It is no secret by now: 2020 has been met with great adversity and trial as a pandemic gripped the world.
Healthcare workers across the country and here at home have been working tirelessly to keep their skill sets sharp and to keep the community healthy during the COVID-19 pandemic.
Northside Medical is home to St. Clair County’s largest outpatient health care facility, serving over 5,000 patients throughout its six locations, and its innovations in the delivery of health care are widely known.
One of those innovations comes in the form of a six-member team inside Northside’s Health & Wellness department that stresses not only the importance of receiving proper medical attention when you are ill but also when you are healthy in order to stay healthy.
Working directly with each provider, the department serves as a convenient central hub for patients and provides the foundation to stay healthy – from flu shots to cancer screenings, wellness visits for women, depression screenings and everything in between.
The department was established as a part of the Northside team three years ago as the need for preventative health was on the rise. The idea, says Executive Director Dianna McCain, is to keep health care cost effective but also to do everything you possibly can to keep from being hospitalized.
“By the time a patient needs to be admitted to the hospital, it is almost a guarantee that they will also need to be treated for something completely different than for what they had to come for in the first place,” McCain said. “We want to do everything in our power to keep hospitalizations to a minimum.”
Nurse practitioners also can be found making house calls through the department. If a patient is unable to acquire transportation or cannot physically come into the facility for a visit, a member of the wellness team will come to them.
McCain said most lab work and X-rays can be done at the home. The visits have proven to be a great tool, not only during a pandemic, but also to several patients who would not otherwise receive care. Because individual providers don’t have the time to assess individual patient’s more in-depth needs, McCain says her department has been very successful in identifying these patients and serving them.
“We have seen instances when a diabetic patient’s blood sugar isn’t being maintained properly through medication and diet,” McCain said. “We can just touch base and see if we can come see them at home. Many times, it can be just as simple as a patient not drawing their insulin up correctly.”
In addition to running patient queries to call and schedule routine immunizations and screenings, McCain says the department has been able to extend monetary assistance when a need arises. McCain and her staff often work directly with other local organizations like the St. Clair County Coalition, The Christian Love Pantry, as well as several area churches to provide groceries, medication assistance and utility bill relief to some patients.
“It can be very bad if, for example, a diabetic doesn’t have adequate power or food available to them,” McCain said. We have been able to visit our patients at home, see what they need and even provide them with the right food they need to stay well.”
Northside patient and county native Andrea Nobles says she is beyond grateful for all the measures Northside Health & Wellness has done for her.
“When you get to be my age, things start coming up with your health,” Nobles said. “It is very assuring to know that I am not just a number but a person whose concerns are also my doctor’s concerns,” Nobles said. “I have lived here all my life, and I actually enjoy going to the doctor’s office now that we have Northside. We look out for each other.”
The majority of Alabamians who receive private health insurance can also qualify for incentives and breaks in premiums when they are proactive about their health. By receiving annual wellness checks and screenings, weight management, help with smoking cessation and women’s health screenings, for example, patients often see a discount in their monthly premiums and other incentives, like gift cards and entertainment vouchers.
“Health care costs are astronomical when you get into hospitalizations,” McCain said. “Ninety percent of costs come when a person goes to the hospital. We want to do everything in our power to keep a patient out of there, no matter what.”
PCIFM, Bedsole Eye Care, ATI Physical Therapy, Comfort Care Hospice expand to new facilities
Story by Leigh Pritchett
Photos by Graham Hadley
Submitted photos
The new PCIFM building next to Publix in Pell City
Pell City is experiencing quite a boost in its growing medical community thanks to the expansions of Pell City Internal and Family Medicine, ATI Physical Therapy and Comfort Care Hospice expanding into new facilities.
Pell City Internal and Family Medicine
Dec. 26, 2019, was a second Christmas Day for Pell City Internal and Family Medicine: That was when the practice opened its new, freestanding clinic next to South Park Center.
The new construction has consolidated PCIFM’s main office in Physicians Plaza at St. Vincent’s St. Clair Hospital and its satellite office in South Park Center into one location.
Together, the two previous clinics totaled 15,000 square feet and had 23 examination rooms. The new building boasts 20,000 square feet, close to 40 examination rooms, a procedure room, laboratory and plenty of space for specialty care physicians.
“We have room for expansion,” said Dr. Barry Collins, a physician and partner in PCIFM. Some areas used for other purposes can easily convert to additional exam rooms if needed, he said.
PCIFM, which was established in 2012, provides primary, after-hours, women’s and pediatric care.
When its physician partners decided to construct a new building, they took note of the increase in retail and population in the southern part of the city.
This location placed the clinic in a rapid-growth sector of the city and in proximity to people in Vincent and Harpersville (both in neighboring Shelby County). Yet, it is still close to the hospital and Interstate 20, Collins said.
Doctors grab lunch in the new break area.
Because of the building’s “linear” design, all medical services are on one floor, which not only lessens the amount of walking for a patient, but also streamlines patient flow, Collins said.
This improves ease of care and speed of care, said Collins and Dr. Ilinca Prisacaru, also a partner.
Even the design of the parking lot limits the walking distance for patients, said Dr. Rick Jotani, partner and chief executive officer. “It’s a little more convenient for our folks.”
The array of on-site diagnostics, imaging and other services now available at PCIFM reduces the need for patients to commute to the hospital to receive them, Prisacaru said.
Having so many services at one location promotes cohesiveness and continuity of care, added Collins.
PCIFM – which was already offering space to several specialists before the new building was constructed – now has room for even more sub-specialties.
Currently, two cardiologists, two general surgeons, an orthopedic surgeon and two gastroenterologists see patients at the PCIFM facility. Jotani and Collins said the practice is “actively recruiting” specialists in dermatology and audiology as well.
Jotani also noted that physical therapy is available on campus through ATI Physical Therapy.
The partners said adding another physician to PCIFM’s primary and after-hours care may happen within the next 18 months. “As the community expands, so should our services,” said Collins.
Prisacaru and Jotani pointed out that the conference room allows on-site diabetes classes to be held on a regular basis. Led by a nurse practitioner, the classes are kept small for participants to receive personalized attention.
The spaciousness of the facility meant there was even room for daycare for employees’ children during the COVID-19 shutdown.
Ten to 15 children each day stayed in a designated area of the building while their parents attended to patients, Jotani said, adding that the community brought food and other items for the employees’ children.
“The community supported us immensely,” Collins said of those weeks of working when many essential services in the city were closed.
Another asset of the new building is a designated aesthetics suite. There, Jotani Aesthetics offers non-surgical cosmetic measures.
Since December 2019, PCIFM has seen a definite increase in patient load, Prisacaru said. One contributing factor is the addition of Saturday clinic hours, Collins said. Previously, the clinic was open Sunday through Friday.
Clinic hours are 8 a.m. to 7 p.m. Monday through Thursday, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Friday, 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. Saturday, and 1-5 p.m. Sunday. Two practitioners are always on duty during office hours.
Collins said visibility – being next to a retail center – has likewise contributed to an increase in patients. “Folks know we’re here,” Jotani said.
