Category: St. Clair History

Rosie the Riveter

Springville’s Own Gatha Harvey

Story by Joe Whitten
Submitted Photos

It was 2011 when retired Pell City educator Deanna Lawley offered an idea to help boost the Pell City Schools Educational Foundation’s On Dec. 8, 1941, at 12:30 Eastern Standard Time, a solemn silence settled over the nation as stunned citizens heard President Franklin Rosevelt over the radio intone these stark words: “Yesterday, December 7, 1941 – a day which will live in infamy – the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.”

Six and a half minutes later, President Rosevelt ended his address: “I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7^th,1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.”

Gatha Harvey of Springville, Alabama, remembers how she learned of the Pearl Harbor attack. “We had been up to my sister’s and were on our way home,” she recounted. “Daddy always liked to have music, so he had the radio on, and they interrupted the program and told about Pearl Harbor being bombed.”

Americans were galvanized toward winning this war. Scores of youths dropped out of high school to join the military. Women became part of the war effort by working jobs previously occupied by men now fighting in various parts of the world.

Gatha would soon become part of the women’s work force.

From Hartwell to Marietta, Georgia

Graduating high school in 1944 at age 17, she wanted a job, but Hartwell offered very few choices – working in a sewing factory or clerking in a department store. Not an exciting outlook for her.

Then her aunt and uncle came from Marietta for a visit one weekend. Gatha recalls the day. “Daddy’s sister, Ruth, and her husband were working in the Bell Bomber Plant in Marietta, Georgia. They made B-29 planes. She said, ‘Why don’t you come to Atlanta with us?’ ” And I said, ‘I don’t know if Daddy would let me go that far away.’ ” However, Ruth did the asking, and Gatha’s daddy did indeed let her go with them.

At Bell Bomber Plant, Ruth took Gatha to the employment office, and they hired her. “I started working on airplane wings, bucking rivets,” Gatha smiled. An online article, Buck Riveting Basics, explains the process. “A bucked rivet is a round fastener that attaches two or more pieces of metal together. The rivet is driven by a rivet gun (a specialized pneumatic hammer) with an attached rivet set (strike surface) shaped to match the rounded shape of the manufactured head of the rivet. During the process, the tail of the rivet is backed up by a bucking bar that acts as an anvil while the rivet gun and set are repeatedly striking the head. As the rivets are driven, the tail (blunt end) of the rivet is transformed into a flat mushroom called a ‘shop head.’ ” So, in June 1944, Gatha officially became a Rosie the Riveter – a group still famous.

“The first day I was working,” Gatha reminisced, “I’ll bet I had gone that far (measures about two or three feet with her hands), and the inspector came to check my work. He was a young man, and he marked every one of my rivets, and I had to take ‘em all out. And I thought, ‘Boy, you sure are mean.’ Every one of my rivets had to come out because they were too close to the edge. So, I got ‘em all put in, and got ‘em right, and kept going. If we hadn’t got ‘em out, that plane could have come apart when it got in the air.”

The inspector, Alfred Harvey, was not mean after all, because four months later, on Oct. 21, 1944, he and Gatha White were married – a marriage that lasted 47 and a half years until Alfred’s death in 1992.

In January 1945, expecting their first baby, James Richard, Alfred and Gatha quit their jobs at Bell Bomber and moved to Birmingham. Alfred worked for a while in an airplane plant, then drove a truck. His sister who worked in the Tax Assessor’s office and suggested that if he wanted to drive a truck, he should take the Civil Service Test and work for the city of Birmingham. He took the test, passed it, was hired and worked 29 years for the city.

“We had a good life,” Gatha reflected. “On Oct. 28, 1945, my son Jimmy Harvey was born., and seven years later my daughter, Alice Faye Harvey Stone was born. We weren’t rich, but we had a good life.”

Growing up

In the summer of 1926, a heatwave skewered Georgia, and on the day Gatha White was born, July 21, the sun blazed over the horizon and sizzled the thermometer up to 108 degrees at Reed Creek community, her birthplace. It’s still the record heat today.

