Posts

Take down the fiddle and bow

/in /by

I was sitting on the linoleum floor looking up at the fiddlers as they sat around in the den of the Everett’s house playing tune after tune. Musicians flow in and out and spectating listeners line the seats around the walls. I was pre-teen and trying to pick up licks they were doing as I watched their fingers move and the their bows go up and down.

Unlike my youth learning experience, today, youth doing the same have the amazing ability to simply take their phone and find a video of a fiddler playing the tune they want. But there is nothing like being in a room hearing and seeing another fiddler play.

That is what many of the youth who competed at the 53rd Grand Master Fiddler Championship had the chance to do as many of the greatest fiddle competitors gathered outside Nashville at the Turner Theater in Franklin as the contest took place Labor Day weekend.

I walked down the hallway between the stage and the warm-up rooms and youthful fiddlers leaned against the walls watching the older competitors warming up with their accompanists getting ready to walk on stage and be judged for America’s top Grand Master Fiddler.

I was blessed to return to serve as celebrity host, a role I been honored to conduct since 2007. I was a teen the first time I came to this contest brought by my childhood mentor Eugene Akers getting to see the great fiddlers.

As I looked in the eyes of the youth while walking down the hallway, I could see their excitement. In their anticipation, I knew their fears as they waited for their chance to convince the judges they had improved in their efforts.

Many of the former youth are now competing in the adult open category. Seeing the young adults excelling is such a blessing.

When I was starting out the youthful fiddlers who were ahead and plowing the way for us kids were Mark O’Connor, Jimmy Mattingly, the late Randy Howard and others. This year’s event was special in that Mark was there sharing a special hour of music with his wife Maggie. Jimmy was there being honored with the Dr. Perry F. Harris Award. Another early competitor Monte Gaylord of Oklahoma came back and competed after many years, shining in his performance.

This year’s event was squeezed into one day, filled with about 40 fiddlers sharing a breakdown, a waltz and a tune of choice. Two Canadians and one fiddler from the Netherlands also tried their luck. One that seemed to be a favorite this year was Kenny Baker’s “Festival Waltz” as fiddlers of all ages shared it. Another often played tune was “Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down.” A tune I played as a Blue Grass Boy with Bill Monroe – “Road to Columbus” also seemed to be more prevalent this year.

From my vantage point at the podium, I will have to say, there were more existing Grand Master Fiddlers competing against each other or simply present at this event than I ever recall in my years of participating. The audience certainly heard the best of the best.

The 2024 Grand Master Fiddler of the open category is Ridge Roberts of Granbury, Texas, and in the youth category is Tristan Paskvan of Southlake, Texas. Todd Varble won the accompanist award. Marty Elmore received the Charlie Bush Traditional Fiddler Award. Naomi Dornfeld received the Matthew Thomas Lin Scholarship Award. Learn more about the Grand Master Fiddler Championship at grandmasterfiddler.com or follow them on Facebook.

