I didn’t live in a house with a driver until my late teens -- neither my mom nor my grandparents drove -- so if I went someplace, it was by foot. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t a lot to do or see, it was all just a little closer to home.
For several years, I think around the 4th of July, there was a festival of some kind on the courthouse lawn. I don’t recall the name, but I can remember it going on several years. There was a lot to do, but the highlight, at least for the boys, was the greasy pole. It seemed incredibly tall to me at the time, but I’m sure it wasn’t much more than 20 ft. They slathered it with axle grease or something similar and nailed something like $50 to the top. To a kid my age, that was a fortune, but all I ever accomplished was cleaning some of the grease off the bottom of the pole.
I also remember one year some kid had a Shetland pony with a fancy saddle. I asked him if I could ride it and he said okay, so I jumped on. Something was twisted somewhere, or the pony just had a bad temper, but he started bucking and I held until they got him calmed down. I might not have been a real cowboy, but I got my eight seconds – and then some.
Speaking of cowboys and horses, there was also a small rodeo that stopped in at the baseball field for a week or so. I only remember this happening a couple of times, but it was still exciting. I’m not sure how they set up, probably so they could use the stands and the backstop behind home plate, since I was too busy running around to really see pay attention.
I can also remember a circus there once. It wasn’t much of one that I recall, not like the Barnum and Bailey Circus, but it was in Loudon.
Also at the baseball field were ballgames between adult teams. They weren’t minor league teams, more like business sponsored leagues, but it was still fun to watch. And right outside the ballpark was the skating rink where you could get a small bottle of coke and listen to some 50s rock and roll.
In the west end of town there was a small carnival that sat up behind the VFW a few years. Again, it was small but it was there, and you didn’t have to find a way to get to Knoxville or Chattanooga, or even Lenoir City. There were no dramatic rides, but there wasn’t all that many back then anyway. I do remember the chairs on a chain that would swing around so fast that you were almost horizontal, and the platform you stood on and it turned so fast that the centrifugal force held you against the wall as the ride turned on its edge. Like I said, nothing major, but still fun and exciting for a sleepy little town in the Tennessee hills.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Exploring a Small Town
When I was a kid there were times I would go to town just to go to town. It could be a neat place to explore if you did it right. Looking back, I am amazed at how many places tolerated me – or us, since I wasn't the only one doing it.
Richeson’s Drugstore was full of things to “look at”. Some of them were things I wanted; others were things I wondered about. Ernie Richeson never said a word. He knew I was “just lookin’” because I obviously didn’t have any money, but occasionally he would have an errand he need someone to do, so he benefited from my being there too. Most errands paid off at a single scoop of ice cream, my choice..
The dime stores were probably the most visited places. They were a cornucopia of wonders to a little kid. One and a half aisles were basically worthless since they had plastic flowers and “grown up” stuff, but the rest were toys, games, baseball gloves, and a lot of other things to wish for. Then, on your way out the door was a large glass case full of candy. Gum drops, M&Ms, Boston Baked Beans, Jelly Beans, and so much more with the unheard of price of 25 or 30 cents a pound! That was a fortune when you had no more than a nickel in your pocket.
One of my biggest life lessons happened in the dime store that sat opposite the bank. I was 6 or 7 and for whatever reason I was in the store by myself. I saw a large multi colored balloon that expanded to almost beach ball size when inflated and was thick and durable. I had to have it even though I didn’t have the money. The only option was to take that short step toward delinquency, so I stuffed the balloon in my pocket and headed for the door. Of course, the guy working there saw me and grabbed my arm before I made it outside. He kept me there while he stepped outside the door and called over the policeman who was standing on the corner. I think it was Boob Mills, but I honestly don’t remember. All I do remember is he read me the riot act. If his idea was to scare me, he was doing a superb job because I was shaking in my shoes. After a few minutes of a lecture that seemed hours long, he let me go with a stern warning. There has never been another time in my life that I was so scared, and no time since have I even contemplated something even slightly dishonest without seeing that cop standing over me giving me hell.
Another place of interest was the corner drug store. It was the library of sorts because it had a magazine rack and comic books. In the beginning, they were 10 cents, then 12 cents, then 15 cents. Those were major increases for someone of my financial situation, but I paid them anyway.
Sometimes, Charlie Arp’s store was another stop. His hardwood floors were always cool and he didn’t mind if you visited. He was another guy who needed an occasional errand ran. Depending on the errand, you might get anything from a Tootsie Pop to a soda pop, or even a Brown Cow.
