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October is more than colored leaves and pumpkins
published 10/08/98
By Lynn Hotaling |
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It's October in the mountains, and as that first fall chill nips the air, my thoughts quite naturally turn to Jim Phillips.
You may find that odd, but I've actually known three different guys with that name. All of them are worth remembering. One has an October birthday (today), and I met the other two during different Octobers.
The first Jim Phillips, a high school classmate, laughed his way through a class presentation during our junior year. The assignment for the oral report was to demonstrate humor in a book by an American author. As Jim read his examples from Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye," he got so tickled that he couldn't stop laughing. Who knows, maybe he'd never read that part before.
I met the next Jim Phillips at Western Carolina University. A physical education major from Saluda, he was real shy and hated mayonnaise. Having him around was like having my little brother, also a P.E. major and also a Jim, right there in Cullowhee.
That brings me to Jim number three. I met him one fall when I trimmed Christmas trees for Tommy Beutell. Probably in his 50s then, Jim made his living operating a country store and raising some cattle up near Tannessee Creek Lake. I went in the store a few times, but I didn't really appreciate Jim until I moved to Canada a year or so later.
Visiting his store was the primary pastime for those of us who lived that far back. Located on then-unpaved N.C. 281, roughly halfway between Tuckasegee and Toxaway, it was the only place to buy necessities, such as gas, flour, cornmeal, pinto beans and kerosene for the lamps (in 1974, there were still plenty of homes without electricity) and treats - a candy bar or an ice-cold dope.
Up until then I'd always heard "soft drink" or "soda pop," but at Phillips' Grocery, it was a dope. Anything you bought was carried home in a "poke" but not until you'd sat and visited "a spell."
Jim was a good storyteller. Only thing was he started in the middle most of the time, as if he were picking up a conversation from the day, or maybe the year, before. It was disconcerting at first, but after I got the hang of it, I really learned a lot - like the fact that hippies wore patches on their blue jeans as a way of recognizing each other.
Another interesting tidbit I picked up was that our astronauts didn't really walk on the moon. It was all a hoax, Jim said.
"They made those pictures out in the desert, out west somewhere," he said. "If you look right sharp you can see the shadows of the telephone poles."
I found out that some chickens lay green and blue eggs (Jim raised them and would sell the eggs in his store when he had enough), and that Ford transmissions don't have to work like the factory installs them. You see, Jim once asked me to drive his old pickup back to the store while he walked down the ridge and looked for a missing cow. Before he got out, he said, "You know where reverse is in those other 'uns? Well, first is there."
Someone had replaced his transmission - backwards - but Jim never complained, he just dealt with it.
Jim's descriptions of those around him were usually on the mark. My friend Dona, for example, whose memory isn't always the sharpest, "wakes up in a new world every morning," according to Jim. "Once she sleeps, that's it."
Driving past Jim's old place the other day, I could almost hear his voice. "Stay with us," he used to say, whenever anyone got ready to leave the store.
Canada's Jim Phillips, with all his understated, homespun wisdom, passed on in February 1986, but he's immortalized in Warren Moore's book, "Mountain Voices: A Legacy of the Blue Ridge and Great Smokies." His store is long gone, and I still can't believe I saw an RV park in one of his fields when I was up that way Sunday.
Jim number two, who gave up his career as a P.E. teacher, is now an investment counselor in Waynesville. He's Grandpa's broker.
Jim number one went on to graduate from Annapolis. Apparently he managed to stop laughing long enough to learn how to be a naval officer. I hope he's having a swell time on his birthday, wherever he happens to be celebrating it.
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Knowing Jamie Clarke opened unexpected doors
published 04/22/99
By Lynn Hotaling |
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All of us at the Cafe were saddened last week to learn of former Congressman Jamie Clarke's passing.
A mountain statesman, Clarke served three terms in Washington, D.C., representing North Carolina's 11th district, which includes Jackson County, in the U.S. House of Representatives.
Much has been written since his death of his commitment to the environment, his unceasing efforts to make life better for those he represented and his willingness to do what was right, not what was merely politically expedient.
And it's all true. He was instrumental in the Forest Service's acquisition of the 7,100-acre Panthertown Valley tract in southern Jackson County, helping to ensure that natural treasure remained in the public domain.
Clarke owned property in this county's Canada section and became acquainted with many community residents. Realizing that they needed better access and an opportunity to participate fully in the life of the county, he worked to secure funding for paving and other improvements to N.C. 281 to lessen Canada's isolation.
We've read of his unfailing warmth and graciousness and willingness to put those around him at ease and of his "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" approach to his first term - arriving in the nation's capital in a pickup truck full of fresh eggs from his farm to share with his fellow legislators.
I was privileged to know Jamie Clarke and his family on a more personal level during the 1970s.
