In 1872, two gentlemen, who had relocated to Johnson City from New York several years prior, were asked to express their thoughts about living in our mountainous community as contrasted to their former residences.

The men were John Caulkins and “Yankee” Smith. Collectively, they provided an interesting glimpse of what East Tennessee was like 28 years before the turn of the 20th century, at least in the opinion of two displaced Northerners. Note that this was just seven years after the Civil War ended.

Mr. Caulkins

John's letter noted several advantages, the first being the mildness and health-giving properties of the Southern climate. He boasted that he was writing his letter on April 21 in a short sleeve shirt at 9:00 a.m. in a room with no fire burning, doors wide open and the temperature at 68 degrees F.

John cited specific instances of Northern residents who went to the South on recommendations from their physicians as a cure for pulmonary diseases.

The relocated “Yank” alleged another benefit was having 10 or 11 months out of a year to perform farm work, further noting that the past winter was unusually severe. But even so, at no time was frost more than three inches deep or ice accumulations over six inches, something uncharacteristic of the frigid North.

The South had its share of low-priced land as compared with the North. The writer owned at his New York farm six acres of land, which sold at auction for $650 an acre. He bought a farm of 140 acres near Knoxville for less than $1.50 per acre, which compared favorably with his New York residence. His previous six acres, he claimed, were not any better than the average of his present farm that was sowed in winter wheat.

The same could be said for other crops such as corn, oats and potatoes. As to fruit, he previously never saw a better crop or larger production anywhere than he found in East Tennessee. With regard to variety, he grew all the standard fruits, both large and small, to their utmost perfection.

However, the Northerner had a few shortcomings to identify. He said the county where he abode contained many farm buildings that were unsightly and generally in pathetic shape. The roads and highways were rough and, in some cases, appalling. He felt that the area would eventually open up and develop into one of the finest agricultural regions in the world; he was right.

Another question John responded to was how welcome Northern men were to the region. He stated emphatically that all men were treated equally well with one stipulation – “that they behave themselves.” His family learned to love the people of East Tennessee dearly.

Caulkin's letter offered advice to anyone pondering a change of residence: “If your numerous readers desire to change their place of residence, we really think they will find in East Tennessee more substantial advantages and fewer shortcomings than in any section known to the writer.”

Local Advertisement from 1872

“Yankee” Smith

The second letter from “Yankee” Smith offered a somewhat different perspective. Although he had lived in East Tennessee for a period of time, for reason not stated, he was returning to the North.

In his Tennessee home in Roane County, nearly all of the sowing was done by April 1. Although spring was exceptionally late, the planting of corn had commenced and, in some instances, garden work was so far completed such that peas and the like had fully awakened from their winter nap.

Smith believed that the people of East Tennessee were destined to become one of the foremost in the land. Noting that Tennesseans were a liberty-loving people, he believed they could not fail to rise. 

The Northerner further commented that he was keenly aware of misrepresentations of life in Tennessee by persons from the North. However, those who came as laboring men, were ready to aid in any and everything that would be advantageous to the settlement where they might locate and be heartily welcomed.

Back in the little village located near their New York destination, the hillsides were still covered with old snow, the precipitation likely laying there for months. He found the Tioughnioga River was still ice-bound, it being frozen over in November to such a thickness that Tennesseans would scarcely believe the report as truth.

Smith concluded his remarks saying, “Can anyone fail to see the great advantages that East Tennessee has over the Northern section? The good features of Tennessee cannot be too highly spoken of.”

These two mostly positive reports about the South were a bit surprising, considering the fact that the Civil War had just concluded.

In July 1903, Ex-Gov. Robert L. Taylor (“Our Bob”) journeyed to Bristol on a short business trip, vowing to return that same day and bring his two small sons, Bob and David, home from their visit with Uncle Alf at Johnson City.

Before he left, Gov. Taylor was seen at the Southern Depot (between W. Market and N. Roan) by a Journal and Tribune reporter, surrounded by a party of admirers, both Democrats and Republicans and in the best of spirits.