Actor/entertainer Randall Franks releases new single as tribute to Andy Griffith

/in /by
Appalachian humorist Randall Franks and Crimson Records are pleased to announce the release of a new comedy performance from the award-winning performer: “What It Was, Was Football.“
Support Our Efforts – Download Recording Please:
Itunes: https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-americans-creed/1743671704
Amazon Music: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D2WGJ1Y5/
Radio programmers via AirPlay Direct https://airplaydirect.com/music/RandallFranksTheAmericansCreed/
Written by Andy Griffith, the monologue is the story of a Southern Christian revival worker setting up a revival tent who stops to grab a bite to eat but is swept up in the fervor of a crowd of folks headed on a wondrous adventure to watch something that he never had seen before. He then describes what he saw.
Randall’s version of the classic comedy story is now available to radio programmers via AirPlay Direct and on streaming services. For nearly thirty years, Randall Franks, “Officer Randy Goode” from TV’s “In the Heat of the Night,” has consistently included Appalachian humor in his performances. The late Appalachian scholar Loyal Jones recognized him as a unique voice in Southern humor in his book “Country Music Humorists and Comedians” reflected through his shows and comedy releases such as “Tunes and Tales from Tunnel Hill” (1995), “Comedy Down Home” (1999), and “Keep ‘Em Smilin’” (2016). His comedy recordings and his comedic acting performances on TV and in films are among the most beloved by his audience.
“Like many, one of the people who greatly inspired my career is the late Andy Griffith,” Franks said. “He did what many young Southern performers hope to do in combining acting, comedy and music into a decades-long career while creating several long-lasting TV series.”
Franks attributed “The Andy Griffith Show” as being one of the reasons he became a musical entertainer with its features of the Dillards as “The Darlings.”
“I included Andy and the Dillards in my “Encouragers” book series sharing the impact he and they had on my life and career,” he said.
His new album also includes music from his film “The American’s Creed,” live appearances from his Hollywood Hillbilly Jamboree and 40th Anniversary recordings of Randall appearing live with Bill Monroe and the Blue Grass Boys – Wayne Lewis, Blake Williams and the late Tater Tate. Franks recently launched a new web page highlighting his time with the legendary music icon at www.RandallFranks.com/Bill-Monroe-and-the-Blue-Grass-Boys . Funds raised from these recordings benefit the Share America Foundation, Inc. and its Pearl and Floyd Franks Appalachian music scholarships.
                                                                                                                              __________________________________
The Single – What It Was, Was Football

“What It Was, Was Football” is Randall’s latest single release and is a tribute to the classic TV actor and comedian Andy Griffith who released it 70 years ago charting in Billboard’s Top 10 in February 1954. “There was probably not another person who had a greater impact in most Southern homes than Andy,” Franks said.
As a special addition to his #7 AirPlay Direct Global Americana Album “The American’s Creed,” the multiple music hall of famer recorded Griffith’s career beginning monologue “What It Was, Was Football.”
“Using my own comedy style, I have re-created what I felt was magical about his amazing hit,” he said. “It is available for all radio stations just in time for high school and college football seasons. I hope that radio around the country might give it a spin recognizing the 70th Anniversary and my paying tribute to this great performer.”
To the classic monologue, he added hints of his unique fiddle stylings including support from Gospel and Bluegrass music personalities: Mark Wheeler on guitar; Lewis Phillips on banjo; Steve Easter on resonator guitar; Jeff Easter on piano; Travis Lewis on acoustic bass; and the late Grand Ole Opry star Jesse McReynolds on mandolin.

Randall Franks pauses with Artist Colton Brown who created the artwork for the What It Was, Was Football video.

“What It Was, Was Football” is now available from Crimson Records for radio programmers via AirPlay Direct or by requesting a direct download here. It is also available on popular digital streaming platforms such as Amazon here or Itunes here, or can be seen featuring a unique artwork by Colton Brown on Randall Franks TV on YouTube (https://youtu.be/VxFDUQP_n1M), Rumble (https://rumble.com/v5e30dh-what-it-was-was-football-randall-franks.html), and Brighteon (https://www.brighteon.com/deaaf5e3-efc1-43c1-8357-74335bf81f39). 

 

                                                                                                                              __________________________________

 
Trivia: 

Are the two actors Randall Franks and Andy Griffith who played notable comedic Southern police officers related?

Yes, Randall and Andy are quadruple country cousins as they share at least four sets of grandparents in their family trees being related to each other through each of Andy’s grandparents – the Griffiths, Taylors, Nunns and Cassells and both of Randall’s parents.

