Ray and Norma Henry, former area residents, recently recalled when the peaceful early morning hours of July 10, 1950 suddenly turned into a ghastly scene of carnage that claimed the lives of three local people.

Ray picked up his sweetheart and future wife, Norma Murr, at Telford in his solid black 1938 Chevrolet 2-door sedan and drove to Johnson City to take in a movie at the Sevier Theatre (113 Spring Street). Being Sunday, the business was not permitted to open until 9 p.m. Norma remembered standing in a long ticket line outside the theatre that stretched back toward Main Street. When the movie ended at about 11 p.m., the couple drove to Nave Drive-In (200 Delaware at W. Market) for a snack.

Afterward, Ray headed back to Telford on 11-E to take Norma home. At about 12:45 a.m., just minutes after the couple passed the interception of Highway 81 to Erwin and the American Legion Club (formerly Woodland Lake) on the right, they spotted a bright light flashing across the sky behind them. Simultaneously, they heard what sounded like a motorcycle revving its engine. Believing a biker had run off the road, Ray turned the car around to investigate.

As they approached the Club, they spotted Joe Fleenor, the custodian who lived there, running back from the wreck to call for help. He hurriedly told them that there had been a horrific bus and car collision there. Ray and Norma drove to the wreck scene and parked along the side of the road. Since it was pitch dark, the couple took a flashlight from their car and crossed over a damaged barbwire fence by using a wooden sty that had been built there. 

The bus, a Tennessee Coach express en route to Birmingham, was heading to Knoxville. The other vehicle, a 1948 five-passenger Ford coupe, was reportedly traveling to Cosby. When Ray and Norma reached the bus, they observed the driver, Jimmy Lowery, helping his 38 passengers exit the vehicle. Surprisingly, no one appeared to be injured or overly alarmed. After the bus was emptied, the passengers huddled together until another coach could be dispatched. 

Lowery indicated that the Ford had attempted to pass him on a straight stretch of highway but briefly ran off the left side of the road and immediately swerved back along the left front of the bus. Jimmy tried to avoid hitting the car, but their bumpers suddenly locked together, sending both vehicles through the fence, down a 6-foot embankment and skidding 100 yards in a field before coming to rest. Fortunately, they missed several trees and Barkley Branch Creek or the circumstances would likely have been much graver. The bus landed upright on its wheels directly over the car that was upside down and barely visible.

About that time, Joe Fleenor returned saying that help from the Sheriff’s Department, Highway Patrol and Rescue Squad was on the way. Lighting was installed to illuminate the wreckage area. Dillow-Taylor Funeral Home provided two hearses that also served as ambulances. Three wreckers arrived. Two drove down the embankment to the wreck site while the third one stayed on the road to later pull the first two back onto the highway. 

Over the next agonizing minutes, one wrecker slowly pulled the bus forward while the other one partially dragged the car from under the bus. At first, it was impossible to determine how many people were in the car or who was driving. One person was still alive and in obvious pain.

Initially, it appeared that there were two occupants. Then Norma spotted another body in the back seat of the wreckage. All that could be seen was her red hair. In order to free her, workers had to carefully pull the coupe farther away from the bus. It was quickly confirmed that the woman was deceased.

Ray described the wreck as gruesome, saying it was the most sickening one he had ever witnessed. There was virtually no means to help the car occupants because they were literally compressed in a heap of metal and flesh.

The Johnson City-Press Chronicle’s Monday evening edition provided additional facts about the crash. The passengers were identified as Carl “Cocky” Cox, 45; John Monday, 35; and Nettie Patterson, 26. Monday’s body was removed first because he was still alive, but he passed away at Appalachian Hospital (300 N. Boone Street) in Johnson City at 3:30 a.m. One item of interest found in the car was a blood-soaked small brown bag containing $2700 in bills.

Cox’s lifeless body was next removed from the wreckage. Ray recognized Carl’s face, removed his wallet and handed it to a patrolman. His driver’s license confirmed his identity – Carl Vernon Cox, Limestone, Tennessee. The investigating patrolmen speculated that Monday was the driver. Sergeant Jim L. Seehorn of the Tennessee Highway Patrol said the vehicle was crushed like an accordion, having an astonishing vertical height of 18 inches.

