Tedo Allen's Model A

My grandpa Allens name was Theodore, but everybody always called him " T " or " Tedo".  Back in the 20's when grandpa had a car (probably a model A, nobody in LBL could afford anthing else) he was driving on a cold winter day. Grandpa seen Mr. Walter Russell walking toward Model, so he stopped and offered a ride which was graciously accepted. There was snow on the ground as they were coming off of Dividing Ridge, and as they approached the bottom, grandpa turned to Mr. Russell and said " watch me slide around this curve ". He went ahead and hit the brakes, slid around the curve, across the ditch, and into a tree. They weren't hurt but it did take a lot of time and effort to get the car back on the road and ready to go. When grandpa hopped in and was ready Mr. Walter said said something that he would say repeatedly for the next 30 years. " No thanks T, I'd just as soon walk." As far as anybody knew Mr. Walter Russell never set foot in Tedo Allen's car ever again. Contributed by Chuck Allen. c1998 Chuck Allen.

When Bro. Allen Preached

My grandma Allen was very religous woman and wouldn't lie, so there is no doubt for any of us that this is true. When she growing up in Calloway Co. she said she knew a woman who had went to a church where R. R. Allen ( her future husbands granddad) was the preacher. This woman told her that R. R. would preach with a cud of tobacco in his mouth. That being the case, no one would sit in the front pews, because if he got into a hellfire and brimstone sermon he would no longer have to spit, and the front got a fine spray of tobacco juice. Contributed by Chuck Allen. c1998 Chuck Allen

Visit From the Revenuers

I don't know how many have ever heard of L., but he was the most famous moonshiner in Stewart County. Supposedly, the "revenuers " had themselves a fine old fashioned raid one day. They searched every inch of his house and property. When they were done and getting back in their cars, empty handed I might add, L. was on the front porch. He yelled at them " don't y'all go back to Dover and tell them boys that L. don't have any whisky, now. " They got back out and started the process all over again, but never found a drop.Contributed by Chuck Allen. c1998 Chuck Allen

Chuck Remembers

One of my teachers, Roy Fox, told me that as a boy growing up in Model they could set their clocks every morning a 2:00 by L. going through making his delivery to Paducah.

Potneck got its name because one night a man (supposedly a Wallace) had been out doing things he hadn't oughta be doing. When he got home his wife wasn't very happy with him and hit him across the back of the neck with a cooking pot.

I have heard all my life that in the days of slavery, the people that ran the iron ore furnace in Model used slave labor. When people working the top couldn't go on in slavery anymore they would jump off into the fire pit.

My great grandfather Dan Knight was a WW1 vet. He never talked about it, but I did hear someone ask him if he ever killed anyone. He only answered with this, a machine gun nest had his unit pinned down, and they couldn't move or do anything. He finally got so tired of the situation that he risk everything and crawled up took aim, and fired. They wern't pinned down anymore. Contributed by Chuck Allen. c1998 Chuck Allen

The Rushing Ghosts

My Aunt Esther, who died in January just short of 90, said my ggmo Sue Rushing (nee Margaret Susannah Beasley, who  m John Madison Rushing) was clairvoyant, and "saw" things. One night she was awakened by a vision of her brother walking through the wall of her room, standing by the foot of her bed, and without a word, walking THROUGH the door... not through the doorWAY, through the closed door. He was wounded in the Civil War.  Aunt Estherbelieved but did not know  for sure if it was at the time of the wounding, or which brother...I relate it as she remembered and told it. The same Sue Rushing was said to have told that as a small child, waiting for the others in the area to gather to walk to school together, she saw a white horse go by, that the other children did not see. Her daughter Maye Rushing was also said to have known things before people told her.. I only know what Aunt Esther told me in the past few years.( she was Esther Wynns, m John Fryer, Lewis Jones and much later a Mr.Roberts... a part of the Wynns/Kendall bunch from Sulphur Spring.) c1998Catherine

