Official announcement that a $500 thousand National Guard armory would be constructed in Johnson City was welcomed by numerous organizations who had long wished for such a place to hold meetings. The new facility was located on a 30-acre tract of land just off the New Jonesboro Highway (11E, left side traveling west) near what was then the city limits.

The new armory, after completion, made possible many types of gatherings that were previously prohibited for lack of suitable facilities. Colonel Clarence W. Taylor, commander of the five-unit 130th Tank Battalion, National Guard, said that worthwhile meetings of all groups, including religious and political, would be welcomed to use the armory's facilities.

With Johnson City becoming known throughout Tennessee as the “convention city,” Chamber of Commerce-minded residents were looking forward to bringing even more out-of-towners here after the armory was completed. The assembly room was designed to seat 3,000 persons.

Sketch of the New Armory That was Built on the New Jonesboro (Jonesborough) Highway

The armory grounds included amply parking facilities for all cars even after the assembly room was filled to capacity. The new armory was consistent with plans to help make Johnson City and Washington County a better place to live.

Most meetings of organizations and presentations of programs had previously been held at the John Sevier Hotel, the Country Club, East Tennessee State College  Memorial Gymnasium and City Hall in some instances.

For many meetings, the John Sevier and the Country Club were far too small, although they provided excellent facilities for crowds which they could accommodate. The State College Gym was much too large for smaller gatherings and City Hall was too small for larger ones.

The serving of meals put the John Sevier and the Country Club into a separate class for banquets and dinner meetings. The new armory was not expected to have any significant impact on that need. However, kitchen facilities were included in the armory's ultra-modern structure if groups wished to prepare their own food.

Conference and study rooms, designed to be used mainly by members of the National Guard, were used for small group meetings at the Armory. The assembly room, which included a stage, was built to be used for all sorts of rallies and meetings, which attracted a sizable group of visitors.

The armory was ideal for plays, band concerts, sporting events and about anything that needed a gymnasium. It helped remove some of the conflict in the often-crowded schedule of functions in the city and county.

Those groups which used the armory were to be charged a proportionate share of the extra costs of operation caused by their having a meeting, such as cleanup and utilities. The cost proved to be very low, and in many cases, no amount was charged. The city of Johnson City and Washington County, which promoted the armory project, were asked to contribute $30 thousand in funds and services, which included landscaping and grounds improvements.

The federal government paid 75 percent of the bill on the armory, which comprised a $100 thousand service building for National Guard use only. The state came through with the rest of the cost.

Since taxpayers provided the funds for the armory, Nations Guard officials felt that the public needed to use the new structure as often as possible. According to Colonel Taylor, arranging a meeting was as simple as making a telephone call.

When completed, the armory was among the most modern ones in the United States. Washington County residents were proud to have in their midst, a new half-million dollar institution, designed to be of use intellectually, economically and for its contribution to nation defense.

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My wife recently directed my attention to a beautiful Monarch butterfly hovering near our backyard flowerbed arbor. Immediately, I thought about the late Tom Hodge,  long time writer for the Johnson City Press, and his love for the fluttery critters. He inspired my love for area history.

Each fall, the former sports writer, news reporter, telegraph editor, executive editor and editorial director provided readers with a continuous monarch butterfly report of the migration of the winged creatures to Mexico. He also examined woolly worms to determine how mild or severe the weather would be. According to legend, thickness of the coat and number of rings on the caterpillar is a prediction of the forthcoming weather.

Tom also mentioned “morning fogs in August,” which some folks believe correlates with forthcoming snow accumulation in the mountains.  Supposedly, heavy fogs forecast deep snows while light ones predict a miniscule amount of the white stuff.

Tom Hodge, Third From Left Takes A Coke Break With Press Employees

The journalist became acquainted with many railroad workers over the years and was continually featuring their stories in his column. They included Erwin's legendary J. Fred Leonard, known affectionately as “Fogless Bill” and who had a distinctive train whistle; Ed Lewis of old Clinchfield 99; and even Casey Jones. Tom's train articles involved the CC&O, Southern, ET&WNC and others.

Hodge developed an appreciation for the many landmarks in the East Tennessee area and the importance of preserving them. Sadly, Johnson City razed many of them over the years, which included the Southern Railroad train depot, City Hall, Tennessee Theatre (built as a venue for vaudeville stage shows) and the Windsor Hotel, to name a few. And the beat goes on.

