Fincher family sharpen skills as bladesmiths

Story by GiGi Hood
Photos by Jerry Martin

In today’s ever-changing and fast-paced world, where one technological wonder is all too quickly followed and then bested by yet another, the Fincher men of St. Clair County might best be defined as an anachronism.

Ray, his brother Jack and his nephew Jon are creators, designers, craftsmen, fabricators. But their works are light years removed from the technological wonders of our time. The passion of their work reverts to a much slower and simplistic time where ideas were born in the brain and created by the hand.

The Finchers have discovered a little known world — the universe of bladesmiths (or more commonly known as knife makers).  Each and every blade is unlike any other; one of a kind. Metal is the common thread that links their trade. Placed in a coal, charcoal or propane fire, it is heated to temperatures sometimes in excess of 1,800 degrees, where its physical properties become softened to the point it can be hammered out until it fits the puzzle that exists within the mind of the maker.

Ray was the first to become interested in knife making. “About 12 years ago, I was attending a gun show and bought a handmade knife from a blade master named Chuck Patrick,” he said. “There was just something about that creation that captured my interest. I think it was the simplicity, the creativity, the idea that something so simple, yet so special, could be made by hand.”

He then started buying knife parts and assembling them. Not long after, his brother Jack and his son, Jon, also became interested in his newfound project. While assembling knives was fun, the more involved they became, the desire to create their own knives grew. As a result, all three enrolled in classes at Texarkana College in Texarkana, Arkansas, to study and begin their certification in The American Bladesmith Society, which is the national organization for bladesmiths.

Certification is a multi-level process that begins with apprenticeship, progresses through a journeyman program and ends with the title of Master Bladesmith. Jon and Jack say they are not into their craft for the certification, just the pure enjoyment of creating one-of-a-kind knives from beginning to end. Ray is more active in it and has the goal of attaining journeyman status.

Jon, who was only 15 when he began, had to have permission from his principal to be absent from high school while attending the two-week classes in Texarkana. Swapping one type of education for another, he quickly fell in love with his newfound hobby. His first class, blacksmithing, culminated with the making of his first test knife. The test knife was required as one of the steps in completing his apprenticeship.

“It was fun; it allowed for individual creativity and it was also physical,” Jon explained. “There’s just something exciting about taking a flat piece of steel, heating it and then pounding on it until you’ve made your very own creation. It is very physical and very challenging. I loved it from the beginning, and I probably always will.”

Jon, a Marine who is in school at the University of South Alabama, makes a bee-line to the forge anytime he returns to St. Clair County. When observed as he works and explains the importance of each step, his passion for his art is clearly apparent.

Jack, Jon’s dad, enjoyed the knife assembly portion. But when the forging began, both father and son were truly hooked. “Jack, who earned his engineering degree from Auburn University, is both a seasoned professional with a great mind for detail and an eye for craftsmanship,” Ray explained. “He was immediately interested in knife making, but when Jon fell hard for it, that further cemented Jack’s passion. Anything Jon loves, Jack loves, so it was a match made in heaven for father and son — actually for all of us. Our mother instilled in us the importance of family togetherness, and she would be proud to know that we have carried that with us in all of our endeavors.”

Describing himself as a problem child who definitely marched to the beat of a different drummer, Ray was sent to Riverside Military Academy in Gainesville, Georgia, during the regular school year. His summers were spent at another military school in Hollywood, Florida, where his love for deep-water diving was born. During his high-school years, he worked in a pipe shop. After graduating high school, he worked as a pipe fitter before joining the U.S. Marine Corps. After his time of service, he worked as a field pipe worker.

Following in the footsteps of his father, and having had the opportunity to become experienced in every aspect of pipe fitting, fabrication and design, he decided to embark on running his own business. “I had a pick-up truck, a barrel of tools, very little money but lots of desire, tenacity and determination,” he remembers. As his business, Fincher Fire Protection Systems, began to grow, family once again became intertwined when Jack, with his education, expertise and strong work ethic, went to work with Ray. Years later, after building the business, Ray decided it was time to retire and participate in his many other interests and his new love of bladesmithing.

Today, Ray, Jack and Jon all work out of the shop that Ray has built on his St. Clair County property that he shares with his wife, Nancy, and their Tennessee Walking Horses. Simply put, Ray loves knives, and Nancy loves horses. From the road, the property doesn’t speak of or give hints related to the diversity that exists within the confines of the fences that enclose the beautiful pastureland, barns and horses.

However, after driving through the property to the back shops, Jack, Jon and Ray’s world most certainly exists in tandem with Nancy’s. The huge shop, filled with high-priced and fine equipment doesn’t look like a hobby shop. It has all the accoutrements of a serious business: a forge, kiln, presses, lathes, table saws, trim saws, finishing equipment and multitudinous other high-tech tools.

It also houses a large supply of exotic materials, worthy of being used to make the handles for the finest of their creations. The supply is seemingly limitless. Tiger maple; desert iron wood; mesquite; giraffe bones (harvested from the carcasses of giraffes that have been killed by lions); Zircoti, a fine wood from Central America; and even petrified wooly mammoth tusk or walrus oossic are just a few of the exotic materials they use to create the beautiful handles for their metal masterpieces.

The Fincher guys love their hobby and have plenty to show for it. Ray said that, even though they sell their creations, it is still a hobby and not a business. “We turn everything we make back into our tools, our equipment, the stock we need, and our training,” he said. “Quite often, we travel to other parts of the country to attend schools, seminars and work with other bladesmiths to learn more about our trade. In conjunction with the Alabama Forging Council, we also travel around the country and help in the presentation and teaching the youths of today about the practices of another era.”

One of their greatest goals is learning how to produce Damascus Steel. A tedious and multi-stepped process, it is pattern welded and created by the layering of steel. The bladesmith starts with alternating layers of steel, forges, draws out and folds it over and over to create unique patterns.

Finally, as the blade is etched with acid, beautiful patterns can be seen within the layers of the Damascus Steel blade. As Jack pointed out, “There are no limits here. An infinite number of variations are possible. It’s incredible. They even have ways of putting your name or image in the steel. It’s called Mosaic Damascus. The possibilities are endless.”

The Finchers are getting ready for the Batson Blade Symposium, which will be held April 14, at Tannehill State Park, just south of Bessemer. In June, Atlanta will host the Atlanta Blade Masters Show, where literally thousands of people from all over the world are expected to attend.

They hope others share their enthusiasm. Forging opportunities are available for newcomers, and youths are particularly encouraged to get involved. The State Blacksmith Association and the Alabama Forge Council maintain top-notch forging facilities within the park. It hosts the Batson Symposium and an annual conference in September promoting smithing, in general.

At the present, the Finchers’ passion is still considered a hobby that will hopefully be passed to other generations. Ray best sums it up when he say he loves achieving in a field where learning is constant. “It slows us down, it makes us think, it gives us time to appreciate the intricacies of life, and it gives our family time and opportunity to dream, to create and enjoy the meaningful time that we are able to spend together because of our shared interests.”

Ray has one final dream. “Jon is so very talented. He loves this (and so does his dad). Given his foresight, his drive, his desire, his commitment to being a bladesmith, I think it will be quite sad if he doesn’t take the step to move from the arena of an enjoyable hobby to creating a viable business doing what he loves and what he is best at. Currently, he is the Fincher legacy, and I hope he will make the most out of his talent and the passion he possesses and that he will not only share it with our younger family members, but with the world as well.”

Tragedy, triumphs mark life in the valley

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin

Folks around Shoal Creek Valley have said it often enough over the past 12 months — “getting back to normal.”

