Another Fourth of July

The Fourth of July: No work to do except to find ways to pass the day without boredom. Nobody invited me on a picnic or offered me a piece of watermelon. I didn’t mind. Picnics have too many crawling things about them; watermelon is too high for a person to expect a donation like it. Lots of cars parked downtown but not many persons in sight. Visiting golfers came in to get started in the Hazard Country Club’s Invitational Tournament. Bob Mansfield late for his usual breakfast hour. Everybody taking it easy on Independence Day.

Had a dish of ice cream with Jonah Daniel at Don’s. Met Phyllis Rollins, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Rollins, whom I hadn’t seen in more than five years when they lived in Harlan: Also Susan Daniel, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Jonah Daniel. Both mighty pretty representatives of Hazard.

In the lobby of the Grand Hotel, a long conversation with Judge Courtney Wells and Dr. K. N. Salyers. Met several of the Harlan baseball players over for a game with the Bombers. Jimmy Polos, of Lynch, one of the finest little fellows to ever mix with a bunch, was looking for a pair of paints in which to play golf. All clothing stores closed.

Ride to Bomber Park for ball game only for the ride. Although only a sprinkle hit most of town, the ball park got a drenching. All hands agreed it was too wet for safe playing. I was disappointed, but I never like to see ball players take a chance in the mud.

Back to the Grand Hotel lobby where I dozed in one of those comfortable chairs. People coming in and out bothered my rest.

Took off for Harlan at 4:30 with Father Anthony Kraff, Father Richard Reimondo, and Herbert Turlich, the latter a fireman for the L & N. and a hot box of a baseball fan. Not a dull moment in that car. We got to the ball park in time. Good game but mighty few Hazard fans there. Back to Hazard with Dick Goodlette and his father-in-law.

A good holiday except for the accidents and shootings in the county. One man shot to death. Too bad things like that happen. Nobody gained, everybody lost. Plenty of persons in trouble after such an incident. Didn’t see a drunk during the whole day, which is unusual on a holiday as far as I’m concerned. Only one person offered me a drink. That’s not so unusual. So, another Fourth of July. 1952

Stopping the Train

Dropping things from local trains seems to be a habit lately.  The other day, a well known citizen of Perry County was on the Lotts Creek train.  Suddenly, the bell cord was jerked and the train came to an instant and noisy halt.  Conductor George Hart rushed back to the coach, asking in angry tones who had stopped the train.

Our friend mumbled something which the conductor finally understood to mean that he had lost his false teeth from the train and they were a few yards  back on the track.  The teeth were recovered. 

Then there was the plight of another well known citizen yesterday.  He and his wife were on the way out and just before the train reached Hazard, this gentleman lost his keys from the train.  He alighted at the next station and went back after the keys.  When he reached Hazard, train and wife had gone on north.  His Hazard friends say that he dropped the keys on purpose as he seemed to enjoy his visit here that night.  1928

Enlightenment

Every writer kids himself now and then with the thought that everybody reads his “stuff” and likes it. Just as he’s about to believe his own kidding, along comes someone who brings him back to reality. A good example of this occurred a few days ago. I was complimented by a friend and I felt mighty good about my success. Then I went into Patton Moore Dry Goods Company and was introduced to Mrs. Howard (Louise) Hatmaker, the bookkeeper. “Yes, I have read some of your writing but I don’t have much time for that,” she said very pleasantly. 

 Not knowing much about the North Fork of the Kentucky River, I asked last night during the heavy rain if floods ever bother us here. I was told that now and then Hazardites must sweep out from under high waters. Most mountain cities have to do that, because our woods have been denuded and our laws have not forced reforestation. 

 The American barber is a great institution. It can be classified just that because there is nothing else like it, unless it’s a woman’s beauty parlor. My head was sheared and clipped Saturday in the chair of Willard Evans of Shelton’s Barber Shop. Philip Wright did my shoes over. You can get all sides of local and world affairs from either the barbers or the customers. Whenever I feel that my knowledge is slipping, I head for the barbershop. Men don’t gossip in a barbershop like women do in a beauty parlor: the men seek enlightenment on potent developments. 1952

I Watch Them Every Day

The Mount Mary Hospital is located just a few feet from the Hurst-Snyder Hospital in Hazard. There is considerable hospital traffic along this short section of High Street and Fleet Street, traffic to and from these institutions.

