mules could be located to pull the vehicle out of the creek, probably the next day.

She concluded the letter with these wistful words: “Though we have owned many cars, that 1925 Model T Ford has always been my favorite.” 

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