Cox, a well-known, colorful businessman of that era, operated nightclubs in the surrounding areas at various times in his career. In September 1947, he was arrested after the Highway Patrol raided the Mott-O Club that was located on the west side of the Kingsport Highway not far from the Kingsport/Bristol intersection, seizing liquor and gambling equipment. Cocky received a 6-month jail sentence and was fined an undisclosed amount of money. A large number of Johnson Citians rallied behind Cox and partitioned Governor Gordon Browning. They convinced him that politics figured heavily in the raid and that Carl deserved to be excused. Consequently, the state’s chief executive issued a pardon after Cox had served only two days.

Monday, a World War II veteran, had been a driver for Diamond Cab Company (116 Buffalo) for about 10 years. Mrs. Patterson, the mother of three children, was a waitress at Central Bar-B-Q (701 S. Roan).

Appalachian Funeral Home (101 E. Unaka) handled arrangements for all three families. Funeral services for Peterson, Cox and Monday were held respectively at Highland Christian Church, Watauga Avenue Presbyterian Church and Temple Baptist Church.

Although 60 years have come and gone, there are still senior citizens around who remember that dreadful early morning event of summer 1950. Ray and Norma Henry are two of them.

 (Note: Carl “Cocky” Cox was Bob Cox’s second cousin.) 

In its heyday, Johnson City’s Southern Railway Depot was a scene of constant activity as travelers embarked and disembarked passenger trains.

Today’s column deals with a young lady, whom I will identify as Jane Doe. It is early summer of 1938 and she is anxiously waiting for the big locomotive to arrive to take her on an extended journey away from the city. Since she has never been on an overnight train trip before, she is understandably apprehensive.

It is imperative that she follows a few common sense rules of train etiquette while on board. First, she needs to dress fittingly for the long ride. Summer wear calls for her to adorn a silk or non-crushable linen suit and a lightweight woolen coat. Her hat should be small yet comfortably stay on her head. She needs to wear sturdy comfortable leather shoes. Her luggage should be sturdy enough so as not to come apart at some point during the lengthy jostling ride.

If at any time she needs a question answered, either at the station or on the train, she should consult a railroad employee not a fellow passenger, lest she be offered erroneous advice. Most trains have signs posted advising people not to play cards with strangers. That is not to say she should not participate in a friendly game of bridge or similar pastime, providing no wagers are involved.

When Jane enters the dining car, the steward will escort her to a table and offer her a menu card. Afterward, a waiter will take her order and deliver her food. After she finishes the meal, he will bring her check on a tray. She should place her money on it and wait until he returns with her change. If her bill is under a dollar, the appropriate tip is ten cents. If the meal totals more than a dollar, the suggested amount is 10 to 15 percent of the bill.

Pullman cars can present a formidable and awkward challenge to travelers. Jane can choose a lower berth or an upper one. Since she is young, she picks a higher one, which is slightly cheaper and often more comfortable, although more difficult to get in and out of. A small, agile person can fully dress in his or her berth, but others may find it difficult. Miss Doe should bring along a dark robe or appropriate gown to wear when going from her berth to the nearby dressing room. She needs a small bag containing brushes, combs, cosmetics and other toiletry items for use in the washroom.

Some folks prefer to dress entirely in the dressing room, which requires getting up early ahead of the morning rush. Passengers who chose lower berths are entitled to sit in the seat that faces forward. If the young traveler wants to retire early, she can request the porter to have her berth made ready. The lower occupant must move to an unoccupied nearby seat or go in the club car until this task is completed. When ready to turn in, she again notifies the porter to bring a ladder. In the morning, she uses a bell to signal the porter that she needs the steps again.

Another courteous suggestion is to ask for additional blankets before retiring. Train blankets are heavy but often provide little warmth. Ringing for a porter in the middle of the night is inconsiderate because it awakens other passengers plus the porter may not be available or on break. If Miss Doe wants her shoes shined, she places them on the floor under the lower berth. Payment for the shine can be included with the tip upon leaving the train.

Before Miss Doe reaches her final destination, her porter will brush her clothing, wipe off her shoes and carry her bags for her. This is the appropriate time to tip him. The amount should be 25 to 50 cents for each special service rendered such as a shoeshine or providing a card table. Bon voyage, young lady, we hope to see you back in Johnson City soon. 

