I used to listen to Ken Nordine thirty years ago on NPR when he had a wonderful series called "Word Jazz." I remember some incredibly imaginative programs in which he talked to a room full of characters. The catch was, all of them were Ken Nordine. Yeah, he talked/argued with himself. He also grafted familiar sounds together and made cassettes that contained music and dialogue from old movies and radio shows, only they merged in a theme like "Welcome Home," or "Dreams." Why did I stop listening to Ken Nordine? I'm not sure. Maybe the world drowned him out, or my hearing became so bad, it was no longer fun to listen to him. I was deaf for a long time and stopped listening to a lot of things - good music, old radio shows, Garrison Keillor. Well, I have a cochlear implant and i can hear again. It isn't the same, but it is pretty close. Bit by bit, I have been reclaiming the old wonderful sounds, and now, a week ago, his name went through my mind. "Ken Nordine." What happened to him? I put his name on Google and found "Night Music." I know it may not be "your cup of tea," but, damn, there he is! Over 80 years old and that wonderful voice that some people compare to warm chocolate. Is this poetry? Yeah, for me, it is.
Monday, March 30, 2009
REVIEW OF TIM GAUTREAUX NOVEL, THE MISSING
Several weeks ago, I went blog surfing and ended up on a marvelous site called "Dew on the Kudzu" where the blogmaster was celebrating the discovery of a wonderful novel entitled "The Missing" by Tim Gautreaux. I read one paragraph of the review and knew I wanted to read this novel and immediately ordered it for my Kindle. Well, kind hearts, you must read this book! I not only read it....I reread it! Please read it and come back to this blog and talk about it!
THE MISSING by Tim Gautreaux
New York: Knopf Double Publishing Group
$25.95 – 384 pages – 2009
“The finest American novel in a long, long time.”
-Annie Proulx
This is a novel that seems to vibrate in your hands. It is filled with sounds, smells and the bittersweet beauty of a vanquished time - the Mississippi on a moonlit night as the Ambassador, an aging four-decker steamboat, churns slowly downstream occasionally shattering the night with its strident whistle.The heart of the ship contains a vast Texas dance floor where over one thousand dancers can alternately sway and swing to blues and jazz. It is the golden age of riverboats (circa 1920’s), a time when crowds stood expectantly on the docks of a hundred towns along the Mississippi, waiting for a grand old steamer that would sweep them from their dull lives into a night filled with music and laughter. But, I’m getting ahead of the story. First, we must bring our hero home from the threats of a deserted (but heavily mined) battlefield in France and a fateful meeting with a frightened child whose face haunts his dreams.
Gautreaux's protagonist, "Lucky" Sam Simonaux, returned from WWI to his wife and his personal dream job - the floorwalker in Krines, a gigantic New Orleans department store; a place where he has learned to moves with grace and efficiency through each of the four floors, watching for shoplifters, drunks and trouble. He does his job well; life is good and the future is bright until… the day a three-year-old child, Lily Weller, is kidnapped from Krines. Despite the fact that Sam is injured in his attempt to stop the kidnappers, he is held responsible by his employer and is fired. In truth, Sam
broods about his failure to save Lily, and decides to launch his own search – a decision that leads him to leave his wife in New Orleans and seek employment on the Ambassador where the child’s parents, Ted and Elsie Weller, are employed as musicians. Sam’s logic is that Lily was stolen by someone who saw her performing with her parents (the three-year-old has been taught to dance and sing) on the old steamboat at one of the river towns. That turns out to be a vast area that runs from Louisiana to Ohio.
For almost six months, Sam fails to find a trace of Lily; however, in the meantime, he becomes an accomplished pianist and learns to love the Ambassador’s special blend of funky jazz and blues. Then, abruptly, a series of random events (including an observant ticket clerk) leads Sam to Lily’s abductors – a wealthy, childless couple, Willa and Acy White who had employed a degenerate family of outlaws, the Skadlocks, to steal Lily. In the months following the kidnapping, the Whites have attempted to create another identity for the child.They shower Lily with presents, rename her “Madeline” and strive to convince her that her parents are dead. As the months pass, Lily’s memory of her parents begins to fade, and she begins to change, acquiring the opinions and prejudices of her “new parents.”
Eventually, Sam Simonaux finds himself forced to make a decision that has tragic results.Ted, Lily’s father becomes impatient with Sam’s cautious investigation of the Skadlocks and ventures into the wilderness where the outlaws live. It is a trip that costs him his life. Eventually, Sam finds his way to the home of Lily’s abductors. However, upon secretly witnessing their wealth, he begins to feel that Lily has advantages and a future that her natural parents could never provide. Instead of confronting her abductors and reclaiming the child, Sam decides to returns to the Ambassador and tells the grieving mother that his lead to Lily had turned out to be a wild goose chase. It is only after Sam’s return to New Orleans that he confesses the truth to his wife; she forces him to tell Lily’s mother the truth. Both Elsie and her son, August, are outraged and demand that Sam help them get Lily back.
Finally, Sam, now repentant of his mistake, takes Lily’s brother, August, and makes a desperate journey to confront the Whites. Ironically, in the meanwhile, the Skadlocks have stolen Lily again, confident that the Whites cannot report the second kidnapping without revealing their part in the initial abduction. Their intention is to sell Lily to the Whites again! In the ensuing events, Sam finally rescues Lily and returns her to her mother, but it is a belated reunion. Within a few months, Elsie Weller will die in an influenza epidemic. It also becomes evident that the lapse of time (almost a year) has done Lily considerable harm.
At this point, The Missing undergoes an astonishing change. Tim Gautreaux does not bring his novel to a conclusion, but adds a second plot that expands and enriches the original. Throughout the search for Lily Weller, Sam Simonaux has frequently behaved in a perplexing manner. His ambiguous attitude toward parent/child relationships acquires significance when Sam reveals a secret and undertakes yet another journey.