Over the years, Tom regularly received local history material, either written or verbal, which he used in his columns. This included vintage newspapers, books, high school annuals, photographs, shared memories and area artifacts. 

Tom penned numerous articles about the First Families of Franklin. This organization, that originated from the Tipton-Haynes Historical Farm, traced its history to a battle over the newly formed State of Franklin at the farm and surrounding area giving rise to the organization. He qualified as a member because of a distant relative and received the honor from Faith Stahl, wife of Johnson City’s late historian, Ray Stahl.

Tom routinely focused on area customs and folklore with a wide variety of subjects: sulfur and molasses being good for acne, the wearing of copper bracelets, the mysterious Brown Mountain lights near Linville, NC, ramp (mountain onion) festivals and many others.

One of Tom’s favorite subjects involved stories that originated from Clarence’s Restaurant in Unicoi. Old timers from the area routinely met there to eat and exchange stories, or “tall tales” as they referred to them.

One of the most famous and unusual stories to come out of East Tennessee is the 1916 hanging of a circus elephant, known as Mary, for killing her trainer. The execution took place in Erwin using a railroad crane. Tom kept the story alive over the years by occasionally revisiting the subject and adding new information or slants on it as it became available.

Through the years, Tom reviewed a number of local history books from local authors, thereby doing a favor to the author and to area history buffs.

And finally, Hodge occasionally gave his readers a “test” that covered a wide variety of local history subjects, some of which had been covered in his articles. One creative individual submitted one that was in the format of a crossword puzzle.

Tom featured several items that I sent him over the years. His many contributions to local history have not been forgotten, at least not by this writer. 

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Occasionally, I delve back into my childhood to revisit cherished memories of yesteryear. My favorite radio show of the early-to-mid 1950s was, without question, “Big Jon & Sparkie.” The program ran from 1948 until 1958.

Big Jon and Sparkie Who Shared the Same Voice Over Radio

I faithfully listened to it over WJHL on my bakelite radio every weekday afternoon at five p.m. (one hour at the beginning of the series, later reduced to 15 minutes)  and every Saturday morning at 9:00 a.m. for their “No School Today” (“Noooo Schooool Todaaaay”) program (initially two hours, eventually 60 minutes).

Two other late afternoon broadcasts that the youngsters of my generation enjoyed were ” Tom Corbett, Space Cadet,” who kept the universe safe from space pirates  and “Mark Trail,” an outdoorsman, conservationist who courageously fought the enemies of man and nature. 

Big Jon was Jon Arthur (real name Jonathan Goerss) and Sparkie, “the little elf from the land of make-believe who wants more than anything else in the world to be a real boy.” Sparkie's voice was actually that of his creator that had been speeded up electronically, something a bit unique in those days. Dave Seville later did the same thing with his “Alvin and the Chipmunks” recording in 1958.

The radio show's theme song, “The Teddy Bear's Picnic,” was an organ instrumental. Initially, Big Jon had more airtime than anyone on radio. I never missed a daily episode. One story line that sticks in my memory was a boat journey from Africa back home to Cincinnati.

Of all the stories featured on the Saturday morning version of the show, my favorites were the “Little Orley” episodes. The creator and writer of them was former Marine, Hugh “Uncle Lumpy” Brannum. He later became Mister Green Jeans on television's “Captain Kangaroo,” playing the role of farmer, handyman and inventor. Each creative recording was about four minutes in length. Brannum always ended his “Little Orley” adventures with the catch phrase, “that's all.”

Around 1955, I located a Decca 78-rpm “non-breakable” record containing two “Little Orley” stories: “Little Orley and the Parade” and “Little Orley and the Cloud.” As I played them, I quickly remembered both selections.

In the spring of 1999, I came across an advertisement for the entire set of stories on several CDs. I ordered eight stories and found them to be as entertaining as they had been in 1955.

The adventures were the creation of noted bandleader, Fred Waring and His Pennsylvanians, who hired Brannum to write and record the stories. The recordings were intended to be a part of a radio show but television was advancing rapidly on the entertainment field, pushing radio to the sidelines. Although the radio program was cancelled, the shows managed to become a part of Big Jon and Sparkie's Saturday morning programs.

My research reveals that there were a total of 45 stories in the series such as Little Orley and the… Parade, Cloud, Leprechaun, Barn Dance, Glee Club, Engine, Pancake, Snowstorm, Bull Fiddle, Cricket, Bug Band, Bookworm, Sunday School Picnic, Stranger, Love Bug and Helpful Snowman.