Also, if it was Saturday (which it usually was on my excursions to town) and the weather was good, the streets would be crowded with people “comin’ to town”, especially by the White Store. That was when you met up with some of the guys you didn’t see very often. It gave you someone to run around with, which was a lot more fun than being by yourself.
Richeson’s Drugstore was full of things to “look at”. Some of them were things I wanted; others were things I wondered about. Ernie Richeson never said a word. He knew I was “just lookin’” because I obviously didn’t have any money, but occasionally he would have an errand he need someone to do, so he benefited from my being there too. Most errands paid off at a single scoop of ice cream, my choice..
The dime stores were probably the most visited places. They were a cornucopia of wonders to a little kid. One and a half aisles were basically worthless since they had plastic flowers and “grown up” stuff, but the rest were toys, games, baseball gloves, and a lot of other things to wish for. Then, on your way out the door was a large glass case full of candy. Gum drops, M&Ms, Boston Baked Beans, Jelly Beans, and so much more with the unheard of price of 25 or 30 cents a pound! That was a fortune when you had no more than a nickel in your pocket.
One of my biggest life lessons happened in the dime store that sat opposite the bank. I was 6 or 7 and for whatever reason I was in the store by myself. I saw a large multi colored balloon that expanded to almost beach ball size when inflated and was thick and durable. I had to have it even though I didn’t have the money. The only option was to take that short step toward delinquency, so I stuffed the balloon in my pocket and headed for the door. Of course, the guy working there saw me and grabbed my arm before I made it outside. He kept me there while he stepped outside the door and called over the policeman who was standing on the corner. I think it was Boob Mills, but I honestly don’t remember. All I do remember is he read me the riot act. If his idea was to scare me, he was doing a superb job because I was shaking in my shoes. After a few minutes of a lecture that seemed hours long, he let me go with a stern warning. There has never been another time in my life that I was so scared, and no time since have I even contemplated something even slightly dishonest without seeing that cop standing over me giving me hell.
Another place of interest was the corner drug store. It was the library of sorts because it had a magazine rack and comic books. In the beginning, they were 10 cents, then 12 cents, then 15 cents. Those were major increases for someone of my financial situation, but I paid them anyway.
Sometimes, Charlie Arp’s store was another stop. His hardwood floors were always cool and he didn’t mind if you visited. He was another guy who needed an occasional errand ran. Depending on the errand, you might get anything from a Tootsie Pop to a soda pop, or even a Brown Cow.
Also, if it was Saturday (which it usually was on my excursions to town) and the weather was good, the streets would be crowded with people “comin’ to town”, especially by the White Store. That was when you met up with some of the guys you didn’t see very often. It gave you someone to run around with, which was a lot more fun than being by yourself.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
That Little One Horse Town I Call Home
When I was a kid, Loudon seemed so incredibly large. Walking was the most common form of travel and from the west end to downtown seemed to take forever. And if I was walking toward Hospital Hill, the curve on old 72 going around the base of the hill seemed like a cross country trek from the traffic light at 72 and 11. You could probably walk to one spot in town from any other spot in less than an hour, but to a kid that’s a long time. Even the walks to school seemed stretched, especially if it was raining or very cold or hot.
I’m not talking about just in town either. Going to Lenoir City, Philadelphia, or Greenback seemed to take hours on those narrow, two lane roads, and anyplace beyond the distance of Knoxville may as well be on another planet. Now you can zip back and forth to those places with interstates or wide multi-lane highways, but do you remember what it was like before all that, when the roads were so curvy my uncle used to joke that the guy who built the road was trying to run down a snake. As I got older places did seem to get closer – at least a little.
The people were different too. You could always expect to see the same people in the same place, no matter the day of the week; except for Sunday and Wednesday afternoon. People worked their stores, leaned against lamp posts, or sat whittling all the time. Same person, same place. There was a checkerboard outside the fire station that was almost always in use, and you could set your clock by where Mr. Johns or Tater Watts were on their mail route or where Boss Wallace was in the trash truck. Not garbage truck -- trash truck.
Some of the older guys would kid around with you when you were younger, trying to get you to believe some of the most outlandish things. One tried to convince me that potato chips were cooked in oil made from a lizard’s back. I was maybe six, but I still remember it. He said, “Look at your fingers and how slick and shiny they look. That’s the same way a lizard’s back look.” I believed him for awhile, until my older brother called me stupid for believing that kind of stuff. Older brothers had a way of saying things so succinctly.