When Sam Simonaux was six months old, his entire family was murdered by a savage band of outlaws. Sam escaped only because his father threw him into an old stove just before a virtual hurricane of bullets destroyed the house and killed his parents and his brothers and sister. His Uncle Claude found Sam in the stove the following day and raised him. For all of his life, “Lucky Sam” had felt a strange detachment about his family’s fate. However, with the death of Lily’s parents, he feels an impulse to confront his own tragedy. Now, he returns to talk to his Uncle Claude and learn the truth about his family’s massacre; he will then go to confront the murderers, the Cloats: a family so bestial, their crimes are legendary.
Although the journey to reclaim Lily, (who has much in common with the face that has always haunted Lucky Sam’s dreams), is tense and suspenseful, Sam’s final journey is riveting. It is not only a journey for justice – it is also an odyssey of self-discovery. When this last confrontation is over, Sam will return to claim the only object his father left him – a violin. He will also claim his adopted daughter, Lily, and he will devote the rest of his life striving to restore the gift of music that he knows is within her.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Serena by Ron Rash (Reviewed by Gary Carden)
Serena by Ron Rash
New York: HarperCollins Publishers
$24.95 – 371 pages 2008
There is no animal more invincible than a woman,
Nor fire either, nor any wildcat so ruthless.
-Aristophanes, “Lysistrata”
In graduate school I once enrolled in a literature course devoted to “evil women.” It was a daunting collection of demonic and murderous ladies and I still carry some vivid memories of their notable acts: Lillith, the sensual demon that tormented Adam, defied God and refused to accept her “secondary” role in Adam’s Eden; Medea whose love turned to merciless rage when she was betrayed; Lady Macbeth, who shared her husband’s vaulting ambition and
readily murdered anyone who became a hindrance to their wishes; and finally Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, a barren woman who plots to destroy fertility/creativity in others.
In his remarkable novel, Serena, (also the name of the book’s “anti-heroine,”) Ron Rash has created a dark and
pitiless sorceress who deserves to take an honored place in the pantheon wicked women. In fact, Selena Pemberton embodies the vices of all of her predecessors. Let’s set the stage for a drama that unfolds with all the intrigue and bloodletting of a 17th century Jacobean revenge tragedy.
The setting of Serena is western North Carolina in the turbulent decade following the 1929 stock market crash. While Horace Kephart struggles to save the region’s diminishing wilderness, a half-dozen timber barons are intent on reducing the same area to an immense, stump-studded wilderness. When the Pemberton Lumber Company with George and Serena Pemberton at the helm, arrive in Waynesville, they quickly demonstrate that they embody the essence of timber baron morality: arrogance, greed, an immense hunger to subdue and destroy the natural world – all of which is forged into a ruthless single-mindedness, a desire to succeed at all cost.
Horace Kephart makes an eerie prediction regarding the tragic consequences of lumber mills when he witnesses the arrival of the “mindless machines” on the slopes near Hazel Creek in Our Southern Highlanders:
“(Every tree, plant, beast and fish) will be swept away. Fire will blacken the earth; flood will swallow and spew forth the soil. The simple-hearted native men and women will scatter and disappear. In their stead will come slaves
speaking strange tongues to toil in darkness under rocks.
Soot will rise and foul gases; the streams will run murky death.”
Although George Pemberton quickly demonstrates that he is a brutal, selfish and arrogant beast in his own right, he is a pale presence when compared to Serena. Within days of her arrival, she takes control of the camp. Clad in jodhpurs and riding an Arabian stallion, she oversees the camp’s daily operation with a cool confidence that is disturbing. In short order, the work crew learns to both fear and revere Selena. With brutal efficiency she solves problems as diverse as George’s illegitimate child by a local girl, the fates of disruptive employees and untrustworthy investors and a troublesome local sheriff. Some merely vanish, but the mutilated remains of others (found in hotel rooms or train stations) suggest that for those who defy Serena, the consequences are often fatal!
When the timber workers complain of rattlesnakes in the woods (a problem that affects their efficiency), Serena acquires a Persian eagle (it perches on the pommel of her saddle). The bird soars above the work crew as it advances into the forest and occasionally streaks down like a divine force, snatching rattlers from the undergrowth, shredding them and bearing their remains aloft.
Serena has a rich diversity of sub-plots, including the travail of Rachael Harmon who bears Pemberton’s child and attracts Serena’s enmity (that intensifies after Serena miscarries); Sheriff McDowell who defies Serena; a knife-wielding killer who becomes Serena’s disciple and a colorful collection of timber workers who function as a kind of Greek chorus commenting on the daily life of the camp. In addition, Serena contains an impressive collection of Appalachian folklore ranging from the existence of mountain painters (panthers). the potency of herbal remedies, the belief in madstones and the means of invoking “blood stoppers.” (The mountain natives who are employed by Pemberton are given to lively discussions of
Folk remedies, superstitions and lore.)
At times, Serena Pemberton is in danger of morphing into a near- supernatural being – a kind of blond Viking warrior who leaves a wake of broken and/or quaking victims behind her. However, she is also a vibrant character in an historic drama. She moves, breathes and speaks from a period of memorable Appalachian history and her presence adds depth and dimension to our perception of that time. Personages such as Horace Kephart, the Vanderbilts (who come to dinner) and a host of adversaries - all confront Serena and the meetings invariably strike sparks. These encounters (real and imagined) give us vivid glimpses into the issues that were at stake when the fate of our shrinking wilderness hung in the balance.
Finally, it seems appropriate to comment on Serena’s fate. Given the immensity of her crime, it may be that no agent or method will satisfy the reader’s need for some special (terrible) customized punishment that suits Serena’s crimes. Even so, the “agent” that finally arrives to extract a kind of “poetic justice” from this evil bitch seems perversely apt. I’ll say no more.
New York: HarperCollins Publishers
$24.95 – 371 pages 2008
There is no animal more invincible than a woman,
Nor fire either, nor any wildcat so ruthless.
-Aristophanes, “Lysistrata”
In graduate school I once enrolled in a literature course devoted to “evil women.” It was a daunting collection of demonic and murderous ladies and I still carry some vivid memories of their notable acts: Lillith, the sensual demon that tormented Adam, defied God and refused to accept her “secondary” role in Adam’s Eden; Medea whose love turned to merciless rage when she was betrayed; Lady Macbeth, who shared her husband’s vaulting ambition and
readily murdered anyone who became a hindrance to their wishes; and finally Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler, a barren woman who plots to destroy fertility/creativity in others.