When asked if he was a candidate for the Senate, the cheerful ex-governor said that he was running in the interest of Senator Bate, whom he wished to succeed himself. “I am having a good deal of fun from the boys in this race,” he said. “They can't see how I can possibly be for Senator Bate. Those who go against him will soon find out why I am for him.

“I am not ready to go to the Senate yet,” he continued. “I haven't the money enough, but I am heaping it up in this political sense awful fast now. I don't want to go to the Senate this time. I am like the drunk who staggered around and held to the inside of his bedroom door, saying he would jump into his bed… the next time it came around.

“Seriously, I see no reason why this old man, rich in years and honor, should be turned out at this time if he wants to stay in. I would have defeated him several years ago if I could have, but 'bless your life, honey,' as the old saying goes, 'we were both younger then than we are now.'

“The time has passed by now to defeat Senator Bate. He has grown old and with the weight of years come the sentiment of war, which is the strongest in the (emotion) of any people. I went against Shiloh once, but I will never do it again. I am converted; the sentiments of war are stronger than (those) of peace.

“Senator Bate is a much stronger candidate now. Whatever I can do for him, I will do. I would not mind having the honor of succeeding him, but it is a case of 'after you, my dear Gaston,' with me, and I can wait till the old man retires. I used to think if I didn't get my young and heated blood into the senate chamber at once, the whole country would go to the bow-wows.

“But I have got over that feeling and the longer I put off my race, the less I am inclined to crowd out an old man who has been just as good a Democrat as the country ever produced and a bravo and honored soldier as well.

“You can tell them I am for Bate, first, last and all the time. I have had several representatives from headquarters come to me and try to tell me what a big mistake I was making by being for Bate. I can't see it that way. The only mistake I ever made was running against him in 1892 and I don't care to repeat it.”

1903 Johnson City, Tennessee Advertisement

When asked for an interview, Mr. Taylor pulled off his hat and exposed his bare frontal to the zephyrs, which blow through the Southern station at times. He gave his hearers a merry twinkle of the eye and replied, “I reckon I can. About all I can do is to get interviewed. That's the only way the poor fellows have of keeping the people from getting them.

“We would ill have been deep beneath oblivion's dark wave politically if it had not been for the kindness of the newspaper reporters who come to our rescue. They used to know us when we were in our glory and are too charitable to pass us by now that we are reposing on the shelf, maybe forever.

“We poor old fellows live in the future, and the newspapers are after that kind of news, so I suppose we can play into each other's hands in that way. About all, that is left to an ex-politician is the past and the future. Mankind, in general, lives in memory or hope. The present is never fully appreciated.”

That is quite a depiction, Mr. Taylor.

In July 1903, Ex-Gov. Robert L. Taylor (“Our Bob”) journeyed to Bristol on a short business trip, vowing to return that same day and bring his two small sons, Bob and David, home from their visit with Uncle Alf at Johnson City.

Before he left, Gov. Taylor was seen at the Southern Depot (between W. Market and N. Roan) by a Journal and Tribune reporter, surrounded by a party of admirers, both Democrats and Republicans and in the best of spirits.

When asked if he was a candidate for the Senate, the cheerful ex-governor said that he was running in the interest of Senator Bate, whom he wished to succeed himself. “I am having a good deal of fun from the boys in this race,” he said. “They can’t see how I can possibly be for Senator Bate. Those who go against him will soon find out why I am for him.

“I am not ready to go to the Senate yet,” he continued. “I haven’t the money enough, but I am heaping it up in this political sense awful fast now. I don’t want to go to the Senate this time. I am like the drunk who staggered around and held to the inside of his bedroom door, saying he would jump into his bed… the next time it came around.

“Seriously, I see no reason why this old man, rich in years and honor, should be turned out at this time if he wants to stay in. I would have defeated him several years ago if I could have, but ‘bless your life, honey,’ as the old saying goes, ‘we were both younger then than we are now.’

“The time has passed by now to defeat Senator Bate. He has grown old and with the weight of years come the sentiment of war, which is the strongest in the (emotion) of any people. I went against Shiloh once, but I will never do it again. I am converted; the sentiments of war are stronger than (those) of peace.

