HERITAGE IN BROGANS

By Carmon Stewart Bowers

 

To-

Dorothy Keith Meldrum

Dr. Harold Carmon Bowers

Helen Hope Paterson

                                                                                    Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

                                                                                    Early 1973

 

Our Dear Children:

            This diary covers the longest journey I have ever made.  My full name is Carmon Stewart Bowers, born at Hopson, Carter County, Tennessee, on the banks of Doe River on Oct. 17, 1894, my father’s eighteenth birthday.

            Son of Joseph Powell Bowers, Oct. 17, 1876 – May 16, 1963, and Lela M. Fletcher Bowers, Jan. 21, 1875 – Jan. 1, 1897.  Little sister, Vera B. Bowers, Sept. 4, 1896 – Oct. 20, 1896.

            My father was teaching school in a log school house in the Third District of Carter County, and I am told that we lived in a log cabin on the banks of sparkling Doe River Post Office Hopson, Tennessee.  The house was washed away in the May flood of 1901.

            Pioneer Dr. S.B. Wood from Roan Mountain village got there for the occasion, as did Aunt Mary Whitehead, who lived up the hollow a mile or so distant.

            According to hearsay, and proven by a tintype refinished photograph, mother Lela was a beautiful young woman.  She played the organ at the Hampton Christian Church.  I have always felt sure that some day, in Heaven, I will find her playing the great pipe organ there.  In any event, she must have been appointed my guardian angel throughout all these years.  The Bible teaches there is such a thing.

            Being a musician, she named me Carmon, using the letter O instead of E, since I turned out to be a boy.  They tell me that I had the six-weeks colic and cried most of the time.  It wasn’t the colic bothering me; I was objecting to the name.  All to no avail.

            But my Aunt Josephine Fletcher must have loved me, name and all, for after my mother passed away, she married my father on Nov. 10, 1897 (neither were musicians) and she became the only mother I ever knew.

            She gave me wonderful brothers and sisters, Carsie Mae, Sept. 24, 1898 – Apr. 17, 1973; Carl Adelbert, Apr. 13, 1901 – Sept. 14, 1918, the first flu victim of World War number one; Conley Carroll, March 6, 1905 – March 20, 1967; Inez Caroline, Apr. 8, 1909; and Joseph Powell Carter Jr., Jan. 29, 1913.  Among us there was never such a thing as “step-brother.”  If anything, mother was partial to me, but such a thing as jealousy was unknown in our family.

            My earliest reflections are of grandparents, Jim and Nancy Fletcher.  He was a carpenter and a farmer.  They lived in a big two-story white frame house on the banks of Tiger Creek about one half mile east of the East Tennessee and Western North Carolina Railroad covered bridge above Hampton, Tennessee, where the Creek empties into Doe River.

            Their home was a beautiful place with a well-kempt lawn, white picket fence, colorful flowers and a very large vegetable garden.  Pieplant, goose-berries and currant bushes grew in an appropriate place nearby surrounding the “duplex.”  I don’t know how long we lived there, but I am told, long enough for them to spoil me rotten.

            Frequently the Fletchers had family dinners at noon on Sundays.  Fried chicken, country ham, Grandma’s famous chow-chow, plus her equally famous applefloat.  And for dessert there was home-made ice cream and cake.  Uncle Nat Fletcher, depot agent at Blevins, Tenn. (P.O. Hopson) would pedal down on his four-wheel rail velocipede, bringing along his family and his Edison Phonograph, which depicted “His Master’s Voice” by a picture of a dog and horn.  One record I remember was entitled “Cynthia, Cynthia” and went on to say, “I’ve been thinking, what a wonderful world ‘twould be,” then it had something to say about all the women in creation taking a ship.

            While all the preparations were in progress, we youngsters would play “whoopee-hide,” more modernly know as “hide and seek.”  Somewhere there is a picture that proves that I had long, blond curls down to my shoulders until I was six years old.  One day Grandpa Fletcher sneaked me out to the woodshed and gave me a haircut.  Grandma, Mother and Aunt Ada “took the roof off.”  Papa and Uncle Ernest smiled from ear to ear and applauded Grandpa.  I was awful happy to get rid of those sissy curls.  I must have been the first little (pardon the abominable expression) hippie.

            Parenthetically, Grandpa Fletcher was a great conservative pioneer.  Just prior to his death, he called me for a farewell talk.  His advice was to study the Bible, stand by the Christian Church and read the Knoxville Journal. (It’s still a fine, conservative Republican paper.)

            Sometime after father and Josephine got married, we lived nearby in a frame cottage on the banks of the same roaring Tiger Creek.  Somehow or other, my father, who had been on his own since twelve years of age, attended Holly Spring College at Butler, Tenn. after I was born.  This village now lies at the bottom of a very beautiful T.V.A. Lake.  A professor Daugherty operated this small college.  He must have been a wonderful man.

(Picture: Holly Spring College, Butler, Tenn.)

(Picture: Bird’s Eye View of Butler, Tenn.)

            Papa also learned telegraphy and became the depot agent at Hampton, Tenn. for the very successful and historic E.T.&W.N.C. Ry, narrow gauge, which ran from Johnson City to Cranberry, NC and extended years later to Boone, NC.  His salary was $30.00 per month.  This unique railroad was chartered in 1866 by the Tennessee General Assembly, and construction started in 1868.  After years of much difficulty, the Pardee Interests of Philadelphia, Penn., who owned the Cranberry Iron and Coal Co., bought and started operating it in the summer of 1881.  From Johnson City to Cranberry was 34 miles.

            Contrary to popular belief, the railroad was not always called “Tweetsie.”  In the early 1900’s they added a beautiful mahoganized observation car to their two daily passenger trains.  Passengers were charged extra fare to ride it.  It was a very swanky addition and carried the name “Tweetsie.”

            Over the ensuing years this catchy moniker was applied to the railroad in general.  Many wealthy people rode Tweetsie, especially during the summer to and from such well-known summer resorts as Linville, NC, with its Esseola Inn, famous golfing facilities and picturesque bark-covered summer cottages overlooking the fairways.  Also, Roan Mountain Inn alongside of Doe River, with its famous dining room and Cloudland Inn, atop beautiful Roan Mountain, via toll road from the farming community of Burbank, Tenn.  The inn was a great frame structure built beside a big spring, which supplied ice-cold water in abundance.

            This superb mountain rises high above the timberline, with its 1,800 acres of rolling land which produces only rhododendron, mountain laurel, small spruce trees, lush bent grass and scotch heather, found nowhere else in America.

(Magazine clipping: The Unbelievable Roan)

(Picture: The Cloudland Inn, On Top of Roan Mountain, Burned down in early 1900.)

            It is now federally owned and part of the Great Smokies, easily accessible, and no toll pay.

            All the while, “Tweetsie” remained a railroad with a heart.  She stopped anywhere along the line for anyone in distress.  Capt. Bill Sisk and engineer Sherman Pippin would pick up and deliver all needed supplies, especially if it was medicine.  Special trains were operated for Sunday School picnics, held at such places as Pardee Point, in the Doe River Canyon, and The Old Fields of Toe,  which is now Newland, NC.  It was at this latter place that I pitched my last baseball game.  I could hardly get out of bed for a week.

            Tweetsie, at one time a necessity to many mountain communities, died an honorable death due to “progress,” such as good highways and motor transportation.  It was understood by all the people that the ghost of Dave Gourley walked the tracks nightly in the Doe River Canyon for many, many years.  And for all we know, he may still appear.  He was a legend in his time.  And, Tweetsie the greatest legend of her beautiful mountain country.

            Father taught several young men telegraphy, and they in turn took care of the depot while he taught school in Hampton.  He came by after school to check up, pick up the receipts and close up.

            In those days we were, along with just about everybody else, poor people, but didn’t know it.  At Christmas I remember receiving one orange, one banana, red stick candy and a pair of shiny new brogan shoes.  Also, I remember the famous house-hold remedies, such as Fletcher’s Castoria, castor oil, calomel, Epsom salts and the wonderful sassafrac tea.  And in the spring of the year there was vermifuge (ugh).

(Picture: Old Number 8 of the East Tennessee and Western North Carolina Railroad [Tweetsie].  Mr. Geo W. Hardin, Superintendent, and Mr. J.E. Crouch, book store owner.  Mr. Hardin loved being the engineer on occasions.  He was a trustee of Milligan College until his death and kept the doors open on numerous occasions of financial distress.  Mr. Ed Crouch, brother of Mr. Adam Crouch, was a great Bible scholar and Sunday School teacher.

Picture is courtesy of Mary Hardin McCown, 512 E. Unaka Avenue, Johnson City, Tenn., a wonderful Christian and an exceptional historian.  We are honored to have such a good life-long friend.)