In his remarkable novel, Serena, (also the name of the book’s “anti-heroine,”) Ron Rash has created a dark and
pitiless sorceress who deserves to take an honored place in the pantheon wicked women. In fact, Selena Pemberton embodies the vices of all of her predecessors. Let’s set the stage for a drama that unfolds with all the intrigue and bloodletting of a 17th century Jacobean revenge tragedy.
The setting of Serena is western North Carolina in the turbulent decade following the 1929 stock market crash. While Horace Kephart struggles to save the region’s diminishing wilderness, a half-dozen timber barons are intent on reducing the same area to an immense, stump-studded wilderness. When the Pemberton Lumber Company with George and Serena Pemberton at the helm, arrive in Waynesville, they quickly demonstrate that they embody the essence of timber baron morality: arrogance, greed, an immense hunger to subdue and destroy the natural world – all of which is forged into a ruthless single-mindedness, a desire to succeed at all cost.
Horace Kephart makes an eerie prediction regarding the tragic consequences of lumber mills when he witnesses the arrival of the “mindless machines” on the slopes near Hazel Creek in Our Southern Highlanders:
“(Every tree, plant, beast and fish) will be swept away. Fire will blacken the earth; flood will swallow and spew forth the soil. The simple-hearted native men and women will scatter and disappear. In their stead will come slaves
speaking strange tongues to toil in darkness under rocks.
Soot will rise and foul gases; the streams will run murky death.”
Although George Pemberton quickly demonstrates that he is a brutal, selfish and arrogant beast in his own right, he is a pale presence when compared to Serena. Within days of her arrival, she takes control of the camp. Clad in jodhpurs and riding an Arabian stallion, she oversees the camp’s daily operation with a cool confidence that is disturbing. In short order, the work crew learns to both fear and revere Selena. With brutal efficiency she solves problems as diverse as George’s illegitimate child by a local girl, the fates of disruptive employees and untrustworthy investors and a troublesome local sheriff. Some merely vanish, but the mutilated remains of others (found in hotel rooms or train stations) suggest that for those who defy Serena, the consequences are often fatal!
When the timber workers complain of rattlesnakes in the woods (a problem that affects their efficiency), Serena acquires a Persian eagle (it perches on the pommel of her saddle). The bird soars above the work crew as it advances into the forest and occasionally streaks down like a divine force, snatching rattlers from the undergrowth, shredding them and bearing their remains aloft.
Serena has a rich diversity of sub-plots, including the travail of Rachael Harmon who bears Pemberton’s child and attracts Serena’s enmity (that intensifies after Serena miscarries); Sheriff McDowell who defies Serena; a knife-wielding killer who becomes Serena’s disciple and a colorful collection of timber workers who function as a kind of Greek chorus commenting on the daily life of the camp. In addition, Serena contains an impressive collection of Appalachian folklore ranging from the existence of mountain painters (panthers). the potency of herbal remedies, the belief in madstones and the means of invoking “blood stoppers.” (The mountain natives who are employed by Pemberton are given to lively discussions of
Folk remedies, superstitions and lore.)
At times, Serena Pemberton is in danger of morphing into a near- supernatural being – a kind of blond Viking warrior who leaves a wake of broken and/or quaking victims behind her. However, she is also a vibrant character in an historic drama. She moves, breathes and speaks from a period of memorable Appalachian history and her presence adds depth and dimension to our perception of that time. Personages such as Horace Kephart, the Vanderbilts (who come to dinner) and a host of adversaries - all confront Serena and the meetings invariably strike sparks. These encounters (real and imagined) give us vivid glimpses into the issues that were at stake when the fate of our shrinking wilderness hung in the balance.
Finally, it seems appropriate to comment on Serena’s fate. Given the immensity of her crime, it may be that no agent or method will satisfy the reader’s need for some special (terrible) customized punishment that suits Serena’s crimes. Even so, the “agent” that finally arrives to extract a kind of “poetic justice” from this evil bitch seems perversely apt. I’ll say no more.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
WALTER
This is Walter, a basset hound that complicated my life several years ago. At the time, I was teaching elderhostel down in north Georgia at a conference center on the edge of a National Park. Walter wandered out of the woods one day and laid down by the garbage cans outside the kitchen. He was in bad shape with bloody feet and protruding ribs. The management complained, saying that a starving basset hound was not a good image for a conference center that provided guidance for troubled Christian souls and ordered that Walter be evicted.With the help of a minister, I managed to lug Walter to my van and take him home. I gave him three baths despite the fact that my little rat terrier, Teddie only stopped howling long enough to nip Walter in the nether regions. Walter never seemed to notice Teddie. I took my new dog to the vet and he told me something about basset hounds. "They are victimized by their noses," he said, "and will sometimes follow a scent until they drop from exhaustion. I guess that explained what had happened to Walter. "You're not going to keep him, are you?" asked the vet. Why not? "Well, they eat an awesome amount and they require a lot of attention." Those were prophetic words.
Within a week, I was confident that I couldn't afford to feed Walter. In addition, while I was cleaning house, he left....just walked out to the road and kept going. I got a call from a neighbor who told me that Walter was lying in the highway about a mile away. When I got there, some college kids had managed to coax the dog to the side of the road. "He actually laid down and went to sleep," one of them said. "I guess the only reason he wasn't run over is, he is so damned big!"
A friend of mine came by and took Walter's photo. He said that he would put it in the local paper and maybe someone would recognize him. As you can see, my poor little ten-year-old
rat terrier, Teddie never quit complaining. In fact, he howled constantly as he is doing in this photo. Several days later, the minister from the conference center came by. He and his wife were on their way to Asheville for a bit of recreation. Unfortunately, Walter had been depositing mammoth piles of doggie-doo everywhere, and my yard looked like it had been invaded by giant ants that had raised numerous exotic mounds. The minister's wife stepped in one of Walter's mounds and immediately became hysterical. She sat in the back seat of the car while her husband washed her shoes and attempted to wash her violated feet. I did feel that she was over-reacting a bit. She kept gasping for breath as though she might faint. I had managed to corral Walter on the porch, but I asked the minister's wife if she wanted me to call 911. Before my offended visitors left, the husband told me that I should probably contact "Basset Rescue."