Anyway, when I go back now I’m amazed at how small it is. I see the “revitalization” efforts downtown and I wonder why. What are they revitalizing? The farm families don’t come to town in droves on Saturday morning anymore. There are not enough of them left, and besides, it’s easier to go someplace bigger that has a better selection of stores. There are no more shops. There are several eating places, and I think one place to get a haircut, but no place to buy a shirt. More than that, there are no people. There are some walking here or there, or stopping at the bank during the day, but when the business day is over the only people you see are the ones traveling through town.
Sad.
I’m not talking about just in town either. Going to Lenoir City, Philadelphia, or Greenback seemed to take hours on those narrow, two lane roads, and anyplace beyond the distance of Knoxville may as well be on another planet. Now you can zip back and forth to those places with interstates or wide multi-lane highways, but do you remember what it was like before all that, when the roads were so curvy my uncle used to joke that the guy who built the road was trying to run down a snake. As I got older places did seem to get closer – at least a little.
The people were different too. You could always expect to see the same people in the same place, no matter the day of the week; except for Sunday and Wednesday afternoon. People worked their stores, leaned against lamp posts, or sat whittling all the time. Same person, same place. There was a checkerboard outside the fire station that was almost always in use, and you could set your clock by where Mr. Johns or Tater Watts were on their mail route or where Boss Wallace was in the trash truck. Not garbage truck -- trash truck.
Some of the older guys would kid around with you when you were younger, trying to get you to believe some of the most outlandish things. One tried to convince me that potato chips were cooked in oil made from a lizard’s back. I was maybe six, but I still remember it. He said, “Look at your fingers and how slick and shiny they look. That’s the same way a lizard’s back look.” I believed him for awhile, until my older brother called me stupid for believing that kind of stuff. Older brothers had a way of saying things so succinctly.
Anyway, when I go back now I’m amazed at how small it is. I see the “revitalization” efforts downtown and I wonder why. What are they revitalizing? The farm families don’t come to town in droves on Saturday morning anymore. There are not enough of them left, and besides, it’s easier to go someplace bigger that has a better selection of stores. There are no more shops. There are several eating places, and I think one place to get a haircut, but no place to buy a shirt. More than that, there are no people. There are some walking here or there, or stopping at the bank during the day, but when the business day is over the only people you see are the ones traveling through town.
Sad.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Remembering
I’m 58 years old, so the 4 years of high school represent 7% of my life. While sometimes there seems to be an abundance of memories from those years, it is still just a small part of my memories. Some memories will stay with me forever, some things I will never recall again.
Certain people and events pop up in the first few seconds of scanning through my memories and seem to cover or obscure some of the others. It’s funny how some memories are there, ready to pop up with little or no encouragement, while you have to pound through the layer of years covering some of the others to even get a glimpse of them.
Then there are those memories somewhere in the middle. The ones you think you remember fairly well until you talk to someone who shares the memory with you and they recall it differently. At first you try to correct whoever it is and tell them that they have it twisted, but the more you talk with them, the more you realize you’re the one with the different take on it. You started out remembering bits and pieces and with each retelling or remembrance over the years, you add more and more to them until they had to be the way things went.
I remember all the people. That’s not hard to do with a class of just over 120, but there were 100 times that many memories, far too many to remember. That’s why I like reunions. It gives us a chance to realign those memories and if you change them enough, they become almost like new. A totally new set that you can carry with you.
Certain people and events pop up in the first few seconds of scanning through my memories and seem to cover or obscure some of the others. It’s funny how some memories are there, ready to pop up with little or no encouragement, while you have to pound through the layer of years covering some of the others to even get a glimpse of them.
Then there are those memories somewhere in the middle. The ones you think you remember fairly well until you talk to someone who shares the memory with you and they recall it differently. At first you try to correct whoever it is and tell them that they have it twisted, but the more you talk with them, the more you realize you’re the one with the different take on it. You started out remembering bits and pieces and with each retelling or remembrance over the years, you add more and more to them until they had to be the way things went.
I remember all the people. That’s not hard to do with a class of just over 120, but there were 100 times that many memories, far too many to remember. That’s why I like reunions. It gives us a chance to realign those memories and if you change them enough, they become almost like new. A totally new set that you can carry with you.
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