It was bound to happen – the first automobile wreck in Johnson City. According to Dorothy Hamill, former writer for the Johnson City Press-Chronicle, the incident occurred in 1913 and drew a crowd of curious onlookers much like a collision produces today.

Car accidents were an infrequent happening back then because there weren’t that many automobiles motoring along city streets. Instead the primary means of conveyance were an electrically powered trolley system and horse-drawn carriages and wagons.

Fortunately, a photographer who arrived at the scene of the wreck snapped a picture of the overturned vehicle and had some photograph postcards made from it. Picture postcard service was available to the public allowing residents to send messages on a postcard with a personal photo on the front of it. Hamill interviewed Walter R. Allison who lived at 1105 Grover Street, a brother of the car’s owner. He was certain that this was the first wreck in Johnson City. He originally possessed one of the photographs, but later lost it.

Walter, who retired in 1954 after 50 years with the ET&WNC railroad, related the particulars that led up to the mishap. He was one of four brothers who were railroaders and the only one surviving at the time of Hamill’s interview. Francis was a master mechanic and superintendent of ET&WNC; Arthur was an engineer who ran the first passenger train through this area; and Ernest Jr., the youngest of the siblings, was a fireman.

Ernest acquired one of the first automobiles in Johnson City. He was working out west on the Texas and Pacific Railroad when the engine he was firing hit a damaged section on the tracks and flipped on its side, leaving him with several broken ribs. Walter said his brother was young and wanted to get rich quick so he sued the railroad to compensate him for his injuries.

      After the court awarded him $4,500, he returned to Johnson City and purchased a Marathon automobile for about $1500. Marathon Motor Works of Nashville, Tennessee, known for its quality and durability from 1907 to 1914, manufactured the vehicle.  

The impressive looking black automobile was open on the sides, had 36-inch wooden spoke wheels; a battery located on the running board; and a fabric top, which folded back like the covering of a buggy. Side curtains were held in large pockets beside the door. Whenever it rained, the driver had to fasten the curtains to keep his passengers dry. The auto held up to seven passengers because of two side seats in the rear that could be pulled out for extra riders.

The impressive looking Marathon afforded Ernest a moneymaking opportunity – a taxi service that operated from Johnson City to and fromElizabethton and Jonesboro (Jonesborough). At that time, these were about the only fully passable roads in the area. Ernest ran a good business since he had the only taxi service in town. He charged $3 for a trip to or from either neighboring town.

On one eventful December day, Ernest was driving several passengers to Elizabethton. The road then went through Milligan College back of the present highway. Allison was rolling along at 25-mph, which was as fast as his vehicle would travel. Suddenly, he skidded in some loose gravel close to an embankment, lost control and overturned. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt.

After the mishap, Ernest decided to abandon his business venture and return to the western portion of the country where he had previously resided. He remained there until his death. 

If anyone has a photograph of the overturned car, please send a copy of it to Brad Jolly at the Johnson City Press for inclusion on the History/Heritage page. Hopefully, one still exists. 

In 1925, an acknowledgement was made that although several automobile manufacturers had been building motorcars since 1900, it was the inimitable Henry Ford who produced a vehicle that exceeded the realm of manufacture to become an institution.

The new Ford that year appeared to live up to its expectations and more. The announcement that the new 1925 Ford was about to roll off the assembly line greatly aroused public interest. When the car was finally unveiled, hundreds of thousands of people all over the country crowded into Ford showrooms within a span of days to inspect the new product. In large cities as well as small ones, the machine was equally well received, the new model dominating popular conversation.

Johnson City’s dealer was Universal Motor Corporation, located in the southeast corner of the intersection of King and Boone streets. They sold the Ford, Lincoln and Fordson (tractor) vehicles. The city displayed the same excitement being generated across the country. The dealership was immensely packed throughout business hours. According to one comment: “Barring any discussion of merits or relative values of the various small cars now on the markets and with the thought of fairness to all, it is probable that never has a new model of any make at any price and at any time attracted as much attention.” That was quite a statement.

The automobile was distinctly improved over previous years. It possessed modern stylish lines, crowned fenders, beveled topsides, a one-man type top, larger and more comfortable seats, balloon tires, a rear mounted spare tire housed in a sturdy carrier, a license plate holder, rear lights of improved design and durability and side curtains that swung with the doors.

