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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In March, 1954, the Press-Chronicle launched its sixth annual “Johnson City Cardinals (Appalachian League) Batboy Contest.” Four judges, Ralph Cox, Tom Lyons, Bill Miller and Jimmy Smyth, selected six boys as finalists: Joe Ward Booth, Sammy Broyles, Bill Dyer, Dana Lyon, Ronnie Rickman and Richard Teaster.

The Six Semifinalists of the 1954 Johnson City Cardinals Batboy Contest

Each youngster was asked to identify his favorite baseball player. The final score was Stan Musial 3, Yogi Berra 2. Johnson City's own Billy Joe Bowman received the sixth vote. 

The Cardinals management through president, Carl A. Jones, and business manager, Ralph Cox, issued a statement praising the boys who submitted applications and essays. It acknowledged the many fine entries and regretted that they couldn't use a couple dozen more batboys.

After that, it was time for the public to pick a winner by filling out a ballot that was printed in the newspaper and mailing it to the Press-Chronicle office.  The paper urged its readers to get their ballot back to them before the April 9 noon deadline. The winner was to be announced in the paper the next day. Below are abbreviated excerpts from the essays of the six finalists:

Joe Ward Booth: “I would like to be batboy for the Cardinals because I would like to become a Cardinal baseball player when I finish school. A batboy has a wonderful opportunity of developing himself, morally, physically, mentally and socially. This would be a step toward being a professional baseball player.”

Sammy Broyles: “Baseball is my favorite sport. I have played baseball for the Little League for three years and liked it very much. If I am chosen as batboy, it would give me a better chance to learn more about baseball and to learn all of the rules and regulations.”

Bill Dyer: “I would like to be the batboy for the Johnson City Cardinals this year because I like baseball. I would like to learn all I can about baseball. I am also interested in becoming a professional ball player someday. I am 15 years old and always like to go to the ball games.”

Dana Lyon: “I wish to learn more about baseball and know the players better. Besides wanting to know more about professional baseball, I would use the money I receive to buy school clothes and books for next year. Being batboy would be more than a job to me. It would be responsibility, which I would work hard at trying to do my very best.”

Ronnie Rickman: “My greatest ambition is to play baseball in the Cardinals organization. I have played baseball in both the Little and Little Bigger leagues and feel that being the Cardinals batboy would help me in my playing. I have a great love of baseball and keep up with all the Cardinals games. I would consider it an honor to be chosen.”

Richard Teaster: “I would like to be the Red Birds' batboy because it would teach me to become a good sport and sportsmanship is very essential to an athlete.  I would like to learn about fielding, pitching and batting. I would like to have the proud feeling of beating a top team, someone hitting a home run, a pitcher pitching a shutout or a no-hitter. I would like to share their every thrill.”

All six finalists were awarded prizes. First prize was, of course, to be batboy for one year. Second prize was a season ticket to all games plus an autographed baseball and bat. The third winner received a ticket to the opening game, a hat, a ball and an autographed picture of the 1953 Cardinals. Fourth, fifth and six accolades consisted of an opening day ticket, an autographed baseball and a picture of the 1953 Cardinals. 

Thanks to several of my readers who correctly identified the winner of the batboy contest as Joe Ward Booth.

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On Sept. 17, 1890, a Memphis journalist, known only as Mr. J and who was a cousin of Johnson City's mayor, Ike T. Jobe, took a train ride to our city, first on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad and then over the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia Railroad. 

The writer noted that until a year or so prior, the area was unworthy to be called a city because it was nothing more than a railroad station with a few diminutive stores and residences scattered about. Nevertheless, older inhabitants always had an abiding faith that something much better was in store for them. 

In about 1888, the town began to take on a new image. Northern capital began finding its way to our area. As a result, new railroad lines were surveyed and constructed; manufacturing facilities were built in record number; and the surrounding hills and mountains disgorged its hidden treasures of iron and coal.

Almost overnight, Johnson City's modest village became a municipality of about 5,000 inhabitants. A 125-ton capacity blast furnace was among the substantial improvements of the newly formed Carnegie Land and Impartment Company.