The fifth of nine children born to Judge Reese White and his wife, Arlie Maude Brown White, Gatha talked of her early years. “My daddy was a farmer. He raised corn, cotton and vegetable gardens.” All farm family children worked a farm thinning corn, chopping cotton, weeding the vegetable garden, gathering the vegetables – whatever the season required. “There were nine of us,” Gatha reminisced, “and as we got big enough to work, we all worked in the field.”

When the cotton matured, they helped with the harvest. “We would get out of school in September for six weeks to pick cotton,” Gatha recalled. This discontinuing of school for several weeks, called “getting out for cotton picking,” was a common practice in Southern states.

“We had a good time,” Gatha smiled, recalling home and her brothers and sisters. “On Sunday, my daddy would hitch up the mules to the wagon, and we’d go to church. And if there were any neighbors that didn’t have a way, he’d take them with us in the wagon.” The family mostly attended the Baptist church, but many churches had preaching only once a month, so the family attended whichever denomination was having church on Sunday.

Remembering those long ago preachers, Gatha reflected, “Sometimes they would pay the minister with chickens. Vegetables. They seldom got much money.”

She reminisced about school. “We went to a country school and rode the bus at Reed Creek. Then when we moved to Hartwell, Georgia, we’d walk to school. We all graduated high school.”

Gatha’s favorite subject in school was cooking class. “I used to watch my mamma cook, but she wouldn’t let me cook, so I would watch her. She could make some of the best biscuits.”

This recollection led to more food memories. “We’d go to the garden and pick beans, she’d can ’em. Pick peas, she’d can ‘em. Tomatoes, she’d can. Apples, she would dry. She had a frame that she’d put the sheets on, and we’d peel the apples and peaches, and she’d put ‘em out there to dry, and we’d have dried apple pies. You had to cover them up to keep the flies off.

“And we had homemade ice cream. And we made lemonade – got lemons and made it in a tub. We had a good life,” she smiled.

The family raised their own beef and pork. When hog killing time came, nothing was wasted. “Mamma and Daddy would cut pork chops, and they cured the hams with salt. We used everything but the chitlins,” Gatha recollected. “Mamma fried the sausage and put it in quart jars and canned it. She made souse meat.”

Souse meat, sometimes called hog’s head cheese, was the forerunner of sandwich lunchmeat. Gatha tells how her mother made it. “She’d boil the head and the pigs’ feet and get all the meat off that. And she put other stuff in it and she’d scrunge (squeeze) it up and put it in a big pan and put a lid on it and pressed it down to get all the grease out of it. It’s really good.”

Old recipes add various spices – pepper (black and red), sage, garlic, cloves and pickling spices. Old directions also recommended putting the souse meat in the smokehouse for a while before serving it.

Printed flour sacks and feed sacks were a godsend during lean economic days. Gatha recalled “Mamma would show daddy the sack design that she wanted him to get at the store, and when she got enough of the same design, she made our dresses. I never had a bought dress.”

From Birmingham to Springville

Gatha’s memories returned to her married life and living in Birmingham. “We lived in Woodlawn. We rented a house that had an apartment, and Alfred’s mother and daddy moved into the apartment. I cooked on Sunday to have ready when they come home from church, and my father-in-law liked pot liquor (turnip greens broth) with cornbread.”

After Alfred’s father died, the Harveys bought a house in Center Point and Alfred’s mother, who used a wheelchair, reluctantly moved with them. “She knew she was gonna have just one room and use of the house. Well, when all the neighbors made her welcomed, she was satisfied. She lived with us until ’74.”

After that, she moved in with her daughter for a while, and then into a nursing home. “She was a good lady. And she always said, ‘I hope you will have a daughter-in-law that’s as good to you, as you are to me.’ And if she was living, she’d know now that I did.”

Gatha’s eyes twinkled as she said, “My mother-in-law had a cough, and one of her sons, Ralph, was a policeman on the Birmingham police force. So, he brought her a pint. She mixed it with lemon and honey – made her a toddy. Well, that went on for about a month, and she said, ‘Ralph, bring me another pint of whiskey. I’m out.’ He said, ‘Mamma, you didn’t drink all that!?” Her reply was, ‘A little bit at a time,’ then added with justification, ‘Well, I had a cough.’ “So, he brought her another pint.”