The First Flying Machine     

My Mother; Nellie Verena SHAW HOOKS, told me the following 'Log Cabin Story' (as we refer to family tales) several years before she became incapacitated with Alzheimers.  It took place in the early1920's near Bumpus Mills.  My Mother was a young girl helping with the midday meal (they called it dinner with the evening meal being supper) for the field hands who were still toiling in the sun.  She said they all at once heard the most 'God Awfuless' noise anyone had everheard!  She said the folks working in the fields suddenly burst in through the kitchen door in a complete panic.  Amoung them was my aunt; Lillie Mae STAGNER, wife of William Henry SHAW, screaming and hollering that 'The world was coming to an end'! Momentarily, some brave soul got the courage to go outside and try to ascertain what in the world that horrible noise could be.  It was an AIRPLANE!  The first any of these good rural folk, who did not have benefit of such items as electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, telephones, crystal sets, and automobiles.  Some of them had heard of the 'Aeroplane',but no one had ever actually seen or heard one.  Such was the reaction to one of the first, if not the first, flying machine to fly over Bumpus Mills, Tennessee.Contributed by Bill Hooks of Mesa, AZ. c1998 Bill Hooks.

W.P.A. Tales

They would have gangs working on roads, typing old records in various counties and a lot of other things to put people to work.  Of course like anything else, there were a lot of Jokes about it, It was called WPA, We piddle around. Also a joke went around about the Boss on one gang ordered some additional Shovels for the men he had, message came back to him and he was told they were out of Shovels, and just have the men lean on each other. and many more. (A lot of these gangs when you passed them during this time they would be leaning on the shovel but I am sure it was not always that way as they did some good work and built a lot of things still in use today.

Another saying that went around while the WPA was in full swing, It seems that a Boss of one of the WPA Road gangs, sent in an  accident report one of the men had broken his arm. Of course the main office wanted to know the details and he reported, that the man had leaned on his shovel so long, that the termites ate it and losing his prop fell over and broke his arm. Contributed by Ira Bell. c1998 Ira Bell.

SUMMER REVIVAL

by B. W. Dortch, c1998BWDortch

Even though there were singular social events during the years when I was growing up that stand out in my memory, the absolute crowning touch, The World Series, the Stanley Cup, the Heavyweight Championship bout of the season was by popular acclaim, the Summer Revival.  This series of religious meetings was held in the local one-room schoolhouse, which by consent of the county, also served as a non-denominational church.  If memory serves me correctly, summer revivals started immediately after conclusion of the school year in the spring and frequently overlapped the start of the school year in  autumn.  Length of the summer revival was directly proportional to the number of unemployed peripatetic preachers of all denominations, quality and quantity of the harvest for local farmers, the numbers of souls that were saved and whether the offerings were up.

Because these meetings were conducted in the school house, blackboards and chalk were available and the evangelists made liberal use of  this medium to keep score on attendance and  the number of sinners that were led into the fold.  This singular act also served notice to those in attendance at the nightly meetings that the preacher's only interest was in saving souls and that he had not one whit of interest in the nightly collections. Old front line revival attendees were often heard to comment with great admiration, "Brother so-and-so sho don't care nothing about no money."   This comment was tantamount to the government seal of approval on a given evangelist. To say that we were a cash poor society in those days, would be the mildest form of understatement. So that the services might proceed  in an orderly fashion for the entire revival season,  offer encouragement to the itinerant preachers,  not show favoritism, and just for added insurance, many of the local souls would be saved four and five times during the season. This of course, resulted in skewed results in the score keeping and a total misunderstanding about whether a particular soul was Baptist, Methodist or Pentecost. Small doctrinal differences like these were generally shrugged off and rarely resulted in anything more than a prolonged name calling contest or small fist fight on an otherwise boring  Saturday afternoon at the general store.  That ones theological philosophy was so hard to determine might, at first glance  appear strange; but, the series of revival meetings was made up of visits by ministers of doubtful pedigree, representing the most popular denominations of a given neighborhood.  It was often rumored, that a preacher with his sights set on our community would often send in advanced pollsters to determine the religious persuasion of the majority of his would be congregation.  Armed with these results, the preacher would then ride in on his mule and announce that he was from the old line of shouting, foot washing Methodists, hard-shell primitive Baptists, snake handling charismatics or whatever else the informal poll had shown to be in first place.   As to the most popular denomination, I think the Baptists and Methodists were tied in a dead heat for first place  with the Pentecostal group coming in third.  In a tie for last place, would be the various splinter groups whose doctrine was more loosely defined depending on congregational preference on any given day of the week.