Looking at the entrance of Mount Mary, I can see patients whose beds have been placed near the second floor windows...and they are children. I watch them every day; now and then I wave to a little fellow who stands in a crib or leans his head into the window. Now and then one of them waves back, and I'm glad when that happens because I know he is better. 

Over the past couple of weeks, the faces in the windows have changed several times. And always there are new faces of adults, some smiling in one window, others serious and unsmiling in another. 

On the street I see many hospital visitors, families and friends of those inside. Now and then I speak to someone waiting on the sidewalk in front of Mount Mary or on the corner of Hurst-Snyder. It's not hard to make friends with persons who are in trouble.

A few days ago I ran into a tall, smiling man on the sidewalk. I'd never seen him before, but I spoke and asked him if he had folks in the hospital. "Yes sir, I do!" he beamed. "My wife just gave me a nine pound girl." And before I could congratulate him, he continued, "I don't have a single cigar with me, I just gave a whole box away." I told him I didn't smoke cigars. I then gave him a cigar that another new father had given me a few hours before. He took it and thanked me. "Now, ain't that nice," he said as he walked away with a man who had been standing with him. 1952

Riverboat Man

   

  If you lived in Hazard, KY through the 1930’s and 1960’s, you probably witnessed some of the most disastrous floods in the history of Eastern Kentucky. I lived on Combs Street which was just a little bit more elevated than North Main Street.

      From that vantage point, I had a front row view of the entire disaster. I would walk down to the water’s edge to watch the dead mules, hogs and cadavers float by. The broken-down homes and fractured barns were also of great interest. It was fun to try and identify the remnants as they floated by. I would say, “That’s part of a house or that’s part of a barn.” And, I would have a real good laugh if some poor soul lost his outhouse to the North Fork of the Kentucky River. And, several of them were observed to be floating down the river with their roof-top facing downward and being partially-submerged.

      I was tempted to try and haul some of the booty to the shore but, the current was too strong for me, a young lad of just five years of age. Little did I know that the force of the current would probably have drawn me into the water if I had had tried to apply any salvage operations. I did try to use my lasso rope like Will Rogers did but I was not talented enough with the lariat toss to rope anything or to pull anything ashore.

      So, I had to devise another way if I was to play the salvage game. And, for this part of the story, we have to flashback about six months earlier before the time that I became a legendary riverboat man. I knew that a flood would be forthcoming and I had formed a magnificent plan.

      I had been collecting my building material for a long time previous to the time that my actual construction phase began. The design intent was to make my boat lighter than most of the other boats so I used small sections of bushel baskets that the grocers in town had discarded.

      They would ask me why I needed them and, when I said, “I am going to build a light-weight boat, they all laughed at me.” Then they said, “You can take all of the baskets that you can carry.” And, I did just that. Time and time again. Our basement became the home of about 100 bushel baskets.

      My boat was designed to be the first known example of a composite materials rowboat. I wove the basket ply at a 45-degree orientation and I sealed them together with roof tar. It took about six months to finish the Project and I was almost six-years old when it was finished.

      I talked my bodyguard friend (John Russell Muncy) into helping me with the task of taking the finished boat out of our basement and carrying it to where the water was located. It was an extremely light rowboat and both he and I were very proud of our joint creation.

      The master plan was that John would sit at the stern and be responsible for the dumping of any water that might need to be discharged from the vessel. I had given him a large coffee can for dipping purposes, if and when any unwanted water might need to be collected.

      I had tied three sections of bamboo together with electrical tape as a steerage pole and my position was to be at the bow for guidance purposes. The length of my pole was about twelve-feet long. And, the flood stage was about nine feet above normal levels when we decided to launch the ‘SS-Hays’. Trouble began immediately after we left the beachfront property.

      John Russell was a huge person even at that age. He tipped the weighing scales at about 150-lbs while I was less than that with about 90-lbs. So we had no idea of the effect that a heavy load of 240-lbs might have on our maiden voyage.

      In the design phase, I didn’t consider anything about buoyancy or tare weights. When John got into the boat, the bow went up in the air and the water level at the stern was about one or two-inches from the topside of the boat. I boarded the bow section to counteract the weight problem but I wasn’t heavy enough for righting the vessel. We both panicked after we had sprung a major water leak.