Suburban lands were summarily subdivided into town lots, streets graded and scores of new residences and businesses houses constructed. One of the most beautiful one was a $100,000 lodge named Carnegie Hotel after the famed industrialist. The city acquired the distinction of being the seat of the largest tannery (The Horton and Yokum Co.) in the United States.

The Comet Newspaper Advertises Jobe's Livery Stable on E. Main Street

Upon arrival at Johnson City, the journalist became the guest of Ike T. Jobe, who, that same week, took him on an excursion over the narrow gauge East Tennessee and Western North Carolina Railroad that spanned a distance of 32 miles to Elk Park, N.C., just over the Tennessee line. As the train made its serpentine journey across the wild and rugged mountains, the vehicle passed through five tunnels in just four miles. The journalist described the area as being “a most beautiful and picturesque mountain region.” 

Mr. J visited Elk Park, a small town built up in the mountains, having an elevation of 3,250 feet above sea level with climate rarely exceeding 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The reporter was informed that only a few mile away was the celebrated Roan Mountain, renowned for being the highest elevation for many miles around. From its cloud-capped pinnacle could be seen portions of five States.

Two miles east of Elk Park, Mr. J. encountered the mining village of Cranberry, where the finest iron ore to be found in the country was obtained in copious quantities. The blast furnace and the mines furnished abundant employment to many workers. He described it as a very busy and prosperous community.

During Jobe's cousin's abbreviated stay at Elk Park, he was the guest of another cousin, Mrs. Hattie Taylor and her husband, Nat W., brother to the Honorable Robert L, Taylor, Governor of Tennessee, described as “a most amiable gentleman.” 

After departing, the train made a stop at Elizabethton. This town, the county seat of Carter county, was a small place but, according to the reporter, delightfully situated. Surrounded on all sides by lofty hills, the town was built at the convergence of the Doe and Watauga rivers.

Mr. Jobe explained to his relative that “Watauga” was an Indian name, signifying “beautiful river.” No one who viewed it and the lovely valley which stretched away to the west of Elizabethton, could refrain from agreeing with Landon Carter Haynes when he succinctly said, “It is beautiful indeed.” When viewed from one of the lofty hilltops nearby, it became a scene perfect for both artist and poet.

Ike explained to his cousin that nearby lived an uncle, Dr. A. Jobe, whom he had not seen since his boyhood days. He resided there for many years and played a conspicuous role in the history of East Tennessee.

After the writer made a hesitant adieu to Elizabethton, he made short stops at Johnson City and Cleveland, Tennessee, before heading home, bringing to a finale a passage that he would not soon forget.

Thank you Mr. J, whoever you are, for sharing another history nugget about our area.

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Between 1950 and 1957, my family lived on Johnson Avenue, directly behind the playground of Henry Johnson School and within sight of the west end of Kiwanis Park. The view of Buffalo Mountain from our house was always there to enjoy.

An even better observation of the noble mountain came from the kitchen on the backside of the house of my grandparent's, Earl and Neva Cox, that was located on Peachtree Street, four streets behind us.

Even as a child, I appreciated its ever-changing appearance as the seasons evolved from spring to summer to autumn to winter and back to spring. We always knew when snow was about to arrive in Johnson City because the mountain would slowly turn color as the pretty white stuff fell.

My father, Robert Earl Cox, often told me stories about day-long hikes to White Rock on the mountain along the south end of the city. Several of my readers shared their fond memories of the popular hike there for my column.

Buffalo Mountain is a part of the Cherokee National Forest within the Appalachian Mountains, stretching from Johnson City east to west for about seven miles to Jonesborough.

I always thought the mountain acquired its name from the humps on it that resemble a buffalo. Actually, most mountains have humps. According to my research from the Tipton Haynes Historical Association, buffalo herds used the base of this mountain as a gathering spot as they made a twice-a-year pilgrimage to the salt licks of Saltville, Virginia. As the buffalo herds moved along, they cleared out five-foot wide trails that became so hard they appeared to be paved. These paths later became some of the first roads in the area.