Johnson City Newspaper Advertisement from 1903

“Senator Bate is a much stronger candidate now. Whatever I can do for him, I will do. I would not mind having the honor of succeeding him, but it is a case of ‘after you, my dear Gaston,’ with me, and I can wait till the old man retires. I used to think if I didn’t get my young and heated blood into the senate chamber at once, the whole country would go to the bow-wows.

But I have got over that feeling and the longer I put off my race, the less I am inclined to crowd out an old man who has been just as good a Democrat as the country ever produced and a bravo and honored soldier as well.

“You can tell them I am for Bate, first, last and all the time. I have had several representatives from headquarters come to me and try to tell me what a big mistake I was making by being for Bate. I can’t see it that way. The only mistake I ever made was running against him in 1892 and I don’t care to repeat it.”

When asked for an interview, Mr. Taylor pulled off his hat and exposed his bare frontal to the zephyrs, which blow through the Southern station at times. He gave his hearers a merry twinkle of the eye and replied, “I reckon I can. About all I can do is to get interviewed. That’s the only way the poor fellows have of keeping the people from getting them.

“We would ill have been deep beneath oblivion’s dark wave, politically, if it had not been for the kindness of the newspaper reporters who come to our rescue. They used to know us when we were in our glory and are too charitable to pass us by now that we are reposing on the shelf, maybe forever.

“We poor old fellows live in the future, and the newspapers are after that kind of news, so I suppose we can play into each other’s hands in that way. About all, that is left to an ex-politician is the past and the future. Mankind, in general, lives in memory or hope. The present is never fully appreciated.”

That is quite a depiction, Mr. Taylor.

Today's column conveys another Taylor Family account to my fervent yesteryear readers. It took place in Aug. 1900 at the delightful home of General James P. Taylor, near the community of Clarkson, TN. Not being familiar with that location, I learned that it was a community in Washington County that eventually became defunct.

The Delightful Tranquil Setting of General James P. Taylor, a Relative of Bob and Alf Taylor

It seems that Gov. Robert L. “Our Bob” Taylor and his family were pleasantly spending the summer months there. Although the residence was yet unnamed, it would soon acquire one after the governor christened it, “Rattlesnake Lodge.” The name evolved after he and members of the family experienced a frightening encounter with a specimen of the poisonous timber rattler, “Crotalus horridus.” It showed at the front door of the elegant dwelling.

The governor's son, David, was the “Columbus” of the incident, being the first to spot the dreaded snake and make its presence known. He quickly elevated a yell of consternation, which quickly smote the crowd of loungers, supplanting their relaxation under the sprawling trees in the yard. Above the collective uproar of excited human voices could clearly be heard the death song of the fearful rattler.

The governor, who had been deeply pondering his new lecture, “Sentiment,” arose from his sylvan retreat and added his familiar voice to the rapidly augmenting commotion. He shouted, “Run for your lives,” and, at the same time, made several rapid retreating strides toward the horizon himself. Meantime, the venomous minstrel of the rocky foothills slowly slid into the grass near the path and merrily jingled his little tambourine as if to entertain his unsettled guests.

When the governor saw that his son had reached a place of comparative safety in the orchard some distance away and he himself had attained a strategic position on the nearby porch, he began to formulate designs for the demise of the unwelcome intruder. He doffed his hat and made a backward sweep with his hand as if to brush down imaginary hairs. Then, without hesitation, he shouted, “Kill it!”

The approval of this sudden declaration of war was at once attested to by a half a dozen female voices screaming their endorsement, “Yes, kill it.” The governor's secretary, who had previously served as a snake editor for a newspaper, told the crowd that “the best way to kill a snake is to run it to death.”

This would have been a most effective method of resolution had his “snakeship” been induced to follow the lead of that quick-thinking person and keep his pace for a few seconds. However, that did not occur.

Gen. Taylor's son, Robert, abruptly ran from the barn carrying a pitchfork in his hand and provided the spectators with a beautiful demonstration of a true politician at work. After the snake's life was snuffed out, its body was found to measure 42 inches in length and had six rattles.