      John was screaming, “We are going to die.” He said this over and over again. I responded with, “Not if you keep on dipping the onboard water. I replied, “Shut up and dip as hard as you can. I have a plan. We will survive if you will dip at a much faster rate.”  The last time that I looked his way he was moving those stout arms of his faster than ever before. I do believe that if I had taken a photograph of John’s swinging arms, they would have been out of focus and just a blur on the printed picture.

      He was dipping fast enough but we took on more water because his large body forced the stern to be submerged when he tossed the water. The boat would pitch sideways back and forth as he emptied his pail on the port or starboard side. At that time, he was causing us to take on more water than he doused.      I yelled at him but he was too scared to listen. He had a strange look on his face and I then learned what a person does when he is facing death. He goes a little ghoulish or morbid, if you get my drift. So, I concentrated on the steerage of the boat.

      I knew that there was a large bend in the river ahead of us and it was about one mile from our launching point. I kept using the long pole and when I would strike the bottommost portion of the river bed, my face would become very close to the top surface of the water. It was a terrifying experience. I was left with the thought that both the pole and I were too short for that particular application.

      John kept screaming, “We are going to die. Why did I let you talk me into this? This is entirely your fault, Charley.” So I ignored what had to be ignored as I continued to edge the boat’s path toward that bend in the river. It was a landing where John and I always went fishing. At the top of the hillside where North Main Street existed there was Thacker’s Garage and across the street from Thacker was where Elmer Davis operated his Gulf Gasoline Station.

      I beached the ‘SS-Hays’ boat successfully and I have never built another boat. Both John Russell Muncy and I are still afraid of any deep water, although it has been an interim of about seventy-five years since. We shared our adventure with Mr. Thacker and Elmer Davis as we were very proud of our bravery.

      Thacker was a man that few people liked but I was very thankful for his landing which saved our lives because neither John nor I knew how to swim. Davis, a man that everyone loved said, “Sounds like a fun trip to me.” And, that’s the end of my mini-story about our joint involvement with the big flood.

God Bless You, Honey

One of Hazard’s greatest street characters of all time was a man known only as “Steve”. In the 1940’s and 50’s he would parade up and down Main Street saying hello to every person that he met. He was high-spirited man and new visitors to Hazard from other places just didn't know what to make of him and his hyperactive behavior. But, the Hazardites who knew him and loved him were not disturbed by his strange antics.

      He had a fine moustache and it was always groomed to perfection. His face was hardened by the rigors of many long years in that he had numerous wrinkles and an over-abundance of aging lines. Obviously, he had been affected by too much work during his time. Or, perhaps, he just spent too many hours under the Sun. In any case, his countenance was badly weathered.

      Steve was Slavic in nature and he spoke broken English with a very strong dialect. People who knew him better than I did have said that he came from some Country in Europe’s Middle East, either Romania or Hungary. His best friend on the street was Moses Lasslo, a shoe maker. If a rain storm passed over the mountains, he would take refuge in Lasso’s Shoe Shop and Lasso’s Jewelry Shop which was run by Mrs. Lasso, mother of Jay Lasso.

      His daily route would begin at the Railroad Depot Bridge and it would end at the old Greyhound Bus Depot or the US Post Office, depending upon which side of the street that he was on, either the Eastward or the Westward. He liked to meet and greet every new bus that came into town. And, it wasn’t too much longer before he was dubbed as Hazard’s one-man-greeting spokesperson.

      He would pace up and down Main Street on both sides of the road, (riverside and hillside) saying to each of the pedestrians this same identical expression; “God bless you honey. Gimmee a nickel.” And, as a result of his comical appearance and his magnanimous smile, most people would dig deep into their pockets and purses to give him his token request, a 5-cent coin.

      I learned how to judge people by watching old Steve work the streets. The richer ones who cherished a nickel most would cross the street in order to avoid him and his repartee. The poorer ones, like myself, would give freely exactly what he asked for, a five-cent piece. And, the children of Hazard, they would stand in line to make a proper donation.

      We citizens of Hazard and all of the people from the outlying regions were completely awed by this man’s audacity. That was the way that it was when everybody came to Hazard town for shopping on Main Street. It was truly the best of Hazard’s Glory Years and I shall never forget them, not ever.