I went online and immediately found someone who would gladly take Walter.
So, Teddie and I took Walter down to the South Carolina line where a nice couple from Greenville met us. When I opened the van door, Walter got out and went straight to his new owners and hopped up in the backseat....like he had done this before and knew the drill. "Don't worry about him," said the husband. "He will have his own room, and he will eat steak every night." He said that they had two sons who would "just love Walter." I sat in my ten-year-old van with Teddie (who couldn't believe his good luck) and watched the couple pull away in a new Buick station wagon and wondered if there was possibly a service for the likes of me. "Aging Mountain Eccentric Rescue." Teddie sat in my lap all the way home.
Milton Higgins and I went down to Easley, South Carolina last week and did "The Prince of Dark Corners" twice. This was our second trip to S. C. with the play. Two years ago, we did two performances down in Pickens to "standing room only" crowds and discovered that the audience contained a generous number of Redmond descendants. Easley/Liberty was no different. One of the peculiar items about Major Redmond's history concerns the fact that he is still a vital part of local folklore in upper South Carolina whereas he has been virtually forgotten in western North Carolina. The week after we were in Easley, South Carolina's PBS station, ETV broadcast Neal Hutcheson's film version of the play on the program, "Southern Lens."One of the puzzling aspects of Redmond's history is the fact that there is no folklore and/or history about his exploits in North Carolina despite the fact that he lived in both Jackson and Swain counties. In fact, Lewis' sister married a man named King that used to live in the Pinnacle section of Jackson County and Lewis allegedly lived there several years. He also had a cabin that overlooked the Tennessee River in Swain County, and that was where he was living when he was captured. In addition, Lewis' grandfather allegedly lived on the Qualla Indian Boundary, home of the Cherokee Indians.
Since Redmond spent the latter part of his life in South Carolina and his children settled in upper South Carolina, the stories about him are concentrated in Oconee and the surrounding area.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
POPCORN SUTTON: WHAT THE REST OF THE WORLD THINKS
This morning, a friend of mine sent me an article from the Atlanta papers: The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. I was amazed by what I read, and after reading four of the ten pages of comments attached to the article, I decided to print the article on this blog. I sometimes forget how the rest of the world perceives us, and I think that is a blessing. After some thought, I decided not to print the rants at the end of this article, although there is a touch of mania, rage and stupidity in the few that I have included. I'm aware, too, that some readers will feel that I should stop now and let Popcorn Sutton sleep in his pine coffin over in Haywood County. I agree, but I think it is important to be aware of how Popcorn,and our traditional Appalachian culture, are perceived out there. Regardless of wither these folks admire or despise us, I am fascinated by the fact that judging by the posts at the bottom of this article, both sides are wrong.
Famed moonshiner kills self to avoid jail
Marvin ‘Popcorn’ Sutton had been ordered to South Georgia federal prison, widow says
Associated Press
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — Famed Appalachian moonshiner Marvin “Popcorn” Sutton, whose incorrigible bootlegging ways were as out of step with modern times as his hillbilly beard and overalls, took his own life rather than go to prison for making white lightning, his widow says.
“He couldn’t go to prison. His mind would just not accept it. … So I credit the federal government for my husband being dead, I really do,” Pam Sutton told The Associated Press in an interview Wednesday from the couple’s home in the Parrottsville community, about 50 miles east of Knoxville.
Enlarge this image
Phil Gentry/AP
A few hours earlier she had buried Sutton, 62, in a private ceremony in the mountains around Haywood County, N.C., where he grew up. He went to his grave in a pine casket he bought years ago and kept in a bedroom.
Sutton — nicknamed “Popcorn” for smashing up a 10-cent popcorn machine in a bar with a pool cue in his 20s — looked like a living caricature of a mountain moonshiner. He wore a long gray beard, faded overalls, checkered shirt and feathered fedora. He made his home in Cocke County, where cockfighting and moonshining are legend.
He wrote a paperback called “Me and My Likker” and recorded videos on how to make moonshine. The History Channel featured him in a 2007 documentary called “Hillbilly: The Real Story.”
“You might say he embodied a kind of Appalachian archetype, a character trait of fearlessness and fierce loyalty to regional identity even in the face of personal persecution and stereotyping,” said Ted Olson, a regional writer and faculty member in East Tennessee State University’s Department of Appalachian Studies.
Sutton conceded he was part of a dying breed in an interview last year with actor Johnny Knoxville for a video posted on Knoxville’s “Jackass” Web site.
“All the rest of them that I know are dead,” Sutton said in the profane, not-for-primetime clip. “I just hope and pray they don’t send me off (to prison).”
Sutton’s widow said he’d just gotten a letter to report Friday to a medium-security federal prison in South Georgia to begin an 18-month sentence for illegally producing distilled spirits and being a felon in possession of a gun. He had pleaded guilty last April.
On Monday, she came home from running errands and found him dead in his old Ford. Authorities suspect carbon monoxide poisoning. Autopsy results may be weeks away.
Pam Sutton, who became Sutton’s fourth wife in 2007, said carbon monoxide may be the method but that’s not what killed him.
“He tried every way in the world to get them (federal authorities) to leave him on house arrest,” she said.
“He was a true moonshiner,” his widow said. “He would tell you exactly what he thought, whether you wanted to hear it or not. But he was also the sweetest, kindest, most loving man I ever met in my life.”
John Rice Irwin, founder of the Museum of Appalachia in Norris, Tenn., recalled that Sutton made a still for the museum in the 1990s.
Irwin told Sutton to run nothing but water through it. But with thousands of people, including then-Gov. Don Sundquist, visiting for an annual homecoming event, Sutton decided to cook up some real sour mash and dispense it to the crowd in little paper cups.