            In many ways we were well off. We raised most of our food.  Potatoes and apples were buried in a shallow hole, covered with straw and soil for winter use.  A couple of cows kept us in ample supply of milk, butter, cheese, etc., with some for sale.  Sheep for wool and mutton.  A couple of tremendous hogs supplied spare-ribs, country ham and “sow-belly.”  Mother canned fruits and berries all summer long and the cellar was well filled.  A flock of Plymouth Rock chickens were important.  Eggs and butter were taken to the grocer in exchange for coffee (Arbuckles, that is), sugar, salt, etc.  Eggs went for about 10 cents per dozen, or less.

            In 1901 I became seven years old and they started me to school.  Professor Bowers had taught me a lot of the three R’s, farming and politics at home.  So I was in the second grade.  I’ll always remember the political speech they put me up to make during a governor’s race, i.e.

            “Frazier’s hair is sorty black,

            Carmack’s is like a flame,

            Bob Taylor has no hair at all,

            But he gets there just the same.”

 

            In May 1901 the big flood came.  About noon, concerned parents living on the other side of Doe River began sending for their kids, but father never got excited about anything and didn’t send for me.  School was out at four o’clock and two other boys and I ran to cross the covered bridge, but were stopped by a crowd of onlookers just in the nick of time—the bridge went down right in front of our eyes.

            I was taken to Uncle Zack Campbell’s (Grandma Fletcher’s brother) and stayed there nearly a week before being rescued by horseback.  My teacher, Miss Margaret Fain, was a beautiful, blue-eyed, fair-complected young lady.  She visited me daily.  I wanted to marry her, but she turned me down.

            Father taught me telegraphy, and at that time I was the youngest operator of record in the U.S.  About 1905 (I was still in school), my teacher was, who else, but Prof. Bowers.  What a chore!  I had to “toe the mark.”  One great big school room housed all of us except the first and second grades.  He was a “rough and tumble” teacher, a very hard disciplinarian who spared not the rod, especially on the big boys.  We little ones were too scared to misbehave.  He punished in various ways.  One day a little girl who had committed some minor infraction had to kiss Prof. Bowers between the slats of a recitation bench up front, and she gave him the measles.  Serious, but amusing.

            One day he had the twelfth grade (seniors) reciting.  Miss Nettie Sorrell, a precise, petite, prim, aloof, beautiful young lady was called on to diagram a double sentence on the blackboard.  She did it perfectly, except the conjunction

 

 

 


just a tad above the joining offset line.  The class was asked to criticize Miss Nettie’s sentence.  After quite a silence, a big country farm boy named Bill Odom allowed that she had her but just a bit too high.  This almost broke up school for that day.

            About 1903, Mr. George W. Hardin, Supt. of the Railroad, got up a party of railroaders and their wives to attend the World’s Fair in St. Louis.  Our parents went along.  All rode on railroad passes.  They had great experiences to report upon their return—all very vague to me now.

            However, catching “horney-heads” from the banks of Tiger Creek in the springtime, I remember vividly.  After May 1, they were all gone until next March.  Where? Has always been a mystery.

            Mr. Columbus Coleman, a huge, powerful man from up in the Third District, was hired to clear new ground on the little farm.  He received board, lodging and one dollar and a dime per day.  Around the open fireplace in the evening, Father would read from the Bible and Mr. Coleman would sing religious songs.  He was a good “country singer.”  I remember one in particular that he sang often—“There is a Fountain Filled with Blood”—a most vivid recollection.  This song is #250 in the Christian Hymnal, and is still being sung by our congregations.

            Along about this time, Grandfather John L. Bowers, a Union Civil War veteran, Circuit Riding Baptist preacher and farmer, husband of three wives who bore him 25 children, passed away at his home on the Watauga River, at Siam, Tennessee (RFD from Elizabethton) and father took me to the funeral by horse and buggy, via Valley Forge, over rough county roads.

 

Biographical Data

John L. Bowers

BORN IN CARTER COUNTY, EAST TENNESSEE JULY 30,1830.

            He was the son of Mary L. and John T. Bowers.  He was named after his grandfather, Elder John L. Bowers, who came to Tennessee from near Philadelphia, Penn. and at an early date became a pioneer preacher in North Carolina.  The grandfather’s mother was a Lincoln, a kinswoman, of President Abraham Lincoln.

            John L. Bowers was born on Blue Springs Branch in Carter County, Tennessee on July 30, 1830.  At the age of sixteen he went to Missouri with his family.  Not long after, the family took malaria and returned to Blue Springs Branch.

            His grandfather, John L. Bowers, gave him a slave, which he sold and used the money to buy land.  His brothers married and lived there the remainder of their lives.

            He made a profession of faith under the preaching of James E. Stone, was baptized, possibly in the Watauga River, and was later ordained to the ministry by Mr. Stone.  John L. Bowers was pastor of the following churches for sixteen years:  Harmony Baptist, Siam Valley, Holly Springs and Butler, the latter church for 14 years.

            He was the first moderator of the Watauga Baptist Association.  He also served as a Chaplain of the Union Army during the Civil War, stationed near Knoxville, Tennessee.

            Having been married three times, he was the father of 25 children (3 unnamed, having died at birth), all having been born and reared in the house he always lived in, on the banks of the Watauga River.  The old home is now replaced by the home of the late Steven Fuson Bowers at Siam, Tennessee.  He had 100 grandchildren.  As of October 1960, three of his children are still living.  *(Note: Only Kate Morely remains, 1973)

First Wife: Mary Cannon Bowers

Born Nov. 6, 1829.

Children:

 

1.  Isaac M. Bowers, May 28, 1850

7.  Maggie Jane Bowers, Oct. 5, 1860

2.  Tennessee Lusk Bowers, Jan. 18, 1852

8.  Delia Ethel Bowers July 11, 1863

3.  Daniel Ebb Bowers, Oct. 1, 1853   

9. Mary Safronia Bowers, June 3, 1865

4.  James Henry Bowers, May 17, 1855

10.  Alexander Bowers, Nov. 9, 1867

5.  William Avery Bowers, Oct. 30, 1856

11.  Sarah Eliza Bowers, July 21, 1869

6.  John Nelson Bowers, Oct. 10, 1858

 

 

 

Second Wife:  Eliza Grindstaff Bowers

Born July 13, 1848.

1.  Rhoda Carter Bowers, August 30, 1871

2.  Agnes Glover Bowers, July 5, 1873

3.  JOSEPH POWELL BOWERS, October 17, 1875—May 15, 1935

 

Third Wife:  Martha Isabell Slemp Bowers

Born Sept. 14, 1857.

1. Calvin Fred Bowers, June 17, 1877

5.  Madgie Jemima Bowers, May 9, 1886

2.  Charles Victor Bowers, March 24, 1879

6.  Roy Butler Bowers, August 30, 1886

3.  David Brown Bowers, August 20, 1881

7. John Leonard Bowers, September 9, 1891

4.  Steven Fusen Bowers, October 20, 1883

8.  Lula Kate Bowers, July 18, 1895

 

           

           

           

           

 

 

            I remember Grandfather Bowers as a tall, lanky Abraham Lincoln type of man who supported a chin-whisker.  He must have been about eighty.  Grandmother Martha Slemp Bowers still had quite a family at home, or nearby.  He was buried in the Siam Cemetery (Biographical data next page).

            About 1906, heavy rains brought on a big earth slide in the late spring.  It covered the railroad tracks in the Doe River Gorge at a spot called Clarks Commissary.  Absolutely nothing there except mountains.  Where the name came from, I have never been able to find out.

            Mr. Hardin got permission from my father for me to go up and back every day to receive and send his telegrams and train orders.  They ran the wires down from a telegraph pole, built a shed and connected my telegraph instruments on a big goods box, which served as a desk.  The work train picked me up at the covered bridge, where Tiger Creek empties into Doe River, at eight o’clock and brought me back at 5:00 p.m.  It took seven days to clear the track.  The last day, Mr. Hardin reached in his pocket and gave me a $5 gold piece.  Alas!  I must have spent it!

            One day something momentous happened to the peaceful countryside.  The Wm. Ritter Lumber Company came to town.  Big operators.  They bought Grandpa Fletcher’s house and some of his land along the creek, and later our cottage and land.  The Country Road was moved back about a quarter of a mile.  They built a big sawmill, a commissary, a railroad spur and a big flume several miles in length along Tiger Creek to the virgin forests in and beyond the Third District, even on to the famous Ripshin Mountain, once home of pioneer Capt. W.O. Nelson, ex-soldier, farmer and State Senator.  He was a real mountaineer and an outstanding character.