Also, the coils were removed from their time-honored position on the dash and installed alongside the motor block in a waterproof metal case. The steering wheel was larger and positioned at a more comfortable and casual location. The seat cushions were tilted for comfort and the upholstery was pleated in accordance with accepted standards. Doors were wider than in previous models. The gasoline tank was built into the dash, allowing the filler to be accessible through an opening with a lid that on the average car acts as a cowl (chimney) ventilator.

Passengers did not have to be bothered in order to take on fuel. The windshield was of the ventilating type, comparable with shields on more expensive open cars. The body was four inches lower, permitting more legroom in both front and rear tonneaus.

Amazingly even with all the improvements, there was no increase in price from the previous year. Color options were limited with most touring cars appearing in standard black, but the public was informed that other colors would soon be made available. Buyers didn’t care about their car’s paint; they wanted a Ford. 

Gas supplies were plentiful in 1925, but the oil companies made an interesting prophetic observation that could have been made in today’s environment: “Although the production of gasoline increased 600% in the last ten years, from 1.5 billion gallons in 1914 to nine billion gallons in 1924, it is believed the reduction of gasoline consumption by improvement in automotive engines or the development of substitute fuels or other sources of energy is expected to proceed faster than the exhaustion of our crude petroleum resources.”

Ford Motor Company was definitely in a class of its own in 1925, but that admiration would eventually change as competition from national and international car manufacturers leveled the playing field. 

Today’s column is the story of Julia Whalen, a young girl unknown in the annals of East Tennessee folklore except for one brief moment of valor displayed in a near train collision in the vicinity of Carter’s Station (Elizabethton) on the East Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia (ETV&G) Railroad in December 1874.

The railroad was created in 1869 by the consolidation of the East Tennessee and Virginia (ET&V) Railroad (connecting Knoxville with Bristol, through East Tennessee, east of Bay’s Mountain and between the Holston and Nolichucky rivers) and the East Tennessee and Georgia (ET&G) Railroad (linking Knoxville and Dalton, GA). Julia’s brief instant of fame occurred when she observed an approaching freight train speeding forward unaware of another train on the same track.

The sketchy details are noted in a newspaper clipping from that era: “Her presence of mind on that morning was wonderful. She first thought of motioning down the freight train from Bristol, then reflected that it was coming down grade and would be impossible for it to be checked up, so she ran on the track toward Carter, tore her red shawl from her shoulders and waved it, pointing back to the train that was invisible to the engineer but fast approaching.”

The article went on to say that Julia barely escaped death; she was confined to her bed after witnessing a near tragedy. Miss Whalen’s selfless story received national attention from the media. Her actions were described as being “exciting, earnest and persistent in her efforts to save the lives of others on the train without regard for her own safety.” Witnesses confirmed that the young lady bravely remained on the track until the engine was less than five feet from her person. The conductor and engineer, who initially thought the heroic mountain girl had been struck and killed by the train, stated emphatically that were it not for her timely appearance at the scene, everyone on the train would likely have been killed.

The article offered a brief glimpse of Julia’s life. Her father was described as being a warm, charitable, compassionate Irishman with a weakness for strong drink. He served in the Union army and died in Kentucky during the conflict. After the war, Mrs. Whalen married Johnny Burke, another kind Irishman who was employed as section hand on the ETV&G Railroad. After being smitten by paralysis, his disposition changed dramatically, causing him to became extremely bitter especially against young Julia, frequently threatening her life. Consequently, Mrs. Burke sought refuge for her daughter at night at the residence of her grandmother who lived nearby. Julia always returned home every morning with a forgiving heart and the desire to show love toward her unnatural, cruel and cold-hearted stepfather.

The situation grew from bad to worse until Mrs. Burke was confronted with a difficult situation – give up her husband or surrender her child to a family who would properly take care of her. She made the obvious choice; Johnny had to go. He surprisingly complied with his wife’s request and left the premises. 

Julia grew up adjacent to the railroad and became acquainted with a large number of railroad employees. The workers referred to her as “Little Julia,” a pet name that remained with her the rest of her life. She had an unusually beautiful face and an easy and gently disposition that drew the attention of all who came in contact with her. Although her education was limited, she carried with her a strong desire for formal schooling.