The big summer meetings were certainly a time of revival for all, young and old alike.  The young enjoyed the situation mostly for the opportunity it allowed for them to stay up until 8:30 or 9:00 o'clock every night of the week.  The teenage group enjoyed the opportunity to see and be seen by members of the opposite sex, when the boys would frequently lock arms with the girls and be permitted to walk them home. `Frequently this opportunity also allowed the boy to walk 12 miles in order to  deliver the damsel to her home in the opposite direction from the church from where he lived and then return to his own home before daylight.

Transportation to church was generally provided by mule drawn wagon.  To accommodate the toddlers who were too young to remain awake for the entire service, mothers would spread a pallet in the back of the wagon and leave the children sleeping unattended.  Often, older boys, who were much too macho to go into the church and  be seated like adults, would remain outside for the duration of the service and indulge in a bit of mischief, such as tying two cats tails together and tossing them in through an open window or peppering the floor of the church with a handful of gravel.  Then just for sport and with no evil intentions, these lads would swap the babies around between the wagons.  Waking up in strange surroundings was commonplace for toddlers in those days during revival season.  It was often said in our part of the world, that we had been swapped around so many times, we did not really know who we were.  With farms to run, it was not always expedient for the head of a household to get up in the morning and traipse over half the county to exchange babies, especially when the odds were weighted against your retrieving the right baby anyway. Why, that thar one we brung home looks sound, farmers were often heard to say.

Often these older lads would indulge in other boyish pranks.  One night when one of the itinerant Baptist preachers was holding forth, he admonished the congregation to bow their heads, close their eyes,  open their hearts and wait for the Holy Spirit to descend upon them.  The Reverend continued to tell how satan and the Lord could appear in many forms to play tug-of-war with our hearts and minds. While everyone sat in hushed silence awaiting the appearance of the Holy spirit, two of these robust lads tossed three very lively copperheads and a rattle snake  through the window with their tails tied together. Each of these snakes thinking that the other had him by the tail, set out to gain his release, defend his honor and thrash the upstart young sncke who thought he could get away with such a prank.  The  writhing and wriggling was ferocious as these snakes careened from wall to wall, up and down the aisles and from the front door to the pulpit. Those sitting closest to where the snakes entered, rose to their feet, threw back their hands and heads and began to shuffle about with incoherent sounds emanating from their lips.  This only served to make those sitting in remote corners think that the Holy spirit had indeed arrived and they to joined in the shuffle.  Order was finally restored with the help of four stalwart elders wielding stout hickory sticks, the altar call given and 40 souls answered the call, went forward and were saved on the spot.  When the score was tallied at the end of the season, the Baptists were declared the absolute winner in the most souls saved category.

Friendly competition for opening the revival season always took place between Brother Farmer of the Methodists and Brother Nicks of the Baptists. Fortunately this never amounted to anything more than name calling with Brother Farmer usually winning the contest.  Brother Farmer's forte and prime grist for his mill was Chicago women or more specifically their mode of dress and morals or lack of  same.  At some time in the distant past, before he received The Call, Brother Farmer had journeyed to Chicago where he found employment in a meat packing plant. It was from this vantage point that he was able to observe the loose morals of the women of that city at first hand.  He held that the entire city of Chicago was nothing more and certainly nothing less than Sodom and Gomorra revisited.

One fine summer during the peak of his career, Brother Farmer preached for 21 consecutive nights in three different communities using these wayward Chicago women as the central theme of each sermon.  Many observers who had attended all services claimed he never repeated the same story twice.  His  powers of observation were keen. I remember after one particularly graphic sermon about these so called harlots, how he described their painted lips, the cut of their blouses and the abundance of cleavage they displayed, six young bachelors left our community the following morning at sunrise: destination? Chicago. All these lads were able bodied farm hands.

After this very graphic sermon, several of the community elders took Brother Farmer aside and had a heart-to-heart talk with his worthiness.  Whether it was the admonishment by the elders or what happened next, no one ever knew; but, Brother Farmer never participated in another summer revival in our community.