But in this St. Clair County valley, normal has a new meaning since a tornado’s fury swept all the way through it, shattering homes and destroying lives in its path.

Tears find their own trail down Buford Sanders’ weathered face. With a determined gaze, he raises a single finger and vows this will be the last time he tells his own story of loss. “It’s time to look forward, not back.”

As he recounts the details of April 27, 2011, it is with the freshness of a memory made — not a year — but a moment ago. “It was 6:30 p.m. We saw it was coming. We lived at the top of the hill. My wife and I had no place safe to go, so we simply hunkered down in the middle of the house.”

The storm first hit the west end of his house overlooking Shoal Creek Road, blowing away a room, a porch and the roof. “It came back and blew off the east end,” he said. All that was left was a sturdy piece of wall where the couple crouched.

“We were thinking everything was OK,” Sanders said. The house had been lost, but they were safe. Just then, two of their grandchildren were “coming up the hill, hollering and crying that they needed help.”

The flow of tears comes in waves from this point as he tells what happened next. His son and daughter-in-law and one of their daughters had been blown 75 yards from their home into a blueberry patch.

The death of his daughter-in-law, Angie, came quickly. His son, Albert, lasted three or four hours. “He told me he thought he was going to die. I told him, ‘No, son, I love you too much.’

“ ‘I love you, too, Daddy,’ he told me, and those were his last words. It was just a matter of time, and he was gone.”

During Albert’s final hours, all Sanders could do was keep his son comfortable. No medical help was able to get there because the tornado so devastated the valley that it was virtually blocked from one end to the other. “We could hear the chainsaws running in both directions,” he said.

The Sanders family were like many in Shoal Creek Valley. They lived near one another; their generational ties strong. “We worked on things together,” he said of his son, Albert. “He was my buddy. It was sad his life came to an end.”

Buford Sanders and his sons raised their families on the same property, a single driveway leading to all three homes. In an instant, all three homes were swept away.

His other son had been thrown from his home by the winds, but he recovered and is doing well, his father said. His granddaughter, Cassie, spent five weeks in the hospital undergoing 12 to 15 surgeries and has little memory of what happened in the hours and weeks that followed the storm.

She used to be a runner. “She loved to run,” Sanders said. “She ran track. We had a track for her around the hay field.” Her recovery since April 27 has been painful and slow, but she is beginning to run again, entering 5K races, a proud grandfather noted, underscoring her resiliency.

He, too, is beginning to return to some semblance of routine. He and his wife have been back in their new home for about six months, he said. “If I just lost the house, I could feel good.

“But every step I take, I see the tragedy.” Just outside his back door still lay hundreds of acres of downed trees across the mountainside, a constant reminder of a storm so mighty and strong it could wipe out a forest and kill a dozen people in a matter of moments. “If it had just left all my family intact, I’d be the happiest man on earth.”

Just before the storm hit, he said he called both of his sons and told them to go to their safe places. “They did what I asked them to, but it wasn’t good enough.”

Sanders’ conversation vacillates between past and future. “The hurt of losing some of your blood is bad,” he said. “But the community and I are looking forward and looking ahead, not back. You have to suck it up and say this is the way it is. Keep going,” he said.

“So many people befriended us. They helped cleaning up. It was dangerous even to walk around. You lean on one another in times like that. So many people were so good to us.

“A fella I had never known built those kitchen cabinets,” he said, pointing across the room to what could only be described as the intricate work of a master craftsman. “When I went to pay him, he didn’t charge me. Things like that. A lot of people I had never seen before came and helped. I made lifelong friends. I’m grateful for that.”

Looking to the future, he said, “I guess from now on it will get somewhat better. It will be a long time. I have a strong little wife. We’re Christian people. We believe the Lord will take care of us through the battle and there will be a reward at the end.”

He shares a special kinship with the community that has suffered so much. The community came together “in mind and spirit” through the storm and the months of a painful aftermath, he said.

But the lesson from all of this, he said, lies not in the homes destroyed nor does it dwell in the material possessions snatched away by a greedy gust of wind. “The tragedy of all this is the lives that were lost in the twinkling of an eye.

“I would have loved to have swapped places.” Albert was 44. Angie was 43, and they had three daughters. “They had a lot to look forward to.”

Now it is up to Sanders to look forward, he said. “The important thing is the lives that were lost in this valley. The devastation of property is bad, but the other things are a lot worse.

“We have to look forward. You know, onward, Christian soldiers.”

• For more on Shoal Creek, read Building for the future amid remembrances of past and Pell City engineering firm rebuilds after direct hit in this month’s edition of Discover, The Essence of St. Clair Magazine.

Grapes, grains and gifts make
patrons flock to Springville shop

Story by Elaine Hobson Miller
Photos by Jerry Martin

Dené Huff loves drinking good wine and craft beers, and smoking a good cigar. By opening The Flying Pig in Springville, she was able to bring all her vices together under one roof. “I got tired of driving to Atlanta for good beer, good wine and my wine kits,” she says.

She opened October 28, 2011, in the little house behind and between PNC (formerly RBC) Bank and the Springville Antique Mall. She specializes in imported and domestic craft beers and wine from small, family-owned wineries, has on-premise and off-premise licenses, and sells wine openers and aerators, Red Neck wine glasses (small mason jars on stems), and other adult-beverage-related gifts. Upstairs, she has grains, yeast, hops, wine kits and equipment for hobbyists to make their own wine. Hence her shop description, “grapes, grains and gifts.”

The name for her business came from her frustration in dealing with the Alabama Beverage Control Board. She couldn’t get them to return her phone calls, they messed up her paperwork five times, had her driving back and forth between Ashville, Pell City and Lincoln to get a good set of fingerprints. “I must have logged 1,500 miles trying to get everything resolved,” she says. “One day I announced, ‘We’ll get this resolved when pigs fly. …’ My kids heard, ‘when pigs fly,’” and said that’s what I should name my shop.”

Originally from Texas, Dené’s military background (she was a Marine corpsman) and her husband’s job have taken them all over the United States. “Just throw a dart at a map, and I’ve lived there,” she says. She and husband, Joe, and daughters Lily, 13, and Aria,11, came to Springville two and a half years ago when Valspar made Joe manager of its Birmingham plant. While in Trussville looking at houses, the family took a wrong turn, found the Drive-In at Argo, and fell in love. They stumbled onto Springville right after Memorial Day, when the flags were still up. “I knew it was home,” she says.

She doesn’t carry “grocery-store beer” brands, seeking more imagination in the line she sells. Craft beers, on the other hand, have hundreds of years of thought, ingenuity and, well, craftsmanship behind them. They aren’t mass produced, and some have six or seven hops in them. “I get women in here saying, ‘I hate beer,’ but before they leave here, I’ve usually found a beer they like,” Dené claims.

Within three months of opening, she had a regular clientele. Friday and Saturday nights seem to be their favorite times to meet, but you’ll run into at least one of them almost any night.

“We’ve been friends with the Davises for 20 years,” says Laura Sparks, as she sips her favorite Banana Nut Bread Beer. “We used to meet at each others’ houses, now we come here. We like the hospitality, and that our favorite beers are kept cold. A lot of beer here you won’t find at local bars, convenience stores or Walmart.”

The atmosphere at The Flying Pig is such that even her 15-year-old daughter feels comfortable. “She can’t drink the alcohol, but she’s looking forward to the designer sodas that are coming,” Laura says.

“You can sample several beers and wine from all over the world,” says her husband, Ray. “You can’t sit here and drink to oblivion, though. This is not a bar.”

Rob Brantley drops by two to four times per week for the beer and cigars he can’t find anywhere else. “You can have a good meal at a local restaurant and top it off here with a good wine or beer. And it’s walking distance from my house,” he says.