It is wonderful to discover a heartwarming story from the annals of yesteryear and bring an outstanding individual into the spotlight for a brief bow after all the years. 

The East Tennessee and Western North Carolina’s (ET&WNC) narrow gauge railroad, affectionately known as Tweetsie, can be traced to 1881 when it began trekking between Johnson City and Hampton and a year later to Boone.

The roughly 54-mile journey required four hours under ideal circumstances to negotiate the harsh prodigious grades and winding curves. Tweetsie was not your typical train. Its sweet and mellow steam whistle served more as a greeting than a warning. The one exception was when it became necessary to frighten away an animal that unwisely ambled onto the track, posing danger to passengers and critter.

In addition to normal rail service, the amenities provided by the train were endless. Tweetsie soon became known as the “Railway with a Heart.” Cy Crumley, the train’s well-known conductor since 1906, frequently leaned out the window to grab a handful of mail to take to its destination or relay a verbal message to someone along the line. The train might stop in front of a farmhouse to deliver a spool of thread or a length of wire.

Special interest groups, such as a camera club, regularly chartered the railroad for a photographic outing along the stunning mountainous country over which the little train traversed. Crumley altered his characteristic call, “All aboard” to something with a more subdued personal tone – “Well folks, I reckon we might as well mosey along.” S.F. Pippin, engineer since 1903, followed suit by uttering to the passengers, “If you see something pretty while we are rolling along, just holler and I'll stop the train.” 

Tweetsie stopped at small log cabin villages to deliver or pick up mail and medicine, let a doctor on or off on the way to deliver a baby, or allow a patient to return home after being discharged from a hospital. An enterprising post office employee once determined that it would be cheaper for trucks to haul mail. Tweetsie’s friends, fearing the worst, came to the defense of their little narrow gauge guest with a battle cry, “Abandon Tweetsie? You might as well dig up Grandfather Mountain.” The creative postal clerk’s voice of reasoning soon evaporated.

In August 1941, the now financially struggling railroad experienced a dilemma that almost prompted it to suspend operations. A storm produced floodwaters that caused an estimated $50,000 damage to portions of the track. Officials were left scratching their heads about what action to take. Finally, management made the painful decision to notify the Interstate Commerce Commission and request authorization to abandon the line. Tweetsie’s future looked grim.

However, four months later the circumstances would change significantly. Just when it appeared that the much-beloved little railroad would depart the business world, the December 7, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor thrust the country into the conflict and issued new marching orders for the adored Tweetsie. A war that seemed to be 3,000 miles away suddenly came knocking on America’s door that fateful Sunday morning.

The government’s need for raw materials became a critical issue, thrusting the little train back into the global spotlight. Tweetsie’s floundering role was saved almost overnight as new life was breathed into the entire railroad industry. Once again, tourists were able to hear Engineer Pippin's farewell words that he uttered after each trip: “You all come back and ride with us again.”  Indeed they did, at least for nine more years, until October 16, 1950 when Tweetsie made its last official roundtrip run.  

An April 1939 article in the Johnson City Chronicle and Staff News provides specifics of the building of a new and difficult train route across the Blue Ridge Mountains. The title was “The Building of ‘The Clinchfield Route’ – A Romance in Railroad Construction.”

A dream that had fostered in the minds of enterprising individuals from the earliest days of railroad history was the completion of a railroad that would span from the inland countryside across a portion of the vast Appalachian Mountains to the seacoast.

In 1832, John C. Calhoun (South Carolina politician, 7^thVice President of the United States) advocated the building of a road from Charleston, South Carolina to Cincinnati, Ohio. In 1836, a company was formed for this purpose. Robert Y. Hayne (another South Carolinian, debated Daniel Webster of Massachusetts) became president of the road. Surveys were made and construction began on the South Carolina portion of the line. John C. Fremont (first republican candidate for the Presidency) was employed as a surveyor.

  Over the years, numerous schemes for building a railroad on a direct route from Charleston to Cincinnati were considered but never pursued because of overwhelming mountain barriers. The plan lay dormant until about 1887 when General John T. Wilder (Union Army soldier, Carnegie developer, Cloudland Hotel builder) interested capitalists in the construction of the road. It was named the Charleston, Cincinnati and Chicago (3C) Railway. Success in the ambitious undertaking required a heavy dose of courage, capability and cash.

