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Ragland

A good-hearted town

Story and photos by Jerry C. Smith
Submitted Photos

Tucked unobtrusively between Shoal Creek Mountain and the Coosa River, the St. Clair County town of Ragland does little to pique the attention of passers-through. It’s like the town is taking a well-earned furlough from the generic commerce and sprawl that makes other cities seem so impersonal.

Save for a small dollar store, there’s not a single franchised big-box in sight; no Walmart, Winn Dixie, not even a chain restaurant. Many local folks see this as an asset and willingly drive to nearby cities for their major purchases.

Lifelong resident Joan (Davis) Ford says, “I have a loving heart for Ragland. It still has a lot of country to offer. How great it is to come home and enjoy the peace and satisfaction of owning a home and property here.”

She really understands the concept of coming home, having visited 40 American states and 20 other countries, including Russia.

Wendy Dickinson says of Ragland’s small-town motif, “We have one caution light, one one-way street, one alley, one school, and one red light.”

Mrs. Ford emphasizes that the city is actively seeking new industry, but of a nature that will not seriously alter the community’s idyllic lifestyle. As a former mayor, she’s always been active in education and civic affairs and participated in the formation of the St. Clair Economic Development Council.

The football field at Ragland’s Municipal Complex is named after her, to honor decades of service to the community. She sees the field as an example of how Ragland citizens and businesses have always pulled together to get things done.

Although she was the driving force behind its construction, she quickly shifts credit to others; “The community built that field. We had high school football players and volunteers from the cement plant who came after-hours to work there, and all I had to do was call National Cement and let them know what we needed, like a load of cement or rock or whatever, and they were right there with it. They also gave us a check for $10,000 to help cover expenses.”

Some of the hard labor was done by prisoners from St. Clair Correctional Facility, who were always eager to work because the town ladies fed them so well at lunchtime. “The guards said they would almost have fights at the bus every morning to see who got to go to Ragland,” she said.

In gratitude, the prisoners built a memorial barbecue pit next to the field, keeping it hidden under a tarp as a surprise for her when the project was done.

At age 81, she remembers a much more vibrant Ragland. “This place was hopping in the 40s and 50s. The streets were lined with businesses of all kinds, and people crowded the streets and sidewalks on weekends.” She also recalls when all the roads were unpaved and full of horses, wagons and carriages.

Mrs. Ford reminisces about town life during her childhood: “There were all kinds of businesses downtown, with several restaurants, one of which even allowed dancing. There was a movie theater called the BoJa (pronounced Bo Jay).

When the Walt Disney movie Bambi came to town in the late 40s, school let out and the kids got to walk across town to see it. Mr. Haynes sold bagged peanuts and popcorn balls in front of the theater.”

Ragland is home to two major companies that have been in operation more than a hundred years each — Ragland Brick Company and National Cement Company. Besides these plants, Ragland was once heavily committed to the coal and lumber industries, providing products and minerals of high quality that were distributed worldwide.

Truckloads of lumber regularly left the Dickinsons’ sawmill for Birmingham and beyond, while Ragland’s superb low-sulfur coal was much in demand for blacksmithing and the iron industry, even during the Civil War.

When Mrs. Ford’s father worked at the cement plant, the Davises lived in a community of some 15 company houses called Frog Town, so-named for the abundance of croaking frogs at night. Company officials lived in another neighborhood of swankier homes, called Society Knob.

Mrs. Ford remembers catching fishing worms along the banks of a little branch, and her horror when she caught some baby water snakes by mistake. She’s presently working with Ragland officials to obtain a historical marker for the Frog Town area.

She also tells of Elmer “Paw Pa” Davis driving a wagon that hauled mail sacks from the train depot to the post office, a simple but important daily event for many small towns.

A big black man called Patches sat beside Paw Pa on an old wood bench seat. Sometimes she joined them there, but would ride with her legs hanging off the tailgate if she was with friends. The wagon was drawn by a retired army mule named Maude, who had the letters US branded onto its side.

Mrs. Ford sees Ragland as a place with real heart, where people have always pulled together during times of need, a sentiment echoed by others. “If there was anything that happened, deaths or disaster or whatever, it didn’t matter who you were or what you believed in, you got help,” she said.

She’s especially proud of her church, Hardin’s Chapel Bible Church (non-denominational), whose facilities saw heavy usage during the months following the tornado that wracked Shoal Creek Valley.

“The whole community responded with volunteer work, food, supplies and clothing. Seven ladies and I fed hundreds of people from our kitchen. We came in at 5:30 in the morning, and rotated 12-hour shifts. I told them to be ready for a long haul, because this thing would not be over in a few days, more like several months. And bless their hearts, they stuck by us the whole time.”

She also recalls when the tornado of 1974 came through, tearing things up so badly you could not get to Ragland on any road, and how people had pulled together then, like they always do.

It seems Ragland has been blessed over the years with folks whose love of community and their fellow man inspired them to empathize and share what they had with their neighbors. Such a man was Pop Dickinson, for whom Alabama Highway 144 was re-named shortly before his death in 1982.

POP DICKINSON

Leon Ullman Dickinson, always known as Pop, came to Ragland from Lincoln in the late 1930s as the Depression was winding down and quickly became legendary for the way he treated (and trusted) people.

He freely gave credit to customers at his sawmill and lumber operation in Ragland, which he and his brother Hal had begun while still in Lincoln. Pop was also known for financing mortgages for those whom the banks had refused. Pop ran these business interests with help from son Lowell Leon “Buck” Dickinson and his grandson, Robert Leon “Bob” Dickinson (all three men had Leon in their names).

According to granddaughter Wendy Dickinson, when Bob wanted to foreclose on a woman, recently widowed, who could no longer make payments, Pop told Bob that if he needed that house more than the widow needed it, he would buy Bob’s part of the company and absorb all the loss himself. Bob relented and simply gave up his share.

