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Protecting Big Canoe Creek

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Story by Mike Bolton
Photos by Jerry Martin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Features

Friendly Neighborhood Airport

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Story by Loyd McIntosh
Photos by Jerry Martin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Build them, and they will fly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Features

Margaret’s Boom Town Days

Story and photos by Jerry C. Smith
Contributed photos courtesy of Marie Butler and Margaret Town Hall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Features

New hospital and a new Physicians Plaza

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A Reflection of the Future for St. Clair County

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin
and Wynter Byrd

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art in Motion

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The craft of making fast bikes look even faster

Story by Mike Bolton
Photos by Jerry Martin
Rider photos submitted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Pond House

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Fabled St. Clair County home now a retreat

Story by GiGi Hood
Photos by Jerry Martin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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