      “God Bless you Honey. Gimmee a nickel” became his slogan and, as I said, people couldn’t wait to make a contribution. He had an old fedora which he would remove from his head and it would serve as his coin collection container. Maybe that is why he was so strongly sun-tanned, who knows?

      He was much older than I when I knew him during the 1940’s and 1950’s. And, I believe that he died while I was at UK in about 1956. But, the salient point is this particular statement. The Sheriff was asked to search his little shack near the Bluegrass part of town. His clapboard living quarters rested very near the L&N railroad tracks where no one else in the whole wide World would want to live. I think that he camped-out on Railroad property but I am not completely certain about the separation lines.

      In any case, the Sheriff discovered a cache of $10,000 and it was all in nickels. They used the money to pay for his funeral since he had no known descendants. But, he didn’t die as a pauper, did he? I was much impressed by the lesson that he taught each of us. “Save your money kid or you’ll end up like little old me.” He was Hazard’s only street beggar and I loved that old man. Does anyone know his proper surname?

This Store Is Air Conditioned

From time to time, a lot of little changes take place on Main Street in Hazard or in the stores which improve the attractiveness of the business district.  Take the new air-conditioning at Major’s, for instance.  The store has been a real oasis during the hot days of this past week.  Major’s has probably had its share of window shoppers who have dropped in to enjoy the new service.  Another angle about it, too, is that it puts Carl Weiss and Willie Dawahare on even terms so far as dangling the “This Store is Air-Conditioned.” bait before the eyes of their prospective customers is concerned. 

Floyd Hall has made a remarkable transformation on the interior appearance at Hallnap’s by the use of a little elbow grease and ingenuity.  Floyd has rearranged his display cases and counters in such a way that it looks like a different store and it makes the store look larger, too.

Joe Eversole got the bug for knotty pine counters and they along with a new arrangement of counters, etc., have given Sterling Hardware a new look.  The “new look” was further improved by the new paint job on the windows and front of the store.  “Pooner” Phelps wasn’t sure he was going to like being surrounded by his new pine-panelled, U-shaped desk but latest reports say he’s happy about the whole thing.  1952

This Is No Place For Lady, But Fine For Tramp

It's always a boost to the morale to get a letter such as has been received from Mr. and Mrs. Edward Nunn, Edward Nunn Jr., and Miss Emma Lee Nunn, now of Chicago. They were spurred to write when they read in a Chicago newspaper that Perry County hasn't sold a single dog license this year because there were none to sell. The letter follows:

"Dear Sir; I was most pleased and surprised when I read the Chicago American newspaper this evening. My husband and I and our small son left Hazard in September 1950. Since then, we have made our home here in Chicago, spending only a week a year in Hazard.

In the Chicago American on the second page was this item titled, "This Is No Place For Lady but Fine for Tramp." It was very amusing and enlightening after a hard days work. It told of the trouble Sheriff Bill Cornett was having getting dog tags for the canines in Hazard. Also it mentioned the fact that the dog warden had quit because there was no pay for him.

It brought a smile for all of us. Even though it was only a small paragraph about dogs, it brought home close to us for a while, and I thought I'd let you know that even though Hazard is only a small town, we still think of it as home. To have our town mentioned in a newspaper of a large city was very heart warming. We all lived in Walkertown." 1955

Small Fry Taking To The Water

There is a story from Louisville about the first of 13 new passenger coaches bought by the Louisville & Nashville Railroad being placed on display at Union Station in that city. Along with the $143,000 light weight steel coach will be an obsolete coach which cost $9,000 in 1913. The new coach will be placed in service on the South Wind, a Chicago - Louisville - Miami streamliner.

I wish the L & N would take that new coach around its territory, including Hazard so that we could see what other people ride. We know that 1913 Coach very well.

Up at Bobby Davis Memorial Park Sunday afternoon I joined a goodly crowd to watch the swimming show directed by Miss Mary Chloe Cisco, swimming instructor. A lot of little fellows dared the diving board and performed their acts apparently unabashed by the spectators. And there really were some small fry in that show.

I never learned to swim 40 yards, even though I was a Boy Scout. Now, I see tots taking to the water like fish, and I wish I had it all to do over again. Swimming is a good sport and it lends courage to an individual. But I never took it up.