To meet increasing demand, another nurse practitioner was hired, as were more clinical and laboratory staff, Collins said. Jotani and Prisacaru estimated that employment has increased 10 to 12 percent since the building opened.
James W. Bedsole, O.D. Eye Care
In August, James W. Bedsole, O.D. moves to a modern building, designed for Eye Care, situated just in front of South Park Center. Dr. Bedsole’s practice will relocate from downtown Pell City to 2020 Martin Street South.
Dr. Bedsole said that, of all the properties he considered for relocation, this particular location was the very best.
He provides primary eye care, vision correction and treatment of eye diseases, as well as pre-operative and post-operative care.
The new building, state-of-the-art, will allow greater comfort and efficiency for patient care. The new location is convenient – located in front of the South Park Shopping Center that includes Publix – and it’s more accessible.
The brick-and-mortar buildings are important for patient care, but even more important are people, Bedsole said, noting that he has a great staff who works hard and really cares for their patients.
The new building is an asset in continuing to deliver exceptional patient care.
ATI Physical Therapy
Situated at the Hardwick Road end of PCIFM’s building is the Pell City location of ATI Physical Therapy.
Based in Illinois, ATI operates stand-alone physical therapy sites, as well as units on high school and college campuses, said Chris Baker, director of physical therapy at ATI in Pell City. The Pell City site opened Feb. 17.
Student athlete Tion Wright of Vincent works to strenghthen her legs.
Encompassing more than 2,800 square feet, the local ATI provides physical therapy for a wide range of needs and specializes in therapy for orthopedic and cervical spine issues, Baker said.
Monday through Friday, ATI offers one-to-one care, using new equipment and a variety of treatments. Appointments are available 7 a.m. to 7 p.m.
The growth occurring in Pell City schools and in southern St. Clair County made this location particularly attractive to ATI, Baker said. Even though the location opened shortly before the COVID-19 shutdown, Pell City’s ATI has experienced a steady increase in clientele.
Future plans include hiring additional physical therapists, Baker said.
“We have been very blessed with the patients we have seen so far,” Baker said. “Pell City has been good to us. We look forward to growing with the community.”
Comfort Care Hospice
Comfort Care Hospice opened its Pell City office May 1 in South Park Center.
“The growth around here is just awesome,” said Clay Spencer, administrator and a registered nurse with Comfort Care Hospice. “I have wanted to come over here so long. … I can’t tell you how happy we are to be here.”
Spencer said the office relocated to Pell City to be more central to its coverage area, which includes St. Clair, Clay and Talladega counties.
The 10-plus employees at the Pell City location include nurses, aides, a social worker, a chaplain and office staff. The physicians are Dr. Rick Jotani of Pell City, who is medical director, and Dr. Jarod Speer of Childersburg.
Spencer said Comfort Care Hospice also has a corps of volunteers who call patients and offer short-term respite for caregivers.
Staff outside the new Comfort Care Hospice building next to Publix.
Hospice care, Spencer explained, is for patients with terminal diagnoses. “Our goal is to keep them home and keep them comfortable,” she said.
With hospice care, patients receive medical attention right at home. Nurses are available around the clock and also visit at least twice each week with patients. Aides make several visits each week in patient homes, as well.
The hospice mission allows patients, along with family members, to make their own decisions about care, Spencer said. “(Hospice) does elongate how much time they do have before they make that transition.”
Dr. Greg Tankersley, the chaplain, gives spiritual and emotional support to patients and families during the time of hospice care. After a patient passes, he offers grief support to family members for 13 months.
“We stay in touch with our families,” Spencer said.
The next generation of Smiths have taken over running the family farm.
Chandler Mountain comes alive in a sea of red at Smith Farm
Story by Elaine Hobson Miller
Photos by Graham Hadley
It’s tomato-picking time again on Chandler Mountain, the unofficial Tomato Capital of Alabama, where 800 acres of St. Clair County soil are devoted to this popular food every year. For several weeks now farmers have been pulling them from the plants, packing them up and selling them to distributors and the public alike.
Picking got off to a late start this year at Smith Tomato, a fixture on Chandler Mountain for more than 35 years. Cloudy days and excessive rain pushed back the picking, which usually begins the first of July, by a week. Coronavirus pandemic permitting, it will end with a big fall festival sometime in October.
“We’re only picking 1,500 to 2,000 boxesa day now, where we’re normally doing 4,000-6,000,” Smith Tomato co-owner Kista Smith-Lowe said in mid-July. “We pick every other day because it’s more productive. We get twice as many in less time because they don’t all ripen at once.”
Picking began on July 10, and they sold out of their Number One grade the first day. “The Number Ones have no imperfections, while our Number Twos have some flaws, but they taste the same,” Kista (pronounced Keesta) said. Distributors picked up 1,500 boxes, each weighing 25 pounds, that first day, but that’s far less than a normal day’s pickings.
The Smiths grow more than 100 of the 800 acres of tomatoes planted on Chandler Mountain each year. The exact amount varies because all fields aren’t the same size, and they rotate the fields. “We have about 200 acres all together,” Kista said. “We sell directly to the public and to distributors or middlemen, who then sell to grocery stores, etc., in Florida, Texas, Mississippi, even as far away as New York and Pennsylvania.”
Kista’s parents, Leroy and Kathy Smith, purchased the Smith farm 35 years ago from her uncle, who started growing tomatoes in the 1960s. The Smith kids have added to it and now have about 200 acres, plus some leased land. “We lost both of our parents in 2018,” Kista said. She and her two brothers run the place. Kista is in charge of bookkeeping and public sales, Phillip handles irrigation and fertilization and Chad handles spraying for pests. A crew leader answers to Chad. The Smiths were raised working with their parents in the fields, and Kista’s two daughters, ages 19 and 14, are already helping in sales, restocking and in the vegetable garden.
Their parents probably grew about half what the Smiths do now because it’s easier to grow tomatoes today than it used to be. “They had to do lots more field work by hand,” Kista said. “Daddy put quality before quantity, and that’s the way we were raised. I’m super proud of what he accomplished.”
Even though harvest time lasts only three or four months, tomato farming is a year-round affair, with only a couple of months off in late fall and early winter. The process begins in February when they work on the equipment. During March and April, they break ground. In April, they start planting, and from March to October, they’re staking, tying, setting fall plants out and picking. After each setting, all the tomato plants are staked and tied at least four times.
Buckets of hand-picked tomatoes are carried to trucks for sorting.
When October rolls around, the guys clean all the tractors and winterize the equipment. Their only down time is November through January, but even then, they might be placing orders. And that’s not counting the time they’re planting cover crops like hemp, wheat, turnips and other greens for winter, to put nutrients back into the soil. “Early in the year, we spend eight to 10 hours a day working this farm,” Kista says. “Four months of year, we have 14- to 16-hour days.”
The field process starts with plowing, using a machine that digs deep into the soil and brings it up in clods. Next comes fertilizing, using spreaders pulled by tractors. Then a chisel plow with gripper feet rips the ground and loosens it, and a tiller with rotating tines turns those clods into fine dirt. A plastic machine (that’s what they call it) pushes dirt into piles to form rows, puts down drip lines (plastic tubing, part of the irrigation system), fumigates, then covers the rows with plastic sheeting. “Our dad was the first farmer on Chandler Mountain to use a plastic machine,” Kista said. The fumigation chemicals go away in two weeks, before they put down the plants. A plant setter pokes holes in the plastic and drops water into those holes.
