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Like mother, like son
William Dills McKee, who described his mother as being someone with a zest for life who loved to laugh and tell stories, was described Monday by his niece as a "great raconteur" who loved to tell stories - the life of any party.
McKee died Friday, and took with him another link in the chain that connects Sylva's todays with its yesterdays.
McKee would have turned 90 in June. He spent his boyhood on Main Street when it was mostly houses and when C.J. Harris, patron saint of Harris Regional Hospital and his own father, E.L. McKee, were the two most prominent entrepreneurs of their day.
His mother, Gertrude Dills McKee, was the first woman to serve in the North Carolina Senate. She has a building at Western Carolina University named in her honor, and a bronze marker near the corner of Landis Street attests to her place in history.
W.D. McKee's grandfather was William Allen Dills, who founded Dillsboro. Dills built the Jarrett House (then called the Mt. Beulah Hotel), and the family home he built on a hill between Scotts Creek and the Tuckaseigee River has morphed into the Riverwood Shops.
While talking to a variety of people about W.D. McKee this week, I kept hearing that he was "one of a kind" or "hard to describe."
That's interesting because it's what Mr. McKee said in December when I asked him to tell me about his famous mother.
He said his mother's personality was "hard to describe," and said that "She didn't drink - she didn't need to because she could go to any kind of gathering and chat vivaciously. She was outgoing and really liked people."
I was struck more than once by the similarity of things McKee family members said about W.D. McKee to anecdotes he had told me about his mother.
McKee's niece Ann Austin told me a story that she says her uncle loved to tell about his father, E.L. McKee and the initial construction of the High Hampton golf course.
We'll tell it as if W.D. McKee is the one talking:
"My father built the first golf course in this (Cashiers) valley, and he hired golf architect J. Victor East to design and construct it. While the work was in progress, East brought in several bills for large sums of money.
'Is it finished?' my father asked.h
'No, we've only built 11 holes,' Mr. East said.
'Well, stop right now!' my father said.
East protested that there was no such thing as an 11-hole golf course.
'There is now,' my father said."
High Hampton's course remained 11 holes for 40 years, Austin said, until W.D. McKee and the late George Cobb collaborated to complete the other seven holes.
Austin said her uncle could exhibit a quirky way of doing things and gave the following story as an example:
"When I went to see him in the hospital several weeks ago, I saw a story on television of how forest rangers out West were using goats to clear brush around forest fires, and I remembered that he once had the idea of using goats to clear brush around the estate; he thought it would be cheaper and more efficient than hiring a crew to do it.
"So I said, 'Uncle William, you had that same idea 30 years ago - you were ahead of your time.'
"I could tell he was pleased that an idea he'd had that sounded crazy at the time had proven to be an accepted way of doing things."
When Mr. McKee's nephew, William McKee of Cashiers, told me that I should add "something about (Mr. McKee's) particular way of doing things," I knew exactly what he meant. After all, I had worked at High Hampton for about 15 months and observed Mr. McKee at close range. But I don't know if I can describe him any better than the others can.
His son, Will, told me Tuesday that it always amazes him how people remember his dad and could almost quote verbatim things he said to them.
I know I can.
After finishing at Western, I went up to High Hampton to apply for a job. Mr. McKee interviewed me in the inn's lobby and asked if I could wait a few minutes because he wanted me to meet "Mr. Hotaling" so they could determine if I was the person the two of them had been looking for to perform a task he termed "aerating the greens."
Pretty soon a young man appeared in the lobby, but by then Mr. McKee had left to talk on the telephone.
We stared at each other for a minute or two before Mr. McKee reappeared.
"Oh, good," he said. "Mr. Hotaling's here."
"Miss Gaines," he said to me, "This is Mr. Hotaling."
Not a particularly profound bit of conversation, but enough to start Richard and me down the path to 25 years (and counting) of marriage.
I never aerated any greens, but I learned a lot of other things while working in the reservations office at High Hampton.
One of those things is that W.D. McKee was one of a kind, a throwback to an earlier way of doing business and another time.
William McKee said his uncle had provided his family with a "lesson in creating legacies." That's not surprising, given his heritage.
His grandfather William Allen Dills planted the giant oaks that tower over Dillsboro's Riverwood Shops, and his parents planted the beautiful copper beech that graces the corner of Main and Landis streets.
W.D. McKee served as a steward for Wade Hampton's gorgeous former estate, and he planted the seeds of graciousness and hospitality in those whose lives he touched during his 50 or so years in the Cashiers valley.
A lot of us will miss him.
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