This spine-chilling episode momentarily halted the crystallization of “Sentiment” but resulted in the naming of the home, “Rattlesnake Lodge.” The owner, who came up breathing heavily after the experience, found his household enjoying the dizzy whirl of the “serpentine dance,” a variation of the skirt dance involving movement and light.

It was noted that the governor and his family would be home in Knoxville early in September. Bob promised his public that if the timber rattlesnakes would stay away from him, he would finish “Sentiment,” in quick order.

For those readers interested in reading “Sentiment,” it can be found on pages 304-17 of Bob and Alf Taylor, Their Lives and Lectures. The Story of Senator Robert Love Taylor and Governor Alfred Alexander Taylor. Paul Deresco Augsburg, Morristown Book Company, Inc., 1925, Printed by Trobaugh Printing Company, Morristown, Tennessee. It is definitely worth a read. I read it hoping to find the mention of a snake but none was found.

The late Ralph McGill (1898-1969) is one of my favorite newspaper writers of yesteryear because of his history focus on the South. The Vanderbilt graduate was winner of the “Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Writing” while working for the Atlanta Constitution, authoring several books, including one humorously titled, “The Fleas Come With the Dog.”

In 1928, the former WWI Marine received a formal written invitation to attend Alf Taylor's 80th birthday foxhunt celebration in the Happy Valley community of Carter County, Tennessee.

According to one of Ralph's editorials, titled “Foxhounds and Politics,” from a 1963 Toledo Blade newspaper, he told of being offered two foxhounds from a man whose job was transferring him from a spacious farm in the country to a cramped apartment in a large city.

“I had to say no to him,” said Ralph, “although I yearned to have them. But a city is no place for trained hounds where they will be lying around the house all day and looking up hopefully and accusingly when you come home each night.

“There is something about a hound. His footprint has been alongside man's as they came over the rim of the new world into recorded history. He and the fox were a part of the ritual of the Druids (a priestly class among the Celtic peoples of Gaul, Britain, Ireland, and possibly elsewhere during the Iron Age). There has been a ritual of hunting of the fox ever since.”

That special day, the Chattanooga native saw the greatest display of foxhounds ever assembled anywhere. Alf was a mighty hunter and in his day had been a great blower of fox horns, being able to launch a blast back into the deep hollows and valleys of the Great Smoky Mountains.

Alf Taylor and His Favorite Hunting Canine, Old Limber

Alf had campaigned for governor of Tennessee in 1920. By his side was often his favorite hound that he usually had near him when he gave speeches. His four-legged companion, which he affectionately named “Old Limber,” became a symbol of his political campaign.

Early in the morning of Alf's birthday on a great high ridge in the Smokies, the fox hunters of East Tennessee, Middle Tennessee and Virginia, assembled with their hound dogs. The aroma of meat was cooking over barbecue pits, along with a stew of squirrels and gat hens with dumplings being prepared in a large iron pot. More than 400 foxhounds were assembled there that morning.

“Loose them, gentlemen,” said Alf as the guest of honor. The eager hounds, minus the aging limber who stayed with his master, went spilling down and along the slopes.” Included was a mixture of black, white, tan and liver-spotted dogs that consisted of Walkers, Julies, Red Bones and Trigs. McGill described it as a sight to behold. The former governor sat close to other old hunters who talked about their dogs from many years of hunting.

McGill spent occasional nights at the Taylor house, sitting there on the wide, screened porch and talking politics with Alf who was a Republican. His late brother, Bob, who was more mercurial than Alf and also a fiddler of great renown was a Democrat.

In 1886, the brothers opposed each other in a friendly election for the governorship of Tennessee. Their mother sent them off together in a buggy after pinning a  white rose on Bob and a red rose on Alf. The race was called “The War of the Roses,” named after the old English wars that occurred between York and Lancaster.

Bob reveled in practical jokes. Once, while Bob and Alf were staying as guests at the mountainous home of an old Republican and his wife, the crafty Bob, usually a late sleeper, awakened before dawn, dressed, slipped into the barn, milked the cows, fed the animals and had coffee brewed by the time the hosts arose from their slumber.