“Our migrant workers put the plants in by hand,” Kista said. “It’s much faster than machines can do it.”
The cost to grow tomatoes is about $10,000 per acre, and that’s before picking. It costs another $3.50 per box to pick, sort and grade them, so that’s about $7,000 in boxes and packing per acre. “We strive for 2,000 boxes of tomatoes per acre per season,” Chad said. “We have had as many as 3,000, but 2,000 is our feel-good mark.”
They wait until after April 15 to start planting to be sure they’ve seen the last frost. “We’ve had to pull up thousands of plants and re-plant due to a late frost,” Kista said. “Some companies put Styrofoam cups over them to protect them from unexpected frost, but that’s costly.” Even if the tomatoes live through the cold, it stunts them, and they won’t yield as much. “They’ll be fewer and smaller and more prone to disease,” Chad said.
Theyput about 400,000 plants into the ground each year, buying the seeds and having a plant grower raise them until they are about four weeks old. “We plant, stake, string and pick by hand, with a crew of about 50 people,” Kista said. “The tomatoes areprocessed in the field, meaning they are sized, graded and boxed there.”
“There’s so much technology now, andsome larger processors have machines that can detect size and grade the tomatoes,” Chad said. “Here, we used to have machines that graded them. We would put them on belts that had different sized holes in them. We went to grading in the field because it’s better production.”
Workers were picking about a third of their normal crop in mid-July, but sunshine and an upcoming full moon were sure to help. “A full moon when tomatoes are ripening is like 24 hours of sunlight,” said Chad. “It speeds up the process.”
“It’s very tiring but very exciting work,” said Kista. “Harvest is the most exciting time, especially when we pick more than ever for one day. Sore hands and backs, from picking, lifting, repairing tractors, planting are occupational hazards for us and the crew, too.”
Theyfight worms and insects that can kill the plants, like aphids and white flies, using insecticides and fungicides that are EPA-regulated. About a third of their chemicals are organic. Chad figures fertilizers and other chemicals and the plastic sheeting and tubing probably cost $400,000 per year. “Our profits may be four or five cents a pound after costs,” he said. “That would make us a good living.”
Your turn to pick
In August, when a field has only a couple of thousand tomatoes left, the Smiths turn it into a U-Pick farm, allowing the public to pick their own tomatoes at a cheaper cost than buying them by the box or basket. “It’s not productive enough for the migrants to pick at that stage, because they generally pick 5,000-6,000 tomatoes per day,” Kista said. “Their record is 8,000.”
They usually end the season with a big fall festival the first or second weekend of October, depending upon the Bama football schedule. “We grow pumpkins and sell those and cornstalks and other outdoor decorations like acorn squash and mums,” Kista said. “We have face painting and vendors who sell food and arts and crafts. Last year, we had close to 1,000 people show up. It’s hard to count because we don’t sell tickets. It’s free.” She said they aren’t sure whether they’re having the festival or not this year, due to the coronavirus pandemic, but urged readers to check their Facebook page for updates.
Cucumbers, squash and other produce are also grown and sold on the farm.
Tomatoes aren’t the only vegetables (or fruit, depending on the definition you prefer) that the Smiths sell. They grow melons, cucumbers, green beans, yellow squash, zucchini and grape tomatoes, and they buy potatoes and onions, jams and jellies out ofthe Birmingham Farmer’s Market, to sell to the general public out of their warehouse. That warehouse is open to the public from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., seven days a week, during tomato season. They’re on Loop Road, just off Gallant Road, in Steele. (That’s 4575 Loop Road, Steele, for your GPS.)
They get anywhere from 25 to 100 customers a day, who buy for home canning and cooking. Customers can also pick up a T-shirt or baseball cap emblazoned with the Smith Tomato logo. It’s worth a trip to their warehouse just to see all the signs and symbols hanging on the walls and from the ceilings, like Farmall tractor advertisements, old license plates and kiddie pedal tractors, including one Chad drove as a youngster.
Looking ahead, the Smiths are contemplating opening a diner in two or three years. It will feature fresh, home-cooked vegetables and some sandwiches and lots of tomato dishes. Then folks can make a day trip out of shopping for fresh vegetables and eating them, too.
A quote on Facebook, “Hometown is the place where I was born, where I was raised, where I keep all my yesterdays,” express well Jim Nunnally’s affection for Ashville, Ala., his own hometown.
And although he lived and worked in Texas for many years, he returned to Ashville for his “golden years” and left an enduring influence. Shortly before his death in 1968, Ashville High School dedicated its yearbook to him and established the Jim Nunnally Award to an outstanding athlete.
Born Aug. 5, 1888, James Renfroe Nunnally was the seventh of the 10 children born to Robert Thomas and Emma Mary Montgomery Nunnally. He grew up in Ashville, and when World War I engulfed the globe, he joined the Army and served in the 167 Infantry, the Rainbow Division, which earned renown in France and Germany.
Garrett Spears, a young distant cousin of Jim’s, researched Jim Nunnally for his fourth-grade history project, sponsored and judged by the St. Clair Historical Society. He noted that after the war ended, “the Alabama troops were honored by parades in Gadsden, Anniston, Birmingham, Montgomery and Mobile before being discharged at Camp Shelby.”
Surviving both the war and the flu pandemic of 1918-1919, Jim lived and worked in Birmingham. According to research by Jerri Jenkins of Springville, Jim married Fannie Archer of Birmingham in 1921, but the 1930 U.S. Census shows them as married but living apart: Fannie living with her parents in Birmingham and Jim boarding with Albert and Pauline Teague back in Ashville. By the 1940 census, Jim was divorced and living in Houston, where in 1940 he married Effie Violette Torrance, a naturalized Canadian. Effie died Feb. 4, 1953 and was buried in Forest Cemetery in Gadsden.
Around the time of Effie’s death, Jim returned to his hometown of Ashville and lived in the Teague Hotel, owned by his cousin, Annie Teague McClendon. In July 1958, Jim married Louise Heath of Gadsden, and they continued to live in the hotel until it was sold.
The salient memories of those who knew Jim personally deal with his love of all things Ashville and especially the Ashville High School teams – baseball, football and basketball – that he faithfully supported. Dr. John McClendon, Temple University, recalled recently, “He was there for every sporting event, every practice. I remember when I was in the fifth-grade – I was manager, water boy with the team – and we played somewhere on Sand Mountain, and we got up there about an hour early to warm up, and there were he and Louise already in the stands. I remember the coaches saying, ‘You can’t play far enough away for Jim Nunnally not to be the first person there.’”
Jim’s enthusiasm for all Ashville Bulldogs sports earned him the reciprocating respect and love of the players and students. Dr. McClendon recalled, “Just a few days before Jim died in 1968, the senior class decided to dedicate the annual yearbook to him. The class visited with him shortly before he died to tell him about the dedication. He’d been in the hospital several days and was back home and he died at home.”