Gary Davis is a local blacksmith who, along with wife, Susan, frequents The Flying Pig for two reasons: Dené and the beer. “We like the atmosphere,” Susan says. “It’s not a smoky bar. There are no obnoxious people. You could bring your family. Dené knows her customers, knows when to cut off their beer.”

Dené is experimenting with live bands on weekends, and has decided acoustic instruments work best in such a small setting, so people can talk over them. A self-described foodie, she loves to experiment with recipes and has made friends with customers who share her interests. Describing herself and her girlfriends as “adventuresome,” she has been known to have buffalo or elk flown in for a dinner party. “My girlfriends will try anything,” she says.

One such gal pal is KoKo McTyeire, who subscribes to Cook’s Illustrated, and tries many of the upscale food publication’s recipes. The two frequently gather at one or the other’s house to experiment with food, and have been known to invite whoever is in the shop at closing time.

Asked to come up with a scrumptious menu and to pair it with good wines, Dené and KoKo prepared a meal for two Discover contributors that nearly knocked them off their bar stools. The menu started with an appetizer of Roasted Red Peppers and garlic hummus topped with chopped tomatoes and served with torn pieces of naan, a Middle Eastern flat bread. She also had a tray of Kalamata olives and bleu cheese-stuffed olives. The entrée was pot-roasted pork loin with blueberry and Marsala wine reduction sauce, and dessert was fresh berry gratins with Zabaglione topping.

“We selected two quick-and-easy recipes along with two that are a little more involved,” Dené says. “We used ingredients that are readily available, either from local vendors or grocery stores. We bought the pork roast at the Chopping Block in Springville, for example, and KoKo grew the blueberries.”

The hummus is easy, costs about $3 and took Dené five minutes to make. A versatile appetizer, it can be served with pita or tortilla chips. Her recipe serves four to six people, and leftovers will keep several days when stored in a tight container in the refrigerator.

Dené paired the hummus with a $9 bottle of Vista Point Pinot Grigio from California and, for those who prefer grains to grapes, Unibroue La Findu Monde, a French beer from Quebec. She used the Vista Point to show that you don’t have to spend $45 to have a good-tasting wine. “The Pinot Grigio is light and crisp and makes a nice complement for the garlic in the hummus,” she says. “Lots of my customers swear it has a vegetable undertone.”

She chose the beer because she wanted to show that beer can go with everything, from starters through entrées and on to desserts. “I think the undertones of this beer make it a wonderful addition to the flavors of the roasted peppers and garlic,” she adds.

The first time KoKo prepared the roast pork, she couldn’t find the herbes de Provence. So she looked it up online, and found what herbs were in the mix. “I had most of them on my shelves, so I made my own mix,” she says. “Now, you can buy it at Walmart.”

For the entrée, Dené chose a buttery Chardonnay called Creme dy Lis, and a beer called Boulevard Smokestack Series Sixth Glass Quadruple Ale. She picked the buttery (oaked) Chardonnay for the pork “just to add another layer and texture to the tongue,” she says.

“I enjoy the oak flavors of the wine with pork, chicken and delicate fish,” she says. “I didn’t want something to overpower the roasted pork. I believe a red would have done that. I like the quad beer for that exact same reason. It has a gentle flavor of spice that complemented the herbs on the pork, without overpowering the taste.”

The dessert pairings of Pimo Amoré Moscato wine and Lindemans Kriek Lambic beer were no-brainers. She says the Moscato is always a safe bet. The beer is just something fun she thought would complement the berries. “It doesn’t take a sommelier to be able to pair wines and beer with your food,” Dené believes. “It just takes a little understanding of what you are drinking, Google and simply knowing what you like. If you don’t particularly care for a Cab (Cabernet Sauvignon) by itself, pair it with a wonderful steak or roasted lamb. It will change your opinion of that particular grape. You must be willing to be adventurous if you want your pallet to expand.”

The dessert was prepared with KoKo’s homegrown blueberries, and Dené felt that the Kriek Lambic, a Belgium malt beverage with black cherries added, would pair well with it. “I call Lambic the original wine cooler,” she says of the fruity-tasting, sweet beer. “I sell what I like. That way, if I go belly up, all this beer and wine are mine!”

• Check out our recipes in the April 2012 edition of Discover, The Essence of St. Clair Magazine.

Story by Mike Bolton
Photos by Jerry Martin

Anyone who might stumble upon the unobtrusive hogback ridge buried deeply in the woods off Old Springville Road near Clay probably wouldn’t give it a second glance. The ridge’s mundane appearance gives no hint as to its incredibly important role in Alabama’s history and this state’s remarkable topography.

Raindrops that fall a few inches southwest of the raised spot of Alabama earth trickle their way down through the leaves and black dirt and begin an incredible journey. The raindrops eventually gather to become a small stream that passes through Clay, and that stream becomes the Little Cahaba River as it nears Trussville.

It soon becomes the Cahaba River and meanders through several Birmingham suburbs before its 180-mile excursion through the heartland of Alabama. The odyssey finally ends at the community of Old Cahawba, Alabama’s first capital, located at the confluence of the Cahaba and Alabama rivers below Selma.

Back in Clay – oddly enough – raindrops that fall just a few inches northeast of the ridge begin an interesting journey of their own in an entirely different direction.

Raindrops there trickle down to eventually form Big Canoe Creek, a beautiful, almost pristine tributary that makes a serpentine run through Springville. From there it meanders for almost 50 miles through rural St. Clair County before finally reaching Lake Neely Henry.

While Big Canoe Creek and the Cahaba River share origination points and numerous similarities, one thing dramatically sets the two apart.

The Cahaba is a river constantly in peril because of the huge population that has grown in its watershed. Big Canoe Creek, meanwhile, sits almost unnoticed by most St. Clair residents, a jewel barely affected by an ever-growing encroachment by man.

Alex Varner, a former Springville resident who often canoes on Big Canoe Creek, says it is a hidden oasis where someone can literally paddle for days and never see another human being.

“People just don’t understand what they have right in their back door,” said Varner who now fights the daily grind of life on U.S. 280. “It is a creek that is full of fish and surrounded by wildlife. A lot of people would die to have a place like that.”

Big Canoe Creek is both blessed and cursed by that remote nature, those who love it claim.

It is protected from much harm by the fact that most St. Clair County residents’ only contact comes as they drive across one of its many bridges during their daily commute. That out-of-sight, out-of-mind existence does have consequences, its proponents say. When the call does come that it needs protection, so very few understand the importance.

Fortunately, there are a number who fathom the creek’s cosmetic, biological and recreational value. The Friends of Big Canoe Creek is an organization not made up of bespectacled tree huggers, as many might suspect, but rather an eclectic group of members who value the waterway for different reasons. The membership of about 50 people ranges from farmers who have lived on the creek all their lives to new residents who escaped Birmingham and fell in love with the creek flowing through their backyards.

Doug Morrison, the group’s president, is one of the latter whose attraction to the creek was by happenstance. Like many hoping to escape the Birmingham suburbs, the Center Point resident was turned off by the heavily congested U.S. 280 corridor and instead looked in the opposite direction to St. Clair County. When he and his wife, Joannie, stumbled upon a home for sale on Oak Grove Road in Springville, they were awestruck in two very different ways.

“My wife loved the house, and I loved the creek behind it,” Morrison says with a laugh.

He was no stranger to creeks. He grew up behind Eastwood Mall and had fond memories of turning over rocks and looking for crawfish in Shades Creek. At first, he was only attracted by having a creek as a neighbor. He said at the time he could have never imagined how a creek could have cast such a spell in his life.

