The Road to Nashville

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Randall Franks
The Road to Nashville

International Bluegrass Music Museum Legend and America’s Old Time Country Music Hall of Famer Randall Franks , hosts a documentary “Road to Nashville” taped live in Nashville in 2015. Franks returned to his Grand Ole Opry roots on its radio home of Nashville’s WSM to share an appearance on The Allnighter with Marcia Campbell.   / marciacampbellradio   . Franks brought several Share America Scholars to Nashville to tour TV and music businesses and organizations, meet with executives, music legends and learn more about the industry they wish to share their talents within. Among those seen in this video are Grand Ole Opry star Jesse McReynolds (www.jimandjesse.com) and the late Country Music Hall of Famer Mac Wiseman. This performance including Mountain Cove Bluegrass Band of Chattanooga, Tenn. – Cody Harvey, Chris Brown, Eli Beard and Tyler Martelli features several songs including a 2006 bluegrass hit written by Franks and popularized by David Davis and the Warrior River Boys.  Mountain Cove has fostered four Pearl and Floyd Franks Scholars, named for Franks’s late parents, receiving support from the Share America Foundation, Inc. while pursuing their college degrees.(www.mtncovebluegrass.com)

The show also features Share America Scholar Pianist Ryan Stinson of Ringgold, Ga. is a Share America Scholar and he graduated from Luther Rice University with a degree in Religion/Ministry and he lives in Ringgold. He has played piano since the age of 10 and began singing about three years ago. His talents have allowed him to perform on WSM and theaters around the south including special appearances at the Texas Troubadour Theater in Nashville, the Tribute Theater, Country Tonite Theater, and Smoky Mountain Opry Theater in Pigeon Forge, Graceland in Memphis, festivals, concerts and churches. Road to Nashville was directed by Randall Franks with the talents of camera operators Tommy Barnes and Share America scholar Ryan Stinson.

It originally aired at a ticketed event at the Ringgo Theater at the Ringgold Depot in Ringgold, Ga. November 13, 2015 and was submitted to film festivals.

Share America Foundation, Inc., a 501-C-3 of Georgia, fosters the arts and preserves the history of Appalachia through the presentation of the Pearl and Floyd Franks Scholarship to youth who continue traditional music styles of the region. It also hosts special events and creates projects that perpetuate the Appalachian experience. It operates with a five-member volunteer board, currently including Chairman Gary Knowles, Vice Chairman Jimmy Terrell, Secretary James Pelt, President Randall Franks, and Vice President Jerry Robinson, and a task force of volunteers. The organization has assisted 30 college scholars thus far and numerous other youth in aspiring towards their musical goals through entertainer mentors, live performances, and creating opportunities for learning and success. Among the partners of the Share America Foundation are AirPlay Direct, Hillbilly Love, Round Up Grant from the North Georgia Electric Membership Corporation Foundation, Kiwanis Club of Ringgold, and the Wes and Shirley Smith Charitable Endowment and numerous individual donors. “Black Eyed Suzy” & “Filling the River with Tears” (Randall Franks/Peach Picked Pub./BMI) Based on a poem by Evelyn Rose Brock.

To Support Programs Like This Please Donate to the

Share America Foundation, Inc. 

P.O. Box 42, Tunnel Hill, Ga. 30755

To donate to Share America, click here:


Copyright 2015 Randall Franks Media in association with Share America Foundation, Inc.

Living Up to Family Legacies

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One is the sum of all that creates what you are – genes, heritage,
education, experience, wisdom, history, and view. Though I come from
meager Appalachian beginnings – God fearing parents and
grandparents who worked and dreamed for better for their children.
God has opened doors for me beyond my wildest dreams.
Within my genes He imprinted the memories of generations past that
reached to the corners of the world in every imaginable way – as
pilgrims, sea captains, explorers, clergy, merchants, founders,
musicians, soldiers, actors, writers, teachers, generals, peasants,
slaves, lords, ladies, kings, queens, and emperors.
From the days before the Roman Empire we have touched those who have
had a hand in forging the human collective forward. Across the world,
I can point to historical elements that weave their way into my
people, my life. I could stand at the feet of statues of many of them
in cities I hope one day to visit; or outside castles, palaces, or
buildings they have built that remain as a testament to their lives.
There were some good people, some bad, and many in between. In life,
He has allowed me to come to know many of their achievements that
have inspired me to strive to create my own and to learn from their
failures and follies.
In my three score and ten, I may not change the world as many of my
grandparents, uncles and aunts did. I may not lead great nations, nor
forge great conquests with my armies as many of them did. I may not
inspire religious dedication bringing the faithful to believe and
serve as some of them did.
I will do though, what is within my power to continue carrying the
light of the family spark each and every day. For centuries the spark
passed, it has inspired men to the call of battle; it inspired men to
write and say words that changed the direction of the world.
I pray just one line I write, one performance I share, one person I
inspire holds fast with the impact as long as some of my
grandfathers’ and grandmother’s actions continuing their tradition.
I am blessed to be a descendant of many great men and women. We all
owe those behind us a great debt for what they gave us.
Take the time to remember and learn from them.