The yearbook dedication reads, “Sixteen years ago Jim came back to Ashville after many years away. During these years he endeared himself to all of us because we knew that he was our friend. He had a keen and enthusiastic interest in us and our many activities. He had the ability to be any age he chose to be. Toddlers met him on equal ground. He easily became a pre-teen when one of them sought his company, and he was one of us – the high school gang. He was ageless!
“His three loves were the Rainbow Division of World War I, the town of Ashville and ALL young people.
“To show that we returned his feeling for us, we the Seniors of 1968, lovingly dedicate the annual to his memory.”
Jim died May 7, 1968. To further show their love and respect to this man who had won their hearts, Ashville High School established The Jim Nunnally Memorial Award with these words in the annual: “In honor of a great man who was loved and respected by all at Ashville High School, a memorial award has been established. This athletic award will be presented each year at graduation to a senior girl or boy who has been selected as the ‘Best Athlete.’ We hope this award will promote athletic desire, sportsmanship, scholarship and determination.”
Harlan Sanders, 1969 Ashville High School yearbook photos
The first Jim Nunnally Memorial Award was presented at the 1969 graduation to Harlan Sanders, son of Mr. and Mrs. Austin Sanders. The 1969 yearbook recorded of Harlan that he lettered four years in football, playing center on offense and linebacker on defense and was voted to the All-County Team. Harlan became the first Ashville player to be voted to the Birmingham Post Herald’s All State Team. He lettered four years in basketball and was team captain of the 1968-1969 team which went to the state tournament and placed on the All-County and All-Area teams his senior year. Harlan also lettered two years in baseball. John McClendon recalled that “the football team Harlan was on was one of the best in Ashville history – 8-2 record.”
The Jim Nunnally Memorial Award is still presented at Ashville High School with one change. Today, awards are presented to both male and female outstanding sportspersons. Winners for school year 2018-2019 were Chris Sanders (Harlan Sander’s nephew) and Erika Williams, and the recently named 2019-2020 winners are J-Brelin Cook and Chloe Wills. Recipients of the award are chosen by Ashville High School coaches of all sports.
Life at the Teague Hotel
The Teague Hotel, where Jim took up residence around 1953 was located on the town square where today stands the Union State Bank. The hotel was owned and operated by Jim’s cousin, Annie Teague McClendon. Annie was a sister to Mattie Lou Teague Crow. The genealogical connection with Jim Nunnally and the Teagues came through Annie and Mattie Lou’s mother, Tullulah “Lula” Nunnelley who married John Teague in 1886. (Jim spelled his name differently from his relatives.)
Lula and John’s marriage ended in 1905 with John’s sudden death, leaving Lula with two daughters and four sons to raise and provide for. Mattie Lou in her memories wrote, “My mother purchased it when I was 3. … My father was a farmer and a schoolteacher. When he died in 1905, my mother sold our farm in Beaver Valley and came to Ashville.” She recorded that not only did her mother have children ranging in age from 19 to 3 years in age, but she also had “our grandmother Nunnelley, who was then 80.”
Caroline Ballard, great-great-great-granddaughter of Lula Teague, researched the Teague Hotel for a school project and found it was built as a stagecoach inn by a Mr. Cranford in the early 1800s. Later, Curtis Grubb Beason ran it as an inn and trading post. Caroline wrote, “Mrs. Lula Nunnelley Teague purchased the Inn and ran it until her death in 1942. Annie Teague McClendon, my great-great-grandmother, ran the hotel after her mother’s death.” Annie lived in the hotel until it was sold.
Lula Teague’s granddaughter, Nancy Willison, recently described the hotel as “… an L shape with two stories on the side parallel to the courthouse and there may have been two stories on the entire building. There was a porch at least on the long side. There were two large rooms on the side next to the courthouse.
“Miss Anna Smith, longtime fourth-grade teacher, lived in one of the rooms during the school year. The hall in front of these rooms led to a few steps down to a landing in front of the bathroom, and there was a door to the dining room from this landing. The table was usually full for one family-style meal, and, when necessary, a second seating was served. My mother, dad and I ate lunch there often during the week. My grandmother did most of the cooking with help. She made wonderful tea cakes that I have worked for years, unsuccessfully, to duplicate. She pulled those cookie sheets out of that woodburning stove using her apron or bare hands.”
Nancy married in 1969 and remembered Jim’s wife as a “delightful lady who enjoyed attending my bridal showers.” However, Jim had moved back about the time Nancy left for college. So, growing up she saw Jim infrequently and remembered him as “… a mysterious person. He would randomly appear in Ashville, stay for some period of time and then disappear. He was my grandmother’s nephew. I remember when he would come to Ashville that he would spend time in my dad’s store, Teague Mercantile Co., visiting with everyone who came in.”
Annie Teague McClendon, who married Perkins McClendon, wrote of her mother’s buying the hotel. “After she had made a small down payment on the place, we had no money, so we all worked helping as best as we could. The boys helped, not only with the chores, but at any job they could find in order to buy their clothes and shoes and to help with the expenses. I stopped school to help with the housework. Our baby sister, Mattie Lou, did her part, too.” Of her mother she wrote that she “arose long before daylight and worked long after dark.”
Mattie Lou Teague Crow remembered that the boarders at her mother’s establishment were “… school teachers, a music teacher, a judge, superintendent of education, clerks, young men who were high school students, a sprinkling of laborers – road builders and sawmillers – and a young doctor and his wife.” She spoke of the meals served and that when the dinner bell rang, there was rarely an empty chair at “our banquet-size dining table.
Exciting times at the hotel for Annie were court weeks. She remembered the “… judges, lawyers and farmers at the same table and had such a good time. I remember the old jury room where thirteen men stayed for many days and nights and had at our table three square meals a day.”
Poignant moments
Annie’s memories flowed from her heart to the written page as the Teague Hotel, her old home, was being taken down, beam by pegged beam. So many years ebbed and flowed that one hears both sorrow and happiness in her words. “I remember when our baby brother left home to find a job and never came back. I remember he was identified by his registration card which was in his pocket. I shall never forget that our mother never stopped grieving and she never stopped working, nor did she fail to keep faith in the One that is over us and hears our prayers.”
An open hall ran through the hotel providing a cool “summer living room,” Annie recalled. The hot days would find the women of the house sewing or mending garments while other townsfolk and guest congregated to visit. “Often, there were as many as 12 or 14 regular boarders at our house. Many were cultured, educated people who brought us treasures unnumbered – books, conversation, music and, best of all, friendship.”
Annie wrote that the rooms were named for people who stayed in them – Mama’s Room, just off the living room; Drummer’s Room, the front bedroom; Jury Room, the big bedroom upstairs; and her brothers’ room called the “Bull Pen, because it was so often full of boys, their friends and cousins who came whenever they wished.”
Lastly, Annie spoke of her cousin’s return to Ashville and his living in the hotel after his second wife died. “I remember when Jim Nunnally came home to live. He was all alone, and he took a room across the hall from the living room. It was so good to have someone whom I loved to share the old house with me again. That room will always be Jim’s Room in my memory.”