Buffalo Mountain Article Title & Subtitles From The Comet In 1892

Recently, I located an interesting November 1892 clipping from The Comet. The article suggested that Johnson City would be an ideal location for a summer resort or a large sanitarium for the treatment of pulmonary diseases. Reputable physicians from across the country recommended the climate of East Tennessee for such ailments. Many persons had already traveled here and had greatly benefited from the refreshing excursion.

The trekkers looked like skeletons when they arrived in the city but gained several pounds in a relatively short time. In instances where they remained here for extended amounts of times, they were completely and permanently cured. The word spread.

The Comet felt that there could be no better place to locate a hotel or sanitarium than atop Buffalo Mountain, which then was then located three miles south of the city. 

Standing on top of the magnificent mountain, with an elevation of several hundred feet, one gets an elegant and entertaining view of the surrounding country, which is only equaled by the famous Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga.

Standing at a point on the top of the mountain, one can peer into three additional states: Virginia, North Carolina and Kentucky. At night, the electric lights of Morristown, Greeneville and Bristol are in plain view.

The Comet suggested that a large hotel on top of the mountain and the broad gauge of an incline railway to transport passengers to the top was highly practical. This would allow Johnson City to reap some of the many benefits enjoyed by Tate Springs (Bean Station), Chattanooga, Roan Mountain and many other noted places.

“This is a scheme that has been in contemplation for some time,” said the newspaper, “and no doubt will be carried out at no distant day, as several capitalists have examined the location with a view of purchasing it and carrying out the above mentioned plans. Should this ever be done, which is more than probable that it will, it would bring thousands of dollars into this city annually, to say nothing of the many noted visitors and pleasure seekers.”

Situated as we are, right in the midst of this beautiful and healthful East Tennessee, the publication could not fail to see immediately the benefits to be derived from such a place as mentioned. 

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On June 10, 1984, Mary Alice Basconi, Johnson City Press-Chronicle business writer, composed an article titled, “Circulation Departments Have Their Own 'War Stories.'” It concerned the 50th anniversary of the newspaper, which began publication on June 12, 1934. According to Jesse Curtis, former Press circulation manager, this department of workers produced their own brand of war stories.

The wife of a prominent local citizen called Curtis late one night during a thunderstorm demanding that he deliver her paper. Curtis obliged, honking his horn to alert her as he pulled up in front of her home. This further offended the lady who shouted: “Were you honking at me?”

Another tale occurred in 1943 on the newspaperman's first day on the job. A foot of snow had fallen resulting in three route carriers not showing up. Substitutes were promptly enlisted to deliver papers that day: the circulation manager, Curtis (who was hired then as a mailroom clerk) and publisher Carl Jones.

Jesse Curtis. Rural Route Motor Carriers Between E. Main and E. Market Streets in the Mid 1930s

In earlier times, a small newspaper could accommodate customers' late-night requests for papers that didn't arrive that afternoon. Curtis, as manager back then, knew all his carriers' routes. Drivers had to steer their way along mountain roads and foot carriers sometimes had to penetrate wooded areas to make their rounds.

In those days, first-rate carriers were rewarded with a trip on the “Tweetsie” Railroad and a steak dinner. The newspaper was much thinner then with inserts and could easily be folded into a neat square packet and hurled at a customer's porch. The paperboy quickly learned to heave the paper to a precise spot on the porch. That was important to the owner.

Shirley Hayes, who started her 22-year career at the Press-Chronicle in the circulation department, recalled Saturdays as being “money counting days.” Carriers brought in their collections and receipts. “We all had to pitch in and count all those nickels and dimes.” she said.

Curtis remembered when trains had mail cars and papers were distributed by postal service to parts of Western North Carolina. “The paper carrier would get the first papers that came off the press, he said, “and take them to small post offices along his route.” Subscribers would get their paper the same day it was printed, even readers as far away as Chattanooga and as close by as Newland. All of that effort occurred for just 10 subscribers and only one newsstand that sold the Press-Chronicle.

Folks in far-flung communities often asked their carrier to fill a drug prescription in town for them. That luxury evaporated as did same-day home delivery if the patron lived farther than Elk Park, NC.

Curtis blamed television for taking away another bit of newspaper history – the “Extra, Extra” edition hawked on street corners all over the city.

