CHAPTER SEVEN

MEMORABILIA

The year after the war, an American fighter pilot brought his Spad biplane through the country on a barnstorming tour. He operated from a level field on the Short Mountain Road.

He offered to take one and all for a flight over Smithville for the nominal fee of five dollars. Business was good, and some of the more affluent went up two or three times.
Not so, however, for one bright-eyed spinster -- once was plenty! She went up amid great glamour and excitement, but it was rumored she returned in a subdued and dampened condition.

About 1920, Carlyn brought from Nashville the very first radio to hit Smithville. He and Patsy and the boys lived in a large brown house about a block north of our church building, and across the street from the Hendon family.

They had always been popular, and their popularity now enjoyed a fast and substantial growth by reason of that new contraption.

It engendered a lot of community confusion. Some thought it was a hoax, others black magic, and still others accepted it for what it was.

Thee Hudgins was among the unbelievers. One night Patsy's living room and the big front porch was filled with wide-eyed guests as Carlyn tuned and tuned and finally got Atlanta fixed on his dial. Thee had slipped up unnoticed -- he was a little hard to see in the dark -- and had knelt down under the window.

The announcer finally came in loud and clear, and then the orchestra started playing "Dixie".

Thee could stand it no longer. He leaped to his feet, stuck his head in the window and almost shouted, "Mista Carln, ah knows you got a man under dat table doing de talkin, but where in de world is you got dat band hid?"

When we arrived in Dallas in September, 1923, you got hold of a kit and assembly manual, and built your own crystal set, over which we listened to the World Series between the Giants and the Yankees. Years later, when lots of higher math had been stirred into your medical education, you built for the fun of it, sophisticated transmitting and receiving sets of substantial power. And yet, I do not consider those accomplishments in a class with that little crystal head set which a country lad of twelve built by tugging early on his bootstraps.

23

In the very early 1920's, one of our local high-rollers showed up one day with a Cole Eight automobile, about a city block long. The greater part of the square was needed to turn it around.

Rumor had it that the new owner had acquired it in Nashville in a little double-or-nothing game when he called the coin correctly.

Be that as it may, it ranked high in the current excitement of the town. After a respectful waiting period, Robert Dearman persuaded the owner to lend him the car for a junket out of the county.

I was one of those privileged to make the trip. There were quite a number of us, about as many as the car had cylinders. The rough roads around Smithville were unfit for such a monarch of the highways, so Robert headed gingerly toward Murfreesboro. Once there, we sought out the road to Nashville, which was hard surfaced and relatively smooth.

Robert had a heavy foot that day. He got it up to forty five right off, and carefully increased the pressure to forty six, forty eight, fifty. We cruised at that speed for a while, trying to count the fence posts as they whizzed past. Then, unbelievably, Robert applied still more pressure, and the needle climbed grudgingly to fifty five. Robert was protected from the elements by cap and goggles; the rest of us had hair and tears in our eyes.

After what seemed a long time at that terrifying speed, Robert forced out clipped words against the wind, "Hold on, Boys! The road is straight just ahead, and we're going to make sixty or bust a gut!"

We held on to the car and to each other, and watched in something close to horror as the needle quivered toward the magic number, and, with one last great effort, touched it!

"See, there it is!" Robert yelled hoarsely, and immediately raised a willing foot.

It took very little time to get back to a sane speed. We found a crossroad that allowed us to turn around, and with sighs of relief, we headed back toward Murfreesboro. Forty and an occasional forty five was it! After we had reached our goal, there was absolutely no point in pressing our luck!

At that time, we didn't suspect that fame would touch us, but before many days we were pretty widely known as the Middle Tennessee Knights of the Road. Robert was called Arthur by some.

24

Continue to Chapter 8

Return to the Introduction Page

Return to the Dekalb County Page