            They even installed a telephone from the Hampton depot to their office.  Big deal!  It was the only telephone in Carter County.  Father made me answer it one day.  Mr. Paige was calling.  It scared me to death and all the loafers had a big laugh at my expense.

            Grandfather Fletcher built a new home, just like the old one, back on the new County road.  Father bought a sixty-acre farm two miles further away in Hydertown, so called because the most prominent citizen in the community was farmer Sam Hyder, member of the County Court and owner of the world’s meanest dog.  One day the big, glass-eyed dog died and all the people were happy.  Being as dead as “Sam Hyder’s Dog” was an expression familiar to all in the entire area.  I’ll never understand why Tennessee Ernie Ford never mentioned it.  (Upon being asked about his dog, he replied, “He’s dead as hell.”)

            For the benefit of all our grandchildren, I want them to know that it was a chore walking to school in all sorts of weather, from Hydertown to Hampton, at least three miles over a dirt road.  No school bus.  No cafeteria.  No air-conditioning.  Heat by pot-bellied stove.  School hours were 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m.  No Easter Vacation.  No time out for teachers to grade papers.  Strictly business.

            After awhile the Hydertown farm was sold and a new home was built on the hill back of Grandpa Fletcher’s.  We were all happy about this move.

            Soon thereafter Papa was promoted to the depot agency in Elizabethton, a big city of about 2,500 population and County Seat of Carter County.  He bought the Carrier home near the depot, a big, two-story, white house with plenty of room.  Carsie must have been about eleven, Carl about seven, Conley about three and Inez a wee baby (Joe Jr. not yet).

            During the years many prominent people, the Hathaways, the Brumits, the Williams and others, had moved from Hampton and set up businesses.  Uncle Johnie Williams managed the Sanford and Treadway Lumber Co., a real going concern.

            Not long after moving to Elizabethton, a new bank to be known as “First National Bank” was organized by Mr. Sam Jones, a prominent Bristol banker, Mr. E.C. Alexander, Mr. Geo. H. Pepper, Judge Thad A. Cox of Johnson County, and others.  Father was chose to be its cashier, mainly because of his wide acquaintance and good standing in East Tennessee and Western North Carolina all along the Tweetsie R.R.

            It was about this time that moving pictures made their appearance here.  First, the Nickelodian, located just north of the County Court House on Main Street in Cat Island.  Then came the Sunset Theater located on Elk Avenue, next to Harry Burgie’s Drug Store.  When we could get hold of 10 cents we attended, and especially Saturday nights when they showed such famous serials as “The Perils of Pauline.”  Later on, maybe about 1916, we went over to the Majestic in Johnson City to see the great film “Birth of a Nation” accompanied by a live orchestra.  An extravaganza.  Tickets must have been all of $1.00 each.

            Soon the Carrier house was sold and one purchased on Sunset Hill where we lived until about 1911.  Papa just had to have a farm, and had become adept at trading in land.  He bought the big 600-acre Thomas farm some two and one-half miles towards Johnson City.  He later sold off two farms, keeping the beautiful brick home facing Sycamore Shoals and two hundred acres.

            While we lived there the Johnson City Highway, running right at the foot of the hill in front of the house, was mechadamized.  Good roads and progress were on the way.

            He gave the D.A.R. a plot of ground upon which to erect a monument in memory of the soldiers who gathered here at Sycamore Shoals and marched to fight the Battle of Kings Mountain.

            The illustrious Senator Robert L. Taylor dedicated the monument and literally thousand of people from all over came to hear the Senator, who at that time lived in Knoxville.  They came by special excursion train, by horseback, by horse and buggy, by wagons and by foot.  A crude platform had been erected from which he spoke.

            During his oratory (and fiddling) the Senator boomed out, “Up here in Happy Valley where I was born, there lived a little girl; her eyes were black as chinquapins; her cheeks were red as roses.”  The multitude roared.  Then he told about walking the banks of the Watauga in the eventide and listening to the great bullfrog as he sang to his beautiful frogetta.  The multitude roared again.  What an orator!  What a showman!

            True to form, Father sold this farm and bought another one about one mile nearer to town, but still along the banks of the beautiful Watauga River.  This land extended from the highway to the river.  He sold off about forty acres to Mr. Sam Holland, who came with the Wm. Ritter Lumber Co., and had married Aunt Ada Fletcher, keeping about 100 acres.  On this land, on the bank of the river, was still standing the log house and barn that was he birthplace of Senator Robert L. Taylor and Governor Alf A. Taylor, who stumped the state together in the 1880’s for the governorship, in what history records as the “War of the Roses.”  Bob the democrat wore a white rose.  All the republicans wore a red one.

            Father built a beautiful home on the highway.  We had all the modern equipment of that day, such as electric lights, telephone, tile bathroom and other conveniences.

            All the while, First National Bank, with “Uncle Sam Behind It and Uncle Sam to Guide It” continued to grow.  Father had become Executive Vice President, and they took over the old Peoples Bank, which had been operated for years by the Hunters and Dungans.  This left First National the only bank in the county.

            Along with Miss Grace Grossman, I graduated from High School in 1910.  We two were the first graduating class in Elizabethton’s first high school.  I was going on sixteen.  Grace was a beautiful, petite, black-eyed (like chinquapins) girl with a keen mind.  We planted a maple tree in the schoolyard.

            I remember many things about this school located by the railroad tracks.  Matronly Miss Carson taught Grace and me a class in agriculture.  One day she discussed the importance of manure as a land builder.  I blushed and Grace snickered, whereupon Miss Carson reemphasized its importance.

            It was during this period that the fancy postcard had their flushest appearance.  One-cent postage.  Letters two cents.  The cards varied in themes.  Some beautiful and elaborate.  Some comical.  A few had mountain scenery or important buildings.  Fortunately (neither of us know how it happened), but we have a hundred or so of them in the Bowers archives.  They now have some value commercially.  We were real cute with signatures.  Grace Grossman signed “7-7.”  Uncle Ernest Fletcher signed “U.N.”  Some signed “Guess Who?”  I have never been able to figure out the last names of Millie and Tootsie.  And, according to Jennie Whitehead, it snowed almost continually in Banner Elk, N.C.  Mary Hope Taylor was visiting in a place called Comer’s Rock, VA and sent cards.  Some card titles were: “All Vot I Vant is Luv,” “Saddest Words of Tongue or Pen- Stung Again,” “Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder,” etc.  Also, it was the era when women and girls wore “hobble skirts”- and Johnson City had street cars.

(Picture: D.A.R. Monument in memory of the soldiers who met here and marched to fight the battle of Kings Mountain)

(Note: In 1973 the State of Tennessee purchased 4.42 acres nearby for $385,000 for the purpose of a State Park at historic Sycamore Shoals, birthplace of the Watauga Association founded here in 1772. [Eton Star 1/27/74])

(Picture: Our beautiful old home overlooking Sycamore Shoals. [Still there and still beautiful].)

            Also, the first automobile came to Elizabethton.  Charlie and Edwin Hunter got a Ford.  Was it ever an attraction!  Later, Fred Carrier’s family got a Case.  The G.I. Case Company famous for manufacturing farm equipment made some cars.  Later on came Buick with its slogan, “Ask the Man Who Owns One.”  Studebaker, Hupmobile, etc.

            All we smart boys talked cars authoritatively.  The test of a good car was its ability to go up Sunset Hill in high gear.  Today, you wouldn’t know the hill exists.

            Father got a Buick sedan.  Curtains had to be put up in case of rain.  Annoying!  In case of a flat tire, an often occurrence, the tire had to be removed from the rim, the inner tube taken out and patched, put back in the tire, the tire mounted on the rim, and air pumped into the tube with a hand pump.  Now, speaking of chores!

            One year some smart salesman from Johnson City talked Papa into trading for one of those big, black Studebakers.  We met Grandpa Fletcher at the depot and he rode up front with Papa.  He got the speed up to 50 mph and had to slow down for the “Hunter Allen Curve.”  He asked Grandpa how he liked that, and he calmly replied, “Joe, I’ve gone sixty on the train.”  Silence prevailed the rest of the way home.  The big Study turned out to be a lemon.  They should have stayed in the wagon business.

            After a summer of telegraphing third trick for the Chicago and Alton Railway in Murrayville, Illinois, I entered Milligan College.  It was the fall of 1910.  Over the portals was the slogan “Christian Education the Hope of the World.”  And how true!  They gave me $1 per week for spending money and laundry.  My first roommate was a boy named Goad from Hillsville, VA, a place made famous by the Hatfield and McCoy feuds.