Sources: Franks and Related Lines Genealogies – FamilySearch and Ancestry 

                                                                                                                              __________________________________


About Randall Franks
Randall Franks is a former NBC and CBS actor; an award-winning author of 11 books with his latest being “Seeing Faith: A Devotional” and a murder mystery “A Badge or an Old Guitar;” a journalist and a syndicated columnist who inspires millions of readers in the South and Midwest each week.
The International Bluegrass Hall of Fame Legend and Grand Ole Opry guest star marks his 40th Anniversary of debuting for the show this October.
He is an Independent Country Music, America’s Old Time Country Music, Atlanta Country Music and Tri-State Gospel Music halls of fame member and a Georgia Music Hall of Fame honoree with a long list of awards in multiple music genres. Through his Share America Foundation, he inspires youth to learn and share the music of Appalachia.
Georgia honored him for his service and philanthropy to the people of Georgia for helping raise millions to assist those in need. He starred and co-starred in four TV series and in 18 films for Hallmark, CBS and UpTV. He shared in numerous acting awards including for his latest films “The Cricket’s Dance” and “The American’s Creed.” 
He is a 2024 Inspirational Vocalist and Musician of the Year nominee and his song “God’s Children” went to #1 on the Cashbox charts in 2023. He currently hosts the music-fueled TV show “Appalachian Sounds.”
To TV fans, he is known best as “Officer Randy Goode” from the drama “In the Heat of the Night.” 

A harvest of hope to sustain us

/in /by

As the men folks worked endless hours to bring the harvest home, the women folk prepared the fires and the iron kettles for cooking in preparation for canning what was brought in on the wagons from the fields.

While much of what was gathered was taken to town to sale, enough was stowed by for the host family and all the neighbors’ families helping with the harvest and the canning.

When this crop was laid by, the men would move on to the neighbor’s farm and the women folk to the neighbors yard and kitchen and do it all again with another vegetable crop.

Tomatoes on one farm, corn on another, okra another, beets on another, and when the vegetables were all in, root crops, fruits stowed away, it would be near time for the hogs to be prepared for the smoke house.

Growing and putting back was a constant day-to-day circle of life in the valley below the Gravelly Spur.

All took it in stride and as each season turned and the tasks rotated around the circle of the sun and moon as they shined their light down in the Appalachian valley.

The work would break for church meetings on Sunday, community socials, and an occasional music gathering. When the harvest work was done, the musicians in the valley would gather bringing their guitars, banjos, fiddles and anything that could keep a rhythm to the center of community.

They would stand and play on the porch as the folks gathered in the dirt lane. Old Benson Wills would stand up on an apple box and call the dance.

It was in these moments the young men and women who were not yet spoken for began to smile upon one another even if it was only for the brief swings within do-Si-do.

But the happiness of the passings within the dance often sustained their hearts for days and weeks as the toiling of each day returned their routines, the life, the hardships and the happiness that on occasion brought the ends of their mouths to upturn.

Stoicism was the norm, the happiness was reflected in the hearts rather than their faces oftentimes. It was sometimes difficult to tell the difference between sadness and happiness in many, but anger could easily be distinguished because that usually brought a raised voice and raised hands formed in a fist. \

Thankfulness was visible also, it could take the form of an outreached hand to shake, a bowed head in prayer, or returned unexpected kindness.

When work was done each week, the families gathered to give the Lord thanks in the chapel, sing songs, and hear the scriptures.

It was these times and the music gatherings that eased the in between.

When we look at our own lives in this ever spinning modern world, may we find the comfort that sustained our ancestors in the much harder lives that they lived.

May I ride in your little red wagon

/in /by

I slowly filled in white letters on the side of my red Radio Flyer. The restoration project of the wagon which had pulled around neighborhood friends, dogs and all kinds of childhood toys along Warwick Circle and the surrounding area was now complete.

Why? You may ask. Well, when I was about six, that bright red wagon was sitting with a bow on it under the Christmas tree. It had come from the local hardware store and was something I am sure I had asked for, although I don’t remember that aspect of history.

It became a constant companion through my childhood years, pulled behind me by hand or tied to the back of bicycles, ridden down hills, and always signified happier childhood adventures.

I managed to hold onto it through the years and I realized that it would make a great platform for the small Christmas tree that I set up.

So, I decided to restore it back to its original condition. I brushed away any rust that might have popped up through the years, and then gave it a nice coat of red, black and touched up the white lettering and wheels. I shined up the tires and got those looking sharp.

Sometimes, we just need to do something that brings a sense of accomplishment to our inner child. Revitalizing a piece of our history in a way it might again be put to use was such a blessing to me.

In many respects, I have become the custodian of many family heirlooms through the years. Appliances like pedal sewing machines, furniture passed down – bedroom, dressers, oil lamps, walking canes, photos, and other items.