One especially active and vocal revival goer in the community was  Sister Rosy Lee.  No one knew exactly what religious persuasion the good sister actually embraced as her documentation was somewhat sketchy and subject to change with the times.  It was a known fact that she never missed a service regardless of the denomination of the minister. Sister Rosy was a true emissary of the Lord and a peace maker extra ordinary.  It was often said of Sister Rosy that she would start a fight between two neighbors by carrying tales back and forth just so she could negotiate a settlement and bring peace and harmony into the lives of the combatants. She never hesitated to let everyone know that she hated sin of  all stripes and in all of its manifestations, including the devil, Catholics,  Masons, Oddfellows, Democrats, Republicans and any Protestant persuasion who did not agree with her.  Such sinners were simply not worthy of fellowship with her, in her own words and she did not hesitate to withhold that privilege from them.  But, everyone agreed that the good sister was pure of heart and as good as they come.

Sister Rosy and her teen aged daughter Pearly Gates would often come to the pulpit if the preacher paused to catch his breath and regale the congregation with an a cappella duet.  This rendition, usually of one of their own compositions, always drew a significant number of amens and "tell it Sisters" from the congregation.  During one particular service, at the conclusion of one of Brother Farmers sermons on his favorite subject, individual testimony was called for.  As was usually the case, sister Rosy was the first on her feet where she proceeded to tell the congregation of an interesting conversation she had had with the Good Lawd that very day. It seems that she and Pearly Gates were returning from the pea patch where they had gleaned a mess of peas for supper  when they had both received a message loud and clear from the  Good Lawd, Hallelujah, Amen. By way of confirming everything that sister Rosy Lee said, Pearly Gates would chime in with a few amens from time to time like the chiming of a silver bell. Continued sister Rosy, the Good Lawd had told her to go home, make up a song and sing it at meeting that very night. Then ensued a lengthy and arduous debate with the  Good Lawd, Hallelujah, Amen, in which sister Rosy, not being accustomed to working with a deadline, pleaded with the Lord to be released from this charge.  And of course, in her own words, she did not feel worthy of being entrusted with such a mission, lowly sinner that she was. Stop making excuses sister Rosy chided the Lord. Get thyself onward to thine abode, take up pencil and paper and I shall give unto thee words thy needest for thee and thy virtuous daughter to extol my goodness and mercy in spirit and song. Doest thou not remember my servant Moses?  He also had a bunch of lame excuses  thy knows. Now you just hush right up, stop making dumb excuses and do as you are told if thee knows what is good for thee.  Those were her exact words as I remember them. I know that they were true as Pearly Gates verified every word with a true, true, amen tell it mama all the while sister Rosy was telling of the incident. Sister Rosy's rapport  with the Lord was legendary and no one doubted her word where such matters were concerned.

There simply were not many regular revival goers in the congregation who had not had their feet washed by the good sister at one time or another.Moreover, if sister Rosy was known for anything throughout the community it was her ability to carry on a meaningful and in depth dialogue with the Lord at any time or place.  She had been known to stop short in mid sentence during an otherwise normal conversation and make utterances in a foreign tongue. Certainly, this was abundant proof that her cup over flowed with the Holy Ghost.

Yielding to the will of the Lord, sister Rosy did as she was told and now begged the indulgence of the assembled congregation while she and Pearly Gates gave praise through song.  Taking a small wicker basket from the floor, covered with a fine embroidered scarf, Sister hung it over the crook of her arm, as she and Pearly proceeded down the aisle to the front of the church.Here she carefully placed the basket on the floor by her feet, then firmly anchoring themselves in front of the mourners' bench, they threw back their head and let the good tidings flow. Though as I try to apply the tune I remember against the lyrics, it comes out a bit jerkily and doesn't meter, the words went something like this:

Lawd, Lawd, Lawd you sho been good to me

Lawd, Lawd, Lawd you sho been good to me

Lawd, Lawd, Lawd you sho been good to me

You have done what this world could not do

You let me drank poison thangs

You sho been good to me

You let me drank poison thangs

You sho been good to me

You let me drank poison thangs

You sho been good to me

You have done what this world could not do

You let me handle a snake

You sho been good to me

You let me handle a snake

You sho been good to me

You let me handle a snake

You sho been good to me

You have done what this world could not do

You Haaaave dooone whaaat this world coooould noooot doooooooooooo

While the hallelujahs rolled and the amens were still echoing around the room, Sister Rosy bent at the waist and deftly scooped up her basket. Dipping under the scarf and into the basket, she withdrew a quart mason jar filled with a clear liquid, unscrewed the cap, passed it to Pearly Gates who took a dainty sip and passed it back to sister Rosy.  The good sister lifted the bottle high as if toasting the congregation, threw back her head and took such a healthy draught that her adams apple bobbed up and down several times like a fishing float with a fat bream on the end of the line.  Aaah, needs a tad more strychnine.

This singular act signaled to the congregation that Sister Rosy was definitely in tune with the Lord and really set the congregation into a frenzy. While the amens reverberated around the room, Sister rosy, smiling sweetly as if to say Y'all ain't seen nothing yet, replaced the cap on the mason jar, tucked it back into the basket and withdrew her hand again, clutching a four foot copperhead snake.  Those who remained for the benediction, and that was by no means everyone, generally agree to the following account of what happened next:

Sister Rosy just stuck that old viper right up in her face, looked him straight in the eye and while hopping and skipping around the mourners bench in a perfectly choreographed bucking wing, was heard chanting in a loud voice:"I just dare you to bite me old snake. I double dog dare you to lay one fang on me you old viper".  Pausing for breath, she passed the snake to Pearly Gates who from a flat footed stance jumped backwards over the two foot high mourners bench, whirled and came back to her starting position, repeating this display several times, she was chanting in a little sing song voice, "double dog dare you to bite me, double dog dare you to bite me."  It became immediately evident to those left in attendance that the spirit was in control if indeed there was any control over the meeting that night.

It was later revealed that coincidental with Sister Rosy's withdrawal of the snake from the basket, Brother Farmer had received a message from the Lord, loud and clear, saying that his sister who lay on her sick bed somewhere near Buffalo Wallow, Montana had just started her death rattle. Now anyone with enough intelligence to come in out of the rain, and Brother Farmer could most certainly be counted among that group, knew that the death rattle signaled imminent death to the rattler.  Accepting this message without question, Brother Farmer without even saying good-bye, rushed away to administer last rites to his dying sister.  Being a true man of science and believing that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, he departed through a window in the rear of the church and proceeded along a straight line to where his Model A ford was parked, leaving the benediction to Uncle John, a church layman.

As I recall, the remainder of the revival passed without further incident. Oh! There was an occasional scathing homily on the evils of drinking moonshine liquor, smoking cigarettes, chewing tobacco, dipping snuff, chasing wild women and lusting after the flesh: but, no real deep sins and nothing really exciting. For some strange reason, many visitors who were in regular attendance at our revivals for years, never came back to our community for a revival or for any other reason.

The revival season always ended with a large gathering on a Sunday following the final Saturday night meeting.  This event was fondly called "The all day singing and dinner on the ground" and was much heralded by all.  If no fist fights had broken out among the participating clergymen who had each held their own independent revival, and collections were up, they all came together at this time in a spirit of unity and brotherly love.  This also served as proof that Brother Farmer considered the other ministers to be almost his personal and spiritual equal. During this grand finale, depending upon your personal persuasion, you could be baptized in the creek by the Baptists, Sprinkled by the Methodists or even have your feet washed, or Brother Higgins whose doctrine had never been fully documented would lay his hands on you and heal anything from ingrown toenails to consumption and diaper rash. 

Just to prove that he had the healing powers, Brother Higgins healed his very own wife at three consecutive revivals of three life threatening maladies. Before this part of the service, letters were circulated throughout the assembled congregation from no less than five widely acclaimed doctors who practiced their healing art in such renowned medical centers as Tazwell, Tennessee; Roaring Springs, Georgia; Shepherd Hollow, Kentucky; Big Bear Creek, Alabama, Chitlin Stomp, South Carolina and other equally famous medical centers throughout the South, attesting to the incurable nature of Sister Higgins ailment. Now, if that was not all the proof you needed, what could you ask for? Then so as not to cause the good Sister undue pain and upset her delicate balance, her son-in-law, Bubba Goodworthy would slowly and gently propel her wheel chair down the aisle. Upon arrival at the stage where the makeshift pulpit had been erected, four stalwart deacons and elders would assist in lifting her poor debilitated body to the stage.  You should have heard the amens and hallelujahs roll when after Brother Higgins uttered a few unintelligible incantations, laid on the hands and the good Sister arose from her wheel chair, and not walking, but dancing to the edge of the stage, leaped sixteen feet right into the midst of the excited congregation.  After this demonstration, old long forgotten ailments were dredged up, new ones invented and the line started on the right.