“Popcorn is getting everybody drunk,” the governor’s Highway Patrol escorts complained and when Irwin told him to stop, Sutton packed up and left, Irwin recalled.
“I think most people have a warm feeling for him, but he bragged so much about it (moonshining),” Irwin said. “And then he got into it in such a big way. He wasn’t just a poor old moonshiner trying to make a few dollars.”
Famed moonshiner kills self to avoid jail
Marvin ‘Popcorn’ Sutton had been ordered to South Georgia federal prison, widow says
Associated Press
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — Famed Appalachian moonshiner Marvin “Popcorn” Sutton, whose incorrigible bootlegging ways were as out of step with modern times as his hillbilly beard and overalls, took his own life rather than go to prison for making white lightning, his widow says.
“He couldn’t go to prison. His mind would just not accept it. … So I credit the federal government for my husband being dead, I really do,” Pam Sutton told The Associated Press in an interview Wednesday from the couple’s home in the Parrottsville community, about 50 miles east of Knoxville.
Enlarge this image
Phil Gentry/AP
A few hours earlier she had buried Sutton, 62, in a private ceremony in the mountains around Haywood County, N.C., where he grew up. He went to his grave in a pine casket he bought years ago and kept in a bedroom.
Sutton — nicknamed “Popcorn” for smashing up a 10-cent popcorn machine in a bar with a pool cue in his 20s — looked like a living caricature of a mountain moonshiner. He wore a long gray beard, faded overalls, checkered shirt and feathered fedora. He made his home in Cocke County, where cockfighting and moonshining are legend.
He wrote a paperback called “Me and My Likker” and recorded videos on how to make moonshine. The History Channel featured him in a 2007 documentary called “Hillbilly: The Real Story.”
“You might say he embodied a kind of Appalachian archetype, a character trait of fearlessness and fierce loyalty to regional identity even in the face of personal persecution and stereotyping,” said Ted Olson, a regional writer and faculty member in East Tennessee State University’s Department of Appalachian Studies.
Sutton conceded he was part of a dying breed in an interview last year with actor Johnny Knoxville for a video posted on Knoxville’s “Jackass” Web site.
“All the rest of them that I know are dead,” Sutton said in the profane, not-for-primetime clip. “I just hope and pray they don’t send me off (to prison).”
Sutton’s widow said he’d just gotten a letter to report Friday to a medium-security federal prison in South Georgia to begin an 18-month sentence for illegally producing distilled spirits and being a felon in possession of a gun. He had pleaded guilty last April.
On Monday, she came home from running errands and found him dead in his old Ford. Authorities suspect carbon monoxide poisoning. Autopsy results may be weeks away.
Pam Sutton, who became Sutton’s fourth wife in 2007, said carbon monoxide may be the method but that’s not what killed him.
“He tried every way in the world to get them (federal authorities) to leave him on house arrest,” she said.
“He was a true moonshiner,” his widow said. “He would tell you exactly what he thought, whether you wanted to hear it or not. But he was also the sweetest, kindest, most loving man I ever met in my life.”
John Rice Irwin, founder of the Museum of Appalachia in Norris, Tenn., recalled that Sutton made a still for the museum in the 1990s.
Irwin told Sutton to run nothing but water through it. But with thousands of people, including then-Gov. Don Sundquist, visiting for an annual homecoming event, Sutton decided to cook up some real sour mash and dispense it to the crowd in little paper cups.
“Popcorn is getting everybody drunk,” the governor’s Highway Patrol escorts complained and when Irwin told him to stop, Sutton packed up and left, Irwin recalled.
“I think most people have a warm feeling for him, but he bragged so much about it (moonshining),” Irwin said. “And then he got into it in such a big way. He wasn’t just a poor old moonshiner trying to make a few dollars.”
Saturday, March 21, 2009
LEWIS REDMOND, OUTLAW....REDISCOVERED
HERE IT IS, FOLKS! I HAVE HAD MY PARKING TICKET VALIDATED. If you look closely, you will find a reference to my play, "Prince of Dark Corners" in this Wall Street review of Bruce Stewart's book.
By STUART FERGUSON
King of the Moonshiners
Edited by Bruce E. Stewart
University of Tennessee, 127 pages, $19.95
"The time has come when an honest man can't take an honest drink without having a gang of revenue officers after him," complained Zebulon Vance, a former governor of North Carolina, in 1876. That same year Lewis R. Redmond, a fellow North Carolinian, killed a revenue agent near Brevard, N.C., when the agent tried to arrest him for making and transporting illegal whiskey.
The murder elevated Redmond (1854-1906) from obscure moonshiner to notorious outlaw and folk hero. Soon enough he had crossed the state line into South Carolina and, with the aid of friends, evaded attempts to bring him to justice. In fact, Redmond turned the tables and pursued his pursuers -- the government agents -- through the Blue Ridge mountains, invading their homes and rescuing his gang members from jail.
[Redmond] University of Tennessee Press
In June 1878, the Charleston News and Courier sent a reporter named C. McKinley to find Redmond and get his story. McKinley found himself in "the dark corners," the region where Georgia and both Carolinas meet, scrambling through the woods "directly upward to some veritable land of the sky." There he met Redmond, "one of the handsomest men I ever saw." Together they sampled Redmond's mountain dew. "Colored like a rose with the tonic of wild cherries, it constituted a draught which might have been likened to a nectar flowing down from some illicit still run in the private interest of the gods up there on the blue wooded Olympus above." The series of articles in the News and Courier were so favorable to Redmond that Wade Hampton, the governor of South Carolina, withdrew the reward he had offered for the outlaw's capture.
In "King of the Moonshiners," editor Bruce E. Stewart, who teaches history at Appalachian State University, offers a long and informative introduction and then gathers McKinley's interview and the text of a first-person account by Robert A. Cobb, a revenue agent who nearly caught up with Redmond in 1881, a week before his capture. Mr. Stewart also includes the text of a dime novel -- full title: "The Entwined Lives of Miss Gabrielle Austin, Daughter of the Late Rev. Ellis C. Austin, and of Redmond, the Outlaw, Leader of the North Carolina 'Moonshiners' " -- published when Redmond was still on the lam. Its narrative gives the bandit a distinguished ancestry, a European education and shoulder-length "curls of spun gold," all fictitious. (Redmond is still a figure of literary inspiration. "The Prince of Dark Corners," a play about Redmond's exploits by the contemporary playwright Gary Carden, will be broadcast in early April -- in a filmed version -- on WRLK, a Columbia, S.C., PBS station.)