The care of these, so they might be passed down to another generation, is an important aspect of who I am and my overall tasks in my life. I was entrusted in these efforts by loved ones no longer here. Will they know what happened to them. I doubt if they are keeping an eye on me or them from the other side, but its still my charge.

I have managed to bring several of these back from poor condition in hopes these will be valued by whichever relative ultimately receives each item.

No matter how long we may hope we walk this earth, we are not promised tomorrow. Only today is within our grasp, and our hold on it is totally in the purview of God.

We are to leave things better than we found them. For me, that is my constant hope. I try to make things entrusted to me better than they were.

I couldn’t make my childhood wagon new again, but I could make it look a close as possible and find a use that would give me joy in seeing it annually when I pull it out for Christmas and fill it with decorations that remind me of the happy family times.

So, for me the adventure of restoration, made my inner child happy and once a year it brings a smile to adult me as it enhances the joy of Christmas. Find something to restore in your life that will make you happy.

I hope the mention of Christmas has brought a bit of cool thought into your summer. We could use a bit less heat where I live!

Ripples run

/in /by

Ripples float endlessly across the lake as a large frog croaks in the distance.

The line running from the end of my pole drifts slightly with the light current pulling away to my left as the red and white float
moves with the ripples.

I had spent much of my time working thus far in my first fishing adventure to bring the hook with the worm slid upon it into the
drink.

My childhood adventures of fishing with my dad, especially early in the learning process reflected the scenarios of the episode of “The
Andy Griffith Show” where “Howard Sprague” went fishing with Andy and the rest of the guys only to spend more time with his hook
in a tree or his own pants than in the water.

In retrospect, my dad’s patience as he taught me the process and answered the questions the younger version of myself asked was
amazing. Why do fish eat worms? Why do we have to put the hook through the worms, can’t we just throw them out and let the fish
eat them? Why do we have a float on the line?

Why do I do better throwing the line behind me rather than in front of me?

These are just a few that I recollect in the process.

My father was someone much like myself – outdoor sports were not really his thing – but he felt it was important that I learned them,
that we shared the experiences that he had shared with his father and uncles. There are lessons that are shared in the midst of the
teaching that settle deeper beyond the immediate task at hand.

The bonds created between a father and son through positive joint experiences; respect for the world around us and the other people and
creatures who share it with us; and an understanding about what is expected of you when you are a man.

I am so glad that he did take this time with me, oftentimes, it seemed strategically placed around tough points in my life when I
needed the input, the lesson, the hope, the insights that he wanted to share.

Establishing the groundwork at a younger age, when the years passed allowed us a smoother path.

When as an older teen, I wished to push the bounds of our relationship by asserting my own authority on my life, we were able
to work through those tense moments when I was spreading my wings, and make them teachable moments in the life experience. They added to
our relationship rather than pushing us farther from each other.

Perhaps my father’s early passing set my prospective of our relationship forever in the nostalgia of my youth. We never really
got to the good stuff of the best friend relationship that should have happened as time went on because he was still having to spend
time being my dad. Not that such a role would have ever ended, but as I was able to take on more of the responsibilities for my life after
college, I would have hoped that the lessons could have taken on a different form.

It is in this time of the year, that my father’s memory seems closest to me, because we shared so much in the summer months. I am
thankful that God sent me to be in family where I had two parents who were present and participating. So many youths do not, and as the
news of the world seeps into my life, I can’t help but wonder if a few more participating, present mothers and fathers would have
prevented many of the headlines which plaque our country.

Are you present in your children’s lives? Are you teaching them the lessons needed? Do they respect other people, creatures, and
cultures? If they don’t, may I suggest a fishing trip. There is something iconic and idyllic about those opening TV shots of Andy and
Opie Taylor walking with fishing poles in hand along a country road. Funny how so many long for the simplicity portrayed. We may never
have it, but it never hurts to take the walk.

“So, take down your fishin’ pole.”

Glistening from the heat

/in /by

I watched the white shears wave gently back and forth in the windows of the living room as the breeze eased its way into the house.