On the morning of the grand finale, being rural people, everyone arose early, ate a hardy breakfast, finished the chores, hitched up the mules to the wagon and headed for the church, arriving en mass by 8:00 AM.  The next couple of hours were spent in friendly visitation, fellowship and plain old gossiping. Protocol for this portion of the day's event never varied. The older grandmotherly type ladies congregated, sat in cane bottom chairs under an ancient elm tree, demurely dipped snuff and exchanged yarns about the amount of farm produce they had put away for winter, how much milk their favorite cow was giving and lawd don't we need rain. The men of this age group strayed to a far corner of the churchyard, hunkered down on their heels and whittled mounds of shavings from an ever present cedar stick. Occasionally one of the group would delve into the bib pocket of his overalls and produce a half pint bottle of corn whiskey which was sampled by all. Of course, this was purely for medicinal purposes in case one of the group should sustain a snakebite while relieving himself in the bushes. These country folks practiced preventive medicine with great gusto.  The younger males usually sat around and traded pocket knives, or chose sides and engaged in a rousing game of horse shoes, Indian wrestling or other manly sport to attract the attention of females of the same age group. This left the young mothers to supervise the children at play, referee fist fights and apply bandages as needed.

During this period, visiting quartets from several surrounding counties in Tennessee and Kentucky had begun warming up with a few do ra me's and complete renditions of a few old favorites such as "He will set your fields on fire, Let us have a little talk with Jesus and other tried and true crowd pleasers." Then as if on cue, all activities ceased and under the strict supervision of their elders, the young men erected makeshift tables. These were crude affairs, constructed from carpenters saw horses and rough cut sawmill, boards. This chore accomplished, the men retired to the spring to wash up before the meal and a squad of women came on to decorate those primitive tables with their finest table linen and bouquets of fresh cut, home grown flowers.
Then come another squad of women with what everyone had been waiting for, the food. There was fried chicken, rabbit and squirrel, there was ham, bacon and sausage galore;  green beans, white beans, butter beans, who could ask for more? There was green salad, potato salad, poke salad boiled three times and fried in pure bacon drippings with eggs scrambled in; there was fried okra, fried green tomatoes, fried squash and cut off corn. There was cornbread, biscuits and sourdough rolls of every shape and size. There was blueberry, blackberry and fried apple pies; there were layer cakes and cobblers, what a sight for sore eyes.

With the table groaning under this abundant spread; Brother Higgins, because of his seniority was summoned and the blessing was said.  This was a short homily, going right to the point, thanking the Lord for the abundant feast he had provided, rarely lasting more than one hour.  Following this solemn rite, lines were formed on each side of the table where everyone filed by and heaped their plates high from this most bountiful feast. Following this modest repast, the dishes were gathered and stacked and depending on religious persuasion, everyone trooped off to the creek for the baptizing, or entered the church for the sprinkling or the foot washing.  Some especially heavily burdened souls, just for added insurance, attendended and participated in all three rites. These ceremonies completed, everyone assembled in the churchyard where the quartets were in full voice.

    This normally continued until sundown at which time the clergymen, with help from some of the local men began to lash crates of live chickens, small pigs and cartons of eggs which they had received for their preaching duties to their vehicles and slowly pulled away. The harness creaked and the wagons clacked as everyone headed for home, there to look forward with eager anticipation to next summers revival season.

NOT THE SEVENTH SON OF A SEVENTH SON

by B. W. Dortch, c1998BWDortch

Everyone who ever grew up in or even visited in Stewart County, Tennessee in the land that was formerly known as Land Between the Rivers, but is now known as Land Between the Lakes, knew that the "seventh son of a seventh son," had mystic powers, often called The Gift, from birth that enabled him to hold meaningful dialogue with the spirit world, heal certain ailments that beset people, stop bleeding and remove the sting from the most severe burn and locate victims of drownings. 