Being a never-meet-a-stranger man, Jim soon renewed friendship from former days and made new ones throughout Ashville, and everybody knew he lived at the hotel in “Jim’s Room.”
Annie and Perkins McClendon’s grandchildren have wonderful memories of Jim and the hotel, which was almost a second home. As Jim’s younger cousins, he quickly became friends with them.
Susan McClendon Kell, recalls, “Jim’s room had very high ceilings and was across the breezeway that was off the wraparound porch. All the cousins loved visiting him there and were always welcomed. We loved Jim. He loved us and all of Ashville’s youths.”
The cousins loved playing in the hotel, Susan recalled. “There was a large upstairs ‘plunder’ room filled with treasures my brothers, cousins and I loved to play with. Old trunks, soldier uniforms, etc. Fond memories of that fun-filled room. I would love to see all those items again now that I could appreciate them.”
Martha McClendon Richey, Annie’s granddaughter, vividly recalls her grandmother, “Big Mama” Annie McClendon, and Eddy McClendon, a cousin, crying as they watched the Teague Hotel being torn down. Being too young to understand their sorrow, their tears disturbed her and linger in her memory.
Mattie Lou knew the sorrow and wrote of the hotel where she grew up, “For all of us there was something about our house. … I believe that very old houses hold memories of all the lives that have been spent there.” Annie, Eddy, and no doubt, Mattie Lou, wept because they saw the dismantling of the past.
John McClendon, Susan Kell’s brother, loved Jim like a grandfather and cherishes wonderful memories of him. “I never knew either of my grandfathers, but I had Jim. And, boy, was he the best grandfather a boy could have. Fishing, tossing the baseball, roasting marshmallows, long conversations and all the stuff one could expect from the best grandfather ever.
“We had this daily ritual of going to Whitney Junction to watch the train go by at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. And it would deliver the mail. Haley Nelson would pick up the mail; that was his job. And he would be there at Miss Sheffield’s store – and he’d get the mail and take it back to Bunt Jones at the post office in Ashville. We would eat sardines and crackers and watch the train go by. That was the big event, watching the train go by!
“And my older brother and sister, Eddy and Susan, did the same thing when they were kids. He’d been taking kids to watch the train go by for years.” John paused, reflecting, then said, “Eating sardines as a kid – which is lovely. He was always there.”
John’s memories kept flowing. “Jim had a classic car. I don’t know what it was, but it was clean. This was in the mid-60s and it was a car out of the ‘30s. I wonder if anyone would know the make?” John’s young nephew Garrett Spears had it recorded in his history report: “Jim drove a black Chrysler c1930.”
Not only did John and Jim meet the train and eat sardines, but they also fished. “We’d go over to Red Wood’s lake and to Canoe Creek and to Lake Camac to fish. We went to the creek all the time – down Double Bridge Road at the creek there.”
A 911 forerunner and more
Of Jim’s Ashville activities, John recalled that “Jim took a job at the Sheriff’s Office. He was a radio dispatcher in the courthouse. He was a friendly, social guy, and this job and its location placed him smack in the middle of the ‘goings and comings’ of day-to-day activity in the middle of town. He did that maybe three or four years before he died.
“I was a kid, and I would go up to the courthouse and spend the day at the Sheriff’s Office right there on the first floor. Jim would be manning the radio. They had four or five cars at the most in the county, and he would be the dispatcher for that. The original 911, I guess. Way before 911. But I think he wanted to have a reason to hang out at the center of all action – the drugstore, the post office and the courthouse. Always friendly and up for good conversation, this fit Jim perfectly as it meant Jim was central to the daily lives of the town as ‘best friend’ to everyone.”
Helen Sweatt, daughter of a deputy, recalled Jim as clerk in the Sheriff’s Office as well as dispatcher. “My daddy, Lee Allen Thompson, was one of three deputies at that time. When Daddy would come home for lunch, he would park the patrol car in front of the house. Although the car wouldn’t be running, the police radio would stay on. My younger brother, Timmy, loved to play cops and robbers, and often he would get in the car and pretend to be our dad, whose call number was SC3. Timmy would key up the mic and say ‘SC3’ to whomever he thought he was calling.
“Mr. Nunnally would call our house phone and say, ‘Lee, your boy is on the radio again.’ Daddy would run out on the porch and say, ‘Boy, get out of the car and stop playing with the radio!’ Timmy never got a spanking for playing on the radio,” Helen laughed.
“Daddy had to furnish his own car,” Helen added. “He had a 1955 black Ford that he had a siren installed in it that worked from a button in the floor, just like the old-style light dimmer. Timmy would set off the siren and upset the neighbors because during that time, unlike today, a siren meant that something terrible had happened.”
After the hotel closed, Susan Kell recalled, “Jim and Louise lived in a house right down from the church. My grandmother, Stella Moorer, lived in one half and Jim and Louise in the other. Grandmother Annie McClendon lived directly across the street from Stella and Jim.”
Lasting legacy
2020 winners J-Brelin Cook and Chloe Wills
As the interview with Dr. John McClendon drew to a close, he spoke of Jim Nunnally’s influence. “Jim didn’t just belong to me or the local kids, he belonged to all of Ashville. Think about this: He was not a principal, teacher or a coach. He was not a famous or rich alumnus. He was never an elected official. He never held any official position in the town that would suggest a role with the school. But the Jim Nunnally Award is presented still today. He was ‘Jim: supporter and friend.’ A great person loved by all who knew him.
“In short, Jim loved Ashville and Ashville loved Jim – and it was an unconditional love, the best kind of love there is. So, I guess, an even better word to describe Jim is ‘love.’ He cared deeply for the town and its people.”
There could be no better affirmation of a man’s life than to be remembered as a man who loved. Such was James “Jim” Renfroe Nunnally.
Tractors line Moody Parkway between Odenville and Moody.
Saving ‘ageless iron’ from rusty oblivion
Story by Elaine Hobson Miller
Photos by Graham Hadley
If you want to see a child’s eyes light up, put them on a tractor. Better yet, take them by Serrell Fleming’s house at 8701 Moody Parkway, between Odenville and Moody, where they will have almost three dozen tractors to climb on. They can turn the steering wheels, push the buttons and play with the knobs and gear shifts without fear of reprimand. In fact, the tractors’ owner encourages such behavior.
“I take the batteries out of most of them so kids can push all the buttons without starting up the tractors,” Fleming said.
Serrell Fleming showing off one of his vintage restored Ford Tractors.
Old tractors are, as one writer put it, “the antique cars of the farm,” which makes Fleming an antique dealer extraordinaire. He has been buying and restoring old and rare ones for 45 years, simply because he likes them.
For the past 25, he has lined them up in front of his house during major holidays and invited any with an interest to drop by.
His current count is 35 standard-size tractors in his display, plus a few lawn tractors and some children’s pedal models. He puts them in his front yard for at least a week around Memorial Day, July 4 and Labor Day. Many are decorated with American flags. During the Christmas holidays, he displays them for more than a month beginning in early December and extending well past New Year’s Day, decorated with lights.
He replaces the batteries and puts as many as he can find drivers for in the Odenville Christmas Parade. “All of them will run,” he said proudly. During the parade, he also pulls a flatbed trailer with child-mounted pedal tractors behind his pickup truck.