Miss Cisco had large classes at the pool this summer, and the Sunday show told the results of her ability to teach. 1955

You Slapped Her First

It seems that our former magistrate Sam Campbell bought himself a six year old mare not too long ago. Folks, you know Sam is no longer a spring chicken. I would say he is knocking around the 70''s or better. It seems the first night Sam brought this mare home, he was fixing her a place in the stable. His young grandson, Bill, age 10, wanted to see everything well done. It seems that Sam wanted the mare to move over to one side of the stable. It seems that the mare didn't want to move, so she ups and slaps Big Sam with a kick on the knee. Little Bill ups and states, "Pap Paw, you asked for it. You slapped her first." Sam, I would say - do your slapping on mares from now on out of the sight of your grandson. If she wasn't a saddle mare, I wonder what you wanted with her, Sam. I am confident that you're not going to do too much plowing.

Maybe the reason you bought her is to keep the old family tradition as you knew it all your life, that is to have at least one horse or mule around the place. Of course you could have been wanting to show little Bill a few things of your boyhood days. I would say this wouldn't have been a very bad idea. I often wonder that so many of our youngsters that are growing up today would know how to place the bits in a horse's mouth, or the saddle on it's back. Much less placing a set of gears on one. That was the hardest thing for me to learn. 1958

Raised On Cornbread & Trouble

I knew a family by the name of Ray. Among them I can recall such names an Manuel, Wallace, Quentin, their mother and father. I can recall all the happy moments I spent in their mist.

Of course they wandered from the hills of Leslie County many years ago, which they called home. Not too long ago, I heard from this family, as they state it, they are still country boys, ridge runners or whatever people want to call them, but their heart is here in the mountains where they were raised on cornbread and trouble. I would say this would be a good diet as long as it will produce people such as the Ray family.

Yes folks, they are old timers, but living in another city. Before modern plumbing, bathrooms and etc, we use to call it an outhouse or privey, along came the slop jar, which was the old day version of it. Today they call it a cabinet. Regardless of what name they give it, as long as they keep making it. It is still a long trek to the out house when it is two above zero. 1958

Best People On Earth

Mrs. Vara England, of Kansas City, Missouri recalls the days that she resided here in Hazard before there was any side walks and streets. She was really surprised a couple of years ago when she visited here again. She happens to be some more of my kin folks, sister-in-law, Vara, it's funny you are not the only one that has ever been in these mountains that hasn't thought of them many times. From the many people I talk to and hear from, they can always recall so many things that happened to them during their stay in our area.

It was nice seeing Jesse Denham during a recent visit back in Hazard. Jesse has retired from the railroad, now living in Lexington. He said, "I just have to come back now and then where the best people on earth live."

To you Jess Collins, thanks for the Polk of Horehound candy that you fetched. It was good. I even introduced it to some of my neighbor kids. They like it also. Been a long time since I have seen any of it. I can recall the days when, the old folks use to make cough syrup from it. Folks, it's a funny thing to me that now and then you will see some company start making the old time things again such as the candy I mentioned, old clay smoking pipes, cast iron kettles, coffee grinders. They may not be right up to what the originals were. Ho me, it says someone in one of these factories never forgot his raisin.'

I never have been accused of being a farmer, although I have broken up several clods of dirt in my life time, also a few hoe handles. I recall that one hoe handle I broke just about half way. I had to hoe the rest of the seasons with that one. I felt like the hunchback of Notre Dame before that season was over. I just about had to get on my knees at times. I was a the age then of a big long legged gangling boy that would do anything to get out of work.

Podge Moore states that he came to Perry County to fill his barrel, then retire to some other area. I have found so many that have tried the same thing. Podge, my suggestion would be regardless of where you make your abode or try to fill your barrel, leave a little of it behind in the community that you are trying to make your stake in, because remember that the next generation is following along in your foot steps. Why not try to leave something to give them a start on. Such as our forest, streams, and all other things that God placed upon this earth for us to use wisely. I am speaking of the changes I have seen since I was a kid running up and down these river banks, when our streams were clear, never heard of the word pollution. I hope to see them run clear again. 1958

Hard Working Mountain People

Uncle Noah Couch was Granny's brother and my memories of him are as strong today as they were when I was making them riding in the back of his old "jolt" wagon filled with produce from his garden up on Bluegrass. He let me ride shotgun I reckon and I thought I was the "berries" and I would count out the ears of corn, etc. and when he let me off the wagon at the end of the day with him, I was tired and watched him ride out of sight til the next time.