What was in the wind?

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It flew by me so fast I didn’t see it.

It was certainly a surprise that the wind would carry something so
fast.

But the actuality is that wind is simply a reflection of what we all
see with each passing day as we walk in front of the looking glass.

One day, we are a small child busy rushing to go outside and play.

Before we turn around, we are off to college, sometimes paying more
attention to what’s in the looking glass in hopes we might catch
someone else’s eye.

Then perhaps marriage and children and the glass reflects the wider
view to accommodate the added numbers.

As the gales come and go, we weather the storms of life.

The wind keeps blowing touching upon our hair bringing it touches of
gray and circling our mid-drift leaving a few pounds we did not want
left behind.

One day, we look around and wonder where it all went – the years,
the friends, the children. We see wind cross the glass and there
stands someone who we barely know. Perhaps its our father or mother,
or one of our grands looking back out at us.

The winds of time have passed our face so many times, the skin sags
downward.

No matter how much we pull upon it, we are unable to take away the
wind’s impact.

Some of us even see our hair flying along with the stream as it
let’s go from the strain of the force.

But no matter how fast it seems the wind pushes upon the streams of
our life, we are ultimately riding a similar breeze as everyone who
has come before and millions who walk along beside us.

We may guide how we accept the blowing winds, take them in stride and
realize that while the looking glass may not always reflect what we
desire, within our own head, we are who we always desired to be.

Of course realizing, that no one else has to live within our looking
glass image. When we accept that, then we can smile back at ourselves
knowing that we our holding strong upon our sails and guiding our
vessel in the direction we hope.

So, what was that, that flew by, just another day, another month,
another year, in the winds of time.

Let us ride them happily, hopefully and graciously towards our
destination beyond the looking glass.

Chase away the darkness

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When one least expects it, darkness can crawl into our souls and infect our hopes and dreams.

That darkness may take many forms: the sharp words of others; the doubt within our minds; the shortcomings of our own existence; our failures both real or simply perceived.

Any of these and so much more can push us down a path of our own dismay.

When you look upon this darkness, one must assume that it holds no weight upon you although at the time of its revealing it can seem to be an unbearable cloak of tons that wraps around you.

There is hardly a soul that walks this earth, that at some point will not see this specter become part of their existence.

But beyond its entrance, it is within our power to cast off the cloak letting our light to turn the darkness into a mere memory.

Strength of the soul is granted to each of us, its a gift that God bestowed upon us at birth. Of course, He expects us to renew the gift by our faith, whether we are finding it a new or if it is our constant companion.

I have often found my self seeking to refresh the strength that He bestowed through His word and through my prayers uplifted to Him. The darkness still manages to creep in upon the corners desiring to gain a foothold.

Those who allow that to become a presence, can easily find their path occluded. We must each day strive towards the light closer to our better nature. We must cast off any of those dark thoughts and encumbrances which might pull us down and away from the blessings in our life.

Those things, our greatest ones—the hopes and dreams that we have, pale in comparison to the ones He has for us.

I urge you, take the time, to place a light to shine away the darkness both inside and outside your soul.

We must strive each day to shine that light within our circle of life and touch all that come our way.
Through these means, we will help to keep all the corners bright.

May your days be filled with the Light of the world.

Brighter days are just ahead

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A new year brings the promise of starting over. Many folks see it as a point to make a resolution to complete or change things in their life. Perhaps coming out of the Christmas season gives them hope to make their lives better.

In reality, each new day brings us the chance to improve our lives.