[Moonshine] Neal Hutcheson
The "bloated brigand of the Blue Ridge," as Redmond's enemies had been known to call him, was finally cornered on April 7, 1881. When a party of six agents trapped him in his house, he tried to escape and was shot six times. He ran half a mile before exhaustion and blood loss caused him to collapse. Soon after, he was tried, convicted and sentenced to 10 years in prison.
What was all this trouble really about? Mr. Stewart writes that, after the Civil War, "southern highlanders . . . resumed the antebellum practice of distilling their crops into alcohol." During the Civil War the U.S. had begun to levy taxes on alcohol and set up the Bureau of Internal Revenue to collect them; after the war the taxes were applied in the South, too, but Southern distillers were -- how to put it? -- reluctant to pay them. Adding insult to injury, most of the revenuers were home-grown Unionists, taking advantage of Republican patronage to make a living by hunting down their neighbors. The struggle of Southern mountain farmers to feed their families by selling their own spirits thus became entwined with a fight against the ravages of Reconstruction.
Public opinion would eventually turn against the moonshiners as Southerners made their uneasy peace with the post-Civil War world and came to prefer a semi-orderly new South to the wild and rebellious old one. Redmond himself was pardoned after serving just three years in prison. He returned to his wife and children and got a job running a licensed distillery. The bottle labels and barrel heads for "Redmond's Hand Mash" naturally featured his portrait. His legal whiskey proved to be even more popular than his contraband version.
Mr. Ferguson is the 2009 Rossetter House Foundation Scholar of the Florida Historical Society.
Copyright 2008 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved
*
By STUART FERGUSON
King of the Moonshiners
Edited by Bruce E. Stewart
University of Tennessee, 127 pages, $19.95
"The time has come when an honest man can't take an honest drink without having a gang of revenue officers after him," complained Zebulon Vance, a former governor of North Carolina, in 1876. That same year Lewis R. Redmond, a fellow North Carolinian, killed a revenue agent near Brevard, N.C., when the agent tried to arrest him for making and transporting illegal whiskey.
The murder elevated Redmond (1854-1906) from obscure moonshiner to notorious outlaw and folk hero. Soon enough he had crossed the state line into South Carolina and, with the aid of friends, evaded attempts to bring him to justice. In fact, Redmond turned the tables and pursued his pursuers -- the government agents -- through the Blue Ridge mountains, invading their homes and rescuing his gang members from jail.
[Redmond] University of Tennessee Press
In June 1878, the Charleston News and Courier sent a reporter named C. McKinley to find Redmond and get his story. McKinley found himself in "the dark corners," the region where Georgia and both Carolinas meet, scrambling through the woods "directly upward to some veritable land of the sky." There he met Redmond, "one of the handsomest men I ever saw." Together they sampled Redmond's mountain dew. "Colored like a rose with the tonic of wild cherries, it constituted a draught which might have been likened to a nectar flowing down from some illicit still run in the private interest of the gods up there on the blue wooded Olympus above." The series of articles in the News and Courier were so favorable to Redmond that Wade Hampton, the governor of South Carolina, withdrew the reward he had offered for the outlaw's capture.
In "King of the Moonshiners," editor Bruce E. Stewart, who teaches history at Appalachian State University, offers a long and informative introduction and then gathers McKinley's interview and the text of a first-person account by Robert A. Cobb, a revenue agent who nearly caught up with Redmond in 1881, a week before his capture. Mr. Stewart also includes the text of a dime novel -- full title: "The Entwined Lives of Miss Gabrielle Austin, Daughter of the Late Rev. Ellis C. Austin, and of Redmond, the Outlaw, Leader of the North Carolina 'Moonshiners' " -- published when Redmond was still on the lam. Its narrative gives the bandit a distinguished ancestry, a European education and shoulder-length "curls of spun gold," all fictitious. (Redmond is still a figure of literary inspiration. "The Prince of Dark Corners," a play about Redmond's exploits by the contemporary playwright Gary Carden, will be broadcast in early April -- in a filmed version -- on WRLK, a Columbia, S.C., PBS station.)
[Moonshine] Neal Hutcheson
The "bloated brigand of the Blue Ridge," as Redmond's enemies had been known to call him, was finally cornered on April 7, 1881. When a party of six agents trapped him in his house, he tried to escape and was shot six times. He ran half a mile before exhaustion and blood loss caused him to collapse. Soon after, he was tried, convicted and sentenced to 10 years in prison.
What was all this trouble really about? Mr. Stewart writes that, after the Civil War, "southern highlanders . . . resumed the antebellum practice of distilling their crops into alcohol." During the Civil War the U.S. had begun to levy taxes on alcohol and set up the Bureau of Internal Revenue to collect them; after the war the taxes were applied in the South, too, but Southern distillers were -- how to put it? -- reluctant to pay them. Adding insult to injury, most of the revenuers were home-grown Unionists, taking advantage of Republican patronage to make a living by hunting down their neighbors. The struggle of Southern mountain farmers to feed their families by selling their own spirits thus became entwined with a fight against the ravages of Reconstruction.
Public opinion would eventually turn against the moonshiners as Southerners made their uneasy peace with the post-Civil War world and came to prefer a semi-orderly new South to the wild and rebellious old one. Redmond himself was pardoned after serving just three years in prison. He returned to his wife and children and got a job running a licensed distillery. The bottle labels and barrel heads for "Redmond's Hand Mash" naturally featured his portrait. His legal whiskey proved to be even more popular than his contraband version.
Mr. Ferguson is the 2009 Rossetter House Foundation Scholar of the Florida Historical Society.