It was an extraordinarily hot day. By midmorning the coolness gained in the previous night had given way to the demands of the sun making everyone glisten in anticipation for the afternoon that would change all of us into a cross between a drenched cat and a swimmer climbing out of the deep spot in the creek. That is except for the woman folk whose glistening would be fought off by the thick application of scented powder on face, arms, and torso.

When the heat was so extreme, I often thought the ladies in my neighborhood carried a powder puff with them everywhere they went.

When there was no breeze and absolutely no chance of finding relief by a stroll by the creek of sitting in the shade of a massive oak, the ladies would gather up the young folks and load us into station wagons and away we would be whisked for an afternoon of looking and feeling at Woolworth’s, JC Penney’s or Richs which all had the tremendous advancement of air conditioning. If we were lucky that might materialize into a visit to an air conditioned theater to watch a movie carrying us through the heat of the day so that by suppertime, we would be able to gather in the breeze on the porch or in the yards.

It is amazing how the heat never really bothered me much as a kid. I knew it was hot but that was just the way it was and we did what we wanted to creating adventures around the neighborhood. We built forts out of down tree limbs, gathered pine cones storing them up for massive battles between each other. We ran, rode our bicycles, played baseball, football, kick ball, dodge ball, whatever brought us together and created activities allowing us to engage with one another. I was at a disadvantage in much of these activities due to my health but despite limitations, I tried allowing me to win sometimes, fail sometimes and build the initial experiences upon which my life would be built.

The street lights would come on and after supper, most of the kids would gather in the street for a game of baseball as the parents and neighbors sat in chairs on porches, stoops or under trees cheering us on as we gave it our all.

I can still see myself wearing a pumpkin colored short sleeve shirt half buttoned up with burgundy colored shorts standing in the middle of the street playing outfielder with my older brother’s baseball give. I would try to catch the next pop fly that Bruce, Jennifer, Charlotte, Art or Bubba might hit and then coming up to bat only to be out as I rounded the man hole cover, which was second base, as Kay or Charles tagged me. Eventually as the darkness enveloped us, we each would hear the calling home of one of our parents and we would give in, relinquishing another day to powers beyond our control. As we reached the doors, we looked like we had a bath and often smelled like we needed one.

For many of us that was shortly our next stop before a few minutes of TV and then off to bed until the sun summoned our rise again as it sent its rays through the holes in the window shears making a funny design on our faces and pillow.

The smell of bacon cooking would draw us to wipe the sleep from our eyes, hurriedly throw on some clothes and move us towards the kitchen to begin another odyssey of adventure among our family and friends. The sound of the slamming of the screen door, and the heat of the day often beckons such sweet memories that are seared into my memory when life was not as comfortable but each day held such opportunities.

Riding the pinto home

/in /by

If we are to realize what is before us, sometimes we must look back.
One of my fascinations since I was first handed the keys to my first car, a Ford Pinto, I looked out from the driveway thinking, I now have the freedom to go anywhere the road takes me.
Of course, that was a little over stated in my 17-year-old mind. There was a little thing like, how do I pay for gas, insurance, tires. I had to get to work on time. I have a project due at school. I guess this means I need a parking pass at High School now.
So, freedom wasn’t really free.
Despite those limitations, I still did have the ability to go places on my own.
While the vehicle bought at auction was not the hottest ride on the teenage scene and it certainly was not going to bring about the potential of any dates.
Four wheels and an engine were much better than pedaling or being driven by a parent.
Whenever I was able to reach the outskirts of the suburban life my parent’s had built outside Atlanta back towards the Appalachian hills of home, I always breathed a little easier. The green fields and the mountains made me feel better.
As the blacktops turned to gravel or dirt, its amazing how those changes made my heart grow the desire to just sit on top of a mountain and look off into the distance.
Of course, where our folks came from, you didn’t just sit on anyone’s mountain.
When you turned up a road before long everybody knew you were there and headed his or her way.
They knew if you friend, foe, kin or a lost stranger and soon had you sized up.
Friends and kin would see folks waving. If the road was a one lane and you met another, one of you would back up until the other could pass.
That of course gave an opportunity to pass the time of day, find out how their mom and them were, how’s the fishing, if anyone was sick back up that way.
The visit might even get you an invite to dinner, or a suggestion about a neighbor needing help with some chores.
If you were foe, needless to say, the waves would turn into leering stern looks depending on how much of a foe.
Strangers were given grace to a point until they realized when they got to the end of the road, they were either at someone’s house or someone’s closed gate. Then a bit of stern kindness “Neighbor, where are you trying to get to? – Who are going to see there? – Well, let me tell you how to get there.”
As soon as they wave you out of sight, they are burning up the phone lines to check on whomever you mentioned to let them know.
No matter the experience, the country road, the mountains, the streams uplifted my spirits and strengthened my being.
While the years are long gone from those days with the Ford Pinto, I still point my vehicle towards those old familiar mountain paths. More are paved, folks don’t take the time with each other they once did, but the underlying caring still remains. The pleasant encounters, the laughing with old friends, the occasional pickin’ and grinnin’ still remain and bring me smiles of the heart! That’s something we all need. You may not find yours where I find mine, but you should look just the same until you do.
So, get on your pinto and ride man, ride.