Cases, John Deeres, Minneapolis Molines, Olivers, Allis Chalmers models, Fords, Farmalls and Massey Harrises cover Fleming’s yard like wildflowers, their ageless iron shining under new coats of red, blue, orange and yellow paint. There’s even a pink one, a Power King that Fleming painted to show support for the American Cancer Society, even though the color is usually associated with breast cancer awareness. “I saw one done that way at an International show at the Coliseum in Montgomery,” he said. After his wife’s death from COPD two years ago, he dedicated it to her memory. “Her favorite actually was the Oliver 440, but she didn’t want it painted because it’s more valuable like it is,” Fleming said.
Passion ignited
Fleming’s tractor passion started with buying used ones and restoring them for his own use.
Later, he began selling them, then decided to become a collector.
He often finds out about them at tractor auctions like the one on RFD-TV on Tuesdays and has been all over Alabama and parts of Tennessee retrieving them. He finds most of them within a 50-mile radius of where he lives. “I don’t find them, they find me,” he said.
When he buys an old tractor, it’s usually in pretty rough condition. “Most are basket cases,” he said. “They have been welded on and patched up and rusted so bad. The (Ford 2000) Hi Crop looked like it had been in a junk yard. I have to disassemble them, strip them (of any remaining paint) and replace parts.”
He has no trouble finding parts, sometimes through salvage yards, sometimes through Steiner Tractor Parts, a Michigan-based company that makes reproductions. A retired sheet metal worker (Hayes Aircraft), he, too, knows how to make parts when he can’t find what he needs. “When it’s using oil and smoking, I have to buy a part,” he said.
Every nut and bolt, manifold and carburetor is color-coded like the tractors: blue for Ford, orange for Allis Chalmers, green for John Deere, red for International. When the U.S. had a more agrarian-based economy, farmers bought whatever brand their local dealer had, and dealers usually specialized in one brand or another.
Fleming’s grandson, Chad Brantley, helped him research information on each of his tractors online, printed that information, encased it in plastic sleeves and attached it to the respective tractors for visitors to read. “It keeps me from having to answer so many questions,” he said. But he doesn’t mind answering a few and loves to talk about his favorites.
Tractors 101
The Oliver HG 68, for example, is a metal tractor that was used in apple orchards in Tennessee because it wasn’t easy to turn over. The Ford 2000 Hi Crop is a favorite because it’s so rare and unique. “I only know of two others, one in Leesburg,” he said. “I looked a long time for this one.” He bought it in 2018 and he’s only its second owner.
“My grandfather, Cecil Smith, bought this tractor for me to drive when I was 15,” said Mike Smith, in the printed information attached to the tractor. “It has remained in our family solely from 1964 to 2018.”
Another favorite and his rarest specimen is the Oliver 440, one of only 600 produced. He also has a rare Minneapolis Moline, one of only 137 built. “Honestly, my favorite is the one I’m working on at the time,” he said.
Then there’s the John Deere 40 All Fuel, so named because it has both a gas and a diesel tank. The one-gallon gas tank got the engine hot, then you flipped a switch to use the 10-gallon diesel. “It’s not loud, it’s a beautiful sound,” he said as he cranks up the engine and listens to it purr. “It was practical. It didn’t have a water pump because they wanted it to run hot to burn the diesel.”
Parade of visitors
Fleming is with his display from daylight to dark, watching the happy folks examining the tractors. They come from all over Alabama and nearby states, having seen the Tractor Man on Fred Hunter’s Absolutely Alabama (WBRC-Fox 6 TV) or read about him on his daughter’s Facebook page (Janice Fleming Brantley).
Others just notice his display as they drive by on Moody Parkway. This past July 4th, he even had a couple from North Dakota who were in town visiting relatives and read about the tractors in a local newspaper. He doesn’t have any way of keeping a count of visitors, because he doesn’t sell tickets, but for this year’s July 4th, he gave away all 500 of the tractor-listing sheets he had printed. He gives away bottled water during the warmer months, too.
“I plowed my garden with this one,” he told a visitor who was admiring an Allis Chalmers G. The G stands for Gadsden, where it was made in 1944. Whitt Davis, age 21 months, climbed all over the G while his mom, Jessica Davis, and granddad, Ron Chamblee, watched. “He loves tractors,” said Ron, a Springville resident. “We have to take a tractor or lawn mower ride just about every day.” Ron restores tractors, too, but not to the extent of Fleming.
Serrell loves to talk about his tractors. He knows just about everything about every machine on his property.
Abel Hilliard of Woodville, 15, visited July 3 with his dad and brother. “Dadread about it online,” Abel said. “I think it’s pretty cool. Dad has an old Farmall that he’s working on, too.”
Fleming loves watching the kids’ faces as they play on the tractors and enjoys hearing their parents’ comments, too. “Parents thank me for putting these out for them and the kids,” he said. “They say they appreciate what we’re doing here. One guy left a message on my answering machine saying he saw the tractors but couldn’t get in my driveway.”
Fleming also said the display, which is stored in a couple of sheds behind his house between holidays, is really a family thing. His daughter lives next door, helps with traffic and posts notices about the display on her Facebook page. His son-in-law helps drive the tractors out and back into the sheds, and on off days, he walks the rows of tractors, helping Fleming answer questions.A couple of neighbors keep him company under his sun tent. “There’s no way I could do all this without the help of my family,” he said.
He pauses, gazes out at the rows of tractors and the smiling faces of the visitors, and a broad grin lights up his face. “I’m so glad the young people are bringing the kids,” he said. “Tractor collectors are getting older, and we’re losing the heritage of these.”
The Tractor Man is doing all he can to maintain that heritage.
Dry cleaner escaped Holocaust,
traveled storied route to Ashville
Story by Joe Whitten Submitted photos
For Bernie Echt, the journey from Gross Kuhren, Germany, to Ashville, Alabama, included stops in Africa, China, the Dominican Republic and sojourns in various cities in the United States.
Bernie’s parents, Solomon and Erna Czanitsky Echt, already had daughters Ruth and Eva when Bernie was born on Nov. 4, 1937. Sister Sarah would arrive Nov. 4, 1938.
His parents and grandparents owned a farm in Gross Kuhren and dealt in horses and cattle. Although Jewish, they conducted business with both locals and the German military before the war.
Relations seemed good with people in the area, for as Bernie recalled, “My parents and grandparents had lots of connections; that’s why we are still here. Otherwise we would be …,” he let those words hang, then added, “They helped us to get the hell out of there.”
Bernie wasn’t yet a year old when they fled the Nazis, so he recounts what he was told by relatives. In spite of the apparent good relationship, “At the end of 1937 or the beginning of 1938, one evening, they knocked on the door, and calling Solomon by his nickname, they said, ‘Sally, you need to go with us down to headquarters.’”
Solomon and Erna both asked for a reason, but the only answer they got was, “We can’t tell the reason; you just need to go with us. You don’t have to take nothing along.”
Erna asked where they were going, and they replied, “To town.”
“It was the Gestapo,” Bernie continued. “They took him to the concentration camp, Sachsenhausen, and put him to work in the stone quarry. He was in there until the end of ’38, or thereabout.”