After almost 50 years, I found myself quoting the words, line by line, of “Little Orley and the Parade”… “Well now, once upon a time, Orley's pa said, 'hey, there's a big parade in town today. They do say as how it's gonna be quite a show, so Orley put your shoes on, come on, let's go.' Then he hitched up the team and said 'Geteup, boy' And they drove down the road while Orley jumped for joy.” I could go on, but I won't.

Little Orley must have been a country boy because he rode a team of horses to the parade. Maybe that is why I liked him so much. I conclude by taking a cue from Uncle Lumply… “That's all.”

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In the past, I wrote about several carnivals and circuses that came to Northeast Tennessee. They included the Mighty Haag Railroad Shows, Gentry Brothers, Hagenbeck-Wallace Circus, The Great New York and New Orleans Zoological and Equestrian Exposition, John Robinson's Circus and J.J. Page Carnival. The latter wintered in Johnson City along Love Street.

Today, I am adding another one to the list – the Rubin & Cherry Shows, known as “The Barnum & Bailey of All Carnival Shows,” came to the city on April 29, 1917.

Rubin and Cherrry Shows Advertisement from 1917

This was described as the biggest, best and most up-to-date show of its kind on the road that year. There were 18 paid attractions, 50 concession stands, merry-go-round, Ferris wheel, merry widow swings and the exciting $40,000 “Whip the Whip,” referred to as the “joy ride supreme.”

The amusement company traveled on its own special train of 15-foot cars. Locals were strongly urged to meet and greet the show train as it arrived in town. It offered a grand free band concert two hours after arrival that featured 400 show musicians. A plea was made in the local newspaper for residents who had unfurnished rooms available to let them know.

There was every kind of entertainment act imaginable, from trained fleas, a plantation show, the “wild west” and numerous amusements for young and old.

Cowboys, cowgirls, Costello Post's Drum and Fife Corps, Rubin & Cherry bands, eight floats and numerous other features occupied the procession.

The ad spoke of a monopoly of the world's greatest attractions: Through the Trenches, Monkey Speedway, Underground Chinatown, Broadway Cabaret, Motordrame, Prince William, The Spider Girl, Musical Review, One Ring Circus, Joyland Fun Factory, Dixieland Minstrels, Crystal Haze, Hawaiian Village and European Flea Circus.

The superior excellence of the organization over smaller carnival shows of that era was too well-known around Johnson City to give it much competition. Suffice it to say, there was a large and well-pleased crowd each day on the big lot. Mr. Sam Arh, the advance agent of Rubin & Cherry Shows had been affiliated with the famous Robines Shows and the K.G. Barkoot Shows.

My source offered another unusual aspect of the carnival that year. At a special called meeting, city council “suspended 'verboten' (forbidden, prohibitive, banned) and granted permission to the Reuben and Cherry shows to exhibit within the corporation limits at the price of a $250 license to be collected by the city recorder.” No mention was made as to the specific showground site, but it was understood that the carnival would be seen the following week on one of the lots in the Southwest Addition.

Carnival companies often showed just outside the city limits at the end of S. Roan Street. Beyond this location, the city was the unfortunate beneficiary of all of the ills and objectionable features associated with unsavory traveling entertainment companies. The council reasoned that it would be better to allow potential undesirables to come within the city limits where, under police scrutiny, they could be watched and regulated. It was noted that outside the corporation limits, there were no restraints whatsoever. 

The Rubin & Cherry Shows stayed in Johnson City for six days before rolling to its next scheduled performance. Note in the photo that the carnival performed on Walnut Street that year opposite the Post Office, which would later became the site of the Ashe Street Courthouse after the post office relocated to E. Main Street.

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Jay “Terry” Prater, an avid fan of the Johnson City History/Heritage page, has been in the ministry for over 50 years. He has pastored churches in several states, along with East Park and Oakland Avenue Baptist churches  in Johnson City. He recently shared some photos from his early years in Johnson City.

The Praters moved here from Weaverville, NC in 1951. They took up residence on W. Maple St., attending South Side and Junior High schools. For extra cash, he worked about three years (1956-58) as a curb hop at the well-known Shamrock that opened in 1929 on W. Walnut  Street. In his words, “I spent my younger years doing what kids normally do.”

Prater had several newspaper articles and photos relating to his Southside School days that he believed might be of interest to Heritage/History page readers.