“Don't wake my brother,” he told them. “He likes to have his breakfast in bed. I'll carry it to him as soon as he awakes.” The farmer chewed that bitter cud for a few painful minutes and finally spoke: “Breakfast in bed?,” he said. “I never thought I would vote for a Democrat, but I'll be danged if I could ever vote for a man who eats in bed.”

Bob won the election with a close vote. Alf would become governor in 1920 for one term. Ralph noted that visions of the 1928 foxhunt still reverberated in his heart: Alf's laughter, campaign speeches and images of Old Limber resting at his master's feet while a cast of 400 canines eagerly performed on the grandiose, magnificent stage of the Great Smoky Mountains. 

On Wednesday morning, November 25, 1931, former governor, Alfred Alexander Taylor passed away. The next morning, newspapers across the country broadcast the breaking news proclaiming, “Uncle Alf is Dead.”

The grand old man of the Republican Party in Tennessee had gone to his eternal rest, stilling a deep voice that thrilled and stirred thousands of people over two generations. He joined a long list of mortals who were forever lodged in the memories of a people.

Former Tennessee Governor, Alf Taylor

Outside of the state were people who knew him impersonally as political leader, congressman, and state governor with political exploits that spanned his long and active life. Inside the state, the congenial statesman was more of a friend, fellow townsman, neighbor and public-spirited citizen of his community. Locals described Alf as one who held dearer to his heart the esteem and friendship of his neighbors and friends regardless of their social or political status.

Although Uncle Alf had passed away, his memory became a shining light to be cherished in thankfulness for having shared his friendship. When the curtain on a life that had been brilliantly spent had been drawn, the family was joined by thousands of well wishers whose lives were touched by a man who made the world a brighter, finer and better place to live.

The colorful 1886 “War of the Roses,” governor’s race campaign between “Uncle Alf” and “Our Bob,” endeared the two brothers to the state and commanded the attention of the nation. The story of Bob Taylor, a Democrat, and Alf Taylor, the Republican contender, engaged in a famous brother-against-brother battle for governor has been told countless times from one end of the Volunteer State to the other. Bob defeated his challenger in a good spirited and often humorous contest. Thousands attended their debates, even those living in smaller counties. At Nashville, an estimated crowd of 15,000 gathered to hear them engage in a battle of elegant words in the public square in Nashville.

When advised of Uncle Alf’s passing, Tennessee Governor Henry Horton issued comments about him: “A life of good will, kindness of spirit and firm character is brought to a close in the passing of our greatly beloved ex-Governor, Alfred A. Taylor. The people of Tennessee, irrespective of political creed or dogma, will be greatly afflicted by the melancholy news of his death. He was a loyal-hearted man and carried the riches of God within himself. Governor Taylor was the kindest and most generous of men. All of the gentle virtues came into full bloom in his life. I join with our people in mourning his death most sincerely.”

Among the many messages received by Mrs. Alf Taylor was a telegram of condolence from President Herbert Hoover: “The White House, Washington, Nov. 25, 1931, Mrs. Jennie Anderson Taylor, Milligan College, Tennessee. Mrs. Hoover and I are greatly saddened to learn of the death of your husband, Alfred A. Taylor for his public career as governor and as a member of congress, he served the public welfare with diligence and faithfulness. His was a high sense of integrity in personal life. Please accept for yourself and members of your family our sincerest sympathy. Herbert Hoover.”

A fitting tribute to former Governor Taylor was made in a statement issued by B. Carroll Reece, previous first district congressman: “Death of Governor Taylor will not only cause a great loss to the political party with which he affiliated, but it is a tremendous loss to the state of Tennessee as well as the nation. His life has been and will remain an inspiration to countless numbers of young people who have read of his activities through his public and private life. We are all saddened by his passing and I feel in it a great personal loss.”

In October 1900, five nationally noted speakers participated in a lecture course at the Academy of Music for the Travelers’ Protective Association in Richmond, Virginia. Among those giving talks were East Tennessee’s homespun heroes, Bob and Alf Taylor.

Tickets were sold for each of five evening sessions. A $3.50 combination pass for all five sessions was the best deal with two admissions being offered to each event. An advertisement stated that although there had been an expected heavy demand for the course, some choice seats were still available.

