This nine-year old boy made a brief 20-mile excursion on a Southern Railway train from Johnson City to Bristol in 1951.

The trip stands out vividly in my memory for two reasons. It was my first and last railroad jaunt; passenger service became extinct not long afterwards. The trip afforded me an opportunity to spend some quality time with my grandmother, Ethel Carroll. We boarded a Southern Railway passenger train at its downtown station one sunny Saturday morning and quickly arrived in downtown Bristol at the old Norfolk & Western Union Passenger Station, a historic relic from 1902.

Upon disembarking, our first order of business was to walk down State Street and eat lunch at a local five and ten store. Granny asked me if I wanted to dine in Virginia or Tennessee, making reference to the fact that the state line runs down the middle of the street. After enjoying a meal at Kress’s lunch counter and visiting a few department stores, we purchased tickets to the Paramount Theatre to watch the film, “Ma and Pa Kettle Back on the Farm.”

The main stars, Marjorie Main and Percy Kilbride, became an overnight sensation from their bit role in the 1947 Universal Pictures’ comedy release, “The Egg And I.” The plot involved a city couple, played by Claudette Colbert and Fred MacMurray, moving to the country to operate a dilapidated chicken farm.

Their simplistic country bumpkin neighbors were the Kettle family. The story line would later be replicated in television’s popular Green Acres and The Beverly Hillbillies. This hillbilly clan was immediately featured in their own right in seven additional flicks: “Ma & Pa Kettle” (1949), “Ma & Pa Kettle Go to Town” (1950), “Ma & Pa Kettle Back on the Farm” (1951), “Ma & Pa Kettle at the Fair” (1952), “Ma & Pa Kettle on Vacation” (1953), “Ma & Pa Kettle at Home” (1954) and “Ma & Pa Kettle at Waikiki” (1956).

A common thread in the Kettle series was the hard working, often shrill-voiced, Ma trying to get her dawdling apathetic husband to work around the house and farm. Pa’s main talent was winning advertising contests. The Kettles had from twelve to fifteen children (depending on the picture you were watching). Ma was constantly forgetting her offsprings’ names: “Billy, go in the house and fetch me my broom.” The puzzled youngster would respond, “Ma, my name ain’t Billy.” His mother would counter with “Well, go fetch it anyway, whatever your name is.”

A frequent scene in the Kettle movies was when Ma prepared a scrumptious meal; rang the dinner bell; shouted, “Come and get it” and abruptly stepped aside to avoid being trampled by her stampeding famished brood. Pa blessed the bountiful table by meticulously removing his hat, looking reverently toward Heaven and uttering a brief simplistic prayer, “Much obliged, Lord.”

At the conclusion of the madcap movie, Granny and I shopped at a few more stores, ambled back to the train station and boarded our coach for the short return trip to Johnson City. There are few recollections rooted in my memory bank more pleasurable than when a proud grandmother and her impressionable young grandson rode a train and spent a fun day together in downtown Bristol.  

Few Johnson Citians can likely recall Redpath Chautauqua, a cultural traveling circuit that once frequented our city in the early part of this century.

Chautauqua, an Iroquois word meaning, “two moccasins tied together,” began in Chautauqua, New York as a Sunday school summer camp for teachers. It expanded into an annual recreational and learning university.

In 1904, the event became a series of traveling circuits, performing from three to seven days under a large brown tent. It eventually completed 10,000 meetings in 45 states before 45 million people. Redpath (the southern circuit) Chautauqua began on New Street at the former site of the old Leon Ferenbach plant, later relocating to a field between Main and Market streets west of First Christian Church.

Chautauqua served as a platform for issues of the day; over the years, nine U.S. presidents spoke at it. The Chalk Line, a newspaper of the student body of East Tennessee State Teachers College, had this bold headline in its May 19, 1931 edition: “Redpath Chautauqua, Johnson City, Tennessee, May 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, June 1.”

Professor Carson and Dr. Wheeler divided Johnson City into ten districts and directed a massive ticket sales campaign. Teams of students were recruited to sell tickets within the clearly defined districts; the campus was referred to as “a happy hunting ground.” Admission prices were 35 cents, evenings; children, all programs, 25 cents; and season tickets, $2.00.