Meanwhile, Buck went on to other ventures, which included starting the first telephone exchange in Ragland with nine old magneto crank phones, like the ones seen on vintage TV shows where you crank a handle and ask an operator to connect you.

This company later expanded into the present-day Ragland Telephone Company, operated by Bob after Buck’s death in 1959, thence by Bob’s widow, Peggy Alexander Dickinson, after his death in 1982. It has always been a privately held utility, with no connections to the big comms like AT&T.

The Dickinsons were well-involved in local politics. Buck and Bob both served as mayors. Bob was a Democratic Party delegate in the 1960s and also started Ragland’s first TV cable company.

Bob’s wife, Judith (Mitchell), formerly of Leeds, was Ragland’s first female mayor and also served two terms on the Board of Education. She was highly praised in her 2007 obituary by current BOE Superintendent Jenny Seals. Judith’s brother-in-law, Ed Goodson, was a mayor of Leeds.

Birmingham News writer Thomas Spencer describes Judith, “Judy … loved to wear outlandish hats to church; a red felt one with netting on the front and a big feather sticking out of a bow in back, and a pink one with sequins and a ponytail holder.

“At Christmas she wore one festooned with colored lights. She was flamboyant and fearless about what other people thought. She just wanted them to smile. … At her request, they played the bombastic, cannon-firing 1812 Overture at her memorial service.”

Wendy tells of Pop’s personality, “He was a very good man, who never touched liquor or missed church, although one time he fell asleep in church because of the time change, and everybody thought he was dead.”

Wendy says Pop loved to fox hunt, but never killed a fox because he just wanted to hear the dogs run. “He beat the heck out of one of his dogs once for killing a fox, but later found out the poor dog hadn’t done it, and he felt bad for weeks afterward, cuddling that dog and telling him how sorry he was for the beating.”

She adds that Pop made his own dog food from scratch and openly carried a gun while patrolling their neighborhood at night.

Several vintage Raglanders spoke of Pop’s total lack of driving skill, often weaving all over the road at breakneck speed, running traffic signs and never giving turn signals.

Wendy says Pop once bought a pickup truck with an automatic transmission, hoping it would allow him to concentrate less on shifting and more on driving, but quickly tore the transmission up trying to shift gears anyway.

A Mr. Barnhill, with whom your writer chatted at Ragland Civic Center, tells that he once rode in a carload of kids along with Pop. They were on their way to a ball game, and Pop made the owner of the car pull over and let him drive because he felt they weren’t going fast enough. Barnhill still recalls how quickly that ride turned fearsome once Pop took the wheel.

Pop passed away in 1982, just days from his grandson Bob’s demise, and is buried in Birmingham’s Elmwood Cemetery.

The Pop Dickinson Highway sign is long- gone, but most anyone in town will affirm the real name of Alabama 144.

WATT T. BROWN, GODFATHER OF RAGLAND

Some refer to Watt Brown as the Sumter Cogswell of Ragland. He was there in the town’s earlier years and was largely responsible for its coal industry as well as active interests in virtually every other major endeavor in the area.

In her book, From Trout Creek To Ragland, historian Rubye Hall Edge Sisson says of Brown, “His influence would color Ragland more than any other individual.”

It’s said that at one time he owned so much land that one could walk all the way from Ragland to Odenville and never set foot off his property. Indeed, he contributed greatly to the development of Odenville and Coal City as well.

Born at the closing of the Civil War in the Talladega County settlement of Kymulga near Childersburg, Watt grew up in Ohatchee. At age 18, he partnered with the Green mercantile firm, then joined his brother James as a stockholder in Ragland Coal Company, soon to be joined by another brother, Adolphus.

Always a mover, by 1893 Watt had become president of the company, and the brothers started buying up mineral-rich lands all over St. Clair County, reaching as far as Coal City and Odenville.

He succeeded in getting a major portion of Coal City incorporated as Wattsville. The town’s name was also given to a major seam of fine coal that underlies a large part of St. Clair.

Ragland had originally been known as Trout Creek, after the stream that still flows through the heart of town and once caused a major flood with great damage. In 1899, Brown and others petitioned for Ragland’s incorporation, naming it after the family who owned Ragland Coal Company. Watt presumably served as its first mayor.

A few years later, he married Ashville Judge Inzer’s daughter, Lila, gaining both connections and a stepson in the process. He also formed Brown Construction Company to take advantage of the economic boom he was helping to create.

Over the next two decades, Watt served in the State House of Representatives, as chairman of the St. Clair County Executive Committee, as alderman for Ragland, and as a state senator. With others, he formed the Ragland Water Power Company, hoping to build a hydroelectric plant at Lock Four, but was pre-empted by another project proposed by Alabama Power Company.

Sisson lists more of his accomplishments: “The Progress, a newspaper published in Pell City, endorsed Watt Brown … in his first run for Senate (saying that) during Watt’s term in the State House he had helped the Pell City cotton mill, brought the brick plant to Ragland, and had been a moving force in securing the cement plant.

“Other newspapers … proclaimed him a captain of industry who had made millions. He was president of Odenville Bank, a director of Anniston National Bank and Alabama Life Insurance Company, and trustee of the Jacksonville State Normal School.”

Sisson also credits Watt Brown with building a St. Clair High School in Odenville in 1908 that served students from the whole county. He spearheaded a drive to get a high school for Ragland, offering huge tracts of his own land to sweeten the deal.

But not every project started by Brown came to fruition. He’d wanted an industrial school in Ragland, but the powers chose to build it in Gadsden instead. Likewise, his bid for a tuberculosis sanitarium was rejected, as well as a cotton mill using local resources and labor to make shipping bags for the cement plant.

Brown never tired of promoting Ragland. Sisson continues: “When the Alabama State Land Company proposed to publish information on … the natural resources, climate etc. of Alabama, Watt described Ragland in glowing terms. … Alabama State Land encouraged him to print his own brochure. This brochure was sent all over the country.”