Money collected went into a fund to compensate entertainers who would appear at the Academy the following year. The organizers took particular pride in the fact that they were offering the public a truly first-rate group of recognized talent who would command instant and hearty recognition from the attendees.

Hon. Alfred Taylor kicked off the series on Thursday, Oct. 11 with his celebrated “Life’s Poetry and Pearls,” a speech he had delivered in nearly a hundred cities around the South. He immediately offered his listeners a serious metaphor of human life: “There are heavens of poetry to which no imagination has ever soared; there are firmaments of beauty whose airs no wing has ever tried. Poets have sung since time began – painters, sculptors, and musicians have transferred their dreams to marble, and canvass, and harp strings, yet they have not so much as dipped an oar beneath the surface of that vast ocean of the beautiful whose silvery surf forever breaks on the shadowy shores of human life.”

Bob Taylor brought with him a brand new lecture that he titled, “Sentiment.” It was highly anticipated because attendees knew of Bob’s reputation for powers of pathos, word painting, anecdotes and mimicry: “(Sentiment) hangs a bow in every cloud and sets a star on every horizon. Its morning is a smile; its noon is a joy, its evening a tear. It sweeps the harp strings of human hearts and they thrill with every human passion.”

Bob further amused the crowd with a lighthearted tale: “An old poet of the flowing bowl (punch bowl) came down the village street one bright afternoon swearing he could climb a thorn tree a hundred feet high with a wildcat under each arm and never get a scratch. But the next morning he appeared with a bandage over one eye and a blue knot on his nose and his right arm in a sling. ‘Hello!’ shouted one of his pals. ‘I thought you could climb a thorn tree a hundred feet high and never get a scratch.’ ‘Yes,’ he said in a subdued tone, ‘but I got this comin’ down.’”

The other three presenters were Hon. George R. Wendling (well known in Richmond, speaking on the subject “Mirabeau and the French Revolution”), Dr. Homer T. Wilson (brilliant Texas natural born orator and humorist presenting a talk titled, “Sparks from the Anvil”) and Hon. Luther Manship (versatile, magnetic and amusing orator lecturing on “Dialects of the Nations”). 

Twenty-one of the speeches that Bob and Alf delivered during their illustrious careers, including the two presented at the Association in 1900, can be read in their entirety in the book, Bob and Alf Taylor – Their Lives and Lectures (Paul Deresco Augsburg, Morristown Book Company, 1925). This is a fascinating work that demonstrates the verbal versatility of the famed brothers.

Two colorful local boys, who always had a warm spot in their hearts for their beloved “Happy Valley,” etched their mark in politics and music and made East Tennesseans especially proud of them. I am categorically one of them. 

Brothers Bob and Alf Taylor, the “War of the Roses” campaigners in Tennessee’s 1886 colorful, often lighthearted, gubernatorial race (in which Bob won), are also remembered for their humorous lectures in theatres across the land.

Bob (the white rose wearing Democrat) known for his famous “Fiddle and Bow” delivery and Alf (the red rose adorning Republican) remembered for his clever “Up Salt River” address, occasionally joined forces for a shared talk that bore the name, “Yankee Doodle” (Alf) and “Dixie” (Bob).

Some old newspaper clippings from 1902 spoke of two additional members of the multitalented Nathan Green and Emma Haynes Taylor family who also shared a speech and traveled on the lecture circuit.  They were Mrs. Rhoda Taylor Reeves and Mrs. Eva Taylor Jobe, twin sisters of Bob and Alf. The names Reeves and Jobe shine prominently in Johnson City history. Like their witty, creative siblings, they composed a clever dual act presentation that carried the title, “The Real and the Ideal.”

The Richmond Dispatch announced in February that year that the Taylor sisters would appear in Bristol, Tennessee under the auspices of the ladies of State Street Methodist Church. The address was a fundraiser for the benefit of the church, which needed  $12,000 to remodel the facility. The paper acknowledged that Mrs. Jobe and Mrs. Reeves were twin sisters of Bob and Alf Taylor – “The Taylor sisters expect to prove worthy rivals in the lecture field of their now famous brothers. Their dual lecture deals with two sides of human life, the real and the ideal and is said that they have a very able and brilliant dual production, which they deliver in interesting manner.”