Bernie is unsure of how this happened, but his mother and grandparents paid off certain Nazi officers to get Solomon out of Sachsenhausen. He believes they gave money and cattle, and that one of the officers was a close friend who used to visit on Sunday afternoons.
The officers warned that Solomon must disappear immediately, so within 24 hours of release, he was on a freighter to Shanghai, China. He lived in Shanghai a year before Erna and the children could journey there.
And what a journey Erna and the children had getting to Solomon in China. The grandparents hoped to emigrate to Palestine, but borders closed before they could leave. They never got out.
Along with other Jews, Erna and the children secured passage to China on an Italian freighter. Difficulties arose at the Suez Canal when authorities refused the freighter permission to proceed.
Low on fuel and food, the ship diverted to an African island where it languished for six months. A Jewish organization managed to get money to the captain so he could continue to China.
Finally, in 1939, Erna and children joined Solomon, where he worked on a missionary farm in Shanghai.
Because of the Sino-Japanese War (1937-1945), the Japanese occupied Shanghai. For the moment, things seemed peaceful. “The Japanese soldiers would come to the house,” Bernie remembered, “and my mother would cook them something. They had a good time.”
Concentration camp
All that ended Dec.7, 1941 – Pearl Harbor. “The Japanese came for us,” Bernie remembers, “put us up on a truck and took us to a camp. They took our passports. Everything. We had just the clothes we wore.”
There were 2,000 in this Japanese concentration camp with 16 people to a room. They devised privacy curtains with the bed blankets during the day, then took them down for cover at night.
The rabbis in the camp made sure Jewish boys received religious instructions. Going and coming from the place of instruction had its dangers, as Bernie recalls one night: “I remember rabbi took us one evening to the main building there, and the Japanese were shooting the guns with light-balls to light up the streets inside the camp, so they could see if anybody was walking around. And the rabbi said to us, ‘Just stand against the wall and don’t move.’ That’s what we did, and that’s how we always got through.”
The rabbis made sure that the kids who went to temple had kosher food for Passover, a sacred necessity for Orthodox Jews, such as the Echts.
World War II ended, and liberation finally followed. Bernie recalled, “McArthur came, and the streets were full of military. The Japanese commander who mistreated so many – he didn’t do it personally, but he had command over it – the teenage boys in the camp went to the Japanese headquarters, got the commander out, brought him to the camp and got sticks and hit him.”
Bernie didn’t participate in that. “That wasn’t my idea. I couldn’t join in beating him. He was only a man. I look at things a little bit different. I shouldn’t, maybe, but I do. A human being is a human being.”
The American nurses took the internees into the country, gave them food, and American military doctors gave physical exams.
The Americans taught them songs, Bernie recalled. “The first song we learned was ‘God Bless America,’ and then we learned the military songs – the Navy song and ‘This is the Army, Mr. Brown.’” He laughed and added, “We changed that one a little bit.”
Wanting to leave China, Bernie’s family went to the consulate and asked about being able to come to the United States. A Jewish organization (American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee) took over and organized the Echts’ and others’ exodus. They left for San Francisco on the Marine Lynx, an American transport ship. “We sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge, and it was wonderful,” Bernie said. “I was 9 or 10 years old.”
In San Francisco, the family stayed quarantined in a hotel for six weeks. Bernie recalls that the Jewish organization fed them and took them to a clothing store and bought them garments and shoes. He got his first pair of long pants and pair of shoes.
Dominican Republic
When the quarantine ended, the Jewish Distribution Committee came to tell the Echts the three countries available for relocation: Australia, Canada and the Dominican Republic. The family chose the Dominican Republic.
As early as 1938, General Truijillo of the Dominican Republic offered to the Jewish organization refuge to as many as 100,000 Jews fleeing Germany. On the north coast, now Sosua, General Trujillo set aside a large section of wooded land, and the Dominican Republic Settlement Association (DORSA), a Jewish group, cleared land and erected barracks. “It was similar to a Kibbutz,” Bernie said. “They all ate together, and the women did everybody’s laundry. There wasn’t that much that each one had separate.”
DORSA built houses on plots of land, families with kids got the first houses built, then couples without children. To get them started, for the father of the family, DORSA gave 10 cows; for the mother, six; and for each child, one. A family paid so much a month to DORSA until they had paid for the farm, house and livestock.
The Echts lived on one of the DORSA farms until Bernie’s mother died in 1949. After her death, Solomon left the farm and moved the family to the city. When Bernie turned 13, his father and sisters arranged his bar mitzvah. “I learned all the rituals,” he said. “I already knew a big part of it. I was very orthodox when I started out. Very orthodox until my mother died, then I slowly let it go.”
Home-life deteriorated for Bernie after his mother died, and a few months after his 13th birthday, he set out on his own. He had only the clothing he wore and no money.
He went to the Jewish organization in Sosua, met with the administrator, and told him about leaving home and needing a job. The administrator told Bernie he had no job for him because he lacked education and job skills.
Unsuccessful there but undaunted, he made his way to the farmers’ cooperative and told them his predicament. “I need a job. I need something to do to make a living.”
They listened to him, then, offered him the only available job, cleaning the animal intestines in the slaughterhouse, which paid $25 a month.
Bernie took the job. He lived in a barrack room for $3 a month, which included electricity and water. He commented, “I earned $25, paid $3 for lodging, and had $22 left. I didn’t need nothing.”
Work ethic rescues him
Although he started with a nasty job in the slaughterhouse, Bernie worked hard, and that served him well. The manager of the meatpacking plant soon took him out of the slaughterhouse and taught him about choppers and carvers. Mr. Meyerstein, who had worked for Armour and Swift in Chicago, taught him how to make sausage.
A careful observer and fast learner, Bernie said, “When I saw anybody doing something I wanted to learn. I caught it with my eyes and remembered it. I had no other choice. There was no Social Security, no unemployment, no insurance. Nothing. I had to learn.”
Management liked Bernie’s work ethic and raised his salary to $45 a month. He saved $10 a month until he had about $30 put aside. Then he went to a farmer to buy a calf. When the farmer found he had the money, he asked where he would keep the calf, and Bernie bargained with the farmer to pasture the calf for $1 a month.
They both agreed that when the calf became a milk producer, the milk belonged to the farmer, but calves born to those cows belonged to Bernie.
Next stop: USA
In 1957, when Bernie came to the United States, he was earning $85 a month and had 12 head of cattle, which he sold to finance his trip to the States and for Washington’s required $300 security deposit in case his job fell through.
Some Marines were the first who tried to help Bernie get to the United States. They said if he were willing to join the military, they would help him join the Marines. Bernie was willing, but the Marines weren’t – he was 2 inches too short at 5 feet, 5 inches tall.
Regulation height was 5 feet, 7 inches tall.
However, when a Mr. Weinberg came over from New York City, Bernie had success. He asked Weinberg if there was a newspaper in New York where he could run an ad for work in the United States. Yes, there was, the Aufbau, published in New York City for the German Jewish Club. Weinberg placed the ad: “Young butcher looking for a job in the U.S.”