Read more

The new stove for Christmas

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The family had already gathered in the valley below the Gravelly Spur for an unbelievable feast of ham garnished with pineapple, green beans in a dish surrounded by little pearl onions, mashed potatoes and gravy, and dandelion greens seasoned with just the right amount of pepper and fresh churned butter.
The dinner was topped off with one of Grandma Kitty’s pumpkin pies.
She carefully prepared each item in her cast iron pots over the open flames of the hearth. She never complained about all the work that was involved in keeping the fire stoked and having to keep such close tabs on each item to make sure they were just right.
The days following Thanksgiving always meant there would be some leftovers for the family to enjoy in a variety of creations that she would lovingly craft to give the family the illusion that they were not eating the same dishes each meal.
For years, she toiled to make the three meals a day for her ever-growing family. One day when the family went to town that summer, Grandpa Bill noticed her lingering in Ollison’s General Store around a catalog with pictures of some new wood cooking stoves.
Although she never said a word, he saw in her eyes the desire she had for a wrought iron Home Comfort stove.
He decided then and there that she would have one. So he made an arrangement with Mr. Ollison to buy the stove, paying a bit at a time through the rest of the year to have it arrive just before Christmas.
Grandpa Bill had managed to keep the purchase a secret from the entire family. He even arranged for everyone to be gone to visit Cousin Winfrey Small so that when Mr. Ollison arrived in his wagon on Dec. 23, with a tarp covering the contents, no one could see.
Mr. Ollison and Grandpa Bill unloaded the stove and set it in the kitchen. He had worked all morning preparing the stove pipe so he could get it hooked up and have it ready when she returned.
He was making the last adjustment as he heard the wagon pull up in the yard. He quickly pulled a bit of red ribbon into a bow and set it in the middle of the stove. He sat down quietly at the table with his newspaper in his hand as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
As the kids rushed into the house, they did not even notice the large stove in the kitchen until Grandma Kitty dropped the pail she was carrying with her Christmas cookies inside. She stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, her hand over her mouth, holding back a flood of tears as she saw the stove.
The sound of the pail hitting the floor brought all the kids to the kitchen, and they began hovering around the stove.
Pearl said, “Did Santa come early?”
Grandpa Bill said, “Yes, he said he would be back in a couple of days, but he thought your mother might like to have her present early.”
Grandma Kitty had moved quietly to her kitchen chair, sitting down slowly, never taking her eyes off the stove except to wipe away the tears of joy flowing down her cheek.
Pearl said, “Why are you so sad about getting a present?”
“I’m not sad dear, I am just so happy I could not help crying,” she said.
“So you like the new stove?” she asked.
“I have never gotten a better present from Santa in my life,” she said.
She rose and gave Grandpa Bill a big hug.
“Thank you for telling Santa what I wanted,” she said.
“If he could, he would give you so much more,” he said.
“I have everything I need right here,” she said, as she gathered all her children close and hugged them tightly.

“The New Stove” is from Randall Franks’s “A Mountain Pearl: Appalachian Reminiscing and Recipes”

The Christmas Doll

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The winter of ’34 in the valley below the Gravely Spur was an especially hard one. A Christmas snow had blanketed the valley, making travel through the mountain passes treacherous, even if taken by foot.
With one false step, even those who knew the routes by heart could find themselves slipping into a snow drift hiding a potential fall.
However, for most of the children of the valley the snow turned it into a winter wonderland. Pearl, Ruby and the Wood boys were finding whatever they could ride to go sledding down Turner’s gorge. At the bottom of the gorge lay a pond formed from Frog Leg Creek which was covered in a thick coat of ice almost strong enough for skating. No one had any skates so they would simply slide across on the soles of the new shoes they received when the crops were sold.
While the children were unaware, most of the parents of the valley knew that the reality of the year had left them all in dire straits.
Toys at Christmas were largely a luxury in the valley. Even the well-to-do families were having trouble this year. The customary apple, banana or piece of peppermint stick candy that most of the children found in their stocking might be missed this year.
Pearl had sensed the concerns of her parents and with six children and four share-cropping families to help, she knew her father was doing all he could that year.
The unexpected snow however made it difficult for anything not already on hand to be brought into the valley.
Still Pearl hoped that she might find a little something for her Christmas morning that she could call her very own.
As she was sliding on the ice, she listened as the Wood boys laughed about what happened to what they got the year before.
“I can’t believe what George did to our present last year,” Woody said. “We got a whole string of firecrackers to split between us boys and he nearly run us out of the house with them.”
“He got up early Christmas morning and found them. They had this long string running through connecting them, so he took that loose and was counting them and splitting them up so we all had the same amount,” he said. “He threw that long piece of string in the fire. That thing jumped back out right in the middle of his pile. You should have seen George when those firecrackers started going off in every direction. They even jumped up in the bed with the rest of us and got everybody up in the house.”
But in spite of the snow, Santa would be making his usual stops at the Gravelly Spur no matter what. Because of the terrain, this year he would only make one stop in the valley and all the neighbors would go by Christmas morning and pick up what he had brought for the valley children.
Santa’s helper in the valley was Rev. Ben Smathers, who waited patiently Christmas Eve for Santa’s arrival. As the families came to Big Lick Church Christmas morning, he would then, one by one, distribute the gifts and the community would then gather for a celebration of Christ‘s birth.
Christmas morning, Pearl was up early, anxious for the trip to the church. In her stocking she found an orange and a stick of candy. When the family arrived at the church, she joined the other children in line at the tree and stepped up to Rev. Smathers. He placed in her arms a little blonde doll in a woven basket lying upon a blue cotton pillow.
“It is so beautiful,” she said. “Is she really mine?”
“Yes, just for you my dear,” he said. “So you take good care of her.”
As she looked in the eyes of her new friend, Pearl beamed with the joy of Christmas.
It was not stacks of gifts which made her eyes glimmer and her face shine with the light of the season. It was one simple gift of her very own given by the heart of a pastor who knew without his help many children would do without that Christmas.