Thus, it came as a rather large surprise to everyone when Maggie Bell Dortch, commonly known as Aunt Mag, and indeed my great aunt, at an early age,  became widely known to have these same mystic powers and indeed possessed The Gift.  In the first place, even though she was the seventh chiild, it was obvious to all that Aunt Mag was the wrong gender as she was known to have been courting Walter Parker who would later become her husband, since she was 13 years old.  Much scholarly debate ensued and knowledgable citizens between and on both sides of the rivers, allowed it just wouldn't work, Maggie just could not possibly have what it took to consort with the occult, or even locate a missing dog, much less a drowned person. Since Maggie never knew that  she did not possess the proper attributes and could not possibly have The Gift, and not one of these scholarly debators bothered to tell her that she could not do these things, she just went right ahead and did them.

Maggie could tell fortunes unerringly.  Many of the young ladies of the era including my two sisters, many close cousins and a young aunt,  would call upon Aunt Mag to find out whether or not they would get married or face a life of spinisterhood. With but few exceptions, she allowed that most of them would get married and indeed they did.  Strange as it may seem, even some of the young ladies of the community who never visited Aunt Mag also got married.

Maggie Bell Dortch was born on a cold winter night, January 22, 1877, as the seventh child of Columbus P. and Missouri Moore Dortch. Did the fact that she was the seventh child have anything to do with the mystic powers she allegedly possessed?  Like everyone else, I had always been taught to believe that only the seventh son of a seventh son possessed such powers, but just maybe the seventh child of whatever gender did as well.  With just a few words on a dark night, aunt Mag could cause a premature evacuation of the bladder and on a really good night, the bowels as well, among her young nieces and nephews, myself included.

That she indeed had the ability to consort with the occult, conjure up visions, especially in nieces and nephews under 12 years of age and heal certain maladies that beset them there can be no doubt.  It has often been told to me by my older sisters, that as an infant, I was afflicted  with a world class case of diaper rash. That as a result of my frustration, the entire household was in a rather foul mood and cross with each other  due to loss of sleep.  Not really believing that aunt Mag could heal me, but merely grabbing at straws and thinking that in the very worst case it could do no harm, my Mother finally acquiesced and took me to see her for the cure.  Well, I guess I am living proof that Maggie Bell did indeed possess The Gift for healing.  In no more than six or eight weeks, so I am told, after the treatment, all traces of the dreaded diaper rash had disappeared and until this day I have not suffered a recurrence of this most discomforting malady. So there.

It was also said that with a few scriptural incantations, she could cure the worst case of warts ever inflicted on a tow headed boy.  Never fully appreciating the merits of frogs as household pets, I missed the opportunity to find out first hand if Aunt Mag could indeed heal this unsightly scourge of juvenile boys. But, in her defense, I add that several male cousins who routinely played with frogs had experienced her healing powers in this area. Could she really conjure up visions? You are probably asking.  My answer to that is an unqualified YES, so I have been told.  There is absolutely no doubt about that claim, too many people saw them.  I would guess that many of my cousins my age as well as my brothers and sisters could attest to this fact. Many years ago, when I was a very young lad, Aunt Mag came by for her annual visit to check on the health and well being of the nieces and nephews prior to the start of the school year and just maybe scare the daylights out of them while in the neighborhood. In eager anticipation of hearing some of the factual haint stories she was so fond of telling, the evening chores were hurriedly accomplished, the supper dishes washed, dried and put away and the pillows for Aunt Mag's favorite chair carefully freshened  and fluffed.  By sundown, Aunt Mag was comfortably ensconced in Dad's favorite chair with my brother, sisters and I snuggled up as close to her feet as possible. Cupping a gnarled hand behind her ear, she admonished us to be very quiet while she made inquiries of the spirit for the evenings topic.  Not wishing for Auntie to miss one single word the spirits had for her, everyone willingly complied with her admonishment and settled down as quiet as church mice.    

Wait just a minute she cautioned, someone is eavesdropping on my communication with the spirits.