            Dr. Frederick D. Kershner was president of the college.  I was a fair student for two years and made good grades.  I worked in the First National Bank during the summer months.  Father couldn’t see much practical use in the college curriculum and convinced me that I should be a banker.  Possibly he was right.

            I started as a bookkeeper, posting deposits and checks with pen and ink on a Boston Ledger, adding deposits and subtracting checks from the old balance, and then proving the ledger at the close of the day.  Readin’, writin’, and ‘rithmetic sure came in handy.

            Then one day along came a Burroughs Adding Machine Co. salesman with a great new invention.  It was the Burroughs Posting Machine.  The Directors bought one.  It must have cost all of $300, more or less.  I was chosen to install the new system.  That was the end of balancing individual passbooks and the beginning of a monthly statement for the customer.  We had no trouble with the transition, but it took a lot of night work.  And no overtime pay.

            From the day we moved to Elizabethton we were active in the First Christian Church.  The members weren’t rich in worldly goods, but wealthy spiritually.  There were the Williams, Jetts, Laws, Hendricksons, Hamptons and others that were faithful. Their attendance at all services testified for the Lord.

            The only preachers they ever called were men of unquestioned faith.  Stephen A. Morton was minister three or four different times.  A. Preston Gray was energetic and a fireball behind the pulpit.  Aaron A. Ferguson was always nervous for the first few minutes, then he got warmed up.  His elderly father Aaron W. Ferguson visited him frequently and filled the pulpit.  He was tall, lanky and wore celluloid collars and cuffs.  How they did rattle when he waved those long arms!

            Revival meetings were held by such noted men as Wm. H. Book, A.I. Myhr, W.C. Maupin and many others whom I do not recall.  I was baptized by Stephen A. Morton when I was about 13 years of age.  It was in Doe River at the covered bridge in mid-winter with mush-ice floating downstream.  There were others among whom I believe I believe was Carsie, Maggie and Mattie Williams and Clarence Brumit.

            In those days the Churches of the city were of greatest importance.  We were conscious of the fact that we should be able to give a scriptural answer for the faith that was within us.  We were called Campbellites, in derision, but it mattered not.  Such persecution just spurred us on to search the scriptures more diligently.  Our Church building was a small frame structure heated by stove.  Today that Church is one of the great churches of our Brotherhood.

            One Wednesday night there was some sort of a special young people’s program.  I was on it and recited “Poe’s Haven.”  Geez!  But there was a beautiful young lady in the audience named Mary Hope Taylor.  She was a gorgeous, shy, vivacious creature with sparkling brown eyes.  I walked her home.  It must have been love at first sight, for it has lasted ‘til this day.  (September 22, 1975 was 60 years- ’76: 61 years, ’77: 62, ’78: 63, ’79: 64, ’80: 65)

            I was promoted from bookkeeper to teller in the First National, and later on to Assistant Cashier.  People believed in this bank because of “Uncle Sam’s Guidance.”  Elizabethton was a typical County Seat town, and all the country people came in on Saturday morning to bank and to shop.  Behind the glass-enclosed cages empty shoe boxes were covered with big $20 bills.  Customers’ eyes bulged.  This was before the Federal Reserve and all National Banks were required to carry their reserve in gold coins, or gold certificates, in their vaults.  Stacks of gold were brought out occasionally for the viewing of the Saturday customers.  According to all the people, First National was a strong bank.  Have you seen all that money?  Bill Odom, former student of Prof. Bowers, now a respected citizen and successful farmer of the Third District, was a customer.  It was hilarious when the two got together.

            Mary Hope and I, Harry Hathaway and Alice Lacey courted regularly.  Sunday afternoons we took long walks all the way across the Watauga River railroad bridge and around Renfro Knob, via the Virginia and Southwestern Ry. tracks, and across the river bridge into Main Street at the lower end of Cat Island.  We passed by the livery stable into the covered bridge and on to Harry Burgie’s Drug Store for a Coke.  No radio, no television, no automobile, but plenty of exercise.

            Later on I had the horse and buggy frequently, and, still later on, the Buick car.

            Came Sept. 22, 1915.  I was 21 and Mary Hope 20.  We were married at her home on Sycamore Street- “The House of Many Gables.”  She was so composed and so beautiful.  I was a nervous wreck.  Here is the story and I quote: “Promptly at eight o’clock the service began with the nuptial music; Miss Katherine Burrus, accompanied by Mrs. W.C. Clemens, sang beautifully “A Perfect Day” and “At Dawning.”  The first strains of the wedding march were sounded by Mrs. W.D. Rhudy, and two beautiful little girls, Sibyl Long and Inez Bowers, sister of and the groom, came to the altar carrying white satin ribbons forming an aisle, then Miss Laura Mary Boring and Dr. Burnette Smith entered the door and advanced to the altar, and these were followed by Miss Carsie Bowers, sister of the groom, and Mr. Burchel Taylor, brother of the bride.  The bride entered with the groom and they were met at the altar by Bishop J.C. Orr, President of Sullins College, who in a very impressive manner said the words that made them one, using the ring ceremony.  The bride was lovely in a beautiful wedding gown of silk crepe de chine over taffeta,” etc.  (see write-up in full)

            There were many more people on the outside of the house than inside.  They assumed that we were leaving in the Bowers Buick, so they smeared it up good and tied cowbells and tin cans on it.  Poor Papa!  We went to Bristol with Troy Sams and the Bishop, stopping at Hotel Bristol, American Plan, we found out next morning after eating breakfast elsewhere.

            By train, we went to Washington City, stopping at the New Willard Hotel.  We attended a ball game between Washington and Detroit, Walter Johnson vs. Stanley Covoleski, both famous pitchers.  The great Tyrus Raymond Cobb for Detroit came to bat first up in the 7th inning—barely beat out a bunt at first.  He stole second, stole third, and stole home, for Detroit’s only run.  He received a standing ovation.  We did the town by day and attended B.F. Keith’s and other theaters at night.

            Next stop, New York’s Astor Hotel.  Another ball game between the Giants and the Brooklyn Dodgers.  The famous Christy Matthewson vs. “Round-house” Nap Rucker.  What a pair!  The Giants won on Christy’s single in the 7th inning.  Stadium seats were 75 cents.  John Whalen, Treasurer.

            We attended the famous Hippodrome Play House (since razed), where we heard the world famous John Phillip Sousa and his band.  Also, the Winter Garden and Belasco Theaters.  We toured the big city by day and took in the shows by night.  (Speaking of pollution- you should have seen the vast number of horses on the streets of New York at that time.)

            We soon found out that all such extravagances must come to an abrupt end, so back to Elizabethton and the job.  First National seemed to have survived without me, and the Holly boys, Earl and George, were as fat and jolly as ever.  Since Mr. Taylor was a traveling man and was at home very little, the insisted that we live in the big house with Mama Taylor.

            Elizabethton the City of Power, was a city of “Characters.”  There was Harry Burgie, blunt, positive, outspoken, stuttered a bit, but very successful.  Grant Hardin, who never worked a day, was an inveterate gambler.  Dice, cards, pool, cockfighting- anything.  Name it and he was right there, always wit a pocket full of money.  Then there was John Fair, the barber.  A great natural comic, he mimicked anyone perfectly, both voice and actions, and he was the star of all the home shows as long as he lived.  Tall, lean, ne’er-do-well Hence Oliver.  Riley Hart, who fell from bottom to top in the Chair Co. elevator.  The very prominent Judge Dungan and Doctors Hunter and Emmert.  Then, there were Bert (Dugger) Crow and Fred Lewis, both desperadoes who spent most of their time in jails and penitentiaries.  Both died young.

            Our first heir was born March 20, 1917, and we named her Dorothy Keith.  Dr. C.C. Hacker was there, finally.  The Bob Allens were also having a baby at the same hour.  (Dottie’s twin later became Doctor R.J. Allen, who died in 1970.)  Dr. Hacker said that the Allens were experienced, so he stayed with us.  Needless to say, the parents and grandparents spoiled little Dottie quite a lot.

            About one year later we moved to Johnson City where I became Cashier of the Peoples Bank.  Soon the First World War was raging.  Bank help was next to impossible to find.  I worked long hours and became ill and lost weight.  I was drafted and immediately turned down because of my physical condition.  This shook me up.  That evening I called Father to come down.  The next day I resigned the Cashier’s job , effective on date of securing a replacement.  It took almost three months.

            We moved to Sweetwater Valley, Tennessee, where I looked after two big farms belonging to Papa and Mr. A.L. Osborne.  We lived there in the big brick Florida Home on a high hill for one year.  The famous manganese mineral water, plus outdoor exercise, cured all my ailments.  Quail and all kinds of fruits, especially peaches, were in abundance.  We enjoyed it all.