Alfred had always wanted to travel, so prior to retiring, he had purchased a motorhome for traveling days to come. When he retired, they sold their home and headed out in the motorhome.

Their son, Jimmy, and his wife, Betty, had Springville property where Jimmy built a carport high enough for them to pull the motorhome under and a porch for them to step out onto when it was parked. He also put in a water hookup and installed a septic tank. They would come back from a trip and be at home in Springville in the motorhome until the next excursion.

Alfred and Gatha’s days of travel were cut short by Alfred’s emphysema. They returned from a Florida trip, and the drive home was difficult for Alfred. He had a doctor’s appointment but was so weak that Gatha drove him. His doctor put him in the hospital where he stayed 10 days, during which time he was put on oxygen. Gatha brought him home, where he died April 8, 1992.

Gatha kept active, and her four grandchildren, eight great-grandchildren, and her one great-great-grandchild, have all been blessed by her love and concern for them, for she speaks of them with smiles on her face. Each one has received a quilt – all hand-stitched and hand-quilted – with love in every stitch. Granddaughter Sonya’s quilt has scraps of dresses Gatha made for her when she was small. Grandson Richard commented on her grandmothering: “She took care of my sister and me when we were growing up, and we developed a special relationship with her. She was stern, but she was gentle. We loved her to pieces.”

The family also enjoys her cooking. At Christmas time, she always makes the dressing. She makes banana nut bread for granddaughter Sonya, her daughter-in-law Betty and herself. Grandson Richard Harvey – Springville’s Fire Chief – gets his favorite poundcake. Betty relates how “Gatha makes a buttermilk poundcake – it was my mother’s recipe – and she’s got the Springville Fire Department spoiled with it.”

Asked about the poundcake, Richard responded, “Oh, her poundcake. Yeah, she makes probably the best poundcake that’s ever been. But it’s not just me; it’s the entire Fire Station. The guys love it when she makes us poundcake.” Richard allows that the cake is especially delicious with strawberries and whipped cream.

Springville First Baptist Church

When the Harveys began parking their motorhome in Springville, Mrs. Barfield, their neighbor across the road, invited Gatha to go with her to church at Springville First Baptist Church where she was a member. Gatha accepted and went with her when she and Alfred would be in town between travels.

After Alfred passed, she became an active member of the church and was involved in its ministries – especially Sunday school and Saints Alive, the senior citizens group at the church. For Saints Alive, Gatha helped two directors, Geniva DuPre Smith and Linda Lee, by calling members to remind them of meetings or trips planned for the group.

At a recent Saints Alive lunch meeting, attendees sat by birth month at round tables, and Gatha lunched with five men who ranged in age from mid-60s to an 89-year-old. At the end of the meal, she got the group’s attention and said, “I’d like to say how much I have enjoyed dining with these younger men.” This is typical Gatha humor, as her neighbor, Dennis Jones, recently affirmed by telling, “Every time the TV says, ‘Check on the elderly,’ Gatha calls and checks on me – even though I’m 25 years younger.”

Today Gatha is the First Baptist church-member who has accumulated the most years of living. Until two years ago, she drove herself to church. Now Betty brings her.

At 97 / 98, Gatha rarely ever misses a Sunday school class or worship service. Her Sunday school teacher, Beverly Bullock, remarked, “Gatha Harvey is an example of a quiet soul who speaks loudly about her Lord and makes an effort to be in God’s house every Sunday.”

Tom Brokaw called the WWII era the “greatest generation,” and Eleanor Roosevelt said of the women of her day: “A woman is like a teabag, you don’t know how strong it is until it’s in hot water.”

Having lived almost 100 years, whatever “hot water times” Gatha has experienced has made her stronger. Whether the hot water of having to remove her first row of rivets or the twists and turns of living almost a hundred years, Gatha exemplified the strength Eleanor Roosevelt acknowledged.