Jenna Whitehead, in a 1974 story in St. Clair News Aegis, quotes (another writer) as saying, “During the Depression, Brown wrote down a 10-point plan that would pull the country out of the Depression,” remarking that it was almost identical to the plan later tendered by President Franklin Roosevelt.

Yet, for all his forward-looking ideas and tireless promotion of the towns he loved, not everyone approved of Watt T. Brown. In a recent interview, your writer encountered a lady who claims that her mother would never use the name Wattsville, always clinging to its previous name, Coal City, even to the point of getting a post office box in another town so her mail would never bear his name. It’s also said that a man had rented some retail space in Odenville’s Cahaba Hotel, which Brown built and owned outright. While the tenant was moving in, Brown approached him and asked how he intended for customers to enter his business.

The man told him they would enter the front door — how else? Brown then informed him that he owned the sidewalk and the tenant would have to pay a usage fee.

In 1930, Brown ran for governor, with a brilliantly conceived platform that was way ahead of the times. He put everything he had on the line, and lost.

Apparently, he had overestimated the admiration of his constituency. Watt T. Brown quickly sank into destitution and obscurity, dying in poverty some 10 years later. The man who had practically fathered at least three towns and made a huge fortune for his family was so poor he was buried in a borrowed spot until his family finally moved him to their own plot at the Methodist Cemetery.

Today, only a few eastern St. Clair old-timers (and a historian or two) even recall his name.

MEET RAGLAND

From US 231 at Coal City, it’s only a few pleasant miles’ drive to Ragland. Along the way, you’re treated to numerous pastoral scenes, some with long, white wooden fences.

There are several historic churches, among them Harkey’s Chapel Methodist and the aforementioned Hardin’s Chapel. Watch for interesting road names, such as No Business Creek, Memory Lane, Homebrew Knob and Center Star Road as you drive.

Near Ragland, a wooded bend in the road suddenly opens to expose one of the town’s main industries, National Cement Company, alongside the remnants of an old football stadium, barely visible through the overgrowth.

Alabama 144, aka Pop Dickinson Highway, becomes Church Street, Ragland’s main crossroad, thence to Main Street. The historic, picturesque Champion Drug building, originally the Lee Hotel, dominates this intersection. Now awaiting repurposing, this fine old structure played various roles in the town’s early history.

Trout Creek crosses Church Street next to the railroad tracks, the Methodist Church and the old depot. Ragland Brick is just west of the church.

Before leaving town to the east, consider taking a few side roads to see dwellings more than a hundred years old, many of them company houses.

As you exit the downtown area, there’s a fine library and the town’s main supermarket, the Food Barn, reminiscent of an earlier, less gaudy era. Shopping there is almost like stepping into a time machine.

A mile or two farther eastward on Alabama 144 lies Neely Henry Dam, thence onward to Ohatchee at Alabama 77. Just a few blocks northward on Alabama 77 is the Spring Street turnoff for Janney Furnace and Museum, a great site to visit at GPS coordinates 33 47.712N 86 1.164W

LOOKING TO THE FUTURE

While Ragland is typical of many aging Alabama towns with a more vibrant past, it’s currently primed for new ideas and energy. As Mrs. Ford said in our opening paragraphs, it would be a great place to call home and start a new business that doesn’t depend on heavy road-frontage traffic.

The municipal complex, tucked quietly away on landscaped grounds just west of downtown, is totally adequate for official, recreational, senior citizen, and athletic functions.

Among its amenities are a splash pad, a walking track designed by Judith Dickinson and Rufus Bunt, the Dustin Lane Ford baseball and softball complex, a very active Senior Citizen Center, and a playground.

Everything one really needs for a simple, front-porch life is right there. Best of all, a century-old tradition of togetherness and mutual aid still thrives in Ragland.

In a word, it’s home.

Looking to the future

Curtain goes up on new director, new energy at CEPA

Story by Linda Long
Photos by Michael Callahan

Jeff Thompson is fitting right in to his new role as executive director of the Pell City Center for Education and the Performing Arts (CEPA), but at four years old, Thompson was on a totally different career path.

“At my preschool graduation, I told the whole class that I was going to be an aeronautical engineer. Well, that brought a whole bevy of laughs,” recalled Thompson, “but I loved planes and as a child, that’s all I wanted to do. That is, until I found out the engineers get paid by contract work. I didn’t see much stability in that. So, suddenly, aeronautical engineering didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.”

The intrepid young Thompson then turned to “Plan B.” Architecture.

Though foiled again, he was not the least chagrined. “I could not pass Physics. I failed it twice. I do not understand the concept – never have, never will, and you can’t be an architect if you don’t get Physics. I can draw just fine,” laughed Thompson. “I just wasn’t able to do those high level equations.”

Those two early career misdirections are clearly St. Clair County’s gain. Thompson, who has been in his new role as CEPA director for only two months, already has a clear vision for leading the top notch 2,000 plus-seat sports arena and a state-of-the-art, 400-seat theater into the future. That vision is clearly spelled community.

An Auburn University graduate in Journalism, Thompson comes to CEPA with a 10-year background in newspapers, most recently as editor and general manager of the St. Clair News Aegis.

“My formal training is newspapers,” said Thompson, “and certainly one of the things newspapers gives you is intimate access and understanding on how to build identity. And that’s what we’re looking to do with CEPA at the moment is to take this phenomenal product which is here and really does benefit the community and build it around that.”

Already finalizing the 2016 fall season, Thompson said, “We’re looking to create programming that attaches itself to numerous demographics in the community. We don’t want to follow a show with another show that attracts an identical audience. We want to make sure that everybody across St. Clair County feels like they have a home at CEPA. This facility was built, created and conceptualized on that bedrock. There shouldn’t be anyone who doesn’t have access to this facility. It was built for this community.”