Copyright 2008 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved
*
Friday, March 20, 2009
LONNIE BUSCH VISITS MOUNTAIN VOICES
Lonnie Busch was the guest speaker at the Mountain Voices Writers Group in Sylva, last night (Thursday, March 19th.) The meeting was held at the Soul Infusion Cafe where Busch read two selections and then spent an hour discussing his experience with literary magazines. In response to questions, the author of Turnback Creek discussed publishers, query letters and the current market for "literary fiction."
Lonnie Busch’s short stories have appeared or are forthcoming in such publications as Southwest Review, The Minnesota Review, The Baltimore Review, The Southeast Review, Roanoke Review, Talking River Review, Flint Hills Review, Willow Review, The Iconoclast, Pisgah Review, MoonShine Review and others.
Let The Right One In (Swedish Film) 2008
Well, Netflex finally relented and sent me a film that I had been reading about for the last two months. This is a winner, film lovers. Maybe you think that there is nothing new for the vampire genre, but you are wrong. No fangs, no garlic and although there are scenes that will quicken your heartbeat, the gore is minimal. Instead, there is a marvelous tale, filled with intelligence, wit and pathos. Damn, I need to see it again. Among the images that I can't forget is the "cat attack" the "suicide by sunlight" and the swimming pool scene. I'm trying to avoid "spoiler comments," but it is hard. One thing impresses me. "Let the Right One In" owes nothing to Hollywood. The only film that it reminded me of is an excellent Spanish film called "the Devil's Backbone." I would like to discuss this one! I just checked the Rotten Tomatoes critics rating and "Let The Right One In" got a whooping 97% approval rating. It has been a while since I saw one that high!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
ASHEVILLE'S NAZI: WILLIAM DUDLEY PELLEY
The "Wanted" poster was issued in 1939 during the HUAC investigations of over 400 organizations that were charged with activities that were dubbed seditious, traitorous and/or Un-American. We were on the brink of WWII, and although some of the denunciations were a bit hysterical, the United State had a bountiful supply of neo-fascist groups that were intent on subverting our government. When Pelley was investigated, his Silver Shirt organization was ruled to be seditious. Pelley openly endorsed anti-Semitism, Nazism and was an admirer of Adolph Hitler. At one point in his career, he even became a candidate for the Presidency.
However, it was probably Pelly's religious/spiritual beliefs that resulted in his being branded a "maniac." An ardent spiritualist who professed an ability to communicate with the dead, the Silver Shirt leader claimed to "talk" to notable figures such as George Washington, Mark Twain and Nostradamus. His most famous pamphlet, "Seven Minutes in Eternity," gave an account of Pelley's "death," and his alleged seven-minute meeting with the "Supreme Being" who told him he would have to return to life as he "had much to do." Professing to be a devout Christian, Pelley had combined the teachings of Christ, the Holy Grail Legend and much of the basic teachings of Madam Blavatsky's Theosophical Society. After a series of court actions in Asheville, Washington and Indiana, his property was confiscated and he was sentenced to fifteen years.
What gets lost in all of these ruminations about occultism, racism and anti-Semitism is the fact that Pelley began life as a brilliant journalist, a creative writer (over 200 published short stories) and a filmmaker (he wrote scripts for the silent era). Now, most of his writings have vanished and in the wake of his HUAC investigation, he quickly fading into obscurity. He was released from prison in 1950 and spent the last fifteen years of his life promoting a religious doctrine called Soulcraft.
I haven't said much about Scott Beekman's biography of Pelley. I didn't like it. Beekman managed to take a topic as fascinating as this badly flawed man and turn it into a turgid and wooden report filled with academic words like "posited," which he uses to excess. Poor, quirky Pelley loses all of his lurid and kinky charm and is reduced to a dull (and minor) political footnote.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Popcorn Sutton Died Today
I just got word that Popcorn is dead. Information is scant, but apparently, he was out on bail and when he received some kind of legal document instructing him to return to prison, he killed himself. To tell you the truth, this took me completely by surprise. Given the support he was receiving, I thought he was winning. News keeps trickling in. Neal Hutcheson, who knew Popcorn well (Neal made the film, "The Last One"), has just emailed me that Popcorn hooked up a hose to his Jeep and "went for one last ride." He had been scheduled to return to prison this Friday.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
POPCORN SUTTON: CRIMINAL OR FOLK HERO (OR BOTH)?
POPCORN HOLDS A BOOKSIGNING.
People who are familiar with this region (Maggie Valley, Cherokee, Smoky Mountain National Park) have probably seen Popcorn. He is a regular "attraction" in Maggie Valley where he attracts considerable attention. He likes to talk and he knows how to hustle. However, sometimes he vanishes for a spell. During these absences, he may be making a movie (Check out Neal Hutcheson's documentary on Popcorn, The Last One) or he may be in some remote cove in Cocke County practicing his craft. Stay tuned.
P. S. There are a dozen blogs featuring posts on Popcorn and providing detailed information on his activities ...in fact, his daughter has one. However, if you want the details of his life and his arrest, go to the blog, Smokeymountainbreakdown.blogspot.com When you get there, check out the little white rectangle in the upper left of the blog. If you write "Popcorn Sutton" in that rectangle, and click, you will get a detailed account of the whole affair. Rosie, the manager of Smokeymountainbreakdown is a sympathetic (and humorous) reporter.
People who are familiar with this region (Maggie Valley, Cherokee, Smoky Mountain National Park) have probably seen Popcorn. He is a regular "attraction" in Maggie Valley where he attracts considerable attention. He likes to talk and he knows how to hustle. However, sometimes he vanishes for a spell. During these absences, he may be making a movie (Check out Neal Hutcheson's documentary on Popcorn, The Last One) or he may be in some remote cove in Cocke County practicing his craft. Stay tuned.
P. S. There are a dozen blogs featuring posts on Popcorn and providing detailed information on his activities ...in fact, his daughter has one. However, if you want the details of his life and his arrest, go to the blog, Smokeymountainbreakdown.blogspot.com When you get there, check out the little white rectangle in the upper left of the blog. If you write "Popcorn Sutton" in that rectangle, and click, you will get a detailed account of the whole affair. Rosie, the manager of Smokeymountainbreakdown is a sympathetic (and humorous) reporter.