Several English capitalists backed Wilder’s vision, spending about seven million dollars. However, they were forced to suspend work in 1893 when one company, Baring Brothers (English bankers), went bankrupt. The road underwent foreclosure proceedings and was sold to Charles E. Hellier on July 17, 1893. He reorganized it as the Ohio River and Charleston Railway Company. Two months later, the new company extended the road from Chestoa, Tennessee to five miles south of Huntdale, NC, a distance of about 20 miles.

In 1902, George L. Carter (rail and coal magnate, founder of modern Kingsport) and associates purchased the property of the Ohio River and Charleston Railway Company and formed the South and Western Railway Company with the idea of developing the coalfields of Southwest Virginia and Eastern Kentucky. They acquired large tracts of coal lands in what has since become known as the “Clinchfield Section.”

The New York “money kings” were initially reluctant to invest in the risky venture. After Mr. Carter acquired additional surveys and reports, Thomas F. Ryan formed a syndicate to build the road. For four years, money was shoveled into the rocky fastnesses of the Blue Ridge Mountains for the purpose of boring hills and bridging valleys. Difficult sections of the mountains were tackled first leaving easier ones to be surveyed and left undisturbed until later.

The company next extended the North Carolina portion of the line from Huntdale to Spruce Pine. Additional work was halted until 1905 when Mr. Carter interested John B. Dennis and Blair and Company of New York in the venture. Dennis is credited as being the principal force behind “The Clinchfield Route.”

That same year, extension of the road from Spruce Pine, to the south and Johnson City to the north began. Although the general plan of the old 3C road was followed as much as practical, new surveys provided more gentle curves and lower grades. In 1909, the road was completed from Dante, Virginia to Spartanburg, South Carolina. Further progress was made between 1912 and 1915 when it was extended north from Dante to Elkhorn City, Kentucky, a distance of about 35 miles.

The 309-mile stretch crossed four distinct watersheds and required 55 tunnels, which were built to a standard of 18 feet wide and 22 feet high. The shortest length was 179 feet and the longest one was 7854. Cost was high with one passageway totaling $500,000 and several miles of mountain road chalking up a price tag of $200,000 a mile. Elkhorn City was 795 feet above sea level while Spartanburg was 742. The highest point of the entire track measured 2628 feet at the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The maximum grade of one-half of one percent was strictly enforced along the road. At times, construction work was halted after it was determined that a section of road would not achieve the required grade restriction. Lower grades were ideal for larger locomotives such as Mallet and Mikado that typically pulled 80 to 100 cars of coal.

The height above sea level of The Clinchfield Route was said to be the greatest in the east and its stunning scenery was hardly surpassed anywhere in the world. While other roads had dodged severe mountain barriers, the Clinchfield boldly cut through them. Throughout almost its entire length, it traversed rugged mountain country with an impressive high standard of construction.

 On October 29, 1909, Spartanburg residents celebrated the opening of the much-anticipated line. They deemed the CC&O as “one of the greatest little railroads in the United States.” During the festivities, two individuals, H.H. Rogers and Thomas F. Ryan, were singled out for their efforts in making the road a success. The completion of the Clinchfield Route satisfied the yearnings of early statesmen by successfully opening a section of country that was abundantly rich in natural resources.

When the economic depression occurred in 1910-11, much construction work across the country was suspended except for two significant endeavors – the Panama Canal and the CC&O Railroad. The country was determined to finish what it had begun – digging a canal and finishing a railroad. Both were completed. 

Old newspapers fascinate me, even perusing events that were casually reported in the paper and then rapidly forgotten by readers. The Dec. 14, 1926 Johnson City Staff-News carried three interesting transportation news items.

The first one exclaimed, “Two Autos and Wagon Damaged in Collision.” The triple wreck occurred on the previous day near Okolona just south of town.

T.C. Runyon, driving a Studebaker toward Johnson City, attempted to pass a covered wagon, driven by J.H. Gouge and in doing so encountered a Ford roadster owned by Roy Shoun going in the opposite direction. The driver of the Studebaker erroneously thought he could navigate around the wagon and still leave enough room for the Ford to pass.  