To that end, CEPA is kicking off a fall line-up which should indeed include something for everyone. The season begins in September with an amazing magic show followed just days later by a performance of the full Alabama Symphony Orchestra, a first for Pell City.

The “top tier” magic show features Brian Reaves, and the Alabama Symphony Orchestra is seen as a major coup for the theatre. Next up will be country music band, Confederate Railroad, another major act, with Two Halos Shy as opening group.

Confederate Railroad, a country rock, southern rock band, is a multi-platinum recording group. It has been nominated for a Grammy Award, and it won an American Country Music award. In May, the group appeared in Nashville with Willie Nelson, John Anderson, Colt Ford and former NFL Coach Jerry Glanville for the 20^th anniversary version of its signature smash hit, “Trashy Women.”

Two Halos Shy features Madibeth Morgan and Anna Tamburello. When their vocal harmony hits an audience’s ear, you would swear the halos were there as the vocals sound almost angelic. Very little sounds better than a pair of voices in perfect harmony, and this talented duo fits the bill. Although still teenagers, they have been writing music and singing since before they could legally drive a car. They are working on their first album.

Capping the season is a multi-faceted arts festival featuring Alabama’s top storyteller, Dolores Hydock, and bluegrass group, Whitney Junction.

“This event is all about St. Clair County,” said Thompson. “It will feature local artists of all kinds.” Hydock is an award winning, premiere storyteller based in Birmingham, who has entertained audiences large and small around the country. She will be performing, Footprints on the Sky, a story about the time she spent on St. Clair County’s Chandler Mountain. Sharing the stage with her, providing music for her words, is Whitney Junction.

This bluegrass group formed as a ministry of First Baptist Church of Ashville and while its primary musical focus is a unique brand of bluegrass gospel, the band also performs old time bluegrass music at festivals, rallies and other events. “We want to wrangle in as many people as we possibly can and get them tied into this,” said Thompson.

Built nearly 10 years ago as a partnership among the Pell City School System, City of Pell City and the community, Thompson said, “community builders came together to support this facility.” A huge granite marker hangs in the lobby, telling the story of the people who built this facility. It is not just for Pell City, but for everybody. “We want to make sure every bit of our programming educates, inspires or entertains and gives them a reason for coming back.”

CEPA has already established many ongoing traditions, such as its annual summer drama camps, performances by many artists from local schools and the Pell City Players, a local drama troupe created as part of its community theater offerings.

But Thompson is hoping the facility will soon have some new programs making new traditions.

“We want to maximize the availability of the facility as much as possible. One of the main activities we’re looking at now using some captive audience around football games to open up the center and let folks come and be entertained prior to or following a football game. “According to Thompson, “Whatever legacy we can create with it, I want it to be something that includes the idea that we build community off of it. II think it fits in with the chamber of commerce, the city, and the school system. I think there are ties for to almost every aspect of generating a positive image for Pell City and St. Clair County. I know community, and I love community and when I look at this building, I know it can be what my definitions are for it.”

Features

Smiling on the inside

Loving the life of a rodeo clown

Story by Leigh Pritchett
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.

He is known as Huck Hano — Skylar’s Dad, … the neighbor, … the sheet metal mechanic, … the man who plays guitar at St. Clair County Cowboy Church.

Yet, when he walks into a rodeo arena, the Louisiana native becomes the Cajun Kid, a clown with oversized Wrangler jeans, a star-spangled shirt and a hat full of humor.

For 38 years, he has been a rodeo clown, appearing in more than 25 states.

He has worked at small rodeos, and he has worked at big ones that drew as many as 30,000 spectators. Performing before such a large crowd was scary, he said, but oh so fulfilling when the people laughed.

“I love entertaining people,” said 55-year-old Hano. “I love making people smile.”

In May, he got to be a clown locally during a horseless rodeo at St. Clair County Arena.

Interestingly, his love for clowning came from riding a bull.

In his early teens, Hano started riding bulls two days a week at an arena near his home in Albany, La. He became so proficient at the sport that he advanced to state finals his senior year in high school.

When he was at a rodeo, however, his competitors were not his focus; the clowns were.

He studied what they did and how they did it. He noted their timing, body language and jokes.

“That was my whole reason to be there,” he said about his five years of riding bulls.

His first time to be a clown was in 1978 at a high school rodeo in McComb, Miss.

“It was the greatest thing in the world,” Hano said. “I knew then that it was what I wanted to do.”

In the beginning …

His name is actually Elisha Henry Hano. He acquired the nickname “Huck” as a 5-year-old dressed in jean shorts and a straw hat.

His Dad, a Baptist preacher, remarked that his son looked like the character Huckleberry Finn. And the name stuck.

It was also his Dad who was glad when Hano become a clown.

“My dad was relieved because, when I started clowning, I started riding bulls less,” Hano said.

In a rodeo, Hano said, there are two kinds of clowns. The job of one kind is to protect. A bullfighter is a clown who distracts the bull to let the rider get to safety. There is also a “barrel man,” who wears a barrel and gets between the bull and the rider, or between the bull and a tired or imperiled bullfighter. The job of the other kind of clown is to entertain. That clown tells jokes and performs acts to amuse the audience.

Hano has been all of them. At first, he was a bullfighter before moving into a comedic role.

The purpose of the entertaining clown is to fill time gaps between activities to make the program flow smoothly. Generally, each of the clown’s appearances during the rodeo is just a few minutes long.

If glitches or interruptions occur during the program, in comes the clown. At a rodeo in New York, for instance, a transformer blew, putting the arena in darkness. For 25 minutes, Hano and the announcer told non-stop jokes to the crowd.

In all his years as a rodeo clown, Hano has never suffered a serious injury. But there have been some harrowing moments.

A particularly frightening one occurred in Lafayette, Ga., in 1985. A bull got his horn behind Hano’s leg and threw the clown into the air. While Hano was still in midair, the bull caught the man in his horns and tossed him up again. That would happen once more before the bull finally let Hano fall to the ground.