“I began to see people in canoes and kayaks pass by my house, and I was fascinated,” he said. “One neighbor let me try his kayak, and I loved it. He eventually bought another kayak, and we began to go kayaking. Then I saw a neighbor wade fishing and catching fish. I tried that and loved that.”

On his short kayak jaunts, Morrison was astonished to see deer, otters, minks, wood ducks and a seemingly endless list of wildlife. He was equally astounded by the number of fish species in the creek, including 5-pound bass, crappie, bream, alligator gar and redhorse suckers. Only then did he realize what he was becoming a part of.

“I’m thinking what a gem this place is,” he said. “There are so many people here that just don’t seem to know it exists. They drive across it and take it for granted. They just don’t know how lucky they are to have something like this.”

Morrison admits he succumbed to a basic instinct of mankind. If you love something, you want to protect it. You first, however, have to develop that kinship with the creek to really appreciate it and to yearn for its protection.

As his kayaking expeditions increased, he began expanding his trips to differing locations on Big Canoe Creek. His concerns for the creek began to broaden past the litter that was occasionally dumped at the many bridges in St. Clair County that cross the creek. He became thirsty for knowledge of what makes creeks work and what can be found in them.

He was surprised to learn that Big Canoe Creek has more than 50 fish species, including some that can be found few other places in the world. He was shocked to discover that the many mussels he was seeing actually played an important role in filtering the water and keeping it pure. He was surprised to find that some of the mussels were probably of the eight listed federally as threatened. Shoot, he might have even seen the Canoe Creek Club Shell mussel that can be found nowhere else in the world but Big Canoe Creek.

While he didn’t consider himself some nerd that could explain the value of what he was seeing to a panel of scholars, he did have his own take on why he wanted to see them protected: “I do know God put them on this earth,” he says matter-of-factly.

His quest for knowledge continued. He figured the creek didn’t face many pollution threats but found that pollution can be found in many forms. He learned that the runoff from farms often contains animal wastes and fertilizers that increase the nutrient load in creeks.

And there were threats he had never thought of. He learned that pavement and concrete force fast-water runoff into waterways instead of allowing the rains to slowly filter through the earth before being released into creeks. He learned that cigarette butts thumped into some parking lots can eventually wash into storm drains and can be directed to creeks. He learned that those who change their own oil in vehicles and lawnmowers sometimes dump the used oil into storm drains. That oil is directed to creeks and rivers. He learned that buffers are needed to protect creeks from residential and commercial construction.

Because of its mainly rural path, Big Canoe Creek currently doesn’t face many of those issues, but Morrison knows that with St. Clair County’s rapid growth, those problems may be in the creek’s future. He was relieved to find that many of the potential problems can easily be stopped before they begin by simply educating the public.

He knew that a group, the Friends of Big Canoe Creek, had formed about 15 years ago but had become dormant. His next-door-neighbor Vickey Wheeler, had been a founding member, and he urged her to help him revive the group. He had plenty of support along the way from his wife, Joannie, who has worked tirelessly in the effort ever since.

Early on, he began looking for guidance by calling Liz Brooke at the Alabama Rivers Alliance and suddenly found help at every turn. Brooke introduced him to Varner.

Varner, the former Springville resident now on the Alabama Rivers Alliance board, had grown up playing in Big Canoe Creek. He fully understood the creek’s beauty and its importance. “He said to count him in on getting the group started,” Morrison said. “He played an important role in us getting started. He eventually became a board member and is still a board member.”

Varner canoes and fishes all across Alabama but says Big Canoe Creek will always have a special place in his heart. He had gotten away from the creek as he grew older and discovered other locations to play, like the Sipsey River, but when he became involved with Friends of Big Canoe Creek, “I got hooked all over again.”

House painter Robert “Beau” Jordan and wife Trish are both members. They moved to Oak Grove Road from Center Point in 1995 looking for a little acreage and a little solitude. The fact that a creek flowed through it wasn’t that big of a draw at the time, he remembers.

“We just wanted to get out in the country,” he said. “I was surprised when I started paying attention to the creek that it had so many fish in it. I started wade fishing and doing a little kayaking and fell in love with it.

“I’ve caught three species of bream, largemouth bass, spotted bass, rock bass, redeye bass and catfish.

“You really have to spend some time in the creek to appreciate it. I had no idea when I moved here that I would get into it like I have.”

Member Gerald Tucker, a farmer from Springville, has a lot more invested in Big Canoe Creek than most members. In 1873 his great-grandfather settled the land next to the creek near U.S. 11 and farmed there. Today, almost 140 years later, the 76-year-old is still raising cattle there. He says Big Canoe Creek has been a big part of his life and his family’s tradition. He says through the years, he has learned more and more about protecting it.

“A little education goes a long way,” he says with a laugh.

Tucker says he once thought nothing about allowing his cattle to roam and drink from the creek. Once he learned about damage to the creek from sediment washing from the bare banks where livestock trampled, he was quick to react. He erected fencing to keep his cows out of the creek. A seemingly small step, he admits, but the creek needs only a little help to protect it, the group is quick to point out.

“When most people think about problems facing a waterway they immediately think of industry, but the problems are not always from industry,” Morrison said. “You have nutrient loading from livestock and septic tanks and sedimentation from clearing land.

“Many times all that is needed is to leave a little land buffer between whatever you are doing and the creek. People aren’t purposely causing harm. You let them learn about things, and they understand. They want to protect the creek, too.”

Story by Loyd McIntosh
Photos by Jerry Martin

There is a funny joke that gets told throughout the aviation community about pilots. It goes a little something like this: What is the difference between a pilot and God? God doesn’t think he’s a pilot.

The meaning of the joke, of course, is that pilots are a different breed, a gonzo blend of Evel Knievel and Steve Austin (The Million-Dollar Man, to all of you born after 1980), willing to cheat the laws of physics, nature and death itself for the ultimate thrill.

To put oneself in the cockpit and spit in the face of gravity certainly takes guts, but what personality traits must it take to build and fly a plane? If Odenville resident Louis “Rusty” Hood is any indication, the answer is a combination of humility, honesty, and decency, with a little spirit of adventure thrown in for good measure.

A retired flight engineer from the Army National Guard, Hood might possibly be one of the nicest and most humble people you’re likely to meet. He just happens to enjoy building and flying experimental aircraft so much that he lives next to his own airstrip. His garage does double duty as a hangar, currently housing a pair of light, propeller-driven airplanes.

The first one is based on a 1930s design and in disrepair at the moment. Hood says he’s looking to part the thing out because “you know, they’ve improved airplane design since the ‘30s, both in construction techniques and design.”

The main attraction in Hood’s garage/hangar is a Murphy Rebel, a small, shiny-silver, two-seater airplane that looks more like a museum exhibit from a bygone era than an actual working plane. However, as Hood explains, this little baby tops out at around 90 miles per hour, can carry about 44 gallons of fuel (good for about six hours of flying), and is a highly popular aircraft in Canada, where it is primarily flown in wooded areas. It’s one of several airplanes Hood has built on his own in almost 40 years of flying.

“It comes in a box, and all the parts are there, and you apply your craftsmanship and 20,000 rivets. Then you add your engine, instruments and your radios, and you got an airplane,” Hood says. “Of course that’s about 10 seconds worth of talk and about two year’s worth of work.”

Somewhat shy and understated, Hood isn’t, by any stretch of the imagination, a gonzo, risk-taker in the air. “I’m no thrill seeker by any means,” says Hood. “I try to be very careful. I’ve been flying both personally and in the military since ‘75, I guess. I don’t take flying lightly.”