            The farms were for sale, so we moved back to Johnson City, where I became Assistant Cashier of the City National Bank.  The first thing Henry Black and Bill Miller wanted me to do was to install the Burrough’s Posting Machine System.  Fortunately, I insisted that the books be balanced first.  They were in a mess and short nearly $2,000, which was later paid up by the bookkeepers’ parents.

            Mr. Adam B. Crouch, head of the Unaka National Bank, which later became the Tennessee National , kept after me to come work for him as Assistant Cashier.  It was a much larger bank; my salary bettered and duties varied.  I called on country banks in the area soliciting their business and the taking over the training of young men who wanted to become bankers.

            One young man was George DeWitt from a wealthy New York banking family.  Years later he became President of First National Bank of St. Petersburg, Florida.  Jordan J. Crouch, Adams youngest son, is now Executive Vice President of the First National Bank of Nevada, now nearing a billion-dollar institution.  Jordan lives in Reno, Nevada and is also past-President of the American Bankers Association.  Always our good friend.  We were his guest at the Americana when his term expired and we were introduced in glowing terms to 1,800 bankers assembled there.  Other trainees became prominent in local banks over the years, several of them now retired.  Mr. Adam B. Crouch was one of the best friends I ever had.  He passed away years after we came to Fort Lauderdale.

            It was while working at Tennessee National that a momentous event in our lives took place.  It was April 17, 1923.  Our twins were born.  The event was at Johnson City’s new hospital and they were the first to arrive in that new building.  We had many suggested names for them such as: Pete and Repeat, Kate and Duplicate, Jack and Jill, but Mother saw to it that they were named Harold Carmon and Helen Hope.  The famous Dr. Matthews turned them over to the equally famous Dr. Wallace, Baby Specialist, and they progressed beautifully.

            Dr. Wallace was the father of our good friend Fitzhugh L. Wallace.  He and Margaret visit with us each winter when they are in Florida, and we visit with them in Johnson City in the summer.

            My banking experiences in Johnson City were pleasant, but in the late ‘20’s they became turbulent.  Mr. Crouch wanted me to take the presidency of the Tennessee Trust Co., an affiliate bank, and get it straightened out.  After a year’s persuasion and a much better salary, I succeeded Mr. Jas A. Pouder as its president.  Very quickly I suspicioned that something was wrong.

            I worked nights and holidays auditing and on a Thanksgiving Day found a shortage of more that $35,000.  Someone unlocked the front door, heard the adding machine going, and just as quickly locked it back and left.  I’ll never know who it was.  The following morning the Cashier, a young man of sterling qualities, accidentally shot himself getting in his car at Milligan College starting to work.  He died instantly.

            I was phoned about it before leaving home for work.  That was the longest day I ever spent in my whole life.  However, business went on as usual.  Bank Directors met and in due course the shortage was made good from life insurance money by those who felt some responsibility.  In my opinion they were in no way involved.

            Soon the bank’s name was changed to Franklin Guaranty Bank, and everyone connected was very optimistic, and we did well until along came the great worldwide depression.  The Hamilton National Chain out of Chattanooga acquired the Unaka and City National Banks.  The Tennessee National, much younger and perhaps the state’s cleanest bank, was constantly run by idle inmates of the big National Soldiers Home, and they were forced to merge with the Hamilton Chain.

            Elizabethton’s two banks failed, along with Bristol’s big First National, all in the same week.  Our withdrawals were silent but steady.  The people lost faith in banks and buried their money.  We held out until 1932, when the new Democratic President, Franklin D. Roosevelt, dramatically closed all banks in the U.S.  Our Directors thought it best to merge with the Hamilton Chain.  They asked me to stay on in some capacity to be worked out later.  But after much consideration, I figured there must be some better way of making a living.  I had had it!

            To call it the Hoover Depression is the greatest slander of all times.  In 1930 he did his utmost to get the Democrat-controlled Congress and Senate to put the Federal Deposit Insurance Act into law.  It was the brainchild of the late Republican Senator Arthur VanDenberg of Michigan.  But both Houses beat it down.  Had that been enacted the Depression would have ended practically overnight.  People had faith in the Government then, but had lost faith in banks.  What a political travesty!

            After the 1932 inauguration, the very first thing the Democratic Administration did was to put Mr. VanDenberg’s F.D.I.C. Act into effect, and immediately the people began to bring their money back to the banks.  Alas, two more long years of serious depression and suffering had been politically accomplished.  Ninety percent of the people living today think that Franklin Roosevelt was the author of the F.D.I.C. Act, and for years, he and the Democratic Party have unjustly received the credit.

            During sixteen years in Johnson City our greatest satisfaction and joy came from our Church and civic work.  We had many wonderful friends, quite a few still living.  The Optimist Club International was born and businessmen secured one of the early charters.  The club, “Friend of the Boy,” promptly grew to be the largest club in the city.  I was honored to serve as President two different terms.  The “Boy and His Dog Parade” once a year was really something.  Mary Hope and I attended and International Convention in Lexington, Kentucky, where we visited the proud, almost human “Man-o-War.”  We met a young man named Happy Chandler, later Governor of Kentucky and National Baseball Commissioner.  He led the Convention singing and it was terrific.  Later on we attended another International Convention in Asheville, NC.

            When we moved to Johnson City, Louis D. Riddell was minister of the First Christian Church.  A wonderful man.  He had previously baptized Mary Hope and her parents.  He was the father of Ethel, who married Pharmacist J. Clyde Simth, later to become Col. Smith.  They have been wonderful friends throughout the years.

            In June 1920, Wm. E. Sweeney, one of the great Restoration Movement family, was called to be our pastor.  He was 57, a former lawyer who became a great preacher.  Early during his ministry I was chosen to teach the Loyal Sons Class—young men 16 to 21.  First Sunday, there were 8 present, meeting in a small east room of the Church.  We soon outgrew this room and my good friend Geo. W. Keys gave the use of his Majestic Theater, and we met there until the educational addition to the Church was built, where we had our own auditorium.  At the theater our attendance reached 300 plus, and most always over the 200 mark.

            In the early 1920’s, at the insistence of Wm. E. Sweeney, Adam B. Crouch and others, the Church launched their “Five Year Campaign” for the purpose of establishing new churches.  They elected me chairman of this committee.

            During this period, the Second, Third and Fourth Christian Churches were established in Johnson City.  Also, one in Greeneville, Morristown, Bluff City, Butler (now the bottom of a T.V.A. lake) and Heaton NC.

            Somewhere along the line they elected me Superintendent of the Bible School—an honor I retained for nearly ten years.  We had one of the great Christian Church schools in the nation.  On Mother’s Day 1927, Gov. Alf Taylor, our honored guest for the opening exercise, spoke briefly on the subject of “Christian Mothers.”  The attendance that day was 2,082.  Some time later, Gov. Hill McAlister addressed the opening session.  Attendance 1,820.  We were always on the lookout for special attractions for the opening—but all services kept within the time allowed.

            In addition to banking business attending conventions, civic club duties, Church Board Meetings, etc., I found time one year to be Chairman of the District Annual Meeting, held at Boone’s Creek Church.  In retrospect, I often wonder where the time and energy came from.  Youth, how wonderful thou art!

            Teaching the Loyal Sons Class required one lecture each week.  A great deal of help came from the great Wm. E. Sweeney.  His sermons were so analytical, his proofs so conclusive, I could take notes and almost give his sermons later on.  A great faith in God’s guidance, coupled with enthusiasm for His work, made it all possible.  These good Johnson City people didn’t lack get up and go for the extension of His Kingdom.  Whatever it took, they gave.

            Many great evangelists held revival meetings.  Never less than two weeks, and some went thirty days.  There were hundreds of additions.  I think the greatest was held by Jessie R. Kellums and Harold Richards, who had been busy starting churches in South Africa.  Dave Netherly, son of the Chief of Police, was the 200th addition.  Our Harold was named for Evangelistic Singer, Harold Richards.

            I can never forget the mid-week prayer meetings, always conducted by the laymen.  Deputy Sheriff George Clark, speaking of David and Absolom- “A vagabond and a fugitive” was all mispronounced.  Then, there was our good friend Charlie Crouch, 200 pounds (later became Dr. Crouch, head of the Economics Department of Vanderbilt University) leaned his chair against the class-room swinging doors.  Great and noisy was the fall.  And, most of all, the night John O. Geiss, an Englishman, who had sat through many revivals and never missed a Sunday without any seeming affect on him, was baptized.  He came dressed in striped pants, cut-away coat, appropriate accessories, dressed as if to meet Royalty.  He refused the baptismal robe, stating that he was going to meet his King and wanted to look his best.  What a wonderful understanding!  This incident became famous in the annals of our Churches throughout America.  And I was there.