Bernie waited. Then a letter from a Mr. Krucker arrived at the consulate in the Dominican Republic. Mr. Krucker owned a Swiss restaurant in Pagona, N.Y., and needed a butcher there by May 27, no later.
Bernie leapt into action. A visit to the consulate produced a list of “must do” things in order to leave. He took the list and returned in two days with everything else on the list.
Then he needed a “quota number,” but the consulate said that would take two weeks, and that would be too late to make it to New York by May 27.
Bernie tells it best. “It was hard to get out of the Dominican Republic at that time. Because of Nazi persecution, I was stateless – no passport. All I had was an ID from the Dominican government, like a driver’s license, but not a driver’s license.”
Bernie had to be in New York by May 27, so he begged the consulate to call Washington and get a quota number. “I will pay for the call,” Bernie said.
The consulate said, ‘Are you serious? We don’t do that normally.’ But with a little more pleading from Bernie, he said, ‘All right. Go outside and sit and wait. I’ll let you know. I can’t promise you.’
Bernie waited an hour and a half before the consulate came out and said, ‘I can’t believe it. I got you a quota number. Everything’s ready. Go to the airport and get yourself a ticket and you’re ready to go.’
Then, another problem loomed. Bernie had no passport, but he knew who could help. A German Jew named Kicheimer could work miracles almost. Bernie told Kicheimer why he was in a rush and gave him his paperwork.
Kicheimer returned the next day with the necessary documents, and Bernie was ready to leave. At the airport, Ruth and Eva were crying, afraid of what the police would do if they found out how he’d gotten his documentation. Bernie told them, “I did nothing; the man did everything. I’ve got a legal piece of paper.” He laughs and adds, “I was so glad when that plane went up and I looked down.” He was on his way to a new life that one day would land him in Ashville.
Bernie woking at Krucker’s Restaurant
When Bernie arrived at the restaurant, Mr. Krucker gave him a place to stay in his hunting shack, telling him to unpack, come to the restaurant and eat, then rest for the next day when they both would go to New York City to buy fish, meat and vegetables for the restaurant.
Bernie spoke of Mr. Krucker’s kindness to him, saying, “He treated me like I was his son. He was very good to me. When I bought my first business, he co-signed the loan for me.” Bernie’s respect for Mr. Krucker was evident when Krucker asked him not to wear his David Star because it made some German patrons uncomfortable. Bernie removed it, saying, “Mr. Krucker, I am Jewish in my heart, I don’t have to show it.”
Saying, ‘I do’
The restaurant’s head waitress, Pia, was a German gentile in an unhappy war-bride marriage that would end in a divorce. She was 10 years older than Bernie, but age presented no problem to him, and a few years later she became his wife. She converted to Judaism, going through the counseling sessions with the rabbis.
This was important to Orthodox Jews for descent is traced through the mother and gives both male and female children irrevocable Jewish status. It was a happy marriage that held strong until Pia died of brain cancer in 1979. The couple had three children: Bernhard “Bernie” Jr., Daniel and Katharina.
Bernie and Pia in the 1950s
Mr. Krucker had urged Bernie to ask Pia out. He was reluctant to do that because of lack of money. Pia knew this and said, “This time, I will buy you a root beer float and a hamburger. If you did have money, I don’t want you to spend it. You are new here, and you need to save your money.”
They didn’t go out again until Bernie had saved up some money. Mr. Krucker knew this and came to Bernie and gave him an envelope and said, “That’s for you.” It contained his $50 weekly pay, inside. “I was rich,” Bernie said.
Never afraid of hard work, Bernie worked in the restaurant through the summer and into the fall, and when the number of diners dropped, Bernie got a job in the meatpacking plant in Mazzolas, N.Y., earning $65 a week. When he got off work there, if an auction was being held, he would sell hamburgers at the auction house. “You know, a couple of bucks here and there, and I made money,” he said. On Saturday and Sunday, he worked at the restaurant.
Bernie and Pia were engaged now, and he wanted more income. One day he asked the man who picked up and delivered the restaurant’s laundry if there were money to be made in laundry work. He told him, “If you work hard you can make money. It’s on a percentage of what you collect.”
So, Bernie went to see the owner, Frank Senatores, who told him, “I don’t pay until you bring in work. You deliver it and collect, and I pay you a commission on that. You have to use your own car. I don’t supply no vans or anything.” Bernie accepted the job.
Making of an entrepreneur
He worked hard – and so did Pia. After working his dayshift at the meatpacking plant, he and Pia would run the laundry and dry cleaning routes until about 8 p.m. Pia would drive, and he ran to the houses delivering and picking up. “I’ve been doing that for 60 years,” Bernie said recently. “The same system. And it works. Believe me, it works.” They built up a good route and eventually bought the drop business.
In another village, he saw a laundry and dry cleaner that wasn’t doing well because of the lazy owner. Obtaining a bank loan, Bernie bought that company and gave up the restaurant job to concentrate on the laundry business.
Always the quick and thorough learner, Bernie learned the dry cleaning and laundry business hands-on. He bought a 1952 Chevrolet truck van, put hanging racks inside, and had a high school art student paint the truck white with a crown for Imperial Laundry and Drycleaners, with the address and phone number.
From the beginning, Bernie has never turned down a challenge, for he’s always assumed he could do it. Early on, a man came in with a wide lapel, double-breasted suit wanting Bernie to cut the lapels down to a narrower size. Although he had never done alterations before, Bernie said, “We can do that, but it will cost you.”
Pia thought he was crazy, but Bernie said, “Don’t get excited. We have a suit hanging here. I’ll lay it on top of the one to alter, mark all around the lapel but leave a half inch. Then we’ll cut the material off and turn the rest under and sew it.” They did, and the customer was so happy he gave them a generous tip. After that, Pia learned to do whatever alterations that were needed.
By the time Pia died of cancer, they were living in Florida, and Bernie had expanded into selling laundry and dry cleaning equipment.
Five years after Pia’s death, Bernie exhibited his machines at a convention in Atlanta. One evening after the exhibits closed for the night, Bernie went to eat a restaurant where there was dancing. There he met Doan, who was buying merchandise for her dress shop in Springville, Alabama.
The magic of dance
She and Bernie danced that evening, and that dance blossomed into a courtship that resulted in a wedding the next year, 1985. The love affair has lasted 35 years. Although Doan didn’t convert to Judaism, she attends temple with Bernie.
Doan and Bernie Echt in Ashville today
It was Doan’s St. Clair County roots that brought them to Ashville and the establishing of Imperial Laundry and Professional Drycleaners there in 1994. Their pickup and delivery routes extend into Jackson and Cherokee counties. Bernie’s original method of building a business by meeting and knowing his customers still holds him in good stead today.
Katharina Echt says of her father, “My brothers and I were raised with a strong foundation of what it means to work hard. We each have a keen understanding, by our father’s example, of what is possible with sheer will and determination. Ever present is his steadfast belief in our ability to achieve anything we set our minds to. And so we have.”
Bernie never lost hope or purpose in the face of hardship, adversity or tragedy. He has focused on the good of life rather than the bad and remains a cheerful man who is a delight to know.