“We used to get these newspapers out,” Curtis said, “when some major event happened, such as President F.D. Roosevelt's passing.” Over time, friendly street-side salesmen were replaced by stoic coin-operated vending racks.

According to C.J. Cody, another circulation manager for the paper in 1984: “Here in the city, we've always had kids making deliveries. Youngsters still make up the bulk of the paper's carriers. Papers were counted in the mailroom, distributed to delivery drivers and taken to drop locations or homes of carriers. The first edition, published at 11:35 a.m., reached carriers by 2 p.m. and customers by 5 p.m. The second edition, published at 2:10 p.m. reached carriers at 4 p.m. and city customers by 5 or 5:30 p.m.”

Cody noted that it was the primary aim of the newspaper to keep pace with the growth of Johnson City and surrounding areas and be positioned to take advantage of what the market was going to do.

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On June 10, 1984, Scott Pratt, Johnson City Press-Chronicle staff writer, composed an article titled, “The Process Has Changed.” It concerned the 50th anniversary of the newspaper, which began publication on June 12, 1934.”

“If Walter Winchell, H.L. Mencken or William Randolph Hearst were to return from the grave today,” Paul said, “they would no doubt be astounded by the transformation of the journalistic world they once roamed.”

Many of the methods these great “purveyors of prose” applied remain basically unchanged, with editors still assigning reporters to cover events and then writing their impressions of them.

Pratt further noted: “Comparing the mechanics involved in the actual printing of news in 1934 and what took place in 1984 was much like comparing the first Gemini space capsule with the sleek ships of Star Wars fame.” If Scott was writing this article today (2014) instead of 1984, the comparison would be markedly more dramatic.

The Newsroom Where Editors Process News Copy Written By Reporters

At the Johnson City Press-Chronicle in 1934, a news story was ushered into the newsroom by a reporter and typed using a manual typewriter onto a sheet of paper. When he or she finished, the reporter hand carried the story to an editor, who glanced looked it in much the same fashion as an elementary school teacher grades an English paper.

The editor would then mark the type-written story with a pencil, correcting grammar and spelling errors and making sure the reporter had his facts straight. Once the editor had finished, he sent the final draft of the story to the composing room, located on the same floor as the newsroom.

It was here that the news story followed a cumbersome process from paper to hot lead via a Linotype machine. This device, now a dinosaur of the printing business, fashioned a solid line of printing type (hence the name, “linotype”) on “slugs” of lead. It became standard operating equipment in the newspaper business for nearly a century, spitting out type at the “lightening-fast” rate of four lines per minute.

Once the story had been cast in lead, it was laid out on a rolling cart with a framed metal table top, appropriately dubbed a “turtle” because of its cumbersome size and awkwardness. The frame on top of the turtle was the size of a newspaper page and it was into this frame that the lead slugs were fitted to form the rough draft of the page.

By the time the pages were fitted, they weighed 30-40 pounds. The lead pages were then rolled via the turtle to a device called a mat press, where a thick fiber mat was laid over the page and compressed by a large roller. By this time, the story had gone from paper to lead to fiber mat, but the process was not yet finished.

The story had to return to hot lead. The mat, now transformed into a “dummy” or page model, was placed on a cylindrical mold called a plate marker. It was here that the molten lead was poured on the dummy.

When the metal hardened, a semi-circular lead plate was formed, which was locked onto a rotary press, inked and used to convert the page onto newspaper print. Those were the days of “hot” type. Computers and photography replaced molten metal and plastic sheets were used in place of the old lead plates.

A Simplified Sketch from 1984 of the Newspaper Process From Newsroom to Delivery

When a reporter brought a story into the newsroom in 1984, he or she typed directly into a video display terminal (VDT), consisting of a typewriter-like keyboard with an electronic screen attached. It was a link with the main computer. Typewriters began to gather dust and were only used to write letters, memos or in case of an emergency.

As the reporter typed the story, it appears on the screen. Corrections are made by using special keys that allowed the reporter to rearrange sentences and paragraphs.

The computer placed the story in a file until an editor was ready to review it. At the touch of a button, the editor could recall the story on a VDT and examine it while it was still in the computer.