The entire time, a rider was sitting on the bull’s back.

That “hooking” happened on the first of a three-night rodeo series. Hano performed the other two nights with bruises and soreness.

“I’ve taken several hookings (through the years), but that was definitely the worst,” he said.

Dwayne Banks of Odenville, who is pastor of St. Clair County Cowboy Church, said Hano was a clown at the first rodeo in which Banks participated.

He described Hano as humble. “That’s who Huck is.”

Banks said Hano’s personality makes people feel comfortable. He has a quick wit and can connect with the audience. “He is a very down-to-earth type of individual. (He) has the ability to capture attention by what he says and how he acts.”

Behind the clown makeup is a man who “loves the Lord with all his heart,” Banks said. “… He’s got a heart for the people around him. … He wants to serve.”

Hano does indeed want to serve. Currently, he is music minister at St. Clair County Cowboy Church, and believes that clowning is a talent God gave for serving Him.

In a rodeo, “the clown’s job is actually to serve,” Hano said.

Being a clown has given Hano opportunities to speak in churches and schools all across the country and to tell people about Jesus Christ. “God used me as a rodeo clown and that’s what I want to do is be used,” Hano said.

For about 12 years, Hano was a clown fulltime, traveling from March through October. His living quarters were in the front third of a trailer he towed. In the middle section, he stored the props for his acts, such as a spaceship he built himself. The back third of the trailer was a stall for his four-legged comedy partner.

During the rodeo circuit’s “winter months” of November through February, Hano was at home with his family and worked at another job.

It was his career as a clown that led him to move to Odenville in 1993. Where he lived in Louisiana was flat and “a long way anywhere,” Hano said. St. Clair County, on the other hand, is near three interstate systems … and has mountains.

The five acres on which his home sits are nearly encircled by mountains. It is a quiet refuge where he reads his Bible, farms and works to train a colt named Dolly.

“I love the mountains. Where I came from, there were no mountains,” said Hano. “I walk out and say, ‘Thank you, God.’ I get to see this on a daily basis.”

When his daughter Skylar was a baby 18 years ago, Hano felt he was missing much of her life by being on the road. At that point, he took a full-time job locally and became a weekend clown.

He has continued to be a clown part-time and currently works full time as a sheet metal mechanic at Hardy Corp. in Birmingham.

Clowning is hard work

Being a clown is not all chuckles; it is work.

“Clown acts are not as easy to come up with as you would think,” Hano said.

It takes researching and planning. It takes building props. It takes rehearsing and refining. Perfecting an act could easily require two years of work, he said.

“You want as many different acts as you can. But you want quality acts,” he said.

For many years, Hano had a comedic sidekick named Esther. She was a white mule.

“She turned out to be one of the best acts I’ve had,” Hano said. “She opened a lot of doors for me across the country. People loved that mule.”

Esther would lie down, roll over, play dead and sit up, all on command.

“I think her greatest asset was she loved doing what she did. (Other clowns said) they had never seen a mule work as smoothly as she did,” Hano said. “She was one of a kind.”

Two years ago, at age 32, Esther died. She is buried underneath her favorite tree in the pasture.

It is Hano’s hope that Dolly will be Esther’s successor in comedy.

When Hano got Dolly a few months ago, she did not like him, he said.

But that has changed. Now, she runs to the fence to meet him when she sees him come out his front door. When he reaches the fence, she nuzzles him, indicating she would appreciate a back-scratching.

In some ways, she is like Esther was at first.

“When I got Esther, she was six months old,” and was so unruly that four people were needed to handle her, Hano said. Within a few months, he had won her trust. That was when the training began.

He is encouraged as he watches Dolly learn to trust, too.

“I like seeing them come from nothing to being disciplined,” Hano said.

Eighteen times in his career, Hano has been given the privilege of clowning in the finals of several rodeo associations across the county. The selection of clowns for the finals is done by a vote system, and only those ranked “best” are invited to perform.

Even so, Hano expresses humility about his work as a clown.

“I never considered myself the star of the show,” he said. “I considered myself a part of the team that made the show work.”

After nearly 40 years of making people laugh, Hano is now accepting fewer engagements and thinks he might, at some point, retire from being a clown.

He is seeking to serve in a different way in this season of his life.

“I’ve had a good career,” Hano said. “And if I had it to do all over again, I’d do it again. … God has given me a good life. Now that I’m slowing down, I’m going to give it back to Him.”

Features

Pirate’s Island

A day in the life of a
Logan Martin landmark

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.
Submitted photos
Drone Photo by
David Smith, Star Aerial

It’s a place that would make Jimmy Buffett proud. Surrounded by family and friends and scores more of adopted family and friends, this tiny island in the middle of Logan Martin Lake is like the star of the singer’s tune, Cheeseburger in Paradise – “heaven on earth with an onion slice.”

On this Saturday afternoon in late June, one of the hottest of the year, there are no complaints about the sweltering temperature, only laughter, music, children’s squeals and an unrivaled camaraderie of hundreds gathered around Pirate’s Island.

It has become THE place to meet, anchor your boat or personal watercraft, wade into the shallow water all around and greet friends – old and new.

It’s a recreational respite in an otherwise wide open waterway of boats darting to and fro.

Lincoln’s Kent Crumley has been coming to the island since 2012. Now joined by his son and grandchildren, the fun they have as a family is unmistakable. Brian Crumley and his children, Easton, Addie and Brynlee are there to celebrate Easton’s first birthday.

What makes this place so special? “Just the people,” Kent says. “The fellowship,” his son adds. “We came to hang out and have a great time,” Kent says, putting an exclamation point on the sentiment of the day.

And it’s precisely the purpose Jim Regan intended for the island when his wife, Laurie, bought it for him as a birthday present.