Learning to cook

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When I was growing up one talent that both my parents stressed I should acquire was learning to cook for myself.

Perhaps it was their foresight that it would not be likely to find women in my generation willing to dedicate themselves totally to cooking, cleaning and raising children, or perhaps it was my mother’s independent spirit as someone who was before her time.

My mother began operating her own restaurant when she was in her 20s, so needless to say she was a career woman long before I entered her life.

I think she knew that more and more women in my generation would be entering the workforce and spending more time in the workplace.

However, with my arrival and due to some of my unforeseen health issues, she left the business world to look after me until my health improved enough for her to work again full time.

As I grew I helped out all I could, and one of my chores once she returned to work was to help with evening meals.

With her help I learned to cook a variety of dishes from Hungarian goulash to Southern style meatloaf. My favorites were the sweets, pineapple upside down cake, pecan and sweet potato pie, which of course barely lasted to the table.

When I was around 13-years-old I had the opportunity to solo on my very first holiday meal — turkey, cornbread dressing, sweet potato yams with marshmallows, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and turkey gravy, slaw and pumpkin pie. Of course, like any good teacher she quietly coached and helped with some of the odd jobs like peeling potatoes, grating the cabbage and carrots, opening cans, and of course getting the turkey started soon enough to be done by meal time. You know, if you do not take that thing out of the freezer a day before you’ll be having fried Spam instead.

One thing that to this day I just cannot deal with is those little turkey giblets you put in the gravy. I think gravy is just fine with them swimming in the gravy boat.

For the occasion we invited our neighbors, Millie Dobbs and Bessie Yarbray, to join us.

I was also in charge of setting the holiday table with our finest linens, bone china, crystal glasses and silver ware. These were always reserved for special occasions and guests.

I will never forget my excitement as the meal was set on the table and the guests arrived to see what I had done.

The image looked like it could have come right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

I am pleased to report that everyone said they enjoyed the meal and the portions evidenced that. As far as I know there were no late night visits to the emergency room, so I guess you can say the event was a success.

I also may have been inspired to pursue this endeavor by the fact that my brother’s wife could not boil water. They spent many evenings sitting around our table.

As an adult these lessons have served me well, and while cooking is no longer what one might call a passion for me, I do know how. As long as food is available in the absence of someone desiring to cook, I won’t starve. As years go on, I am  sure that will be plain to see as I develop an ailment, which afflicts many of my kinfolk, Dunlap disease. My belly dunlapped over my belt. Bon appetite!

Truth, nothing but the truth

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The importance of truth in everyday life is something that each of us are responsible for upholding.
When thinking on the topic of honesty, I fondly remember back on the Andy Griffith Show episode where “Opie” wants to sell his bike without mentioning all the little things that are wrong with it. “Barney” decides to take on selling real estate and the Taylors are considering selling their house and buying another in the same episode.
Andy neglects to mention the little odds and ends wrong with the house until Opie brings these things to the attention of the buyers. While Andy becomes frustrated by Opie’s honesty, Opie is confused by Andy’s separate rules for adults and children. Andy finally realizes that Opie is right.
When we are in our late teens, we sometimes add a few years to our age so we can do things adults do. As we get older, we tend to shave years off our age so we can appear younger. Are these lies?
When attorneys are faced with defending people that they know or suspect are guilty, does this strain their ability to be honest when they stand in front of a judge or jury to defend a not guilty plea?
While extreme situations like war can sometimes bring on the need for good people to be faced with challenging choices concerning their convictions, it is often on faith and truth that they must rely to get through the bad times.
But there are, no doubt, times when honesty may be strained.
Members of a generation of Americans were disenfranchised by the feeling that our government was lying to them in the 1970’s during Watergate and the latter part of the Vietnam War.
Were they lying?
There is an old joke about how you can tell when a politician is lying — their mouth is moving.
I wonder sometimes what happened to good, old-fashioned honesty.
Honesty does exist in each of us. All we need to do is remember each and every falsehood we utter has an effect on someone else.
It may only be ourselves we hurt as we build a house of cards trying to remember each and every white lie we have told so as not to be caught.
What is the point of being dishonest? Do we gain anything?
There’s an old song called the “Royal Telephone” where the singer asks the operator to get Jesus on the line.
Would you tell a lie in exchange for a conversation with our Savior, Jesus Christ himself, on the phone? I wouldn’t. If I did, what would we talk about?
Remember: “From your lips to God’s ears.”
If you remember that he is listening, it does make you think more heavily about what you do and say each and every day.