In May, the Hopkinsville Kentuckian contained news that the ladies would present their lecture at the local Holland Opera House. In that same newspaper, it was also disclosed that Governor Bob Taylor would be in town that week as a stopover of his lecture tours. The century-old newspaper further gave an extract of the twin sisters’ talk that was taken from an editorial notice in the Bristol, Tennessee Courier: “The Real and the Ideal’ was handled in fascinating style last night. Mrs. Jobe preceded the dual lecture in a brief monologue gracefully rendered. Mrs. Reeves followed with her part of the lecture, which deals with the ‘real’ in human life. This side of the lecture clings to the ‘real’ as a basis but portrayed the errors and injustices that have arisen from the tendency to desert good things at home for false ideals that turn the heart from the course of duty, from the path of love and contentment to that of vanity and vexation of spirit.

“In a fascinating manner, Mrs. Jobe pictured the beauty and worth of the ‘ideal’ in life. Her production is not only rich in its expression of thought but also happy in the selection of ideas and carries with it a fascination peculiar to the grace and oratory of the Taylor family. The Taylor sisters are to be most heartily congratulated in the impression made last night.”

Furthermore, the newspaper exhibited an advertisement flyer providing additional information; “The Famous Taylor Sisters, Sisters of ex-Gov. Robert L. Taylor, in Their Inimitable Lecture, the ‘Real and the Ideal’ – The press speaks in the most flattering terms of these excellent, refined ladies and they should lecture to the capacity of the theatre.”

Those attending the performance paid fifty cents for seating on the entire lower floor and twenty-five cents for those in the gallery. The local Telegraph Office was listed as an outlet for ticket sales. 

Two years ago, Mrs. Joann Conner sent me a copy of an invitation that was mailed to her grandfather, Dave Oliver, on March 28, 1928. It came from the Elizabethton Hunt Club, inviting him to a special foxhunt on April 13 to honor 80-year-old former Tennessee governor Alf Taylor.

Tomorrow is the 82^ndanniversary of the storied event. Research reveals that 750 guests were invited to Bogart Knob (highest point between Buffalo and Unaka mountains) at the famous camp owned by the Taylor family. Local passenger trains brought in scores of people, including a Pullman carload from Nashville on Southern Railway train No. 26.

Preparation for the occasion included grading and surfacing the dirt road leading to the knob, erecting a large circus tent capable of holding 1000 guests, piping in water, installing electric lights, stringing telephone lines and delivering a piano. One newspaper article proclaimed, “Bogart Knob will be the center of the world on Friday.”

The hunt was strictly a stag affair. One group of disappointed ladies toured the camp the day before and humorously informed officials that they planned to don breeches and a moustache and sneak in the next day. Pre-festivities kicked off at 10 a.m. that day when several guests took part in a program for Elizabethton schools. Two hours later, event organizer, Alex Shell, hosted a luncheon for other notables.

At three p.m., a number of non-political speeches were delivered from the likes of Governor Horton of Tennessee, Hon. Ben H. Taylor (son of “Uncle Alf”), Hill McAlister (former state treasurer and future governor of Tennessee) and Judge W.R. Allen of Elizabethton (former judge of Tennessee courts).

Afterward, a program described as “pure Southern merriment” was held with four songs about Uncle Alf performed by the Ole Limber Quartet (often spelled “Quartette,” the same male group that made his race for governor in 1920 so memorable); the John Sevier Bell Hop Quartet;the Dixie Serenaders; Sydney M. Rowe (famous entertainer of Chuckey River, Tennessee); R.D. Wood’s String Band; and several others.

At six p.m., waiters who were decked out in spotless white uniforms, carrying plates to delight the hearts and stomachs of the most fastidious southerner, served the long awaited meal. It consisted of Tennessee Spring Lamb (proclaimed to be the tastiest dish in Dixie) with corn sticks, barbecued pork and other delightful southern dishes. The banquet consumed 10 sheep, 10 pigs and 500 pounds of beef barbecued in traditional Southern style and consumed with a truckload of fresh bread. It was the feast of feasts.