She had decorated it with crepe paper, but rain put a damper on the surprise impact it was supposed to have when approached by boat that evening. So, Laurie improvised. She grabbed a drink Koozie, wrote “Welcome to Your Island” on it, put a drink in it and handed it to Jim. He kept putting the drink down, never glancing at the message. Laurie said she finally – and strongly – urged him to look. He read it, and in that moment of realization, “he dove right off the boat!”

That was 2008. It took about a year to fulfill the vision they had in mind for the island – they cleared underbrush, built a beach, brought in palm trees, a hammock, a treasure chest and of course, a pirate flag.

They first named it Grand Island, but the throngs of boaters who found their own paradise there won out. Pirate Island, it became, and Pirate Island, it will stay. “We were outvoted by the people,” Laurie says.

And the people keep coming. On Memorial Day, 46 boats were counted anchored around the island. On this day, a typical Saturday afternoon, there were 29 boats full of people.

On the 75 x 50-foot island itself, its palm trees leaning out over the water, the Regans’ family and friends gather around a fire pit, relaxing in chairs of all shapes and sizes.

A nearby grill, still smoldering, hints at noon day activities on the island. “It was Cheeseburger in Paradise Day,” says Jim. He cooked 36 hamburgers for his invited guests and boaters who happened to be there. It’s not unusual for Jim to cook on the weekends. He simply signals in boaters when the hotdogs or hamburgers are ready, according to Laurie.

All are welcome on Pirate’s Island. It’s a tradition that evolved when a boat load of 10 year olds asked if they needed help on the island. They helped clean it, and their pay came in hotdogs.

Of course there are other riches on the island. A treasure chest full of Mardi Beads and gold coins awaits, and children rush to see what’s inside. Down on their knees like a cannon shot, they surround the chest, combing through to pick just the right color. Giggles and shrieks tell the rest of that story.

“I get them from a Mardi Gras supplier in Mobile where I grew up,” Laurie says. The treasure chest is filled to the brim, and it is the island’s most popular destination point for kids. As a bonus, Jim sprinkles gold coins all around the water’s edge for children to ‘discover.’

Palm trees don faces and perhaps a pirate kerchief – “Palm Pirates,” they call them. A ‘pirate’ pontoon boat sits anchored on the main channel side of the island. It even has a gang plank. The customary island hammock hangs between palms, an inviting place for a summer’s day.

And a skull and cross bones pirate flag flaps in the summer breeze some 50 feet above on a pole made of bamboo courtesy of a neighbor, helping passersby pinpoint this Logan Martin landmark.

On Saturday mornings, Jim puts out an oversized float a few feet offshore – a Lilypad – for kids to launch themselves in innovative ways into the water. He doesn’t dare take it up until Sunday night. Too much fun would be missed, he and Laurie surmise.

“Everybody has taken responsibility for the island,” Laurie adds. “We’ll get calls if someone is not doing something right. They help clean it up. They love the island. Everyone takes ownership in it.”

Why do the Regans share their own bit of paradise? “We love our family and kids. This is our town. It’s our home,” Laurie says. “It just feels good.”

Perhaps this email Jim sent to his family in 2008 just after he became the proud owner of the island tells the evolution of the original vision best:

Laurie surprised the living daylights out of me for my birthday by purchasing the tiny island just 1/4 mile down the beach from us. I’ve been pining for it for over a decade, and Laurie thought it was a pretty worthwhile goal also.

We have named it “Grand Island”…owing to its “massive” size (75 ft.X 50 ft. excluding beach & sandbar) and also to the original purchase price some years ago by our friends & the former owners-Randy & Sandy. The island is a popular place to park your boat and swim from its sandy little beach. It will remain open to the public. We’ve already heard some excellent ideas like: planting fruit & palm trees; placing a “Grand Island” plaque on it; mount a “Wilson” volleyball on a pole (from the movie “Castaway”); hanging a hammock between two trees; and the ideas just keep coming. Feel free to add your art to the picture.

Whether you remember this little Corona commercial of an island or not, I happen to know that each of you have been there. We hope you’ll come to the island many times again in both mind and body. Once you’ve hacked your way through the jungle and pass the lost temple beyond the largest cave on the other side of Blue Lagoon, look for us…We’ll be right there in a hammock holding out your favorite cold beverage.

On any given weekend, it’s easy to see: Dream fulfilled.

Features

House of Treasures

Inside a collector’s collection

Story by Leigh Pritchett
Photos by Michael Callahan
and Wallace Bromberg Jr.

It has long been said that a man’s home is his castle.

While that surely is true for Frank Phillips of Pell City, his dwelling is also a cache of artistic, literary and photographic treasures.

Surrounding him everyday are hundreds of volumes and artwork in various media, as well as photographs of historical figures and moments in life.

“I don’t just collect this stuff,” Phillips said. “I live with it. … I look at it everyday. You might see something new in it.”

Much of the artwork is considered “outsider art,” having been produced by individuals with no formal training. Mose Tolliver, known as Mose T, was one of those.

In fact, Phillips’ collection started in 1986 with a Mose T watermelon painting he purchased directly from the artist.

“I gave him every dime I had in my pocket that day,” Phillips said.

Phillips’ art collection now boasts about 20 names. Among them are Dr. Art Bacon, Charles Lucas, Lonnie B. Holley, Fred Nall Hollis, David Driskell, Bernice Sims and Jimmy Lee Sudduth.

A few acquisitions in the Phillips coffer were rare, thrift-store finds. A sculpture by Frank Fleming was one of those, as was a pottery piece by Bill Gordy.

Phillips added to his pottery collection numerous “jug faces” by Burlon B. Craig and items from the Meaders family of artisans. One of Phillips’ favorite pieces is a 1938 Gordy bowl adorned with the state flower.

The expansive inventory of books Phillips has amassed includes many first editions signed by such noted authors as Truman Capote, James Dickey and Harper Lee.