When the editor was finished, he or she simply inputted a few commands and the story was zipped back into the composing room to be stored in yet another computer file. More VDTs in the composing room allowed the employees there to pull the story out of the computer file when they were ready and from there it was sent it through a computerized, digital Linotype.

The Star Wars version of the Linotype produced print on photographic paper, complete with spaces and hyphens. Rather than the four lines per minute of the hot lead Linotype, the new one was capable of 450 lines per minute, a dramatic improvement.

Once the story had been proofread, it was pasted on a paper sheet according to a layout showing where the stories and pictures should appear in the paper.

The layout, somewhat like a map of the page, was drawn by a news editor and sent back to the composing room via a vacuum tube in the ceiling.

The pasted-up page, when completed and approved by the editors, was photographed and a negative of the entire page was produced.

The negative was placed on a sheet of paper coated with liquid plastic and exposed to a bright light. The light passed through the transparent parts of the negative and hardened the liquid plastic. The other parts of the negative blocked the light and the coating under them remained soft.

The soft plastic was removed from the sheet, leaving the hardened images, which then went through an etching process to raise the hardened areas. The plates were then mounted on the press and the press went into action. O-tone rolls of paper were mounted on the press and drawn through, receiving the print of all the plates. The press also cut the sheets and folded them into pages.

The 3-story printing press at the Johnson City Press was capable of printing a 96-page paper. Larger editions were printed in separate press runs. The papers were then transported on conveyor belts into the mailroom where they were bundled for distribution or addressed for mailing. The bundles were placed on the loading dock where they were gathered, loaded on trucks or in cars and hauled away to newsstands or distribution centers and dispersed to contract carriers who delivered the paper to a box or a rosebush.

Pratt noted that the life of the news story changed dramatically during the past 50 years and many of the changes also affected the lives of people who devotedly read the news. Tremendous technological gains in the news media time and again proved that insurmountable challenges could be met through ingenuity and resourcefulness.

The old adage “They just don't make 'em like they used to” definitely applies to ongoing technology improvements in the newspaper business.     

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On June 10, 1984, Alice Torbett, Johnson City Press-Chronicle feature writer, composed an article titled, “Five Decades of Newspaper Carriers.” It concerned the 50th anniversary of the newspaper, which began publication on June 12, 1934.

Independent businessmen at an early age  may or may not have saved all the money they earned as paperboys, but they stored up something more important – memories and attitudes that spanned a lifetime.

Bill Spain, a former city recorder, started out in the 1930s at about 10 years of age as one of a half-dozen street salesman. “I would check out a number of papers,” he said, “and sell them around town. Around 1:30 or 2 p.m., there was a train that came into the old Clinchfield Depot and I went through it selling newspapers. I also did this on the Southern Depot.

“Workers at the old Appalachian Hospital let some of us go room-to-room selling papers. A couple of years later, I acquired a morning route, first in the Keystone section and then in the Southwest area. My newsboy career ultimately covered 10-12 years.”

Dr. Bob Bagby, a local dentist, started carrying papers in the Gump Addition in 1938. The paper cost 18 cents a week then and he said he could still accurately multiply by 18. He remembers getting tips and gifts at Christmas, as well as an annual handkerchief from the Millers on Holston Avenue.

Bob's twin brother, Bill, also had a route. It included many stores where he accepted food, namely Hershey candy bars and bananas in exchange for paper money. Bob remembers that their father teased Bill about literally “eating all the profits.”

  

Former Newsboys Remember Their Paper-Folding Techniques

From left are J.T. McPherson, Bill McPherson, Dr. Bob Bagby, Lee Talbert and Don Trevathan. George Langford is shown in the upper left corner insert. 

J.T. McPherson collected money from his customers on Pine Street from the time he took the route in 1948. When he and Lucy Repass married, he started accepting Betty Crocker coupons that the couple saved to acquire silverware. The paper route was a staple in their courtship. If they needed money for a movie date, J.T. usually found a customer who was in arrears and collected enough cash to pay for the tickets.

Carrying papers also became a family tradition for the four McPherson offspring. Once they received a $100 bill, a sizable amount of money in those days. Not having enough change, three of them “ran around like lightening” to round up enough money from customers so they could keep the bill, at least for a few hours.