The six-day event began at 10:00 am or 2:30 pm each day and ran well into the evening hours, presenting some impressive programs: The Children’s Hour; Mystery and Illusion: Reno, the Magician; Play: A New York Comedy Success, “Broken Dishes”; Entertainment: Ball-Brown Company; Prelude: Ball-Brown Company; Lecture: “Government in Gangland,” C. Ray Hansen; Lecture: “Are Kings and Queens Human?” Adrian Wright McCauley; Play: Uproarious Comedy, “Her Husband’s Wife;” Popular Entertainment: Lura Forbes; Musical Comedy: Drama, “The Violin Maker of Cremona;” Main Street Smile Program: Lura Forbes; Grand Concert: Metropolitan Singers; Lecture: “The Old Town In a New World,” Charles H. Plallenburg; Play: Great International Drama, “Grumpy”; Junior Chautauqua Program; and Popular Concert: The Philharmonic Ensemble.

The students concluded their Chalk Line article by offering seven enlightening reasons why students should attend the event. In their own words …

1. “I like music, and at the Redpath Chautauqua, I can hear understandable music of every kind.

2. “I can see some of the most successful comedy-dramas of recent years enacted by splendid casts.

3. “I can hear speakers of recognized ability and experience discussion problems that are worthy of attention.

4. “I enjoy the clean, wholesome entertainment, which is to be found in every program.

5. “I like the neighborliness and community spirit of the assembly and can renew and strengthen old friendships and cultivate new ones.

6. “In reality, it is a summer vacation brought to my door and which I cannot afford to miss.

7. “I may have all this with a season ticket for what I would have to pay in many places for a single attraction.”

In spite of these positive comments, Chautauqua’s demise came within two years, a causality of a lingering poor economy and the increasing popularity of radio into homes. After a 58-year cultural run, the show organizers brought their big brown tent down for the final time; the show was over.  

On Halloween night, October 30, 1938, noted actor, Orson Wells, terrified the nation with his Mercury Theatre on the Air’s “War of the Worlds” broadcast, recounting a purported Martian invasion of earth. Popular WCYB radio personality, Eddie Cowell, displayed similar chicanery on January 23, 1954 by telling his listening audience that an enormous monster was on the loose reaping havoc in downtown Bristol.

The well-liked deejay went on to describe the ominous creature as being 80 feet tall, 40 feet thick and having a 100-foot tail capable of toppling large trees. Cowell employed the same tactic as Wells – unfolding the horror over a period of time to build the suspense as new information was supposedly relayed to the station. Listeners were informed that a bomber containing advanced weaponry was being deployed from Washington DC to eradicate the scary beast. Some 1000 frantic calls from listeners across East Tennessee and southwest Virginia poured into the station; local law enforcement dispatches also received numerous inquiries.

Thanks to Joe and Ida Cowell, the late broadcaster’s son and widow respectively, the Eddie Cowell story can be revisited. The creative prankster began his memorable career as sports broadcaster for WJHL radio in 1939 after winning a contest, eventually becoming sports director and then program director. Ed O’Cowell, as he often called himself on the air, possessed an extensive repertoire of madcap records and sound effects that he routinely incorporated into his broadcasts. One favorite bandleader was Spike Jones and His City Slickers, who offered “dinner music for people who aren’t very hungry.” Another artist was Victor Borge with his “Phonetic Punctuation” routine – reading text and hilariously inserting audible punctuation.

During World War II, businessman Truett Siler, owner of a local furniture and appliance store, became a sponsor of Cowell’s show. The two men made a noble wager to see who could sell the most war bonds in a single week. While the collective total was an impressive $90,000, it was Cowell who prevailed in the bet, resulting in the storeowner pulling his entertainer friend along Main Street in a wagon before a crowd of curious bystanders.

About 1948, Eddie was offered a role in WJHL’s “Man on the Street” broadcast, a clever promotional initiative sponsored by Honey-Krust Bakery. Anna Sue Lacey as “Honey” and Eddie as “Krust” interviewed contestants at 12:15 pm every day, Monday through Saturday, in front of the Majestic Theatre. Ruth Greenway also served in that capacity. The ability of the pair to glean interesting facts from people made the program immensely popular. Sometimes tricky questions were asked, such as how to spell “phthsic” (pronounced “tiz-ik”). Participants were rewarded with a freshly baked loaf of Honey Krust Bread.

Eddie was elected as a Johnson City Commissioner in 1949 after a decisive victory over four competitors. His numerous community service activities earned him the title, “Outstanding Young Man of 1949,” by the Johnson City Junior Chamber of Commerce. Mayor Howard Patrick presented his award at a highly attended banquet at the John Sevier Hotel ballroom. In July 1950, misfortune struck the broadcaster when he was abruptly stricken with crippling polio. He was eventually transported to Duke Hospital in Durham, NC for further treatment.