Oh, the stories he had in his head and could relate to us youngans were awesome, most of them were true, but he called them "tales". They had dinner on the ground once a year up at his house in the holler there at Blue Grass and it was to honor the ones of the family that had passed. It was a huge gathering and lasted most of the day. You talk about good "grub", I don't think you could mention an item that was not found on the tables that were loaded with good home cookin'.

One thing I remember though was the sad, plaintive songs they would sing when the singing "commenced". We were very young but it stung our heartstrings to hear what was going on above us. We played in the area below the shelter built for this event, but I still can hear the sad voices that blended, without music, as they lifted their thanks to God and sent their love on the country breeze blowing in that holler.

What a time for remembering and their way of rendering honor to those gone from the clan, and giving thanks for those still living. Just writing about it brings tears for they were hard-working mountain people who loved and gave lots of it to family and friends. God gave me the best of the best.

Trials & Tribulations

I can recall Fred Couch over Big Creek way. The first time that I really knew him was on a train ride up this valley from Lexington. Fred, I believe had his first operation. I enjoyed that trip along with his good wife. It was a night trip, as many of you recall the passenger trip by train was an ordeal. I really enjoyed this one. To me, Fred was the type of man that really loved and enjoyed his family, even his son in laws and daughter in laws.

I can recall Uncle Noah Couch. Many a good story I have heard come from him back in the days of trials and tribulations. I often wonder how many of us today could have traveled the trail that he did. It was a pleasure to have known men of his type, rugged to have been able to have taken the hardships that he must have encountered during his days on the river in all types of weather. From what I can learn, the men that manned the rafts down the Kentucky River toward Hazard, encountered everything from foul weather to storms, ice, high water and etc. 1958

Gleam In His Eye

This past Sunday morning, I received a knock on my door before I had hardly gotten out of bed, about the same time I received the knock, the phone rang. After clearing everything away from the phone call, I ventured to the door still in my pajamas, there to find none other than my old friend Brooks Deaton from over Blue Diamond way. Noticed Brooks had sorta a gleam in his eye. I was sure something had happened to him. Sure enough fellows, it had. Brooks brought out of his car a 36" catfish weighing 20 pounds that he had caught on a rod and reel down Lake Cumberland way, to be exact on Rockcastle River. Brooks stated he caught it on a live minnow about five inches long. Brooks, I don't blame you for being happy over this catch. I dare say that you have accomplished something that many would like to do on a trot line, much less catching this size fish using a rod and reel, above all, on a small crappie size hook. Brooks, I know you have been trying for a long time to get one of this size. Incidentally, Brooks lost another one, he thought could have been as big, of course bigger, because it broke his line. 1957

Horehound Candy

A few days ago, none other than Rufe "Doug" Vermillion approached me on a subject, which went something like this. "Why in the world don't the stores of today serve cheese and crackers? Where is brown sugar on crackers which I took for granted would be the desert?" Well, I can remember those big lumps of brown sugar. They came in a very large barrel. The many times I sneaked around my dad's counters in his store in Hazard to pick out the big lumps, also with a few sticks of Horehound Candy, the type the old folks made cough syrup from. I recall sucking many a stick of it, along with a few peppermint ones on the side. I always preferred the latter because it was never used as a medicine. 1957

Home

Folks, I always like to write about the happy moments of our lives and the things we do. But time changes this, to where I must write about some of the sad things of this life.

Azelle King passed away. I know this will be a shock to so many of you that attended school with him. Also all of you that knew him as a fair haired boy with a big smile while he worked in our local drug stores. He went into the service during World War II, developed paralysis, which he could never over come. He was residing in Chico, California since his release from the army. He was a nephew of Mr. and Mrs. Alex Strong of this City. You that knew him can never forget that pleasant look and smile he always had to greet you with. Azelle never forgot Hazard and the friends he had made here. In his letters, he always asked about home. 1957

Hazard's Little Pavilion

I've watched Aunt Laura and Mom grit and gasped when their knuckles got too close to the gritter, but they'd holler a little and go right ahead because at that time they would grit a dishpan full of corn to make gritted cornbread and cream style corn. Good fixins' and I still do it today but very carefully. My son loves to grit the corn and make the cream style corn and he fixes it for us when we all get together. My gritter is still a big part of my kitchen utensils.