![[01-image.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtKVvvONOF95K9ohJTUTaXFsqufotSSfvnXMfGsyRCec4I1sPQKYy_hV5y3U7O66IA5-pDt71hl2cGaQvjPDVyAKzRP_XqrgqL-E5a8MrbtJJiUTx2ZHKCgaCSS-e4nPHc6zCYtbEZELc/s1600/01-image.jpg)
Friday, March 13, 2009
Watch them jugs a-filling in the pale moonlight.
This sprightly little leprechaun is the legendary Marvin "Popcorn" Sutton. He is either a man intent on preserving one of this region's most fascinating (illegal) and neglected customs, or he's shrewd, skilled master of self-promotion. Maybe we should talk about that.For those of you who do not know who Popcorn Sutton is, or what he has done to attract media attention, Popcorn is a moonshiner and he can't seem to stop. He has been in prison repeatedly since the 1970's, and although he repeatedly promises to not do it again, he does. At the time of his last arrest, he was already on probation and he was caught with an awesome amount of stored, illegal whiskey. Right now, he is serving an 18-month sentence and an impressive number of fans have protested. There are numerous blogs out there sporting "Free Popcorn!" articles (Yeah, there is a pun there), and this bushy-bearded little fellow is becoming a folk hero.
I've surfed around a bit and I am here to tell you, all of the responses to Popcorn aren't favorable. There are folks out there who ponder these photos and shudder. The comments range from Snuffy Smith comparisons to the usual "I didn't know people like this still existed."
I think it might be interesting to see how people respond to this post and Popcorn's continuing story.
NORTH CAROLINA BOYS' STATE, 1952
Look at that kid, would you! His waist is 28 inches and he weighs 145 lbs. He is 17 years old and he is standing in front of the UNC-Chapel Hill fountain in 1952. Today, his waist is 42 inches and he weighs 224 lbs. Like sweet Ophelia said, "We know what we are, but we know not what we may become."See that little emblem on my shirt? That identifies me as a representative to Boys' State.
What in God's name am I doing there! I remember that I rode the Trailway bus to Chapel Hill with another kid named Jack from Franklin. I had on a cheap suit that my grandparents had bought for the occasion, and a little pasteboard suitcase containing two shirts, a pair of pants and some Fruit of the Loom underwear. As we stood in the rain in front of the Chapel Hill bus station (and after I finger-combed my hair a few times) , my new blue suit dyed me like an Easter egg and my suitcase fell apart, dumping my clothes on the street. When the bus came by to pick us up and take us back to the dorm, we learned that we were late and there was an "orientation session" in progress. I attracted a bit of attention since I looked like a Maori warrior from New Zealand. I've always appreciated the fact that Jack didn't abandon me when we trudged through 98 representatives (one from each county) and took a seat in the back. The speaker was the Secretary of State, Thad Eure and he made a joke about his first year at Carolina when he was known as Fresh "manure."
Boy's State was a miserable ordeal. A half-dozen representatives (wealthy kids) developed a kind of private club and preceded to orchestrate or control the week's activities. Jack and I were excluded. However, we loved Chapel Hill. In 1952, it was full of book stores, record shops and fantastic restaurants. We went to movies every night and hung out in a record shop called Alexanders. During the day, we attended meetings where he elected officers, developed campaign speechs and held an election. The representative that was elected "governor" was an extraverted football player from Charlotte. Jack and I put up posters and passed out campaign material...great training for our future involvement with politics.
When I got back to Sylva, I was required to give a speech at the American Legion. I remember that they asked me if I learned something about how our country operated. I kept a straight face when I said that I had learned a great deal about how our government was run. I decided not to mention the book stores, movies and record shops. A week after we returned, Jack sent me this photograph. I look like I'm having a great time. In spite of it all, I guess I was.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Preaching to the Chickens
When I was a little kid, I used to sneak into the local "fire and brimstone" church on summer nights and listen to the minister describe the torments of hell. I was aware that he was scaring some of the congregation, and I yearned to be able to do that ... make people hang on every word. After practicing a bit in front of the mirror in my bedroom, I started going to the chicken house at night. I would take a lantern and a Bible and I badly frightened those chickens! When I told them about Chicken Hell, they would get hysterical. I think my nightly sermons were good training for both teaching and storytelling. When I began painting, this was one of my favorite subjects. I've painted this one many times. Each time, I add a few more chickens.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Learning to Ride a Leopard
I once saw a painting by an artist named Philip Evergood entitled "Learning to Ride a Tiger."
I've always remembered Evergood's strange and surreal fantasy. I finally decided to do a "variation."
I've always remembered Evergood's strange and surreal fantasy. I finally decided to do a "variation."
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
These paintings probably need a lot of explaining. If you click on them, they will fill your entire screen. I started painting about ten years ago. I'll explain more when I learn how to design a blog!
.......(a couple of days later.) Okay, I actually know a little about blog design, thanks to my friend gulahiyi, so here goes. I began painting as an alternative to staying numb from medication for depression. Instead of lithium, prozac and zoloft, my (new) psychiatarist told me to try painting. At his suggestion, I went out to the local Walmart and bought over 60 bottles of acrylic paint (little bottles that cost about .50 cents each). Then, I went down to the local furniture store and asked permission to cut up a couple of cardboard boxes that had contained refrigerators. When I came home and started painting, I quickly discovered that the process required significant concentration. Time seemed to pass rapidly (I thought I had been painting for an hour and it turned out to be four hours.) I remember that I was immediately fascinated by the way that cardboard absorbs paint.
It took several weeks to get all of the drugs out of my system, but after that, I painted each day for two months. I have no artistic training (I guess that is obvious) and simply selected subjects that appealed to me (old biblical stories, events from my childhood, etc.) Eventually, some people came and talked to me about my paintings. I was told that I was a folk or "outsider" artist and some friends gave me books about people who were "compulsive painters." In time, I met other people who "created" the same way that I did. I even began to sell paintings! However, my "calling" is storytelling and/or playwriting, and after I found that I could write again, I slacked off on the painting. I still paint when the mood hits me.
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