Thirty-plus years of military flying will do that to a guy.

Build them, and they will fly

Hood became interested in planes and flight while working at a motorcycle dealership in the afternoons while in high school. A tinker by nature, Hood first came upon the notion of building his own plane after noticing an ad in the back of Popular Mechanics magazine for a Benson Gyrocopter, a rotorcraft which looks like a cross between a helicopter and a go-cart.

It was in the middle of winter, the slow season at the dealership, so Hood decided to ride his motorcycle to the Benson factory in Raleigh, North Carolina, to look into buying his own gyrocopter. “I just wasn’t impressed, and I did a little research, and I found that most of those plans weren’t viable planes, so I decided against that. But, that did get me started on the idea of building my own plane,” Hood says.

Hood soon realized he didn’t have the funds to purchase his own plane, but began investigating planes he could build on his own. His search led him to an aircraft designed by a Burt Rutan, the experimental aircraft designer famous for designing the Model 86 Voyager, the first plane to fly around the world without stopping or refueling, among other accomplishments.

“He designed a little airplane called Quickie. It was a single-seat all fiberglass, composite, tandem wing. It had a wing out front and a wing in the middle, but no wing on the tail, which is a little unusual,” Hood explains. “If you know anything about Burt Rutan, unusual airplanes are his game.

“They offered the kit for $4,000, and I had $4,000 in my savings exactly, and I bought the kit which consisted of 12 gallons of glue, 144 yards of fiberglass, and two or three boxes of Styrofoam and urethane foam,” Hood adds. “I proceeded to in the course of the next couple of years, construct this airplane, and I flew it for 75 or 100 hours or so.”

Hood joined the Army National Guard in 1974, beginning his military career as a helicopter mechanic and eventually becoming a flight engineer on various military aircrafts, such as Sky Cranes, Huey and some additional fixed-wings. Closing in on his 50th birthday, Hood was deployed to Afghanistan in 2004, spending the next year flying and supervising a maintenance crew of more than 30 soldiers, performing an impressive amount of work while serving his country.

“We flew 7,000 hours, which set a record for our size unit for the time we were there in 04 and 05,” says Hood. “It was a lot of missions and a lot of work to keep those helicopters going. I was the old guy in the bunch at about 50. Most of those guys are teenagers, and they’ve got stamina, and all they need is a little direction.”

Hood retired from the National Guard soon after returning home from Afghanistan, and initially spent his time strictly on land-based activities, primarily motorcycle riding and gardening. It wasn’t long before a friend contacted Hood with a project. He needed help building an airplane – the Murphy Rebel currently sitting in his massive garage.

“I told him I had just gotten back from Afghanistan, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to fly anymore,” Hood says. “I told him to come back and ask me in a year.”

Sure enough, he came back with the intention of enlisting Hood’s help. Not ready to think about taking to the air once again, Hood jumped at the chance, helping complete the build and buying half-ownership of the plane. Eventually, Hood bought the plane outright and is back where he belongs – in the air.

“I’m just a fun flyer. I did enough hazardous flying in the military to get that out of my system,” Hood says. “When the weather is perfect, there’s no wind, and I feel good, I go for a ride.”

Motorists passing through Margaret, Alabama, on County Road 12 are usually unaware that it was once the busiest, most densely populated community in St Clair County. Today it’s no longer that bustling industry town of the early 1900s, but rather a quiet little settlement whose vibrant history must be learned from books and old-timers.

In History of St. Clair County (Alabama), Mattie Lou Teague Crow speaks of the town’s birth in 1908. Founded by mineral magnate Charles DeBardeleben, a Welshman, it was named for his wife, Margaret.

The new town eventually had it all. Alabama Fuel & Iron Company provided employee housing, churches, parks, company stores, a movie theater, schools, community recreation venues, medical facilities; in short, almost everything a working man needed for his family.

In a 1974 St. Clair News-Aegis story, Jenna Whitehead relates that houses were rented to miners for $6.90 per month including water and electricity, which was deducted from their pay along with 75 cents for miners’ use of the bath house.

During the Depression, most employees only worked a day or two per week. To help make ends meet, the company provided utensils, supplies and mules for making home gardens. Small livestock and seed were furnished at cost. If a man chose not make a garden, he was laid off from work.

In The Daily Home, June 1990 issue, Marie Cromer relates that AF&I hired C.C. Garrison, a Clemson-trained agronomist, to landscape company properties and teach the miners how to make a proper garden and tend their yards. Garrison later became the superintendent of education.

Miners were paid in cash. However, most were indebted for their entire paychecks, and often more, to the company store (shades of Tennessee Ernie’s song, “Sixteen Tons”). These stores, called commissaries, extended credit as well as token money stamped with the company’s logo, called “scrip.”

Also known as clackers because of the noise they made when clicked together, scrip was good only at the commissary, but could be borrowed on demand or exchanged for regular currency at the rate of 75 to 80 cents on the dollar.

Marie Butler, a Margaret native, former town clerk and wife of Mayor Billy Butler, reminisces in her book, Margaret, Al — And Now There’s Gold:

“Ah, the company store! Imagine yourself in a one-stop shopping store and then envision yourself inside the company’s commissary, which was operated by Charlie Boteler. A glance down the aisles reveals shelf after shelf of only top quality products. Name-brand clothing was all that could be found here. … Practically everything a family might need could be bought at the company store and, of course, purchases could be made with clacker.

“The high steps that led to the entrance of this huge rock building were the setting for many games, as children waited outside for parents to gather up the family’s necessities. Many times, some of the youngsters would wait around to see the old steam engine chug into town with several carloads of dry goods, etc, for the company store.”

Next door to the commissary, which has since burned down, was a large icehouse that also served as a post office. It can be seen, now vacant and boarded up, on County Road 12 across from the present US Post Office.  Margaret had a number of rooming homes for single men and visitors, among them actor Pat Buttram, who later played Gene Autry’s movie sidekick, Pat, and Mr. Haney on TV’s “Green Acres.”

AF&I was always supportive of its employees’ cultural and leisure activity needs. Margaret boasted a man-made lake, bandstands complete with company band, social occasions like plays, carnivals, square dances, wrestling matches, road shows, musicals, etc, all provided by the company to inspire contentment, loyalty and productivity.

Nor was faith neglected. According to Butler, practically every family attended church. The company erected places of worship for all their people, including a community church with an upstairs grammar school for the St. Phillip Methodist and Beulah Baptist black congregations, with electric lights on wooded paths leading to the church. The two factions shared this facility on alternate Sundays, and held a combined service with dinner on the grounds in every month with a fifth Sunday. It’s said these gatherings were the high points of their social lives.

The company-built Methodist church became today’s Margaret Church of Christ, a neat little white chapel on County Road 12 near the town park. A pianist at this old church, Lou Betts, later married U.S. Congressman Tom Bevill.

By 1935, Margaret was the largest coal-producing area in the state of Alabama, and the only one that generated its own electric power. More than 4,000 acres of company land was under cultivation as family gardens. Butler remembers Margaret as a town of flowers, particularly buttercups and ornamental hedges.

DeBardeleben sponsored a Quarter-Century Club to honor longtime workers, its 81 charter members each receiving a gold pin and $5 a month extra pay, which almost covered the rent on their homes.

Butler tells that, during the Depression, the company mined and gave away some 4,000 tons of coal to people in several states who could not afford it for home use. When Birmingham had no coal on a Christmas Eve because all the union mines were on strike, DeBardeleben again put his people to work, assuring them the coal they dug would only be used to heat homes. A turkey was offered as a prize for the man who dug the most coal; it was won by “Smokey” Turner, who had loaded 26 mine cars.