Phillips’ assemblage also features a handmade quilt from Gee’s Bend and memorabilia marking historical and special events. One piece of memorabilia is a paper fan autographed by Phillip Alford and Mary Badham, the child actors who played “Jem” and “Scout” in the 1962 movie, To Kill a Mockingbird.

Phillips said several pieces in his trove are rather valuable.

Yet, that is not why he acquired them.

“I’d like it even if it didn’t have value,” he said. “… You don’t have to have a reason to collect.”

Selected pieces from his collection have been on display in the past at Gadsden Museum of Art, Heritage Hall Museum in Talladega and, most recently, Pell City Library.

The exhibit at the library generated much interest and conversation among visitors, said Susan Mann, assistant library director.

“Frank’s collection was very well received at the library,” Mrs. Mann said. “… It was a great opportunity for people to see Southern folk art at its best. Frank graciously shared a pleasing mix of paintings, pottery, photographs and a primitive, handcrafted stringed instrument from his extensive and diverse collection. Most patrons were fascinated by the exhibit and were drawn to it, opting for an ‘up close’ view.”

Early influences

Phillips grew up in St. Clair County in a family of nine children. When he earned his English degree from Jacksonville State University, he became the first in his family to graduate from college.

He is drawn to magnolia paintings and Southern cuisine and says that putting sugar in cornbread “is a sin.” He prefers to read the works of authors Rick Bragg, Eudora Welty and Robert Penn Warren, who all have Southern roots.

He listens to the blues, likes to travel, and serves on the executive committee of St. Clair Democratic Party.

Nonetheless, he feels an attraction to New York, Chicago, London and Paris.

“I rode a Greyhound to New York just to see a (Picasso) painting,” Phillips said.

As a young man, he went to Paris to view the gravesite of poet Gertrude Stein. “I was 20 years old in Paris by myself,” Phillips said.

Once, he saw artist Andy Warhol in Manhattan at the Museum of Modern Art. Warhol asked to autograph Phillips’ shirt, and Phillips said, “Sure!”

Even so, Phillips does not own a piece of Warhol’s art. “Who could afford that?” questions Phillips.

His recounting of that meeting with Warhol is one representation of the final piece in Phillips’ treasury. That piece is not tangible, however. It consists of details and memories about places, events and encounters with noted figures.

His conversation flows easily from one recollection to another and is peppered with observations about talents and personality traits.

With the certainty that comes from first-hand knowledge, Phillips speaks of Capote’s flamboyance and gives an account of Watergate figure G. Gordon Liddy. Phillips tells of attending JSU at the same time as Jim Folsom, Jr., who would later become Alabama’s governor; seeing Gov. Lurleen Wallace in Ragland, where she was accompanied by Hank Williams Jr. before he was a famous singer; meeting President Jimmy Carter; attending the funerals of author Kathryn Tucker Windham and civil rights leader Fred Shuttlesworth, and getting an autograph from actress Butterfly McQueen.

“I’m writing my memoirs now,” Phillips said.

If the opportunity arises, Phillips wants to add to his collection of memories – seeing the Hope Diamond and the painting, Whistler’s Mother, and attending a snake-handling service at a church. “Not to handle (a snake),” he said with a chuckle. “Just to observe. My faith is not that strong.”

D-Day Veteran

Memories of the War

Story and photos by Jim Smothers
Submitted Photos

For a half century, Howell Dulaney would not talk about World War II. He tried to shut it out. He didn’t want to think about the horrors he experienced in the war, and he wanted the nightmares to stop.

“It just gets so real. It leaves you with an uncomfortable feeling,” he said.

“It was 50 years after the war before I thought about talking about it,” he said.

That happened after he joined the George S. Patton, Jr., Chapter of the Battle of the Bulge in Birmingham, an exclusive group of veterans of that battle.

Besides their monthly meetings, there was an annual Christmas party. At one of those events, the chapter president went to each veteran and asked him to tell an experience he had during the war.

“When he got around to me, I was about the last one, and I didn’t know what I was going to say. But when it was my turn, I asked, ‘Do you know about Bear Bryant, that they claim he could walk on water?’ He said, ‘Yeah, I’ve heard that.’ I said, ‘Well, I walked on water.’ ”

Then he told how he almost drowned, but was saved by a German soldier.

Part of his engineering group was assigned to ferry infantry soldiers across the Moselle River to prepare for an assault on a German division. The other engineers were to replace a span in the bridge for the rest of the army to cross, but that couldn’t be accomplished if the Germans were there to stop them. So, an attack was planned.

His battalion was split into three parts, two to get the infantry across the river to attack, and one to fix the bridge. Two engineers would be in each boat to ferry six infantry soldiers at a time across the river on a dark, moonless night. The soldiers were instructed to paddle without raising the paddles from the water to maintain silence during the crossing.

“We gave them wooden pegs and told them to use those to plug holes in the boats in case we were fired upon,” he said. “That really got their attention.”

On one of the crossings, they found the infantry had taken some German POWs, and the engineers were tasked with taking them back to the other side.

“On that crossing, our boat capsized. We learned later that we had tipped over on an old ferry cable,” he said. “I had all my uniform on, my helmet and my rifle, and I was not a good swimmer.”

He dog paddled, trying to stay afloat, growing more desperate by the second until, just at the point of giving up, a hand reached down and lifted him up.

“When that happened, my feet hit bottom, and I realized I was only in about four feet of water. We were almost at the bank, but it was so dark I didn’t know that. I looked up and it was one of the POWs we had just brought across. He was taken away with the others, and I never even found out his name.”

Dulaney hasn’t liked the water ever since.

But after telling his story to his fellow veterans, he decided it was OK to talk about the war. He developed an outline for sharing his memories, and gave speeches to a number of schools and church youth groups.

He shared many of his memories with them, but tended to leave out some details—like the bloody water at Utah Beach. He didn’t tell them about young soldiers, his age, who were injured and crying for their mothers, or the horrible injuries some of them suffered.