In 1953, George Langford took “Route #1,” which was the downtown beat that included several apartments as well as many stores. It began at the newspaper building on W. Main and ended at the Dixie Restaurant on E. Main. He used his profits to buy a collie puppy that lived with the family for 17 years.

Don Trevathan loaded up the basket of his bike with so many papers that he could barely steer it. His route starting point was Bailey & Son Grocery on Earnest Street where he began his route. He earned enough money to buy a 35mm camera, and, at the same time, gained some first-rate business experience.

Lee Talbert, current Press Photo Editor, was a skinny 13- year-old when he got his first route. It was a challenging one, mainly because his delivery area was around Knob Creek Road, where subdivisions were just beginning to develop with many vacant lots. “I didn't mind getting up in the morning,” he said, “and I didn't mind bad weather. Delivering papers on Christmas night offered an exciting change of routine. However, the two things I didn't like were dogs and collecting.”

Traffic was not a problem for Paige and David Preston, who shared a northern Johnson City route. Their papers were delivered right to their home on Quail Drive, thus keeping them off traffic-congested Mountcastle Drive.

Newspaper delivery boys represented the kind of energetic, ambitious youngsters that made the daily paper one of the few remaining home-delivered products and a proud American institution. 

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On June 10, 1984, Elaine Cloud Goller, Johnson City Press-Chronicle staff writer, composed an article titled, “Photographs and Memories.” It concerned the 50th anniversary of the newspaper, which began publication on June 12, 1934.

Herchel Ornduff, a 31 year veteran of the Johnson City Press-Chronicle, related to Elaine that it took perseverance to be a good photographer.

Ornduff Looks Over Kennedy Assassination Edition. An Array of Photographic Equipment. 

Ornduff, who retired in January 1983, began working for the paper in 1952, following a stint as a photographer in the Army and some freelance work. For years, there were only two day photographers  and one at night. A quiet man, Ornduff shared some of the more memorable events of his newspaper days.

In 1955, he stood vigil as prisoners dug in search of the remains of a woman, Josie Fair, who had been murdered and buried under the floor of the Interstate Foundry by Orville “Rooster” Warren many years prior.

Another extensive assignment was covering the Southeast Airlines wreck of January 1957. Tom Hodge, then covering the political beat for the paper, had been booked to return from Nashville on the ill-fated flight, but fortunately canceled at the last minute because it was the first week the state Legislature was in session.

“(The accident) happened on a late Thursday night,” said Ornduff. “We drove out to the airport because there was a  report that a plane was down. The temperature was zero degrees as we drove up the Sullivan County side of Holston Mountain, where the crash occurred. We drove  Jeeps as far as we could, but had to hike the rest of the way on foot.”

The veteran photographer recalled the coldest day he could remember was when the mercury dropped to 17 degrees below zero, freezing the Doe River in Elizabethton solid. Even with snapped trees and power lines down, it was as pretty as a picture, something foremost on any good photographer's mind.

Ornduff recalled being chased away from the scene while covering the 1960 Tennessee Eastman Co. explosion that killed 12 people. Undaunted by this hindrance, he found other angles from which to shoot and be of service.

During another dark night's raid, Ornduff remembered being led by the local sheriff by flashlight and walking across a foot log. “When I saw it the next day in the light,” he said, “I wouldn't dare cross it. I looked down and it must have been a 100-foot drop.”

Herchel captured on film the area appearances of such notables as Harry Truman, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, Nelson Rockefeller, Barry Goldwater, John Kennedy, Albert Gore and Estes Kefauver.

Some of the stars to have graced Ornduff's lenses included Robert Mitchum, Patricia Neal, Carroll Baker, George C. Scott and John Saxon. He also recalled the current Miss America coming through Johnson City about every year.”

“I loved to work with Dorothy Hamill, the veteran feature writer for the Press. We went on hundreds of assignments together. I fondly recall the time when Dot was in a sled being pulled by a mule but couldn't get the animal  stopped. I've got a picture of her in 'jail,' a gag arranged with the cooperation of a local jailer. She was the best sport, doing anything you'd ask her to do.”