The much-anticipated fox chase began at nightfall. Although many “blooded” foxhounds (having ancestors of good blood) were present, only about 100 of them participated in the actual chase. Packs of about 20 dogs were released every few minutes until all them were active in the hunt. Old Limber, the now 12-year-old famed hound of Gov. Taylor, reportedly assumed his customary lead.

While the pursuit was in progress, movie cameras clicked off hunt scenes and telegraph wires carried the event to every part of the nation. All the while, Uncle Alf sat placidly in a camp chair with friends who tracked the general location of the foxes by listening to the music of the melodious baying hounds. He delighted his guests by musing over his favorite past foxhunts. The famed occasion continued unrelentingly all night until the first rays of sunlight appeared on the following morning, giving the much-fatigued dogs (and foxes) some needed rest.

“The South’s Greatest Foxhunt” was a fitting tribute to the man who had given so much of himself to his beloved volunteer state. He would depart this life 3.5 years later. 

An undated Johnson City Staff newspaper article, dealing with Tennessee’s highly popular “War of the Roses” governor Bob Taylor, is titled “Spotlights on Senator Taylor – Many Stories Are Told of Bob Taylor as Were of Lincoln.”

One man recalled when Taylor introduced president William McKinley at a political function. He spoke very softly and eloquently to an immense audience. After a few minutes, a mildly agitated gentleman in the gallery leaned forward and uttered: “Speak louder, Bob.” Although Governor Taylor did not hear his admonition, the honored guest did and smiled approvingly. As Bob continued in his quiet, easy manner, the countryman again leaned forward and repeated his request, this time with a trifle more volume.

Again, Bob failed to take notice of the respondent and once more the president grinned appreciatively. Not to be daunted by the incident, the persistent fellow called out with more intensity and sharpness, “Speak louder Bob! Speak louder!” This time Bob heard him and spoke with increased volume. The president was highly impressed with the beautiful tribute presented to him from a beloved “volunteer state” governor known by residents as “Our Bob.” Both McKinley and Taylor were said to be “pilgrims on the same strange journey.”

Another man told this story: “I was at a political meeting when Bob was speaking for the democratic candidate. I am a republican and our candidate was speaking just across the grove from where Bob was holding forth. Our man was simply talking to empty air, but Bob had the woods full of people to hear him. As soon as I got there with a stanch republican friend and took in the situation, my friend made a break for Bob’s neck of the woods saying, ‘I’m going to vote for our man all right, but by George, I want to hear what Bob has to say.”

Another observer offered these remarks: “Perhaps greatness is a thing the world does not always understand. Some men achieve it in spite of this, but the greatness belongs in him who can best serve his fellow men. And this is surely what Bob Taylor accomplished. And more truly that of any man of his generation, may it be written of him.”

A poem from that era speaks of the governor: “Write me as one who loved his fellowman. His flowers and he hav’n vanished, yet who knows. Through white fair fields unwitnessed of the sun. He wanders among blossoms red and white. Fostered of joy where never chill blast blows. And the kind year is just begun. Nor time, nor death, immortal youth can blight.”

Bob Taylor was reported to be President William Howard Taft’s favorite storyteller. Once the president wanted to escape from his official duties for a few days of vacation and invited a dozen senators to join him. One invitee was Bob Taylor who spun one humorous yarn after another.

One anecdote involved an incident when Bob was having lunch at his home. His servitor, known as Sam, came to inform him that a delegation of important politicians was waiting for him below. “Tell them that I’ll be down in a minute, Sam,” said the governor. Mrs. Taylor abruptly corrected her husband by saying, “Sam, tell them that the governor will be down in half an hour.”

Bob, not to be outdone by his wife, further responded, “Sam, tell them I’ll be down immediately.” Mrs. Taylor countered with more words: “Tell them, Sam, that the governor will be there in half an hour.” The now irritated governor turned to Sam and asked, “Do you know who the governor of Tennessee is?” The servant, wittily understanding the implication of the governor’s question, responded with “I’ll tell ‘em you’ll be down in half an hour.”