But he did begin sharing his story with other people.

Dulaney grew up in Eastaboga as one of 15 children in the family. He never finished grammar school because farm life was so demanding. They raised cotton and row crops on an 80-acre farm, as well as animals for slaughter. His mother made dresses for the girls from flour sacks, and shirts for the boys from fertilizer bags. Shoes were a luxury and mostly worn about six months out of the year.

“It was hard work, but it was a good life,” he said.

He joined the Army at 17 and trained at Fort McCain in Mississippi, where he and his fellow engineers practiced bridge-making methods on the Yazoo River. He made bus trips home to see his family, and on one fateful trip he sat next to telephone company operator Robbie Reynolds from Columbus, Mississippi. They wrote to each other during the rest of his training and throughout the war.

After completing training in Mississippi, his group went by train to Boston where they boarded a ship for Great Britain. They sailed around Ireland, up the River Clyde into Glasgow, Scotland, and then traveled by train to Dorchester near the English Channel. About a week later, they loaded their supplies and themselves into a Higgins Boat (made in Mobile, Ala.) and spent the night crossing the Channel for the invasion.

“In Dorchester, we received our combat equipment and began to attend classes, learning what to do if wounded or captured and what information to give the enemy if captured,” he said.

“Once aboard the landing craft, we were told we would be crossing the English Channel into enemy territory within hours, and our destination would be Utah Beach…we knew this was D-Day. Some thought it might be their last day. As the boat was moving out everybody was real nervous. Some of us were trigger happy and ready to fight. Some were praying. And some were crying.”

They landed less than half an hour after the infantry and Marines first landed.

“As we approached the beach, as soon as our craft landed we began to leave any way we could, out the front or over the sides. It was really frightening with all the noise from big guns, rifle fire and mortars exploding all around. The water was waist deep, and it was bloody. There were dead bodies floating everywhere and wounded soldiers crying for help. The only thing we could do was help them out of the water and help them get to a medic.”

Shortly after Dulaney’s battalion arrived in Europe, Eisenhower brought in Patton to be the “fighting general” the Third Army needed, and Dulaney’s battalion was part of that army.

“Patton was an amazing general. He was a great leader, always in the battlefield with his men. He had proved he was a leader on the battlefield in World War I,” he said. “Patton’s theory was once you the get enemy running, don’t give them time to stop and fire back, and it worked.”

Patton moved so quickly Eisenhower told Patton’s commander, General Bradley, to slow him down before he got so deep into enemy territory he would be surrounded and cut off from the other armies. Bradley started rationing Patton’s gasoline to limit how far he could go.

Patton responded by taking his supply trucks to find a gasoline storage depot. “Now, when a four star general pulls up in his Jeep with his supply trucks and says ‘fill ‘em up boys,’ do you think he’s getting his gasoline?”

Patton’s speed helped rescue the 101st Airborne Division when they were surrounded early in the Battle of the Bulge. Eisenhower called Patton to see how long it would take him to get his army to Bastogne, Belgium, to help, and Patton told him 24 hours. He then moved his army without a break, except for refueling, pushing through Germany and Luxembourg to get there.

Dulaney earned his Purple Heart during the Battle of the Bulge when he was hit by a piece of shrapnel from a “Screaming Mimi” artillery round. It was a minor wound, treated by a medic on site, and he returned to duty without being sent away for additional treatment.

His battalion’s last action under fire came at Regensburg, Germany, where a bridge was needed across the Danube. It was built under fire, but not without the loss of four men killed and seven wounded.

After that, Patton moved toward Prague, but was called back to Regensburg when the war ended. Their new orders were to build barracks for a prison camp.

While in Regensburg, Dulaney’s older brother “Doc” from the 7th Army, stationed in Munich, paid him a surprise visit on a three-day pass.

“What a happy three days that was,” he said. “We received a big write-up in the Stars and Stripes magazine. After World War II, my younger brother was in the Korean War. Thank God we all came home safe and whole.”

He said the Germans had superior equipment, but the Americans were better fighters

“I’m proud I was a soldier in Patton’s army, and I thank God every day for sparing my life. I think Gen. Patton was the greatest general ever. He also had the ‘Greatest Generation’ fighting with him and for him…his 3rd Army fought across France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Austria and into Czechoslovakia. His army crossed 24 major rivers, liberated more than 82,000 square miles of territory, more than 1,800 cities and villages and captured 956,000 enemy soldiers. His army destroyed 3,000 tanks, 500 artillery pieces, 15,000 miscellaneous vehicles and 2,000 German aircraft.

“I’m not proud of the things I had to do in the war, but war is war. It’s kill or be killed, and we must win all our wars, at all costs, in order to continue to keep and enjoy our freedoms.”

He is a contributor to the National WWII museum in New Orleans, and he encourages everyone to go see it to gain a better appreciation of what it was about.

“I want people to understand what war really means,” he said. “I just want the young people to know what our freedoms mean to us, and we are slowly losing our freedoms.”

Upon his return home from the war, his first destination was to see his family in Eastaboga. But Robbie was on his mind, too, and it wasn’t long before he traveled to Columbus, Mississippi, to see her.

They married within weeks and built a life together. After a 40-year career with Alabama Power, he retired as a district superintendent. They built their “dream home” at Rock Mountain Lake below Bessemer and lived there for 10 years before moving to Memphis to be near their daughter, Eugenia Bostic and her husband, Gary. They were in real estate, and after the real estate crash, they relocated to Florida, and the Dulaneys moved to Pell City, splitting the distance between family in the Eastaboga area and friends in the Bessemer area.

Robbie passed away six years later. Then Eugenia developed inoperable cancer and moved in with her dad to live out the rest of her life. Dulaney was 90 when she died, and decided to sell his home and move to the Robert L. Howard State Veterans Home in Pell City, where he lives today.