Back then I was a graduate student in Western Carolina University's biology department. A Georgia transplant, I wanted to fully experience life in the mountains. One trip up 281 into Jackson County's back country showed me where I wanted to live.
A mutual friend introduced me to Jamie and Elspie Clarke because he heard they were looking for someone to live in a house they owned at Rock Bridge.
I was bowled over by their friendliness and interest in me, and instantly in love with the old cabin surrounded by ancient apple trees that was to be my home for the next four years. Once settled, I was part of the gang anytime the Clarkes were over from their Fairview (Buncombe County) farm.
From softball games to horseback riding to fishing to wild strawberry picking, if the Clarkes were doing it, I was welcome. It's easy to recall Mr. Clarke's almost bashful smile, and the way he cocked his head to the right when he shook your hand. When he was in Canada, it seemed his favorite conversational topic was fishing.
Thanks to the Clarkes, the door opened to that "mountain experience" I had been seeking. Foxes ate Purina Cat Chow on the porch from the same dish as my kitties. Little spotted skunks (called "civvy cats" by my neighbors) were frequent visitors.
The best part, though, was getting to know the others who lived up there, mostly through conversations at Phillips Grocery, operated by Jim Phillips.
Located about halfway between Tuckasegee and Toxaway, Jim's store was the only place to buy necessities, such as gas, flour, cornmeal, pinto beans and kerosene for the lamps, not to mention treats - a candy bar or an ice-cold dope.
Conversations there were way different than those I'd had during my suburban upbringing. I soon found there was a lot to be learned while sitting around at the store. And Jamie Clarke's actions triggered some of the best stories.
A longtime supporter of education in general and Warren Wilson College in particular, Mr. Clarke took a special interest in WWC's international students, inviting them to visit and finding work for them to do to help them earn money while in this country.
Occasionally, he would send a foreign student over to Rock Bridge to work. This early nod to multicultural education gave rise to some interesting philosophizing on Jim's part.
"Those S'moans really like cake," was the way Jim greeted me one day. I waited for the rest, and after he rang up a few purchases, he continued his tale.
"Yeah, that Asi bought a cake mix t'other day. I figured it was because S'moans like to eat cake."
Asi was a WWC student from American Samoa who worked for the Clarkes. His customary attire consisted of flowered shorts and a leather headband covered with sea shells. Shirts and shoes, in Asi's eyes, were clearly optional and rarely worn.
Jim was fascinated by Asi and must have spend a lot of hours trying to puzzle him out. He first thought "S'moa" was in South America, but later changed his mind and placed it"out in the ocean, somewhere."
Subsequent encounters further confounded the storekeeper. "That Asi's all right, but he's different," was how Jim finally summed it up.
Jamie Clarke broadened all our horizons, just by being his caring, inclusive self.
Probably because the Clarkes were farmers, many activities centered around food. A family tradition was spending a few days at Rock Bridge in early June to pick wild strawberries at nearby Round Mountain. Hard workers all, Mr. and Mrs. Clarke and various combinations of their eight children picked enough of the tiny berries to make a year's supply of jam.
It was at a post-strawberry picking dinner at their house, which they called"the Clubhouse," that I learned one of my favorite recipes. It makes a perfect, light dessert.
Given Mr. Clarke's generous spirit, I know he and Mrs. Clarke won't mind if I share it with all of you. It's really easy - you slice bananas into small bowls, then top them with raspberry preserves heated to a syrup-like consistency over low heat on the stove top or low power in the microwave.
Knowing Jamie Clarke and his family was a rare privilege that opened doors for me - doors that changed my perspective and made me feel like I belonged in the mountains.
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Our 'Tale of Two Nicholsons' is drawing to a close
published 05/20/99
By Lynn Hotaling |
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I guess if one county is going to have two different schools with the same name, it makes sense to give them different principals with the same name. And, if you're going to have principals with the same name at schools with the same name, I guess it's fitting they should retire at the same time.
Just because it's fitting doesn't mean we have to like it. Somehow, it just doesn't seem fair that Jackson County should have to say good-bye to two outstanding educators at once.
Both Kenny Nicholson of Smoky Mountain High (he's the tall one) and Lou Nicholson of Smokey (that's Smokey-with-an-e for elementary) Mountain have spent their entire professional careers here - first as teachers, then as principals. For awhile they were even at the same school, Scotts Creek. The tall one was principal.
Though they share a last name, they are not related - at least not in the usual kinship sense of the word. But they are related philosophically - their common bond is their concern for Jackson County's young people.
In talking to various people about the two Nicholsons, I heard it over and over. "Lou (or Kenny) always thinks of the kids," and, "Kenny (or Lou) always does what's best for the kids."
Students at their schools get to go every day to a place where someone knows their name, because both Lou and Kenny take the time to learn the names of all their students.
"They both know every kid - they make a point to know them all. Kenny's out there every morning, greeting them when they come in. It's really important to kids that the principal can call them by name," said Superintendent Frank Burrell.