Photo 1

The original front side of old Southside Elementary School stands majestically in 1991 prior to it's demolition. The school faced Southwest Avenue, as well as Boyd Street. 

Photo 2

 The front yard of South Side School was the setting in 1955 for a donation of school safety patrol equipment from E.B. Mallory (left) representing the Kiwanis Club. Accepting the gifts were two student traffic patrol officers, Capt. Wilbur Johnson and Lieut. Charles McCracken. Jay, 9th individual from the left, was in Mrs. Nola Dillow's6th grade class.He surmised that other students in the picture were from the 4th or 5th grades.

Paul Odom, a well-known officer of the Johnson City Police Department, was also on hand that day to assist with the presentation. Jay viewed the event as an honor to be a grade school student working with city police. “My patrol assignment was at the corner of  W. Poplar and Boyd streets on the upper side of the school,” he said. “We had hats, a vest strap and a genuine official  chrome badge. The one displayed is the photo is the one I proudly wore while at my post before and after school each day”. Jay asked if Press readers could identify others in the picture.

Photo 3

One summer about 1954, area students were invited to show up at Southside School with their favorite dog. The event was a part of the city's Park and Recreation Board's summer program, sponsored by the Jaycees. Jay said that, although he did not own a pet, he was asked to display his soapbox racer to the spectators. Several youngsters brought little cars that had been painted and dressed up with tin cans, reflectors and the like. Jay actually had a hook on the back of his bicycle he used to tow his racer. He likened this to early NASCAR promotions. Jay said the group comprised several grades.  

 On the front row, left to right, are Claudine Shugart, Becky Taylor, Bobby Lilly, Jack Lawson, Jimmy Shugart, Mike McNeese, David McNeese, Laura Morris and John Miller Bray. On the back row are Martha Jean Crumley, John Jones and Jay Prater (sitting in his car).

Photo 4

Terry referred to his report card as “the dreaded document” for school year 1954-55, bearing the names of his sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Solon Gentry, and the school's principal, “Nancy L. Beard.” The school superintendent, John H. Arrants, is listed at the bottom. I chided him about not showing both sides of the card.

Photo 5

The school offered awards to students for achievements in a number of areas. Jay received an “Excellence in History” one from the D.A.R. (Daughters of the American Revolution)  for his design and construction of a replica of a Civil War Fort. It was about two feet square with watchtowers on each corner and constructed of building materials such as ice cream sticks. Although it was left at the school for future show-and-tell, Jay wondered if it might still be there.

 

Photo 6

Terry's father purchased a special gift for his son, a beautiful 1930 Ford Model A coupe for $30 that was complete with rumble seat and white wall tires. Prior to his family acquiring it, the car sat on a hill near Kingsport for several years before being “rescued.” The “A” was later sold for $50 in the interest of purchasing a cool Whizzer motorbike.

The coupe was painted maroon with black fenders and polished chrome. This was in the days when gasoline was 19 to 21 cents a gallon and often cheaper. He recalled frequently buying one gallon of gas at a time for it.

Jay related a humorous story: “We had an alley behind our house on W. Maple that ran the entire length of the block. It afforded this Southside hot rodder a place to impress his schoolmates and irritate the homeowners as dust was no small problem then. On one occasion, with the rumble seat full of friends, I turned around at the end of the alley and spotted a police cruiser slowly making its way toward me from the other end. I quickly backed up, found a small parking space nearby and we all ran inside Bill Darden's Rainbow Corner, a safe haven at 337 W. Walnut and Earnest Street.

“Moments later, while my nervous friends and I cowered low in a padded booth, two big officers strolled in the establishment, looked around and moseyed over to where we sat, terrified and hardly breathing. 'Who's driving the  Model A?,” asked one of the officers. I confessed and immediately began visualizing what the inside of a prison would be like. With a slight but detectable grin, one policeman said, 'Son, that  Model A  is creating some dust you know.' That was all he said. I guess the world was not such a bad place in 1953.”

Photo 7

The new building of Temple Baptist Church in 1954 was located at the corner of E. Maple and Division streets. The older and previous church was at the corner of E. Maple and Afton. The car on the left is a shiny and new looking 1940 Chevrolet that belonged to Jay's parents. The pastor at the time was Rev. Joe Strother. Many years later, the new four-lane highway, now I-26, took the property. The church relocated and is now known as University Parkway Baptist.

Photo 8

“The clipping from April 19, 1964,” said Prater, “is a part of my personal treasures and a reminder of special opportunities afforded me in those early years. I continue to enjoy a friendship with my former pastor Richard Ratliff.”