While still at this medical facility, Eddie experienced something on October 7 that few people can boast. General Robert Neyland, University of Tennessee head football coach, arranged for the wheelchair bound radio personality to sit on the sidelines with his favorite team. The visiting Volunteers honored their special guest with a 28-7 victory over the Duke Blue Devils.

In 1953, Eddie left WJHL and, after a brief stint at WBEJ in Elizabethton, joined Bristol's WCYB Radio, where he produced an afternoon show and an evening sports program. It was during this stint that the zany airman is best remembered for his creative unusual broadcasts. Eddie once reported that an airplane carrying 200 passengers was stuck by its landing gear on a cloud over Tri-Cities Airport and that extrication efforts were underway. Another widely remembered prank involved a submarine sighting at South Holston Lake. The sultan of surprise once aired the news that actress Marilyn Monroe and then husband, Joe DiMaggio, Yankee Hall of Fame baseball legend, were visiting Bristol and became lost. A host of volunteers searched for the celebrated couple without success.

Merrill Moore, former WCYB Television anchorman, recalls when his good friend told his radio fans that a man was going to toss currency from the roof of Bristol's General Shale building at a designated time. A sizeable and disappointed crowd arrived to witness the non-event. The rascally conniving deejay then invited listeners to join him on the banks of the nearby Holston River to observe the annual polar bear club members plunge into the icy waters. Several gullible shivering spectators gobbled his witty bait.

Ida Cowell recalls when her husband asked listeners to come to the WCYB building and watch him tap dance on a narrow fifth floor ledge – quite a feat for someone with polio. The practical joker tapped two quarters together on his broadcast table to simulate the desired sound effect. Other Cowell shenanigans include reports of former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill staying at a nearby hotel and diamond mines being discovered in Abington, Virginia. Once in response to a scheduled visit by President Eisenhower to the area, the uninhibited jester actually phoned the White House during a broadcast to see if the nation's leader and his staff might stop by Mrs. Cowell's kitchen to enjoy some of her delicious cherry pie. Eddie’s bag of trickery appeared to be endless. This rebel with a cause had the uncanny ability to project realism into his broadcasts even when logic suggested otherwise.

The end of Eddie’s on-the-air shenanigans came to an abrupt halt soon after the monster scare when a local resident filed a complaint with the FCC, asking that such on-the-air tomfoolery be halted immediately. The station eventually complied with the request against a storm of protest. The good-natured showman’s involvement with the station was later expanded to television, which included hosting such television quiz shows as Kiddie College and Club Quiz.

The funnyman retired in 1970 and, after several years of declining health, passed away in 1988 at age 70. East Tennessee State University's College of Arts and Sciences honored him by instigating an annual “Eddie Cowell Broadcast Journalism Scholarship” for deserving students.

Eddie's funeral in 1988 included a brief moment of merriment that symbolized his illustrious life. Merrill Moore recalls the event while serving as pallbearer: “While we were bringing his casket down the steps of St. Mary's Catholic Church on Market Street, several police cars and fire engines zoomed by with sirens blaring.” Perhaps they were heading toward Bristol to deal with a menacing monster, to Tri-Cities Airport to assist with a cloud stuck aircraft or to South Holston Lake to investigate sightings of a submarine. Another pallbearer turned to Merrill and whispered, “Can't you just imagine Ed grinning right now and saying, 'You don't really need to make all this fuss over me.'”  Both men fought back laughter.

This sudden spontaneous disruption of an emotional solemn event was just as Eddie Cowell would have orchestrated it. Looking back over this unique and highly creative announcer’s career, one has to conclude that this radio genius was truly ahead of his time.

Bowling alleys had a very modest beginning. Prior to 1958, only a handful of such establishments existed in Johnson City, which included Johnson City Recreation Center, originally known as Royal Club Recreation (106-108 Spring Street), R&L Bowling Lanes (808 Buffalo Street) and Bowling Palace (84-86 Wilson Avenue).

My Junior High School friends and I routinely patronized the business on Spring Street opposite Hamilton National Bank; several of us boys would gather there after school. The bowling portion of the operation was located directly above the pool hall. Without realizing it, we were just a stone’s throw from the former site of Jobe’s Opera House, the city’s first public entertainment venue.

As I recall, there were only three or four lanes; surprisingly, we were often the lone customers. After securing a paper scorecard and pencil, we each searched their limited selection of balls for one that comfortably fit our finger spacing. There were no special bowling shoes to rent; patrons simply played in their regular footwear. None of us had perfected the art of bowling. We awkwardly glided the ball to the lane, rolled it forward and hoped it would knock over most, if not all, of the pins. Often, the gutter was its destination.