Both are vocal advocates of what's best for their schools and their students. Their comments have enlivened many an otherwise dull school board meeting. Shy is not a word used in connection with the two.
It's hard to believe they'll both be gone. Just last week Kenny drew a laugh with his side comment to me, "Make sure you write it was LOU Nicholson who said that." "I've always made sure people knew which comments were hers," Kenny said Tuesday.
"Outspoken," is a good word to describe the like-named pair.
"You can count on them to tell you what's right," Burrell said. "They don't just tell you what you want to hear."
In going about their business of education, both Nicholsons have managed to keep their sense of humor.
"He could be a stand-up comedian," one parent said to me in amazement after her first encounter with Kenny. One source even said checking roads at 4 a.m. on a cold winter's morning could be amusing if Kenny was along.
"You always knew where Lou stood," another said. "It was Lou's way or you don't do it."
Once on a Scotts Creek eighth-grade trip, the well-behaved mountain students, chaperoned by the two Nicholsons, were staying at a certain motel. Another group of students from some other school were also there, and they proceeded to get somewhat noisy and rowdy.
Lou was able, with the aid of an umbrella she used to poke the floor above her, to make them see it her way and acknowledge the wisdom of getting quiet.
And speaking of quiet (which is not a word normally used to describe Kenny what with his infectious laugh and quips for all occasions), that same source told us that Kenny can often be heard in the halls at the high school urging kids to be quiet - but it's Kenny's voice that stands out above all the rest.
Overheard about Kenny at a school board meeting: "Even when he was fresh (inexperienced) he had children in the palm of his hand."
From a mother who was once a student of Lou's at Scotts Creek and whose Down's Syndrome son is at Smokey Mountain: "Anything I need for that baby, she helps me. She never gives me a hard time whether it's a seat belt on the bus or tutors."
Kids. For both our Nicholsons, that's what it's always been about.
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Things we learned on the way to Foster Siding
published 07/15/99
By Lynn Hotaling |
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It's pretty easy to take a look at this week's paper and figure out the main topics of conversation around the Cafe the past few days - the fire department centennial, the weather and the fire department centennial some more.
Looking through all the firemen's old photos and talking about the way things used to be gave rise to some discussion of local names and places.
It has come to our attention that some area media outlets seem to be more than a little geography challenged.
We were surprised to learn from one that Wayehutta is part of Sylva and to repeatedly see the totally incorrect "Wilmont" in big letters in another.
Then we realized that maybe we were being too critical. How are they supposed to know the difference between Moody Bottom and Tannery Flats or distinguish between Addie and Beta unless we share some of our hard-earned knowledge?
With that in mind, we decided to publish the first installment of our forthcoming book, as yet untitled (we're considering "Write It Right"), which will clear up one or two of the confusing subtleties of selected local locations. And here, in no particular order, are the ones we picked:
Wilmot - a community between Dillsboro and Whittier. There is not now and never has been an "n" in Wilmot.
Lovesfield - Area of N.C. 107 South that falls roughly between Wal-Mart and Smoky Mountain High School. While it may be derived from Love's field, the proper usage is one word in all applications.
Ashe Settlement - Correct name for the area that generally lies between N.C. 107 near Jack The Dipper and Webster. It was easier to precisely locate back before the highway swapped sides of the river. The sign on the road says "Old Settlement." We could accept "Old Ashe Settlement," but we object to the omission of one of our pioneer families.
Tuckaseigee - The river that runs the length of Jackson County.
Tuckasegee - The community between Cullowhee and Cashiers and its post office.
Tuckaseegee - Don't use it. It's incorrect in all applications.
Greens Creek, Charleys Creek, Scotts Creek, Barkers Creek, etc. - No apostrophes are found in any of these, though they may once have been possessive.
Allen Branch, Blanton Branch - These are singular, rather than possessive or plural.
East LaPorte - Spell it this way.
Wayehutta - A community in Cullowhee. Spell it like this and say it as if it were written "Wary hut." Don't ask us why, just do it.
Panthertown - Large valley, now owned by the U.S. Forest Service, located in the southern end of the county. Some of us (that would include Frosty and me) prefer the original mountain pronunciation of "Paintertown." Others (who would be wrong) persist in saying it as if this geologically unique area were named for some Charlotte football team.
College Hill - The hill behind the GTE offices in Sylva. It's the former location of Sylva Collegiate Institute, a Baptist elementary and high school that was located there earlier this century.
Had enough for one week?
For those still puzzling over Moody Bottom and Beta (pronounced "Beeta"), the communities along the old Asheville Highway (now Skyland Drive), in order heading northeast from Sylva, are: Tannery Flats, Moody Bottom, Maple Springs, Beta, Foster Siding, Lower Addie and Addie.
Study hard. There may be a pop quiz.
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