Words can inspire in many forms

/in /by

Writing is a constant companion to me. It has been since my early days in school. Perhaps it is something in the genetic make up passed along similarly as in my more well-known cousins whose works have inspired the world – Mark Twain, Agatha Christie, Robert Louis Stevenson, Emily Dickinson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, T.S. Eliot, and Edgar Allan Poe.

My efforts to string words upon a page so readers can cast their eyes and evoke a stream of thought or create an emotion, pale in comparison to the least of theirs.

For those of you who have journeyed with me in my 23 years of creating this column, I thank you for sharing your time in my continuing opportunity to reach you with what flows from my heart and mind.

Many of you have delved a bit farther by reading one of my non-fiction books or even my mystery “A Badge or an Old Guitar.” This year I plan to take readers into a new place with my novella “Southern Crossing” and hopefully inspire with a devotional.

My tenth book recently came out and it was my third co-author. I spent a year with 93-year-old former Ringgold, Ga. Mayor Joe Barger and his wife Barbara. My earlier works in this area were with entertainers Ramblin’ “Doc” Tommy Scott and Violet Hensley. A foray into metallurgical engineering, his occupation, was a stretch for me although I easily grasp the area of government and politics he also inhabited for 48 years.

“I worked closely with Randall while I was mayor, I knew there was no one I trusted more to help me chronicle my 93 years and share Barbara’s and my story,” he said in an interview following its release.

Hearing this was uplifting to me. Joe and I served side by side for six years on the city council. I was his vice mayor. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we found the best way forward for our city’s residents and businesses.

As part of the book, I spent weeks at the city hall. I read all the minutes from his 48 years in office and transcribed what I felt he might like to share and then we worked through the years adding context and stories about the people he worked with and those that lived in the town.

He was introduced to Ringgold by joining a college friend on a trip back home in the 1950s. He would later land a job with Combustion Engineering in Chattanooga, Tenn. which began his passion for metallurgy, he said.

Though the North Carolinian loved serving his neighbors, he wanted to write about his professional experiences as a metallurgical engineer to share some of his wisdom with future generations of welders.

“There were so many lessons that I learned as Combustion Engineering allowed me to develop new patents on so many applications to enhance what we did in nuclear energy development,” he said. “And there are many simple aspects of welding that I thought might help other young welders. I wanted to write some of that down.”

After serving in army intelligence during the Korean War, Barger returned to Ringgold to marry the love of his life and regain his position at Combustion, he said.

“My job took me around the world solving problems and sharing the success of what we were doing for Combustion in Chattanooga,” he said. “I couldn’t asked for a better company to work for or a better bunch of people to work beside helping light up the world.”

Working closely with Joe and Barbara on this book has been one of the greatest experiences in my life.

Their story is in many ways, the story of small town America. I think his book will be a great resource for anyone who might like to look back at what Ringgold was and how it got to where it is today.

“Testing the Metal of Life: The Joe Barger Story” by Joe Barger and Randall Franks is a 496-page book featuring over 550 photos and is available at www.RandallFranks.com/Joe-Barger .

The new stove for Christmas

/in /by

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

/in /by

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.