Since they provided so well for their workers, the company insisted that all their operations remain non-union. While most AF&I workers readily accepted this policy, the unions never stopped trying to insert themselves into St. Clair’s labor structure. News accounts from 1935 and 1936 say union forces more than a thousand strong began harassing St. Clair’s various mining camps, resulting in a multitude of injuries, acts of destruction and, eventually, one death. The company and workers resisted this intrusion, but the disputes finally culminated in what’s been called The Battle Of White’s Chapel.

A union-funded, 75-car motor caravan was confronted by a tiny cadre of 15 armed company men and deputies entrenched on a hilltop in White’s Chapel. Things came to a boil, and a union man was killed in the ensuing gun battle. Some 50 AF&I and union men were indicted on murder and conspiracy charges, including Charles DeBardeleben himself, but all were eventually acquitted in a series of very expensive trials.

Margaret and the Alabama Fuel & Iron Company had lived a vigorous, useful life of nearly five decades before its mines finally closed in the early 1950s. From the beginning, Margaret had embraced anyone who wanted to work. Among its earliest citizens were Italian, black and various Slavic people, many of whom did not speak English.

The town officially incorporated 840 acres in 1959, and held its first municipal election in 1960. Many original residents, mostly at rest now, had chosen to live their entire lives there. Margaret had proven to be a bounteous, embracing home over the years, so they saw no reason to leave.

One of Margaret’s greatest events was a visit by Bishop Fulton J. Sheen, who had a popular weekly 1950s TV show called “Life Is Worth Living.” He’d been invited by a highly optimistic local lady, and surprised everyone by actually coming to Margaret, where he delivered a fine homily to a huge crowd in the town park.

According to A.B. Crane, in a talk given to the St. Clair Historical Society in 1994, “… He spoke with the same interest, same detail, the same thoughtfulness, the same expression that he would have used if there had been five or ten thousand people there.”

Margaret was all about its people, the mines, and Mr. DeBardeleben’s Golden Rule. Today it’s perhaps best visited in the mind’s eye. Visualize the lifestyles of thousands of hard-working people who once lived and toiled there, their weekend activities in the town’s park, picture show, churches, company store and the mines with their back-breaking labor and high mortality rate, which everyone simply took for granted in those days.

Beulah Baptist now stands forlorn, abandoned and in severe disrepair, surrounded by a high fence and foliage so dense you can’t see the church except in winter. An occasional company home with its characteristic pyramidal roof can be seen along the road to Macedonia Baptist Church. The town park has a nice little gazebo built atop an old concrete platform from decades past. Little mementos are everywhere, but you have to look for them.

A look back at the rich history reveals that when St. Clair and America’s needs were greatest, Margaret did her share.

A Reflection of the Future for St. Clair County

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin
and Wynter Byrd

Terrell Vick escorted the final patient out of the old St. Vincent’s St. Clair Hospital, and Sean Tinney welcomed the first patients arriving at the new one. It was a fitting role for each to play — Vick as former president and COO and acting as Chief Transition Officer and Tinney as president of St. Vincent’s Rural Hospital Operations.

From their vantage points and through their responsibilities, they witnessed history being made, the page officially turning on Dec. 10, 2011.

“The preparation leading up to it was phenomenal,” said Tinney, who noted that the new hospital opened its doors to the Emergency Department at 6 that morning. The transfer of patients from the old facility began at 9 a.m. and the doors did not shut until the last patient was moved. “It was as smooth as anything I have been a part of.”

For Vick to witness the last patients leaving the old facility where he worked for so many years and Tinney witnessing the first patients coming into the new one he is overseeing, “it was meaningful for him, and it was meaningful for me,” Tinney said.

The move was like clockwork, Tinney said, giving credit to a host of team members. Neeysa Biddle, former COO of St. Vincent’s Health System, coordinated the move with Vick heading transition efforts. Regional Paramedical Services had five ambulances assisting with the move of patients. Dual labs and x-rays operated during the move, and associates and medical staff transitioned to a state-of-the-art electronic health record system.

The entire staff was oriented to the new hospital in the weeks leading up to the move, and when that day arrived, 50 Information Technology specialists reported for duty, ensuring that countless computers and a new order entry system was in place and working properly.

J.C. King (in the ambulance) makes history as the last patient transported from the “old” St. Vincent’s St. Clair. Among St. Vincent’s St. Clair associates who helped close the old hospital: King’s wife, Myra, in the brown coat; Vice President of Patient Care Services Paula McCullough on the far left and Terrell Vick, front, right.

“It made it a whole lot easier to adapt,” Tinney said.

In the days since, the activity has shown no signs of slowing. Admissions are up 28 percent. Emergency Department visits jumped 10 percent. Use of the 64-slice CT Scanner and MRI equipment climbed 22 percent. At that rate, Tinney said, the new hospital could see more than 25,000 patients in a year’s time in the Emergency Department as opposed to 19,000 in the old facility.

On Dec. 19, 2011, the Physicians Plaza professional office building opened adjacent to the hospital, featuring 40,000 square feet of space. St. Vincent’s is leasing 20,000 square feet for specialists and an outpatient center, and Johnson Development, which specializes in developing, acquiring and managing medical office buildings and outpatient facilities, is developing the building.

St. Vincent’s Family Care — Pell City, the practice of Drs. Tuck, Scarbrough and Williams, is slated to open there in February or March along with St. Vincent’s Obstetrics and Gynecology-St. Clair.

New services are being added as well. Wound care with hyperbaric oxygen chambers opens in April or May, and in June, a sleep diagnostic center will open with two beds initially that can be expanded to four beds.

A partnership with MedSouth, a durable medical equipment company, will allow St. Vincent’s to offer home medical equipment, like wheelchairs, crutches, walkers, oxygen and respiratory equipment as well as diabetic supplies.

Time-share space is being utilized by specialists working part time in St. Clair. And more specialists are being recruited in the areas of orthopedics, general surgery, cardiology and pulmonology. To Tinney, it all translates into “more comprehensive medical services we can provide our community.”

Laurie Regan, a principal with Johnson Development, couldn’t agree more with Tinney’s assessment of the hospital’s ability to provide more comprehensive services. Her firm is developing the building with a definite eye toward the future and expansions.

Fresenius Medical Care dialysis will open with 12 stations and plans for an expansion, she said.

Even the building itself was constructed with expansion in mind, evidenced by a third floor of 5,000 square feet of additional space that will make way for a vertical expansion. “We know the growth is going to be there,” Regan said.

The Physicians Plaza is expected to be fully functional in February and has features and amenities that make it appealing, like its easy access to the first floor of the adjoining hospital and a full complement of diagnostic and lab services.

Art from elementary school students will hang on the walls of the second floor surrounding family practice, illustrating the partnership between the medical facility and the community.

“It is a community building, really, and we want it to have a St. Clair flavor,” Regan said.

The tie to community has a special meaning to Regan personally in addition to her role as a developer. “As residents of Pell City and St. Clair County, my husband and I have been strong supporters of St. Clair Regional and St. Vincent’s. I’m doubly blessed that my career in health-care development allowed me to be a part of this wonderful project and work in my hometown.”

The craft of making fast bikes look even faster

Story by Mike Bolton
Photos by Jerry Martin
Rider photos submitted

The rider on the sleek, screaming motorcycle shifted left on the seat and his left knee dragged the asphalt as the brightly colored rocket hugged the turn at a speed that seemingly defied physics. The rider was not alone in his insanity. He was surrounded by other riders and their cycles in a perfectly choreographed high-speed routine that made Dancing with the Stars look like some vacation Bible school production.