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In 1888, a Johnson City newspaper correspondent wrote an article for the paper describing the condition of the city that year. “This ends the year in this locality and we will try to sum up the items of most interest. We had three elections, one in March to elect a mayor and aldermen, another in August to elect county officers and one in November to appoint state and national officials.”

The journalist went on to say that much energy had been expended about the upcoming of what he called the great and coming 3C's railroad than everything else put together.

The writer noted that two deaths had occurred in the city: the stabbing of a man and a train accident involving a young lady. The report included 22 serious but non-life threatening injuries from machinery, clubs, pistols, knifes, falling off logs, kicked by mules and the like. There were also 32 residents who died from sickness and old age.

The city had a July 4th celebration comprised of an unlimited number of opera and other public entertainment. A significant number of police were on hand to maintain order; several arrests were made on various unspecified charges. News surfaced that 21 persons were poisoned at area boarding houses. During the festivities, a riot occurred but without the shedding of a single drop of blood.

During that year, Johnson City boasted of having no destructive fires or any financial failures of businesses. The success of merchants was credited to the doubling of factories and an increase in population and buildings. The Watauga Bank opened and The Bank of Johnson City was turned into the First National Bank of Johnson City, with a telephone connection to Jonesboro. The city's two hotels, the Piedmont and the Watauga, did a sizable business under the management of Weiler and Dickinson.

Three Old Johnson City Advertisements from 1888

Horton, Yocum & Co. began to enlarge the city's Steam Tannery. A contract was awarded for extensive water works to be installed by J.J. Robinson and others. Electric lights were installed over most of the city. Wide streets and avenues were opened up and older ones greatly improved.

Although real estate sales bought in $130,000, more land was desired at even higher prices. Churches were well-supplied with pastors and small congregations. The six existing  schools did well despite the fact that the Board of Education did not appropriate public money for them that year. 

Another hot topic dealt with the making of money for Johnson Citians. How to make money was a problem well-studied by the folks. It was a question that everybody wanted solved. The paper offered some suggestions:

“So to begin with, we say that most people can make money, but how to save it after it is made is really the question that troubles most people. The real problem with all of us is how shall we accumulate this much coveted wealth rather than how shall we make it.

“So now, we suggest a few points. Don't try to keep up in style and appearance with your rich neighbor. Do not hire someone to do work for you if you have the time and strength to do it yourself. Do not ride or drive fast horses just because it is fashionable when you know your income's too small for you to afford the pleasure.

“Do not smoke 15-cent cigars when cheaper one would do, in fact when none at all would be better. Do not waste your means by any kind of extravagance, large or small. Pay for what you buy. Owe no man anything.”

The paper ended its counsel with a plug for a local business: “And, last but not least, trade with Christian Hoss and Hodge in 1889 and secure the best goods for the least money.” An examination of old newspapers from this era reveals that publishers frequently interspersed advertisements along with news. 

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In my unvarying search for Northeast Tennessee history, I often uncover attention-grabbing material. Recently, I spotted something from the late 1800s that aroused my curiosity because it pertained to Davy Crockett, a favorite theme of mine. It concerned an actor from Kentucky who became rich and famous for his on-stage portrayal of the noted hunter and storyteller.

Frank Mayo (1839 to 1896) was an American actor and comedian. In 1872, he perchance depicted Davy Crockett in a stage production, featuring a backwoods character that, almost overnight, endeared him to his public. He became synonymous with the role for a couple reasons – the sincere, polished acting in his portrayal of the Tennessee pioneer and the reputation of the 19th-century American folk hero, frontiersman, soldier and politician.

L to R: Frank Mayo Flyer, Sketch of the Famous Actor, Portrait of Davy Crockett

On one occasion late in his career, the actor had just concluded a Crockett performance when he was approached by some newspaper reporters desiring to interview him. In spite of his fatigue and the lateness of the hour, the congenial actor agreed to talk with them.  

“How many times have you played Crockett on stage?,” asked one individual. Frank paused a few seconds, put his hand to his temple and responded: “My head is getting gray and every hair is a Crockett. This is a special night, the 3000th one. I have played it so long that the public has identified me with it and the demand is so strong that I am essentially prohibited from producing anything else. In one sense, I am regarded as the real Davy Crockett.