Next came the interesting part. Instead of an automatic pinsetter removing and resetting the downed pins, the machine required manual labor. One or two boys hastily shifted back and forth between the operating lanes to service them physically. With each toss of the ball, the worker rolled it back to the bowler and reinserted the toppled pins down into the device. After the second ball was rolled and the remaining pins placed back into the setter, the worker operated a lever that lowered the ten pins upright onto the floor for the next bowler, that being the only automatic step.

It was not unusual to arrive at the leisure center to find no one available to reset pins. That meant we had to assume this task ourselves, affording us a unique behind-the-scenes experience. The desk attendant always strongly warned us to stay well behind the wall when the ball was being tossed down the alley lest we be injured by it or by flying pins. While this somewhat unsafe activity was pleasurable initially, it eventually became fatiguing, and we were quite willing to let the next person take his turn.

Although, bowling has existed since 5200 B.C. in Egypt, it was not until 1895 that the rules were standardized. In 1958, the Professional Bowlers Association was organized to promote bowling to the status of a major sport. 

About this same time, Nance Lanes opened its doors at Main, Market and Division streets, opposite Paty Lumber Company and at a site vacated by Dan Plank Oldsmobile. The new business had 12 lanes, automatic AMF pinsetters and a snack bar. Bowlers were required to rent or bring their own bowling shoes.

A few months later, several of us joined our first bowling league – the Johnson City High School Boys Bowling League – with George Finchum, an instructor at ETSC (later ETSU) Training School (now University School), as our league manager and coach.

Today’s bowlers can enjoy state of the art facilities at such local locations as Holiday Lanes and Leisure Lanes.  

“This is WBTV, Charlotte, North Carolina, signing on Channel 3 television from Charlotte, the Queen City of the South.”

With these concise words, the era of television was ushered into the East Tennessee area at 12:00 noon on Friday, July 15, 1949, from the CBS affiliate’s transmitter located nearly 200 miles away. Television sets were essentially nonexistent prior to then, attributable to lack of programming. Most area homes did not begin purchasing the new contrivance until after 1951.

WBTV became very prominent; it was reported that any television receiver capable of obtaining its signal became “rusted on Channel 3.” The Bill Wise family became the first in our Johnson Avenue block to purchase a TV; these amicable folks were eager to share the new media with their inquisitive neighbors. Several of us routinely crowded into their small darkened living room to watch a fuzzy intermittent black and white television picture with equally poor sound quality.

Clear reception required a sprawling antenna on the roof perfectly positioned to receive the signal. Someone would routinely climb a ladder to the top of the house to rotate the receiver, while another person shouted instructions from below. A typical conversation might be: “Turn it a little more, a little more, a little more, hold it. That’s good right there.”

Prior to the station’s signing on the air, they beamed a continuous visual “test pattern” accompanied by a steady monotonous hum. This image employed a series of lines and circles, resembling bulls’-eyes, to provide viewers a means for adjusting their picture quality. Numerous patterns were used over time but the one most remembered by area folks contained the image of an Indian chief ornamented in full headgear.

About three minutes prior to the commencement of the day’s late afternoon programming, the station would broadcast an American flag waving in the breeze with the National Anthem playing in the background. Surprisingly, the first network broadcast beamed from WBTV was a football game between Notre Dame and North Carolina in September 1950. 

My parents bought our first set, a 17″ RCA black and white floor model, in 1952. Like most new innovative devices, they were initially a bit pricey. A July 1953 Johnson City Press Chronicle advertisement showed a 17″ Crosley TV selling for $199.95; a 21″ model sold for $259.95. Until the new medium was fully accepted by the public, downtown merchants often placed TV sets in their store windows as an allurement to passersby.

I can still conjure up vivid images of Arthur Smith and his Crackerjacks; Fred Kirby, the Carolina Cowboy; and Clyde “Cloudy” McLean, the Carolina’s first TV weatherman. Arthur Smith and his gang came on each weekday evening at eight-thirty, sponsored by Tube Rose Snuff (“If your snuff’s too strong, it's wrong”). Arthur, a fantastic guitar picker, teamed up with Don Reno, an equally talented banjo player, to entertain with country, bluegrass and gospel music over the air.

The half-hour variety show concluded with a hymn by the “Crossroads Quartet,” consisting of Arthur; his brother, Ralph; Tommy Faile  (of “The Brown Mountain Lights” fame); and Lois Atkins.

In a future column, I will describe an anemic WBTV program guide from 1953, the same year local TV station WJHL signed on the air.