The old swimmin' hole that I remember so well was at the back of Ma Brewer's house there on Maple Street. Yep, we called it, of course, "The Brewer Hole". That is where I used my first sand bucket and shovel; I grew up goin' daily during the hot summer to Ma Brewer's and cutting down by her house and took the path that led to The Brewer Hole. It was always crowded; I never learned to swim but would hang my toes off'n a rock and let the little minnows nibble at them; oh, we had grapevine swings too there on our little beach; I loved watching the older boys and girls swinging and them jumping off into the water; we had added attractions. The old saw mill was across the river and some of the kids would swim off, jump into the shavings, woller around, get all coated and then jump back into the water; and then several times during the day the train would come by, blow its whistle at us all, and the engineer would wave and go on down the line. You might say The Old Brewer Hole was Hazard's little pavilion for back then offering, swimmin', sand, sawmill shavings, grapevine swings, and a wave from the engineer of the old L & N making its daily rounds. Yep, it was a day full of good, clean fun and if we were lucky, Mark Hampton would come down the river with one of his big turtles he caught almost everyday. Proud as a peacock he was of his catch and he told me and Daddy that the meat that they got from the big turtle was mouth-slappy good.

I remember with fondness the days of the old Brewer Hole and the gritted knuckles....

Shoot, They Ain't No Wind In Here

1928 was a good year for Carr Creek. Their high school basketball team made history. Noted for playing barefoot in cutoff overalls and not having a gymnasium at school, practicing outside on a dirt court, they finished second in the big State Tournament in Lexington. Richmond fans had furnished them real uniforms and gym shoes to make them equal to the competition. After that they continued on to the National H/S Tournament in Chicago, where they finally lost in the Quarterfinals. A great accomplishment for the poor Eastern Kentucky team that were all cousins.

But that is not all of the story.
In Dayton, Ohio, 1928, the Stivers High School basketball team won the Ohio State Tournament. They featured the gigantic "Wild Bill Hosket" who later went on to Ohio State and became their first "big man" at seven feet tall.

During that time, Si Burick was a young sports reporter with the Dayton Daily News, who had graduated earlier from Stivers. Stivers won the State Tournament 3 years in a row.

In 1930 the Dayton Daily News promoted an exhibition game between Carr Creek and Stivers at the Fairgrounds Coliseum in Dayton. It was a big event.
In later years Burick always wrote an article about this game on his Sports Page annually. There was one specific incident he loved to talk about.

During the shoot around before the game started, Si was was all over interviewing each player of the famous Carr Creek team. He noticed one of the boys over in the corner shooting set shots. He counted 8 in a row. Interrupting the player to compliment him on his shooting ability the young man replied: "Shoot, they ain't no wind in here."

That's the way basketball fans in Dayton remembered Carr Creek, Kentucky.

Contraption

A few days ago a piece of tin stretched on a board with a lot of holes punched into it brought a lot of questions in regard to what it was. These gritters are on display in the window of Davis Brothers on Main Street in Hazard. Folks, in the olden days people used to use this thing to make gritted bread. They would take an ear of corn and rake it up and down on this contraption. Some like it of the Rousner type corn while it was soft. Others like it medium, and others like it well done, when the corn got well and dry, yes the mule eating stage. A few of us have the teeth this day and time to try and work this over. But with the gritted variety, you can handle it with your store bought teeth. Many of you thought we had bought these from a manufacturer. The ones you noticed were made by none other than Ruf "Doug" Vermillion. The large one you saw was made for Dewey Daniel. Slim Hollon states that Dewey left all the gritting up to John Flat Williams. This I can't say I will blame him because if you haven't done it for some time, I would be willing to leave it up to someone else. A gritter can play havoc on your knuckles if you fail to make the right stroke. Not only will you bark your knuckles, but also the palm of your hand can take a real skinning. This is just a word of warning in regard to you amateurs that are just starting out on your first mess of gritted bread. Since these gritters appeared to be the fetched on type, we have had many inquiries in regard to gritted bread. I would appreciate hearing from some of you old timers in regard to the way you make yours. I have talked to several in regard to it. It seems that many of you use a different formula in preparing gritted bread. I have one that I usually forget from one year to another. Sometimes it works out fine and others, "Not so good." It seems the out house is farther away after eating a good bit of it. I have had a few messes of this type. 1957