“In nearly every town I visit, I am invited to hunting parties, when the truth is that I never shot a gun in my life. Buffalo killing expeditions have been organized for my benefit. They are surprised to learn that I have neither the experience nor a taste for that kind of sport.

“I am passionately fond of appearing in other settings of legitimate drama. I was the principal supporting actor for Julia Dean Hayne (American actress) in all the classical characters in which she appeared. I favor variety so, consequently, the continual playing of one character is becoming monstrous to me.”

Another reporter noted, “You certainly had a full house tonight.” Mayo countered with “Oh yes, the house is always full. The late Davy Crockett is very popular, but it exasperates me to be compelled to play it all the time.”

Frank truly believed that he was a veritable Davy Crockett. Even in other occasional roles, people could not disassociate him from his mountain man character. He sincerely believed that a magnificent Shakespearean artist was spoiled when he became Davy Crockett.

Newspapers of that era had many flattering comments for Frank “Davy Crockett” Mayo:

1. “Mr. Mayo's fine physique and voice of great pathos and flexibility are no small portion of his advantages. He has disciplined himself into a subdued and picturesque style of interpretation, which is exceedingly effective.”

2. “David Crockett is a historical character and one of those wonderfully brave souls who fell at the Alamo. The love story that runs through it possesses all the elements that capture the public sympathy.”

3. “Mr. Mayo is the ideal backwoodsman, a hero in buckskin, commanding in statue, an Apollo in appearance, strong as Hercules and as tender as a woman. He possesses a face for manly beauty.”

4. “This theatre cannot afford to lose Davy Crockett or Frank Mayo. There is no play anything like the former and no actor to replace the latter. The pioneer, Crockett, was a gold mine and local managers demanded it be so.”

5. “Frank Mayo's “Davy Crockett” is one of the best of the realistic class of plays. The pure love of a strong, untutored nobleman of the forest is at all times portrayed in a masterly manner by Mr. Mayo.”

The end came in 1896 when the actor passed away.

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Governor “Our Bob” Taylor often commented about the John Robinson Circus that he occasionally visited. It was the first one that he ever witnessed, never forgetting the lingering memories of it. Bob speculated that he would always remain young as long as this circus would fill his memories of those special days long passed by. He was convinced that it was the best tonic old men could ingest.


An Early John Robinson Circus Parade As It Passes Model Mill on W. Walnut Street

In 1904 when Taylor was a young lad, the Robinson Circus came to town. His family lived in the Watauga Valley then and the great posters of that day created excitement when it announced its exhibition at Elizabethton. The heart of every mountain youngster beat high with eager anticipation. The circus date was more firmly embedded in the minds of area youth than that of the Declaration of Independence.

Wise old farmers seized the opportunity to receive double chores from his family with the promise of taking them to the circus. Bob's heart tingled for that special sensation again. He obtained faint symptoms of it in his aging years when a band blared out its melodies and painted clowns performed their funny magic before crowds of spectators.

“I remember one time,” Bob said, “we had the circus with us at Elizabethton. It was the first show I had been to and I was one of the gladdest lads there. The performances that day were all under one tent and the acts occurred one at a time in a single ring, not three that came later.

“An elephant would occasionally became unruly, drawing attention from the crowd. I later suspected that the circus somehow made the big pachyderm that way in order to draw attention from the thrill-seeking crowd.”

Bob explained that during the performance, word spread that an elephant had been given a “chaw terbacker” (chew of tobacco). To local mountaineers, this fabrication meant the highly-exaggerated destruction of the entire population surrounding the event. 

Shortly, the elephant was pacified and to save the legend from obscurity, a report circulated that it was not a “chaw terbacker” after all. The elephant had instead gnawed on a chinquapin (ching-K-pin) burr, a spiny nut fruit that grows in higher elevations. The reassured crowd soon meandered back to the big tent with confidence restored.

Bob noted that when he acquired enough courage to enter the exhibition area, he encountered a situation that took him all day from which to recover. It was the custom of circuses in those days to tie an elephant to a stake just inside the entrance as an mesmerizing publicity stunt.

About that time, young Bob spotted a big strapping fellow slip in under the influence of strong drink. His pants legs had been stuffed into his boots and he had just enough mountain dew in him to banish any hint of fear.

As the lad staggered past the big pachyderm, he bumped into it and lost his balance. When he got back on his feet, he wrongly surmised that the big critter had something to do with his fall. He greatly resented it and stood there a few seconds looking at the beast with a hint of revenge permeating his thoughts.