Due to the narrowness of the road, Runyon was forced to strike the slow-moving wagon on the right to avoid a head on collision with the speeding Ford. Simultaneously, Shoun steered his automobile to his right and down a seven-foot embankment. Fortunately, no parties were injured. The wagon experienced breakage to one wheel, the tongue and several other parts. The cars were only slightly damaged.

Another newsy item in that same paper carried the title, “Officers Tag One ‘Foreign’ Car Every Twelve Minutes in Test Period of Johnson City.”

The city instigated a program to estimate the number of visitors driving through the city. On a designated Saturday afternoon, traffic officers stood at predetermined locations to place a welcome tag on the car of every visitor motoring through the city. They averaged one “foreign automobile,” as they called it, every 12 minutes. The word “foreign” was not defined in the article.”

The tags were attached to vehicles when they came to a stop at specified intersections. It was acknowledged that many cars were overlooked because they drove through the city at unmanned locations.

Final results revealed that southbound traffic was the heaviest ever recorded in the city at that time of the year. Opening of the north and south highways had much to do with increased traffic flow through the region. The Appalachian Scenic Highway that cut through the area was recognized as the greatest arterial road from Canada to Florida.

A third item in the newspaper stated, “Few Motor Tags Have Been Sold – Less Than One Hundred Secured From Clerk.”

With only about 60 new motor license tags for 1927 sold in Johnson City on opening day of the sale, County Court clerk, Jess G. Smith stated that total sales to date were fewer than 100 and those were mostly for new cars. The deadline was Feb. 1, after which a penalty was to be assessed.

Tags were initially sold only at county seats, but Mr. Smith offered concessions by making several trips to Johnson City to accommodate motorists here. He even furnished bolts and washers at no additional cost.

Tags were described as being light blue with raised white lettering and fabricated in the shape of the state, the only one in the Union with that unique feature. In those days, license plates were issued in pairs, one to be placed on the front bumper and the other on the rear. The fee remained the same as it had been in the previous year. The assigned numbers for Washington County were between 148,001 and 154,000, allowing tags for 5999 vehicles.

When was the last time you read about a car and wagon collision in Johnson City, heard someone speak of driving on the Appalachian Scenic Highway or received two automobile license plates in the shape of the State of Tennessee? Things were certainly different in 1926. 

“Young Johnnie Steele has an Oldsmobile, He loves a dear little girl, She is the queen of his gas machine, She has his heart in a whirl.” Few songs capture the nostalgia of the birth of the “horseless carriage” than the 1905 musical composition, “In My Merry Oldsmobile,” written by Gus Edwards and Vincent P. Bryan and published by M. Witmark & Sons. Ransome Eli’s Olds Motor Vehicle Company came into existence in 1897.

An excerpt from Sinclair Lewis’s “Babbit,” (1922) further states: “It was a night of lovers. All along the highway into Zenith, under the low and gentle moon, motors were parked and dim figures were clasped in revelry.” An examination of some old Johnson City directories between 1911 and 1921 reveals some early and virtually forgotten automobile businesses:

A.J. Hurlbut & Co. (121 Spring), A.J. Wakefield (200 W. Main), Burrow Motor Co. (339 E. Main), Dahl & Johnson (320 E. Main/227 W. Main), E.D. Hanks Motor Co. (119-121 E. Market), East Tennessee Motor Co. (320 E. Main), H.R. Parrott Motor Co. (Ash Street), Johnson Auto Co. (320 /339 E. Main), Johnson City Automobile & Machine Works (corner of Roan and Millard), Johnson City Buick Co. (339 E. Main), Lewis-Brown Sales Agency (123 E. Market), Model Motor Co. (117 E. Market), Morris Motor Co. (115 S. Roan), Southern Auto & Welding Co. (206 W. Market), Standard Auto Repair Co. (207 Boone), Summers-Parrott Hardware Co. (Buffalo at Ash) and Wood Motor Company (308 E. Main).  

An interesting article in an October 1960 Hobbies Magazine told of an antique automobile display called “Come Away with Me Lucille – The Gay Days of Motoring, 1897-1912.” It featured 12 antique cars from the late 1800s. The hazards and hardships seen in the display vividly illustrated the safety concerns and lack of comforts of those beautiful but experimental relics of yesteryear. 