Despite the incredible skill level, this motorcycle race broadcast by the SPEED Channel from another state means little to most NASCAR-addicted Southern channel surfers. Scoffing that motorcycle racing isn’t real racing, they steer the channels with the remote to the safer and less insane confines of Pawn Stars or Storage Wars.

Scott Moore isn’t the typical Southern channel surfer. He watches the race with intense interest. While the motorcycle being shown on television can’t claim its soul was born in the unassuming beige workshop just outside Moore’s back door in Washington Valley, he knows its identity is fully rooted there.

To say Moore has found an unlikely niche in a world foreign to most Alabamians is a gross understatement. The quiet 1984 Springville High graduate is not a mechanic that can make a motorcycle engine perform at magical levels. He’s an artist who can make a motorcycle a one-of-a-kind rolling billboard that is easily identifiable at 160 mph.

Erase the thought of the Teutels painting motorcycle frames on American Chopper. Motorcycle racers from across the big pond and across the U.S. ship their fairings — those fiberglass and carbon-fiber additions that make racing motorcycles aerodynamic — to the small shop in Springville for Moore to work his magic on. His business is called Fast-Finish.

How does an artist that isn’t that well-known in St. Clair County become so well known across the United States and the world?

“In 1992, I painted a few street bikes and amateur racers for some friends in Birmingham,” Moore said from his shop in Washington Valley, a shop that doesn’t even have a sign touting what goes on inside. “My friends took those bikes to some national events and other people saw them and asked where they had their paint-work done.

“I started getting painting requests and it just grew. I never really set out for it to turn out like this. Now I have stuff all over the world. It got there for awhile you could pick up just about any motorcycle magazine and see a motorcycle that I had done.”

By providing the identity for the motorcycles for World Superbike champion Neil Hodgson, former Moto GP champion Kevin Schwantz and former AMA Superbike champion Ben Spies, Moore was able to display his artwork across the U.S. and world. It has resulted in word-of-mouth advertising that has branched off in many different directions.

UPS delivery drivers have the route to Moore’s rural Washington Valley shop memorized as they provide frequent deliveries of motorcycle fairings to get Moore’s touch. One day he may receive fairings from a national racing team, the next day from Grammy Winner Trevor Sadler. A delivery may be from a vintage motorcycle enthusiast one day, a delivery from China from an admirer of Moore’s work the following day.

One of Moore’s biggest customers at the moment is the National Guard racing team belonging to Michael Jordan Motorsports. The former NBA great has owned an entire team of racing motorcycles for several years.

“My dad called me one day and said some guy named Michael Jordan had sent me a package by UPS and he wanted to know if I wanted him to just leave it on the driveway,” Moore said with a laugh. “I told him that he’d better put that one up in a safe place.”

The paint schemes for some motorcycles come from Moore’s head but bigger race teams provide direction.

“The bigger teams use a graphics art department that will send me detailed artwork of exactly how they want it to look,” he explained. “It will include every decal with instructions of where they go.

“Others will send me a sketch of what they want and others will just tell me to make it look good.”

The interest in vintage motorcycle racing has increased dramatically in the South with the opening of Barber’s Motorsports Park and the Barber’s Vintage Motorsports Museum in Leeds.

It has opened up a niche within a niche for the humble Moore. He has done the artwork for several motorcycles in the Barber’s museum as well as some $500,000 vintage motorcycles for individuals. His work has won best in show at the prestigious Amelia Island Vintage Motorcycle show in Florida and the vintage motorcycle show in Pebble Beach.

Vintage racing motorcycles now make up a good portion of his work.

Moore says his evolution into this type of work has been pretty amazing considering it was never in his dreams after graduating from high school.

“I worked in Birmingham for a land surveying crew and somebody wanted me to paint a truck for them and I just needed a place to do it,” he said. “My dad drove a truck and he paid me to wash the truck for him.

“I painted this truck and it turned out OK, and I started painting other trucks and cars. I figured out that the pay for painting them was a whole lot better than the pay for washing them.”

To see more of Moore’s work visit
www.fastfinishpainting.com

Fabled St. Clair County home now a retreat

Story by GiGi Hood
Photos by Jerry Martin

“Sunrise, sunset, sunrise, sunset, swiftly go the years!” The poignant words from Jerry Bock’s and Sheldon Harnick’s musical adaptation of Joseph Stein’s “Fiddler On The Roof” couldn’t be more true. And thanks to — or because of — today’s technological marvels, sunrises seem to run into sunsets, and very few even have time to notice the transition from one day to the next. Nothing seems to slow down, and humanity can often resemble the mouse or gerbil running on the wheel to nowhere.

Few places exist where one might find refuge from the world’s ever-quickening pace and yield to an almost forgotten chance to reflect quietly on the thoughts in their head and the matters of their heart. Such places would seem remote, far away, unbelievably expensive and most likely existent only in theory. But that is not always the case. They do exist, and one is right in the heart of St. Clair County. The Pond House, with 40 acres of land, a 3-acre stocked lake, walking trails and quiet quarters, is the perfect destination for the person seeking solace, rest and a time and place for personal reflection as well as the renewal of the body, mind and soul. Located in Pell City, just off Alabama 34, it is a peaceful utopia that is easily reachable without the need to travel great distance or spend a large amount of money to get there.

Col. Hugh Cort III, a Korean War hero, and his wife, Vi, traveled the world as he served his country. After the war, they settled in Mountain Brook when Hugh went to work at the University of Alabama in Birmingham. Always busy and involved wherever they lived, Hugh and Vi both were constantly thinking about and looking for the perfect place to retire.

Their dream, not unlike that of Henry David Thoreau’s life at Walden Pond, was to find a quiet oasis with an atmosphere conducive to spiritual healing, Sabbath rest, quiet reflectivity, as well as times of personal enjoyment for both their family and friends. In tune with one another, they both wanted acreage in which to quietly meander; a peaceful setting with beautiful terrain; a chance to see and commune with wildlife and the opportunity to hear the symphony of nature’s night sounds. Blissful surroundings, a place for fishing, a canvas for water fowl and a pond that would reflect the colors of changing seasons, as well as a place to provide for the daily reflection of one’s life were each a viable part of their search.

When Hugh and Vi stumbled upon the 40 acres in St. Clair County during the early 1980s, they knew they were home. They had arrived at their dreams’ destination. Soon after, they purchased the property and began building the home that had so long existed within their minds’ eyes. With the overseeing of each and every intricacy of the process, it became apparent to both Vi and Hugh that the entry to the property was as important as the house itself. The manifestation of such thought produced a lengthy, winding lane. It allowed visitors to consciously leave the constantly spinning world at the beginning of the driveway and transcend to a world of peacefulness and rest upon entering the home that was ideally nestled among woodsy terrain and included a pond-side view.

A stone path was designed and created to run parallel to the lane and allowed for an easy walk to what would become the family cemetery, where Vi was laid to rest. Hiking trails were developed for enjoyable access to the property and all that it had to offer.

Social and athletic aspects of life were not to be overlooked at The Pond House. The Corts built a world-class croquet court just to the rear of the home. And true to the tradition of the sport, friends would gather in the spirit of competition dressed in the white sporting attire that was then appropriate for such events.

During their years of living in St. Clair County, the Corts became heavily involved with St. Peter Episcopal Church in Talladega. As their involvement and love for the church grew, a strong bond developed between them and Rev. Bob Blackwell, who then served as St. Peter’s priest.

It was during one of their times together that the Corts shared another matter of the heart with their good friend, Blackwell. They informed him that they wanted to give The Pond House, its acreage and its lake to St. Peter’s Episcopal Church. Their wishes were granted in 1992, when their beloved property, as well as an endowment, were given to the church and accepted by the Bishop of the Diocese of Alabama in a grand ceremony.