The photographer won second place in a national contest for a series of photographs about a child locked in a car. Several people tried to get the petite girl to pull the door lock knob up, but she would just laugh at them and wave. A man with a set of master keys from the local Chevrolet dealer tried every one to no avail. Finally, a guy came along and said, “Let me try my key.” It fit like he owned it.

During the interview, Ornduff was careful to make honorable mention of his old co-worker and good friend at the Press, Jimmy Ellis. They were like brothers. Herchel had lasting memories of his friend's inclination to pull practical jokes on his co-workers.  

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On June 10, 1984, Scott Pratt, Johnson City Press-Chronicle staff writer, composed an article titled, “The First Issue – So Different and So Familiar.” It concerned the 50th anniversary of the newspaper, which began publication on June 12, 1934.”

Vol. 1, No. 1 consisted of 20 pages and cost two cents. The lead story on the front page, among 28 others, dealth with Congress passing the National Recovery Act (NRA) that authorized the president to regulate industry to stimulate the economy. A small emblem containing an eagle and the words “NRA Member – We Do Our Part” was positioned on each side of the newspaper title.

Another front page news item was titled, “Tennessee Hotels Ask State Commission For Lower Telephone Rate.” Only one news story was written by a local reporter, but that would soon change.

Other front page news accounts (and the reporting city) included: “Malaria Control Project Is Started in Memphis” (Nashville), “Cuban Store Robbed” (Havana), “12 American Women Bow Before Royalty” (London), “Car Drivers Ask For Police Protection” (Chattanooga), “(Dionne) Quintuplets Gain Slightly in Weight” (born two months prematurely, gained 2.5 ounces in one day, Ontario), “Tax Exempt (Old) Cotton Will Be Tagged” (to avoid payment, Washington) and “Congress Ready to End Session” (Washington).

Members of the Police Department Post in Front of the Central Fire Hall on E. Main Street

A perusal of Pratt's half-century edition offered a delightful look not only at an emergent stage of journalism, but also of an era of Americana that has long since vanished.

Studebaker stock sold at $5.50 per share with Packard Motors posting at $4.

The weather forecast was printed in the upper left corner of the front page. Only general forecasts for Tennessee and North Carolina were provided. The first one said, “Generally fair tonight and tomorrow.” The second was a bit more specific: Local thundershowers tonight; Wednesday generally fair.” That was it. No temperatures were listed and no forecasts were offered beyond that night.

Local businesses in 1934 advertised pretty much as they do today. Although the content of the ads has not changed much, the style certainly has.  For instance, Jigger Milligan announced in an ad his takeover of Checker Cab.

Hamilton Bank advertised three percent earnings on savings and certificates of deposit. Appalachian Funeral Home announced that they had inhalation and ambulance services available. All it took was a “Number please…Thank you” phone call to 342.

Beckner's Jewelers was around then, as was Sterchi Brothers and Sam Sells had opened his Kings Department Store just seven years prior. 

Ferdinand Powell, a general agent for Atlantic Life, placed an ad containing a clever advertising slogan: “Honesty, it's the best policy.” That was it.

A potion dubbed S.S.S. Tonic pointed out in an advertisement that the human body often operated with only 70-75 percent healthy blood volume. Another ad encouraged the reader to “pull the trigger on constipation.” Enough said.

Missing from the paper in 1934 were television listings. Instead, radio programs were provided. Unlike TV, radio challenged the listener's power of the imagination.

For all the enjoyment gained by reading the first Johnson City Press, one thing sticks out. At the left top side of the front page, the headline reads, “Coury-Wide Strike Threat Grows Serious.” It correct spelling should have been “Country, not “Counry”.

Pratt concluded that some things, including typographical errors, never seem to change. They can elusively slip past even the most observant writer and attentive proofreader.  

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The 1908-09 Johnson City Directory identified 60 streets within the confines of the city. Note in the list below that 10 parallel avenues bare the designation “Carnegie,” as part of The Carnegie Land Company (but that is another story).