Several “dangerous” vehicles were identified that included a 1906 Cadillac, one cylinder, ten H.P., selling price $1050; a 1900 Columbia Electric Surrey (with the fringe on top); and a child’s Electric Runabout of 1907.

Others on display were the 1898 Leon Bollee Tricar, 1899 Locomotive Steamer, 1903 Pierce Motorette, 1903 Autocar Tonneau, 1904 Knox Surrey, 1904 Franklin Touring Car, 1906 Success Auto Buggy, 1911 Buick Runabout and a 1912 Spache Cyclecar. Their attractive finishes, plush upholstery and shiny brass made it difficult to believe that the future of the automobile industry was so uncertain. One man reportedly had his car fabricated in the shape of a horse. Also, Henry Ford twice considered selling his company.

The display also included a wide array of motoring artifacts and parts of early automobiles, ranging from a compilation of horns and headlamps to milady’s vanity case. The article humorously said “this luxurious case, equipped with every conceivable necessity for repairing the effects of the journey, is significant for it was not until nearly 1912 that primping and powering ever took place outside the sanctity of the boudoir.”

“Come away with me Lucille, In my merry Oldsmobile, Down the road of life we'll fly, Auto-mo-bubbling, you and I.”

The “Johnny Steeles” of today must find alternative “merry automobiles” for going “auto-mo-bubbling” with their favorite “Lucilles.” Sadly, the Oldsmobile motored off into the sunset on April 29, 2004 after 106 years of operation. 

In mid 1973, Dorothy Hamill conducted an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd Jones to reminisce with them about Mrs. Jones’ 30 years service as ticket agent at the Southern Railway Station, once located between Market and Roan streets.

The city dismantled it in mid 1973 to improve traffic flow in the downtown area. Mrs. Jones said, “It was a gathering place for the town and also for people in the mountains since the railway served a number of North Carolina points. Business people brought lunches and ate in the waiting room. They asked when a train might be coming through and often remarked that the sound of a train was music to their ears.”

Mr. Jones, a clerk of the city’s Clinchfield Railway office and later rate clerk in Erwin, remembered that he met his wife in the Southern station. When the two eventually tied the matrimonial knot, friends amusingly referred to their wedding as the merger of the Southern and Clinchfield.

Mr. Jones remembered that the new station was already built when he came to Johnson City in 1911; he understood that it had been there about a year. The old terminal was operating at the site that became Free Service Tire Company. The new one became a center of attraction.

Mrs. Jones related the words of a soldier from North Carolina who had been in Mexico and was glad to be home: “I wouldn’t take a thousand dollars for the trip, nor give one cent for another.”

During WWII, a Japanese student at Lees-McRae College planned to spend Christmas holidays with her parents in Cairo, Illinois. With a war raging, she needed special permission from the government to make the trip. Hale Williams, special agent, secured authorization and escorted her to her final destination. Mrs. Jones assisted her with hotel accommodations while she was in Johnson City.

Another war trip that was difficult to handle concerned a slight-of-build young woman and six children under five years of age who were traveling to Seattle to join her husband in military service. The depot staff courteously rallied around her and wired the three train stops ahead to give her special attention.

During the war years, about every two weeks there was an embarkation of soldiers on their way to join the armed forces. People were jammed in the waiting room that was permeated with both laughter and weeping. Frequently, a mother or sweetheart fainted.

On June 18, 1932, the railway advertised a special one-day rate of one cent per mile; the usual fare was 3.5 cents a mile. Hundreds of people took advantage of the reduced fee, producing a constant stream of passengers in and out of the depot from 6 a.m. until 11 p.m. After WWII ended, special cars routinely took kindergarten and primary children on their first train ride.

The Tennessean was a popular train that drew a crowd anytime it rolled into town. A baggage and a coach car were appropriately named “Johnson City.”

Several notables stopped off in Johnson City over the years: John J. Pershing, Army general; William Jennings Bryan, attorney in the famous Scopes Trial in 1925; Herbert Hoover, president of the United States; and Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, wife of President Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones concluded the interview by lamenting that, although the old train station was sadly going away forever, the memories of it would not die in the hearts of area residents. Thankfully, thirty-six years later, those memories are still very much alive.