Almost immediately, word began to spread that the five-toed mammal had purposely knocked him down by his trunk. The drunk stood angrily before the creature and disgustedly uttered the words: “Lookey here you two-tailed scoundrel, if I jest knowed which end of your head contained your brain, I'd kick it out of you.”

Fortunately without further ado, the imbibed man sensibly meandered off without further incidence. Later in life, Bob would say that this amusing incident still resided firmly in his memory.

I wish to thank Alf and Martha Gene Taylor for sharing this story with me from a treasured family scrapbook.

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I attended the first grade at West Side School (1949-50) and grades two through six at Henry Johnson School  (1951-55). PTA was held on the third Wednesday of each month. We usually decorated the rooms for each meeting, which usually consisted of posters we researched for assigned projects.  I had some really great teachers for my grammar school years. Let me briefly comment on those at Henry Johnson.

Henry Johnson School

Plaques on each side of the front doors

Second grade (1950-51), Mrs. Linnie Rowe: She really knew how to motivate me. I routinely wrote little “stories” on small pieces of paper and gave them to her to read. Not long after, she began reading them to the class, which thrilled me immensely. Her husband, Mr. Everett Rowe, would become my Junior High School principal preceding Tyson Jones within five years.

Third grade (1951-52), Miss Margaret King: She is best remembered for her interest in Cherokee Indian culture. It was during this time that I developed pneumonia and was not allowed to return to school for 15 days. My teacher, being so “thoughtful,” sent me homework assignments to do each day.

Fourth grade (1952-53), Mrs. Alf (Fannie) Taylor: She is remembered for her love of reading books to her young students. She allotted about ten minutes at the end of each school day, continuing the next day where the previous one ended. I fondly remember two books: The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett) and Uncle Wiggley (Howard Garis). These books now grace my home library.

On one occasion, Mrs. Taylor learned about an incident that one of the boys did at recess. She asked us to identify the guilty perpetrator, but nobody would squeal. When school was concluded, she dismissed the girls and kept the boys in their seats. After a futile effort to get us to open up, she led us into the hallway and proceeded to whack each boy on the behind with a ruler. Her rationale was that this would at least punish the offender even if the rest of the class received the same discipline. 

Fifth grade (1953-54), Mrs. Dayton (Dorothy) Pierce: My memory comes up a bit short on her. However, my most vivid one was being sent to the basement and ultimately outside by the janitor to bring back some greenery to decorate our room for Christmas. I was the envy of my classmates. Each of us got to help deck out our room for Christmas, a chore I adored.

Sixth grade (1954-55), Miss Sophia Boring (homeroom teacher): She wrote an annual play for the school. The sixth grade class members were the “seniors” of Henry Johnson School. One of the scripts ranged from part of the class doing  the Virginia Reel to a tribute to coonskin-cap clad, Davy Crockett. Miss Boring also read stories to her class and occasionally acted them out, frequently standing on her desk to dramatize a scene. That got our attention. She introduced us to pen pals to whom we wrote. I eventually had two of them, one from Ceylon (later became Sri Lanka) and another from Australia. Miss Boring stands tall in my memory.

Sixth grade, 1954-55, Miss Gordon Browning (geography teacher): Her main contribution to my remembrance was her “Super Sticker Stamp Club.” This clever venture was designed to get students interested in geography by attending a volunteer after-school stamp-collecting club. I was elected president and presided over the meetings. Miss Browning insisted that we learn Robert’s Rules of Order and used them during the formal portion of our meetings. She cunningly had us talk about countries by using stamps, an activity which also enhanced our public speaking skills.

Music Teacher, 1950-55, Mrs. Mary Jordan: She taught all six grades using the popular New Music Horizons series. She instructed us in the basics of reading music, introduced us to several light classical favorites including her favorite, “Peter and the Wolf” and even gave us a French music lesson with the song “Alouette” (“Alouette, gentille Alouette”).

School Principal, 1950-55:  Miss Margaret Crouch was a friendly always-helpful administrator. I can still recall how pleasant she made my transition from West Side School to Henry Johnson School. I won't tell you what it means; look it up. Ah, those were the days. 

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In January, 2010, I wrote an article about the collapse of White Rock Summit on Buffalo Mountain that occurred Jan. 25, 1882. A few newspapers from around the country and one from Mexico began to slowly report the news.