            Too, I remember Zack T. Sweeney, uncle of Wm. E., who was visiting with his nephew and spoke at prayer meeting on “The Hieroglyphics of Egypt.”  He proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the tombs of all the Pharaohs had been unearthed and mummies identified.  One was empty, that of Rameses the 8th? (I am not quite sure), he being the one that God took care of in the Red Sea when he pursued the Children of Israel.  Zack Sweeney was a tremendous, 6’2” preacher-scholar-statesman.  He served as Ambassador to Turkey under Theodore Roosevelt.

            I CONTEND THAT NO MAN, WOMAN OR CHILD CAN EVER AFFORD TO MISS A PRAYER MEETING.

            One of the great blessings of my life was to have known and associated with so many great men of the Restoration Movement.  In Mary Hardin McCown’s Centennial History of the First Church, 1871-1971, she lists82 biographical sketches, 44 of whom, beginning with J.C. Bass, I knew more or less intimately.  The one I seem to know less about is myself.

            Visits with Mr. And Mrs. Josephus Hopwood at their Milligan College home during the last years here are never to be forgotten.  Adam Crouch and I made frequent calls.  They were the most Godly Saints I have ever known.  Also, visits with Gov. Alfred A. Taylor in his late 80’s.  He knew history as if it had happened yesterday.  His ability to speak and clear thinking were remarkable.  His youngest son, Robert L. Taylor, now a Federal Judge in Knoxville, was a member of the Loyal Sons Bible Class, succeeded me as its teacher.

            The Great Depression and my sever sinusitis condition literally drove us to Florida—by chance to an unheralded little place called Fort Lauderdale.  I arrived here on April 9, 1934 and went to work as office manager, bookkeeper and general flunky for Mrs. L.V. Bowers, better known as Mimmie, who had started the Southern Buick Company at 601 S. Andrews Avenue.  Her partner in the business was Mr. John Mobley, an experienced automobile man.  As I write this, next week, April 9, 1973, will be thirty nine years.

            Warm weather, sunshine and daily visits to the beach readily cured my sinus conditions and I began to feel alive once more.  In early June I drove one of Mimmie’s big old Buicks back to Tennessee and brought the family to this great city.  Estimated population by the Chamber of Commerce:  9,000.  Broward County had about 36,000.  Finding a place to live was really tough, and our first domicile was an inferior place on North Andrews Avenue.

            I worked hard learning the automobile business, became the Pontiac Dealer at 500 S. Andrews in 1936, but soon found out that it was too strenuous a racket for me, and that it took a great horse-trader to really like the business, not an ex-banker.

            After selling the Pontiac business to Mr. John Pitts from Johnson City, I got into the Mortgage Loan Business, representing the First Federal Savings and Loan Association of Miami, a great financial institution carrying US Charter number ONE.

            In January 1938 I became a realtor and struggled along with both businesses until after World War #2, when things really began to pick up.  My first sale was a fifty-foot lot in Victoria Park to Mr. Ray White, price: $300.  Commission: $50.60.  Same lot today, if one could be found, would be $17,500.  My first sale of any consequence was Bert Erkin’s Tower Apartment, 40 units, largest in the county, located on SE 2nd Street just east of US #1, price: $75,000.  It was an old but well-constructed hollow-tile boom time building.  Mr. Ward sold it again some 35 years later for $200,000.  A brochure on my office wall received June 7, 1972 prices it for sale for $750,000.  Absurd?

            Real Estate is a good business, but there are headaches and heartbreaks.  Just prior to the war I worked very hard all summer securing service station sites for a large oil company and had earned something like $40,000 commissions when boom, the war broke out and stopped it all.  This was a tremendous jolt, mentally and physically.  Only my “Guardian Angel,” unswerving faith in God and a loyal family kept me going.  I have to admit now that there were doubts at times.

            One winter day, 1945-46, Deputy Sheriff Bob Clark drove up to the office at 501 E Las Olas Blvd. and wanted to know, in a rather rough manner, why I didn’t sell their 140 acres, owned by Island Ridge Corporation,, and located between Middle River and the Intracoastal Waterway and to the North of NE 10th Street, now Sunrise Boulevard, and priced at $90,000.

            With mangrove swamps up both waterways and on Tenth Street, it appeared to be mostly very low land, and too expensive to develop.  He chided me into going with him in his old Ford to see the property and to straighten out my misconceptions.  The trip was hazardous, but we made it.  For the most part, it turned out to be beautiful high land, something prized highly in Florida at that time, and there was a bald eagle’s nest in a tall pine tree on Middle River about where the George W. King home now stands.  I apologized to Bob and told him I would sell their land.  All that was known abouthis great property by local people was that the Boy Scouts camped up there from time to time.

            My partner, Mr. Paul E. Farley, and I began to take curious clients into this wilderness and within two months had raised the necessary $90,000, which came mostly from “Yankee Investors.”  In the mean time, Real Estate Broker Stephen A. Calder found out what was cookin’, and he took James S. Hunt, et al., up into the snake-infested tract, and they immediately took an earnest money deposit to Mr. Geo. W. English, Attorney and part-owner, and told him that if Bowers’s deal didn’t go through, they would take the land.  In the final analysis, we were plagued by what I considered minor title troubles, and we had to return the money to our subscribers.  Investors were shy of Florida titles in those days.  Calder and Hunt bought the property, title defects and all.

            There was another tract to the south described as 48 acres m/l by an old survey, owned by an elderly widow named Penneman, which she and her husband bought in 1893.  She was supposed to live in Ireland, but one Saturday afternoon Mr. Farley and I located her , her daughter, a black Packard, chauffer and trailer in a park just south of Lake Worth.  They were returning north.  She was in her eighties but very alert.  With the help of her very delightful daughter, we persuaded her to sell us the land, agreeing on a price of $71,000.  She referred us to her attorney, Mr. Maxwell Baxter, a very fine gentleman who handled all detail thereafter.  A new survey gave us 90 acres instead of 48, but a lot of it was a mangrove swamp.

            Our local investors stood by and we incorporated under the name of Intracoastal, Inc., and the first meeting was held on April 19, 1946.  Mr. John E. Morris, Sr., a wonderful man and a great attorney, was our lawyer.  Dr. Thomas L. McKee was elected President and C.S. Bowers, Secretary-Treasurer.

            Plat for Unit “A” was accepted by the city on June 18, 1946, and the subdivision of Beachway Heights was born.  Mr. Walter McElfresh, Engineer, was employed and Bowers and Farley, Realtors, were made exclusive sales agents.  Contracts were witnessed by Mr. Frank M. Frazer and Katy Lee Bailey, N.P.  We were granted to build a sales office on the NE corner of NE 12th Street and Bay View Drive.  Mrs. Penneman was paid as lots were sold.

            Hunt and Calder couldn’t get to their property without crossing Beachway Heights, but there was no dissention about the matter.  At a joint meeting, they were discussing a name for their development, and I suggested that they call it Coral Ridge.  Thus was born one of the greatest land development companies in America.  Mr. Calder suggested that we name the lake Seminole and the street Seminole Drive.

            The city was very magnanimous (?) and, after much pressure, gave us permission to build Bay View Drive on the east 80 feet of their park—now known as George English Park.  We were real pioneers, and in the minds of most citizens, “teched in the haid.”  It was too far out!  No one in their right mind would live way out there.

            But they did, and the 1946-47 boondocks became the south portion of an ultra-affluent residential section now extending from Sunrise Boulevard to the Pompano City limits (six miles north) with homes ranging in price from $40,000 to $500,000 (now $75,000 to $1,500,000).

            In 1953, Messrs. Hunt and Calder persuaded Mr. Arthur Galt to sell them his 2,466 acres m/l lying northward from the original Coral Ridge (about NE 20 St.) for the sum of $19,400,000, allowing them a small down payment and long, easy terms.  It was the largest real estate deal ever recorded in the State of Florida up that time, and Tallahassee had a struggle to find sufficient Documentary Stamps for the deed.

            All the mortgage was paid to Mr. Galt long before maturity.  The Galt Ocean Mile is the miracle of all Florida developments.  As of Jan. 1, 1973 it had over 5,500 apartments and hotel rooms, with more being added.  The Coral Ridge Section of Ft. Lauderdale comprises over one third of the city’s area.  On Oct. 1, 1966, I was fortunate enough to sell one Galt Mile oceanfront lot, 200 x 500, for $3,275 per front foot, the only broker in the city ever permitted to sell one.  The company developed the ocean side of the Mile themselves.  As of Jan. 1, 1973 (no lots available), insurance companies valued the frontage for loan purposes at $10,000 per front foot.  Litoral rights included.