These roads (and today’s names) were First (Millard/Railroad), Second (Fairview), Third (Myrtle), Fourth (Watauga), Fifth (Unaka), Sixth (Holston), Seventh (Chilhowie), Eighth, Ninth and Tenth. For whatever reason, the latter three were not renamed after the Carnegie empire collapsed.

The street locations in the list below are unique, generally specifying how many streets a particular one location lies from another major street. For instant, the first one, Afton, is south of the East Tennessee and Western North Carolina Railway and also the fifth street east of Roan.

Glance over the list below to see if the streets where you reside or have lived were in existence in 1909. All designated roads are streets; avenues are so noted:

Two Old Advertisements in Johnson City in 1908

A: Afton (south from ET&WNC Railroad, 5th east of Roan), Ash (West from Roan, between Cherry and Walnut).

B: Baxter (north from So. Ry., 4th east of Roan), Boone (North from Main, 1st west of Roan), Buffalo (south from Main, 2nd west of Roan).

C: Carnegie (On South and Western Railroad east of the city), Cherokee Road (west from Buffalo, 1st south of Chestnut), Cherry (east and west of Roan, 2nd south of Main), Chestnut (east and west of Roan, 9th south of Main), Commerce Ave. (southeast from east end of Maple).

D: Division (south from East Main, 1st east of Roan).

E: Eighth Ave. (east and west from Roan, 2nd north of Holston Ave.), Elm (north from So. Railroad Depot, 2nd east of Roan), Elmo (west from W. Watauga Ave., 3rd north of Main), Ernest (south from Main, 3rd west of Roan.

F: Fairview Ave. (east and west from Roan, 4th north of Main), Fifth Ave. (Carnegie), Fourth Ave. (Carnegie), Fulton (west from Whitney, 1st south of Main).

G: Grover (south from ET&WNCRR, 3rd east of Roan), Hamilton (west from Whitney, 2nd south of Main).

H: Harris Ave. (east and west from Roan, 6th north of Roan), Henry (south from ET&WNC, 4th east of Roan), Holston Ave. (east and west from Roan, 9th north of Main), Humboldt (south from W. Main, 1st west of railroad).

I: Ivy (west from Roan, north of Holston Ave.).

J: Jobe (east and west from Roan, 1st south of Main).

K: King  (east and west from Roan, 2nd north of Main). 

L: Lamont (west from Whitney, 3rd south of Main), Locust (east and west from Roan, 7th south of Main).

M: Main (east and west from public square, main business street of city), Maple (east and west from Roan, 5th south of Main), Market (east and west from public square, 1st north of Main), Maupin (south from So. Ry), Millard (east and west from Roan , 3rd north of Main), Montgomery (north from Main, 2nd west of Roan), Myrtle Ave. (east and west from Roan, 5th north of Main).

N: New (North of So. Ry., 6th east of Roan), Ninth Ave. (east and west from Roan, 3rd north of Holston Ave).

O: Oak (north from So. Ry., 3rd east of Roan).

P: Pine  (east and west from Roan, 6th south of Main), Poplar (east and west from Roan, 8th south of Main), Public Square  (along So. Ry. between Main and Market).

R: Railroad (parallel to So. Ry. tracks), Roan (north and south from Main, 1st east of Spring, the dividing line for most streets running east and west).

S: Second Ave. (Carnegie), Seventh Ave. (east from Roan, 1st north of Holston Ave.), Sixth Ave. (Carnegie), Spring (south from Main, 1st west of Roan), Stuart (north from So. Ry,), 5th east of Roan), Summer (south from west Main, 3rd west of Railroad).

T: Tenth Ave. (east and west from Roan, 4th north of Holston Ave.), Third Ave. (Carnegie).

U: Unaka Ave. (east and west from Roan, 8th north of Main), Walnut (east and west from Roan, 4th south of Main).

W: Watauga Ave. (east and west from Roan, 7th north of Main), Wellborn (Welbourne?) (north from So. Ry, 1st east of N. Roan), Whitney (south from 301 W. Main, 2nd west of Railroad), Willow  (west from Watauga Ave., 2nd north of W. Main), Winter (south from W. Main, 4th west of Railroad).

You probably noticed that several streets no long exist: Fulton, Humboldt, Stuart, Summer, Willow and Jobe. 

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