An Old Newspaper Reports the Collapse of White Rock on Buffalo Mountain

Roughly 750 Johnson City residents experienced something that afternoon that left them helpless and reeling with fright. A powerful crash and terrifying rumbling noise that could be heard 30 miles away came from the mountain, caused by a major rockslide that occurred on the southeast terminus of the mountain.

Panic-stricken inhabitants living in close proximity to the mountain fled from their dwellings seeking protection, fearing that an earthquake was besieging the East Tennessee countryside. A number of folks gathered together to pray for deliverance from the falling mountaintop.

White Rock on Buffalo Mountain As It Appears Today

Recently, I located another and more detailed source dealing with the 1882 collapse. The crash occurred at 3 p.m. on that Wednesday. When news reached the Knoxville Chronicle that a section of Buffalo Mountain, located in upper East Tennessee, had crumbled to the valley, a reporter was immediately dispatched to Johnson City, the closest town to the scene of the devastation. Upon arriving, he learned that White Rock Peak (referred to as White Rock Summit in other publications) had succumbed to geological agencies, namely continuous rains, spreading debris over a large mountainous track of country.

Procuring a guide and two good horses, the riders apprehensively began their trek up the mountain. Snow was falling in the valley and as they made their ascent to the peak, the drifts became deeper and deeper. By the time they reached the summit, using a circuitous route, the accumulation was 18 inches.

Prior to the huge structure of quartz crystals falling prey to natural forces, the mass could be seen from afar, appearing as a specter standing guard over the towns and valleys beneath it. The rock was nicknamed “Lone Sentinel” by some residents. It was, by far, the highest peak on Buffalo Mountain.

Amazingly, the end of the mountain which formed the massive rock was about 1500 feet above the surrounding countryside and was almost a perpendicular cliff'. The rest of the mountain, excluding the rock, was covered with a heavy growth of timber, prominent among which was oak and chestnut trees. The brow of the mountain was estimated to be a half mile or more across and composed for the most part of white sandstone.

When the newspaper team arrived at the top of the mountain, they gazed in wonder and astonishment. There in front of them, now partially covered with snow, they witnessed debris strewn for a mile down the mountain side, the result of the stupendous crash.

Rocks as big as houses had been hurled into the valley with a terrible force, uprooting trees and cutting down everything in its path.

The track of the rocks in their terrible downward departure was perceptible for a mile or more. A boulder weighing several tons, which had somehow diverged from its course, was lodged against a single tree, but most of the rocks of all sizes had fallen to occupy the valley below.

Trees several feet in diameter were cut completely in half, some as high up as 40 feet, clearly showing what a powerful force must have urged the rocks to ascend to a lower position. They could but stand in mute admiration of the slow yet steady and powerful forces of nature which had moved the end of the mountain to the mountain ridges to the west.

After the rumble ceased, solid rock composed of white sandstone glittered in the now bright noonday sun, the radiance of whose rays could be seen for miles by onlookers. Because of its white appearance, the rock had acquired its name, which reportedly was on record several places in written history.

The two men conversed with several area persons in regard to the cause of the great fall of rock. Some were of the opinion that the crash was caused by a movement in the earth's crust, like an earthquake. Others were of the convinced that it was the result of what geologists term “aqueous agencies.”

Those residents who wanted to know what happened were vividly aware that since Christmas 1881, the area had undergone a continuous deluge of rain. Water managed to infiltrate the rock in the frigid climate and then freeze, causing it to expand and split the rock, ultimately to a depth of a hundred feet or more. It was generally speculated that this destructive force had been at work causing the big rock to fall into the valley below.

My new source offered an interesting historical note to the property beneath the rock. It was frequently spoken of in history books of Tennessee as the spot where Governor John Sevier and his friends and Colonel John B. Tipton and his allies met in a bloody and fatal scuffle just 94 years prior (1788).

While this portion of the state was still a part of North Carolina, it seceded and set up a state government of its own in 1784, calling itself “Franklin.” Governor Sevier, was elected chief magistrate and commander of the militia. North Carolina, still claiming this territory, appointed her officials, thereby causing a conflict.

Colonel John B. Tipton was chosen County Court Clerk of Washington County. He lived at the foot of White Rock and Governor Sevier, followed by 150 men, proceeded to the house of Tipton to divest him of the official papers. Colonel Tipton, backed by a strong force, routed the Sevier allies. Several men were killed and wounded during the day on account of this engagement.

Although White Rock has often been referred to in the histories of Tennessee with pride, now that it passed through such a transcending ordeal, its name will shine even brighter in the archives of yesteryear.

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