Come as you are

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If there is a place where folks come as they are these days, it’s on social media and often it does not reflect our best. Have you ever wondered what happened to dressin’ up when you go to town or when placing yourself in an environment to be seen such as online? When I was growing up in Chamblee, Ga. we would often make the trek to town.

In our case, town would either be downtown Atlanta or Decatur. Whether we were out for a day of lookin’ and feelin’ at Rich’s department store or a trip to Starne’s Barber Shop for a shave and a haircut on the square in Decatur, when we walked out our front door, we looked our very best.

Notice how I said “lookin’ and feelin’” rather than shopping. That is what women folks would do with youngsters in tow. They would look and feel, only occasionally would the trip bear fruit with something being bought. In those days, many folks, like us, didn’t have air conditioning at home. A trip to the store on a hot summer day was a welcome relief.

I never did get a shave at Starne’s but I sure did lose a lot of hair. Mr. Starnes gave me my first haircut as my cousin Arthur, who was in barber training, watched. I would soon be turned over to Arthur for several of my early haircuts. In looking at early pictures, I can only say they were fond of flattops.

Course as a child, being dressed up often would include a little bit of dirt within just a few minutes of putting on those clothes. I can still hear my mom saying “What am I going to do with you, you get dirtier than an east Tennessee coal miner.” But what is a young boy to do when there is a perfectly good mud puddle just waiting there to be jumped in?

I can still see my mom in a pretty dress gray gabardine outfit with matching black hat, gloves, handbag and high heel shoes.

Maybe the concept of being dressed up has changed. Maybe folks look at designer jeans and a T-shirt or sweats as the fashion of the day. All of them are ridiculously expensive. They are a lot easier to upkeep than walking out in a crisply starched shirt, tie and slacks each and every day.

I just don’t understand what happened to the custom of looking your best. I remember even when we would spend time on my grandparents’ mountain farm, folks worked hard and wore clothes that would carry that load. But when it came time to go to town for something, I remember grandma Kitty going to her cedar wardrobe and pulling out her blue Sunday dress to put on.

Even if folks were dirt poor, they made sure that when they went to town or school or wherever they looked the best they could afford.

Folks generally still dress up to go to church. However, in some churches they don’t even do that anymore. They just say ‘come as you are.’ Now, there is nothing wrong with this. Cause I know God welcomes anyone no matter if they are in overalls or hole-y jeans. But there is just something to be said to giving God your very best effort.

In the past, folks took pride in the way they looked, their dress, their grooming. My dad would never leave the house with a hair out of place. Was that vanity, possibly. But that is one impression of him that people who knew him still remember today.

Now I am not saying that I have never left the house without being perfectly dressed and groomed. I do occasionally run out to the grocery or the gas station in a less than dressed-up fashion.

While I never owned a pair of blue jeans until I was in my teens, I do wear them to town with a nice shirt and even on stage when appropriate.

My parents use to say “We’ve worked hard to get off the farm and out of overalls, there is no reason for you to wear them.”

That was no slight on farming or farmers on their part. When they were coming up, farmers like other country folk were looked down upon by city people and I am sure they endured their share of negative comments from those well-meaning city folks while trying to make a place for themselves in the city. While nostalgic to us today, their roots of walking barefoot behind the mule as the fresh-turned earth came up between their toes was something many folks worked to get away from, especially during the depths of the depression.

With some pairs of jeans these days costing more than a pair of slacks, in a way, I guess they are dressy in their own right. If you really want to get fancy you can buy them with holes already worn in them. I heard of folks in east Georgia making a fortune by firing buckshot at jeans for some company. They can be pre-washed and I imagine somewhere you can buy them pre-worn and be charged extra for somebody else breaking them in. No matter what, they are here to stay.

I guess the days of everyone wearing their best when they go to town is a thing of the past. It is amazing what new coat of paint and little fixing up can do to a house. It only makes since that we do the same for ourselves or we can just “come as we are,” no matter where we go. It could be a little embarrassing for some folks though, depending on what they were doing when they get the invite.