Shh she admonished.

This was followed by some choice barnyard language directed at the eavesdropper.

What did you say?

Obviously the spirit restated the faulty communication.

Go around the house and see who it is you say?

Evidently she got another affirmative answer.

But I am a frail, sickly old lady, who can I send around the house?

Clate you say? Why didn't I think of that?

Looking at my Dad she told him to get up and take a trip around the house and chase the interloper away. Appearing somewhat afraid to comply with her request but more afraid not to, my Dad slowly got up and  reluctantly started his trek around the outside of the house.

" No Aunt Maggie Bell,"  Dad said upon his hurried return," there is no one out there listening, go on with the tale."

I swear Clate you are as blind as a bat,  just look over yonder at that thar winder she said,  pointing to a window at the rear of the room.  Why I bet every child in here can see a face at that winder listening in on everything I say.  Don't you younguns see it?

Well I am positive I did, and moreover, my sister Helen who was  14 years old and nearly grown saw it to.  To pacify us my Dad made a few more trips around the house, too no avail and in the end wound up sleeping in a chair beside Helen's bed.  Now Helen frequently received gold stars for her faithful attendance at Sunday School so I know she was not lying. What more proof could I possibly offer that aunt Mag could indeed conjure up visions and commune with the occult? 

Always after the fact it now seems, Aunt Mag seemed to get prior notice of an impending death in the family, long before it happened.  Yep, the night old Elbert LeRoyce died I saw a star as bright as day in the east.  There being no fewer than a billion stars in the sky on that particular night, no one ever doubted that she had indeed seen one.  Finite details were not among aunt Mag's bag of tricks, everything always happened  over yonder, in thar, way back then or when we all lived at Stribling and Papa worked for the LaGrange Iron Works.

  Locating victims of drowning in the nearby Cumberland River each summer was another of her many talents. After some victim had been seen to tumble from his boat near the confluence of the Cumberland River and a certain creek, Aunt Mag would carefully analyze the available data then come up with a plan of attack. Just drudge that thar river from Lock C to Lock D and you will find your man.  This of course was a distance of no greater than 30 river miles and did embrace the point where the victim had been dunked and he  was generally found, which did much to solidify her reputation in the community.

I have been told by my grandfather, oldest brother of Maggie that during the operating days of the last iron furnace in the county that she did quite a business telling fortunes for the workers and dispensing advice to the lovelorn.  For these services, she exacted fees on a sliding scale, ranging upwards to as much as 25 cents, depending on the nature of the predictions she offered and the ability of the client to pay.

Aunt Mag and uncle Walter never had any children of their own. They did raise two orphan girls though. One of these girls was the approximate same age as my father and though I have met her many times I did not know her as well as I did the other. She was probably four years younger than I.  I never knew the circumstances surrounding either of these girls when I was growing up.  In later years, in the case of  the younger one I have been told that she was born out of wedlock and that her mother died from complications during the birth. Upon hearing of the orphan child being left all alone, aunt Mag simply went and got her and raised her. I do not think there were ever any formal papers of adoption drawn up.

Aunt Mag was a controversial person and marched to her own drum, being years ahead of ladies of her generation as far as lifestyle was concerned. For sure, she was fond of using barnyard language, which in retrospect I think she did for its shock effect on listeners. She could also curse like a sea captain and likewise, reveled in the shocking effect it had on her listeners.  Like most of her contemporaries, Aunt Mag used snuff; but, if a woman dared smoke in those days, they bought themselves a pipe and smoked like a lady.  That is all except Aunt Mag, who dared smoke cigarettes publicly.  However, in later years, reflecting on the way she simply went and got two orphan girls and raised them, I have concluded that as mean as she was made out to be by others, she also had a big heart and a tender spot for the underdogs of the world.

I was born in 1930, knew him for many years and do not remember uncle Walter working anywhere. However, I have read in a history of Stewart county that he did work when the iron furnaces were operating in the county.  He ran a contraption that looked like a cross between a model-T ford automobile and a street car.  It  ran on tracks and his route was between the furnace community of Carlyle and Tennessee Ridge, Tennessee, where it connected with the L&N railroad.  I have often wondered how they survived and now there is no one left who could tell me. Sad.