            This same Coral Ridge, some seven years ago, bought approximately 9,00 acres in the northwest part of Broward County for $400 per acre and started building the City of Coral Springs.  Some five or six years ago, they merged with Westinghouse Electric on a stock-trading basis, a real smart tax-saving deal for all concerned.  As of April 1, 1973, the population of Coral Springs is nearing 15,000.  Improved land, with sewerage and utilities to the property line, is selling from $45,000 to $65,000 per acre.

(Picture: BEACHWAY HEIGHTS and the original CORAL RIDGE as they looked on Jan. 3, 1947.  Bay View Drive not yet black-topped.)

(Picture: Located at NW corner of NE 12th Street and Bay View Drive)

(Picture: THE SAME AREA PLUS THE GALT PURCHASE BY CORAL RIDGE IN 1978)

(Picture: Since 1946 the Company has developed the prestige Coral Ridge/ Galt Ocean Mile areas of Fort Lauderdale, accounting for over one-third of that City’s assessed tax valuation.  In Coral Ridge, some 30,000 residents live in homes ranging in price from $50,000 to over $1 million.  In this area, the Company has in its portfolio immensely valuable, strategically located investment properties.  The Coral Ridge/ Galt Ocean Mile area is in reality a “new town” “in town.”)

            From the beginning, Coral Ridge hired all real estate brokers and their associates as salesmen, and their five-day-a-week breakfasts became famous, the main purpose being to sell property and to sell Ft. Lauderdale as the best place on earth to live.

            Through a political friend in Washington, I received some advance information about the $208,000,000 Federal and State project to be known as the Central and South Florida Flood Control District.  I spoke briefly on the subject at one of the breakfast meetings, stating that Broward County would give up 470,700 acres, more than half of the entire area of the County, which would be lost forever to development and cultivation, only leaving a narrow strip in width from twelve to twenty miles from the ocean westward.

            Messrs. Hunt and Tarravella were greatly concerned and asked me to get further information.  It was all true.  For years, this great project was used successfully as a selling argument for all the Gold Coast of Florida.

            The three big pools were billed as the creation of a great recreational area.  And no more saltwater infiltration (which was the real purpose of the project).  No more floods!  A better climate!  I was called on frequently to speak at these meetings.  On June 28, 1953, the local paper quoted me as follows:  “”You can talk about it until you are blue in the face,’ says Carmon S. Bowers, Chairman of the Public Affairs Committee of the Board of Realtors, ‘and you can show people those levees being built, but they still can’t believe it.’”

            Popular Mechanics Magazine, in their Jan. 1953 issue, wrote it up under the heading “Florida Builds a Great Wall,” stating that it is the largest earth-moving undertaking since construction of the Panama Canal.

            On March 13, 1950 I attended a regular Realty Board meeting.  Henry R. Taylor was President, and he gave me my first real civic job from that board.  There weren’t many of us then, and I brought up the very serious matter of our shortage of golfing facilities.  We were losing many tourists to North Miami and elsewhere.  Promptly, Henry appointed me a committee of one to work the matter out.

            The Fort Lauderdale Country Club was city-owned, with enough land lying idle for an additional nine holes.  Luther Remsberg and Tom Bryan owned all the adjacent land and would sell some of it.  The next morning I drew up a resolution from the Realtors to the City Commission, and I also secured resolutions from the Chamber of Commerce and the Apartment, House and Hotel Associations.  They were submitted to the City Commissioners at their next meeting.  With very little discussion, they immediately purchased enough land from Luther and Tom for another nine holes.  Thus was born the North Course of the now-private Ft. Lauderdale Golf and Country Club.  It is very popular and is considered a famous golfing facility.  When the City sold it to private interests on July 9, 1957, I promptly bought one of forty life memberships, which has been a profitable and enjoyable investment.

(Booklet: FLORIDA’S FLOATING FRONTIER)

(Write-up on THE NEW LOOK OF FLORIDA’S GOLD COAST w/ map of S Florida on back)

(Booklet: THE MEANING OF A BASS)

            Golf has been wonderful for me in many ways.  I thank Mary Hope and Dr. Allen Taylor for talking me into taking it up near my fiftieth birthday.  I took eight lessons from a country pro named Loudy in Elizabethton.  He was terrific.  A few years afterwards I played to a handicap of six for about five years.  There are some memorable dates and events.

            On Dec. 23, 1952, playing with some illustrious golfers—David G. Meldrum, Dr. Curtis G. Meldrum, Dr. Curtis D. Benton and Homer Allaback, I scored a hole-in-one on number three at Fort Lauderdale Country Club.  There was much-a-do about such a feat in those days.  Old pro Jack Cummings invited me to appear on his “The Swing is the Thing” TV show in Miami.  Mary Hope and our wonderful, neighbors, Dr. and Evelyn Benton, accompanied me, and as usual, we had a ball.  I kept my head steady and whammed golf balls with a five iron into a canvas, showing all the people how it was done.  I received much loot, capped off by a carton of Wheaties left at the front door by the mailman.

            On Dec. 30, 1964, David Meldrum and I, playing with Dr. Benton and Jake Crouch on our North Course, were tied with 78 each.  He birdied the tough 18th with a 75-foot putt.  I knew then it wasn’t in the cards for me to ever beat Dave.  Dr. Benton’s comment—“Shoo nuff.”

            On June 6, 1955, I came up with the lowest score, handicapped, among city golfers in a National Golf Day competition and won some kind of a prize.  Dr. Benton commented, “A chump beat the champ.”  The newspaper account called me “Chet” Bowers.  Wrong as usual.

            During the years, with the assistance of David J. Munnelly and Dr. Heverling, contractors, we developed Coral Woods, located at the NW Corner of US#1 and Oakland Park Boulevard.  These were the first homes built north of the Boulevard on the Galt Property, and it is still a fine residential subdivision, and the business frontage is fabulous.

            In 1952, I was elected President of the Fort Lauderdale Board of Realtors, and immediately we put into effect “Executive Listings Only,” and it worked so well that it finally brought about the present Multiple Listing Service so widely used throughout the country.  As of April 1, 1973, the Greater Ft. Lauderdale Board has some 390 realtors (as of 1979: 580), and 1,350 associates, ranking second in Florida.

            There was no Optimist Club here in 1934.  I became a Kiwanian and was active in that organization for 25 years, after which I was eligible for honorable discharge.  As of April 1973, I am still an inactive member of the Chamber of Commerce and the Realty Board.

            I attribute Ft. Lauderdale’s immense growth to a strategic semi-tropical location with a beach paralleling and near the Gulf Stream.    A wonderful year-round climate, an excellent Chamber of Commerce, a very fine Realty Board and much above the average City and County Commissions.  They all had exceptional  foresight.

            On April 10, 1946 we purchased from Mr. & Mrs. Murray Jacobs our home, a frame “Dade County Pine” studded cottage located at 800 SE Sixth Street in Rio Vista.  Prior to this we had purchased two vacant lots to the east on which to build our home.  In the mean time, we added a large Florida Room to the south, with an extra bath and storage closet.  When the new home was finally built, Mama decided she like the old one better, so we kept 25’ of the nearest lot and sold the new house to our good friends, the Elmer Hosacks from Canada.  Closing of a dead-end Terrace on the west gave us another 20 feet of frontage.  WE still live here and like it.  We have wonderful neighbors.  Plenty of air-conditioning and heat.

            When we came to Ft. Lauderdale, we immediately joined the Croissant Park Christian Church (Disciples), and were active there until their liberal and unscriptural practices drove us out.  In Dec. 1952, a few “true to the Bible” Christians met at the home of Howard Hamilton and the Central Christian Church was chartered.

            For a time we met at the Kiwanis Scout Building on War Memorial Drive, next door to where our Church now stands.  We were one of a half-dozen free and independent Christian Churches in Florida.  As of April 1973, there are 115 in the state, four here in Broward County, all mothered by Central Christian (County Churches).  First Church at Pompano now has more than 650 members.  Central has approximately 150 and the property debt-free for many years, including the parsonage in Coral Ridge.  As of the fall of 1972, I had served over 40 years as an Elder in the Church and am now Elder Emeritus at Central.  Harold is an Elder at Central and Bible School Superintendent and his family all active members.  Claire is a member of the choir.

            It is my confirmed opinion that the RESTORATION MOVEMENT is the greatest religious effort this side of Pentecost.  I am preparing a treatise on the subject and hope to have it finished in the near future.  We are not here to reform some man-made order, but to restore as nearly as possible the Church of the New Testament.  Other than this, there is absolutely no reason for our existence.  If we are just another man-conceived denominational organization, it is sinful.

