In 1953, my 9th year of my life on this earth, 1 was suddenly transported from the place of my birth, Savannah, Georgia, USA, Transported by a drive of 500 miles, in a brand new, $2300.00, 1953 Pontiac, to Clear Creek, Kentucky. This move was to become the most loved five years of my first 20 years of life.
That huge car, also transported us through time from 1953 to 1893. We stepped out of the car from the century I was born in, into the century before.
In a few blinks of an eye, I was transformed into a child of the Appalachian Mountains, a mountaineer child, a child awed by the new accents, a new language, I started to sang my words, and sucked up the sounds and stories of this mountain language like a sponge. A world that made me giggle at first, when the words far tar, meant fire tower.
The mountaineers stories fill my head with clans, family ties, kinfolk, family feuds, shootings and men with guns in the woods. Long guns, shot guns, pistols and most folk packed a gun. I was living in a world of frontier stories you may have read about in Zane Gray or Louis L'Amour book
I heard this over and over. Thars moonshiners in them thar hills that sooner shoot you than eat! You'uns see anything up that holler, you don't say nuthin, you don't see nuthin and you keeps ya mouth shut and get ya self outa there. they is all blood-kin, and ya wanna watch out what ya say and where ya say it.
At age 12, I looked forward to Saturday, because we visited daddy's pastoral flock and I rode in the coveted front passenger seat, with my dad driving, and we drove to the Church he was pastor of. I was 12 and loved to go with my Dad to visit the homes of the members of his church. Saturday was the day I listened to stories, protected Daddy from cats and dogs, platted the tail of a mule and got kicked in the stomach, was showered with fresh milk by a teen boy milking the cows, climbed in barn lofts. We visited homes that barely clung to the side of a mountain. #1 on the most memorial memory of those days, was the great Dane dog with 12 large puppies. I will never forget them.
#2 on the most memorial memory
The big green car with daddy white knuckling the steering wheel, rolled slowly down and down and down the Devils Switchback road towards the church as we left our house that perched on the edge of the mountain we lived on. Daddy's tenor blended with my alto and the words of Amazing Grace probably echoed off the mountains.
We had a wonderful day and the last house we visited, was very close to the church. We left the front porch and down to the car and headed towards the church and home was 40 minutes away.
We drove for maybe 20 minutes and as we went around the curve into the straight part of the road, we saw 3 men. They were staggering down the mountain, two of the men practically dragging the one in the middle. they staggered into the road in front of us, and we could see there was a lot of blood on the front of the middle man. The fact they came out of the woods, down the mountain and their overalls and dirty long hair, screamed Moonshiners, not to mention the blood.
Daddy smashed the brakes, I screamed, no daddy, don't stop! He is covered in blood. the car rolled to a stop and Daddy got out to talk to them, a few words and he brought them to the passenger side, MY side of the car, and opened the door behind me. They put the bloody man in the middle and one climbed in on my side, the other went to the other door, Daddy got back in the car and started it up. By the time the last door slammed, I had turned my self around and pressed my back against the glove compartment with my feet drawn up
Terrified I stared at them and suddenly forgetting every thing I ever heard, I said "What Happened"?
The man in the middle pointed to either side with his thumbs and said
Deese men be my Blood Kin, we's tryin ta get ta do horsespital down yonder, I got me 3 shoots in my belly and I needs a doctor.
I have no memory how far the hospital was, I just remember what he said and that my mouth never stopped peppering them with questions. they were feuding moonshiners, it was and adventure and evidently the warnings I heard about keeping my mouth shut went right out the open window. We survived, and we have no idea if he survived those 3 shoots in his belly. Daddy dropped them off at the hospital and I
ts been 65 years since I left Kentucky, and shoots in the belly still lives in my memories.I do know I loved every moment!
NOTE:
The snips are google maps as the source, and the house and church and both the roads are what they look like today. In 1953 the road had no markings, was full of potholes. 65 years ago the church was a small white church, now it is a large brick church.
Looking back I can see that living in the state of Kentucky, 1953-1959 was very similar to life in Kentucky during the feud between the Hatfield's and McCoys, an American Feud (1863-1891)
We lived about an hour away from Harland county, in coal Country. Some of our church members worked in the coal mines. Click on this link to 1950's Harlan County Kentucky to see the world we lived in.
Joining Yam for Final Friday Feature