Today, it is the mission of The Pond House to provide a home-like setting for individuals or groups who are looking for an avenue to become disconnected from the world for either a short time or an extended stay.

“While The Pond House is an outreach ministry of Talladega’s St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, all who appreciate the standards and way of the church are invited,” Dan Miller, director of The Pond House, explained. “We welcome both lay people as well as clergy, and we encourage anyone in need of time for reflectivity, rejuvenation and respite to take advantage of the peace and quiet The Pond House and its surrounding offers at a very economical rate.”

It is the ideal setting for group meetings, as well as a facility that provides accommodations for either a one-day gathering or overnight retreats.

Originally, the house was set up to sleep 10 people. After the house was obtained by St. Peter’s, the space once used for the master bedroom was reconstructed in order to provide for a chapel. Many individuals, youth groups and vestry participants have enjoyed the wooded surroundings, as well as the screened porch and the wrap-around decks.

Having moved to another state, but certainly not forgetting his love for The Pond House, Col. Cort once again fiscally provided for additional changes that occurred during 2010. At that time, the house underwent gentle renovations in order to be able to sleep 16, to improve the functionality of the house and to provide options for limited food service. At the same time, the garage was converted to a meeting room that would accommodate up to 25 people.

The changes, growth and opportunity for serving greater numbers of people in search of spiritual, mental and physical renewal created the need for someone to orchestrate all the activities for which The Pond House could be used. As a result, Miller was hired as its first director. A low-key person, he is excited about all that The Pond House has to offer. “We want to create the atmosphere of warmth, love and enjoyment and peace,” he said. “It’s important that when our visitors come through the door they have a sense that they are at home. And one of the traditions we have to help create that sense is all visitors are greeted with the aroma and then the taste of fresh cinnamon rolls.”

While The Pond House has undergone many changes in the years since Col. and Mrs. Cort stumbled upon that glorious piece of property, some things are still the same. It is still a utopia of serenity, beauty, simplicity and tranquility. It still provides a place for spiritual, mental and physical renewal. And it still transcends the chaos of the world that exists down the lane and just outside the front gate.

A mission of hope, a story of perseverance

Editor’s note: Excerpts from Wood’s book are italicized.

Story by Samantha Corona
Photos by Jerry Martin

In 1981, Bobby Wood sat down with a pen and paper, and began to write.

His story would have all the exciting elements – foreign countries, constant travels, a clash of cultures, gangs of criminals, and a few good guys who chose morals over money. It would highlight corrupt governments, an illegal industry on two continents, and one man’s quest to bring a valuable piece of American property — and history — home.

Most importantly, Wood’s story would be real. No fictional characters and no exaggerations, it would be his own true-life experiences – him and 464 Juliet.

“I wrote it all down by hand. I sat down and started writing, and I filled up notebook after notebook,” Wood said. “I wanted to include everything, every detail.”

Now, more than 30 years later, that original story Wood scribbled down has become a memoir, a nonfiction novel finally ready to be shared with the rest of the world – Learjet 464 Juliet.

“I’ve had this story for years and wanted to share it, but because of certain people and certain events, I wasn’t able to,” Wood said. “Now that some people have passed on, I’m able to publish it.”

Owner of Wood Performance in Pell City, Wood grew up in Birmingham, detouring to Florida before now calling Cropwell, Ala., home.

He began his love for engines early. His father owned and operated Wood Chevrolet in Birmingham, and it wasn’t long before the car fever caught on. Wood became involved in professional drag racing and was named the NHRA National record holder twice. He later traveled the nation in the Coca-Cola racing circuit.

Wood’s business today is leading innovation and design of carburetors and cam shafts for Harley Davidson motorcycles.

“I’ve always loved working with my hands. I like putting things together to see how they work,” he said.

In 1972, Wood moved to Opa-Locka, Florida, just outside Miami, with his wife, Terry, and their children. He started Wood Engineering, which built and designed products for the aircraft industry, and in 1978, under the title of Air Unlimited, Wood also opened a Cessna aircraft dealership, flight-training school and FAA repair station.

That’s where the story begins, and a Learjet by the name of 464 Juliet enters Wood’s life.

In January 1980, Raul Soto, Colombian by birth and Wood’s “right-hand man” at Air Unlimited, arranged for Wood to meet with a lawyer in Colombia who was interested in striking up an oil deal and in need of private investors. It was a proposition Wood decided to explore.

As the deal unfolded, Wood was introduced to another Colombian lawyer who brought his attention to the opportunity of restoring and returning confiscated airplanes.

The “business” of Colombia at that time – drug imports and exports – made available several abandoned and hijacked aircraft throughout the country. Some were left to waste away, some stripped for any value they could provide to the starving, money-hungry population, and some were considered property of the Colombian government and military.

An aviator at heart, Wood’s interest was piqued at the possibility of repairing and restoring these planes, both for the financial possibilities and the fun.

While out exploring the area and surveying a number of planes, native Soto remembered a U.S. plane that had been grounded just a few years earlier in 1977.

According to Wood and several news stories, the Learjet N464J was on a rescue mission to bring an American who had been badly injured in a plane crash back to the states to receive care in Texas. The victim was severely burned and required treatment that Colombian hospitals couldn’t provide.

“464 Juliet, a Jet Ambulance on a medical mission of mercy, had been sent to retrieve an American named Bruce Douglas Allen, who had been horribly injured in a plane crash. As Allen lay dying with third-degree burns over 80 percent of his body, Colombian officials and agencies, with the possible blessings of their United States counterparts, detained 464 Juliet on trumped-up charges of violation of airspace, and then, days later, neatly confiscated her by planting only fifty grams of cocaine onboard to ensure she would never leave Colombia. Neither would Allen, who was left to die unattended, a few days after 464 Juliet was confiscated.”

Six Americans – two pilots, two paramedics and two passengers – were jailed for their involvement with the rescue mission, but the circumstances, and their eventual release, left a number of unanswered questions.

As Wood made his way to the Simon Bolivar airport, where Juliet was detained, he saw the tail with her name, and it was love at first sight.

“Learjets are something special. I’ve always loved them, and I was excited about the chance to get her up and running again,” he said.

That opportunity wouldn’t be as easy as Wood had imagined.

As the story will tell readers, over several weeks and months, every roadblock imaginable lined the path – self-serving locals, legal red tape, drug lords and corrupt government officials would all have a say in Wood’s new quest to uncover the true story of that mercy mission and free Juliet.

“At that point I made a decision: If I didn’t get 464 Juliet out, no one else would either. I could have been wrong, but I didn’t believe so. I would turn their game back on them and muddy up the waters so much as to actual ownership that it would take years to clear – by that time the jet would be worthless.”

Today, Terry said she still remembers vividly how she felt every time her husband would head back to the Miami airport, bound for Colombia and whatever obstacles awaited him.

“I was terrified,” she said. “I knew he had to do this because he wanted it so badly, but I hated it every time he left.”

A man of deep faith, Wood said there was scarcely ever a moment when he didn’t feel completely fortunate to make it through alive. Without a doubt, he says the adventure would not have been possible without the grace of God.

“I have always been a devout believer in God, and I prayed to him for strength. I had been so busy, I had almost forgotten that He was there, but as I prayed, rattling over that road to Cienaga (city along the northern coast of Colombia), I truly felt His presence and was comforted.”

Thirty years later, Wood says he still feels blessed to have witnessed everything he did, and to have made it home to Terry and his children. As for the fate of 464 Juliet, he said, that is something readers will have to discover for themselves.