            We, therefore, plead with sinners to become Christians, and Christians only, and we plead with the denominational world to do away with all their man-made creeds, articles of confession, ecumenical councils, ecclesiastical hierarchies and unscriptural names and return to the Word of the Holy Spirit, where there is no necessity for such.  There is no other way that the Church of Christ can ever be restored and unity accomplished and the Lord’s Prayer (John 17:20) answered.

            But, apparently, human beings have rebelled against anything simple (Acts 2).  And the terms of admission were so simple and understandable that 3,000 Jews from every nation under Heaven believed and were baptized into Christ and thus constituted His Church.

            In recent years it has been our good fortune to take annual summer trips and longer vacations.  For the most part we go back to our beloved Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains in Tennessee and North Carolina.  It is so wonderfully inspiring to go to the top of Old Grandfather and view range after range of great, towering peaks.  Or to the top of the Roan, and stand there in the very northeast corner of the Great Volunteer State of Tennessee and look westward toward “The Father of the Waters.”  Here one really sees God’s Thoughts Piled Up High.

            In July of 1961 we took our first trip to the far west.  Leaving Elizabethton we took the Shannandoah Valley to Conley’s and Helen’s home in Lancaster, Penn., where we had such a wonderful visit with two such wonderful, delightful people.  Then on to visit Carsie, Ben and Bonnie at Avondale.  They wined, dined and showed us all the beautiful country ‘round about.  Then down to Bon Air, VA to visit Dottie, Dave and Mary Graham for more red-carpet treatment.  They have such wonderful friends.

            Then directly westward through the central part of the US to Colorado Springs, Col. for two days.  Was it ever cold on Pikes Peak!  Then to Denver and on through Wyoming, spending a night at Lander, Wyo., then one night inside Yellowstone National Park.  Great experience.  Old Faithful erupted right on the dot.  Then southward to Jackson Hole, Wyo.  We loved it there and lingered awhile.  One super attraction is the Pink Garter Theater.  Then on westward, via Slat Lake City, through the tumbling tumbleweeds to Reno, home of the wonderful Smiths—Inez and Henry and daughter Judie.  Also, Jordan and Elizabeth Crouch.  Virginia City—Lake Tahoe—all wonderful.  Southward from Reno and across Tiago Pass (don’t try it) and through Yosemite National Park, then to San Francisco for a spell.  Beautiful hilly city with trolley cars.  Then down the West Coast to Hollywood—Los Angeles.  We found the corner of Hollywood and Vine a very interesting intersection.  One evening for dinner at the Palladium, we enjoyed Lawrence Welk and his band.  Talked with Lawrence, Jimmy Roberts and others.  Your mother secured autographs.  Then homeward via the Southern Route.   Palm Springs, Phoenix, New Orleans and Starke Florida.  11,996 miles, portal to portal, with nary a bobble.

            Again, in July 1967, we took a northwestward route from Elizabethton, via Bloomington, Ill., the Black Hills of South Dakota, Grand Rapids, Mount Rushmore, Sheridan, Wyo., Flathead Lake Montana (where the cherries grow) and from west to east through Glacier National Park, where the Rockies are really on display.  Entering Canada, we went northwestward to Banff, where I played the famous Banff Springs Golf Course (Score: 91).  But what scenery!  Looks as if you could stump your toe on one of those massive cliffs and snow would fall on your head.  Thence the Canadian Highway westward to Kamloops.

            From Kamloops on was an unforgettable drive.  The Fraser Canyon Highway, from Hope westward, is probably one of the most spectacular of drives and furnishes one with a lot of comedy in relief.  After all, I wonder where else one could find a Scuzzy, a Spatsum and a Spussum, not to mention Hells Gate and Jackass Mountain.  You travel through snow tunnels with names such as China Bar, Eagle, Alfred, Rocky and Casey.  And the beautiful scenery is still with you.

            Then on to Vancouver, a really magnificent city, but it rained!  From there we rolled down through Washington, Oregon and California’s Redwood Country.  These great trees were awe-inspiring and provoked reverence.  All teachers of child, from grammar school through university, all infidels, all doubters, should take time to walk the “Avenue of the Giants.”  This should convince them that only a Living God can make a tree.  Then on to San Francisco.  This time disappointing.  Alive with hippies and yippies.  Regretfully, we cut our visit short.  Eastward to Reno to visit the Smiths and Crouches.  Left for home via Las Vegas (Lawdy, How Gaudy!), Hoover Dam (How Massive), Grand Canyon (How Grand!) and on to Ft. Lauderdale.  What wonderful, care-free trips!  And what wonderful memories!  They were great investments.

            How time flies!  Comes 1965.  Beautiful Mary Hope had put up with me for 50 years.  Our three wonderful children, always so thoughtful, staged a Golden Wedding Celebration, with all the trimmings, at the beautiful home of Harold and Claire in Coral Ridge.  Joe and Dottie from Orlando, and hundreds of our friends came to wish us well.  The occasion was carried out flawlessly.  WE look forward to the 75th.  Mary Hope loves her “Golden Fifty Bracelet.”  As you all well know, around here she is considered the “pin-up girl” of the Social Security Set.

            On April 30, 1970, we received the sad news of Mama Taylor’s passing at age 100 years and six months.  We left immediately, picking Helen up at Gainesville, Fla.  Funeral services were at Elizabethton Methodist Church and interment at Elk Creek, Va., beside her husband, Daniel Emmett Taylor, who passed away in 1935.

            On Feb. 16, 1972, Burchell Rhudy Taylor, 78, Mary Hope’s only brother and the last of her family, passed on.  I was in bed with flu, but knowing that she would surely want to go for the funeral on the 18th, I proceeded to get up and start packing.  We ran into abominable weather from Palm Beach on and made it to Gainesville, Fla. That night.  No sleep and a very bad weather report with heavy rains and snow through Georgia and North Carolina turned us back home.

            Then, on Feb. 25, our good friend of long standing, George W. King, 74, from Paducah Ky., who came to Ft. Lauderdale in 1935 and bought the D.C. Alexander Oldsmobile Agency, passed away.  He fought cancer for six years.  He was truly an American Success Story.  Having only a grammar school education, he became the largest Olds dealer in the world, and by far Florida’s largest automobile merchant.  We attended his funeral at Christ’s Coral Ridge Methodist Church on Feb. 28.  I was an honorary pallbearer.  From one car on the show floor in 1935 to sales of 14,618 new 1972 Oldsmobiles is a story that reflects the great opportunities afforded worthy Americans, and it also reflects the staggering growth of Ft. Lauderdale and Broward County.

            The other institution that staggers my imagination is the First Federal Savings and Loan Association that opened for business in a small office upstairs in the Sweet Building the year we came, 1934, with $2,500 assets.  As of Jan. 1, 1973, their assets were nearly $800,000,000, with ten branches in the county.

            Then, on Feb. 29th, my good friend James S. Hunt, 74, passed on.  Truly another great American success story.  A newspaper delivery boy from the streets of Detroit, orphaned at age 12.  he became fabulously wealthy.  For many years, head of Coral Ridge Properties.  Developer, banker, capitalist.

            And then followed Chester Townsend, Lonnie McCown, Gov. Robert H. Gore, Dr. Charles Forman, Arthur Ogle—but please forgive my gloom.  More about the passing on of great friends of our generation could not be of interest to you.

            However, these sobering events remind me that I should wind down this epistle.  It has become far too lengthy already.

            To you children, and to our nine grandchildren, I would like to leave one thought for your consideration.  It is that you put “first things first.”  Your Church, your home, your parents, your country.  The one undisputed and indispensable guide to all four is the Bible, particularly the New Testament.  Do me and yourselves a favor by memorizing the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians.  Do it now.  It is beyond human ability to author.  Such wisdom could only have been given by the Holy Spirit.

            Attend regularly and support a free and independent Christian Church.

            And, nationally, it is possibly needless for me to say that I am concerned, almost worried.  Communism and/or Socialism is slavery.  It could never have produced a Joe P. Bowers, an Emmett Taylor, a George King, a Jim Hunt, a Benjamine Reynolds or a Richard Nixon.  But, to its authors, perpetrators and followers, it is a religion to be carried to the ends of the earth.

            Yes, there is a Communist Party right here in the USA, and most politicians sluff off its existence and its far-reaching implications.  What a pity!

            Please forgive all the mistakes.  My spelling isn’t too good, my punctuation deplorable, and my typing has deteriorated of late.

            May God richly bless all of you.

                                                                                    Dad.

P.S. Remember, you asked for it.