Gatha’s grandson Richard Harvey agreed. “My grandfather treated her like an angel – he did everything for her, but at the same time she did everything for him. She was the classic housewife of that generation. Then when he passed, she was pretty much on her own and had to take care of herself. She had never driven when he passed, so at 65 she got her driver’s license.” He paused, then added, “She was never afraid.”

Whether Gatha Harvey is patriotic Rosie the Riveter, faithful wife, well-loved mother-in-law, or loving grandmother, she is an inspiration to all who know her, for she is an example of a life well-lived.

Richard recently told of his grandmother’s 90^th birthday. “I said, ‘Grandma, what’s something you’ve never done?’ And she said, “I’ve never ridden a motorcycle, and I’ve never flown in a plane.’ So, for her 90^th birthday, I put her on the back of my motorcycle and drove up to Ashville to a friend who had a plane. We put her in the plane, and he flew her all over St. Clair County.”

In anticipation of upcoming birthdays, Richard says he keeps asking her, “When are we gonna jump out of that plane?” Her answer so far has been, “I don’t think I’m gonna do that.”

How about it, Gatha. Is that water really too hot?

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The Right Track

Architect designs, creates, builds model trains

Story by Scottie Vickery
Photos by Mandy Baughn

It’s been said that much about your childhood – your neighborhood, the house you grew up in, or the size of your backyard – often seems smaller when viewed through adult eyes.

For Malcolm Sokol, everything about Birmingham seems downright tiny. That’s because the retired architect and model railroad enthusiast has spent years recreating his version of the city’s Industrial District, all in miniature.

Trains are the centerpiece of Malcolm’s model city

He’s built his own small-scale 1952 versions of Ensley, Pratt City, North Birmingham, Elyton, Red Mountain and other areas, along with the railroads that connect them. There are restaurants, stores, warehouses, iron ore mines, steel mills, a rail yard, Sloss Furnaces and a railroad trestle. And he’s built it all within a room that measures 13 x 19 feet.

“A genuine model railroader tries to make everything as realistic as possible,” said Sokol, who now lives in Cropwell on Logan Martin Lake. There’s no doubt that Sokol, who estimates he’s spent more than 12,000 hours over the past eight years or so on his hobby, is the real deal. He’s got an assortment of regional and national awards for his designs to prove it.

“You can make a career out of a hobby, but when you love it so much it’s not like going to work,” he said. “You don’t put any value on your time with a hobby unless you plan to sell something, and I would never sell this.”

In addition to the time and money he’s spent creating his HO scale model railroad layout, Sokol has an emotional and sentimental investment, as well. It brings back memories of his childhood.

“I grew up in Fountain Heights, and when I was a kid, we used to walk down to the railroad tracks, which were about two blocks away,” he said. “We loved to watch the switching (of rails and cars) at all of the industries.”

Getting on track

Sokol, a member of the Wrecking Crew Model Railroad Club in Birmingham, got his first model railroad set when he was 8 or 9. “My father gave me and my younger brother, Howard, a Lionel O Guage railroad set,” he said. “We played with that thing until we wore it out.”

Some neighborhood friends had sets, as well, and they would put them together and play for hours. “That was my introduction to model railroading,” he said.

His interest was renewed not long after he and his wife, Marilyn, had their first child. They went to a model railroad show, where Sokol bought a set. “I said I was buying it for my son, but he was only a year and a half old at the time,” he said with a laugh.

Today, Sokol loves sharing his hobby with their three children and their spouses, along with their seven grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. The Sokols’ home may be the only house on the lake where guests want to spend as much time inside as they do by the water.

“They love to run trains,” he said of his family and friends. “Everyone who comes here says, ‘Let me see what you’ve done on the trains’ They love to see the progress.”

There’s always something new to see in his train room, which used to be part of his garage. When Sokol got serious about his hobby, he finished the area, adding a ceiling and walls. He put the Masonite backdrop on three walls of the room, and he and his grandson, Garrett, used stencils to paint clouds and mountains. He later installed additional mountains he’d painted on panels of Masonite in the foreground, creating a multi-dimensional background.

The first two years were dedicated to building the frame and foundation for the layout and for laying the track. Using historical rail maps for Birmingham as a guide, Sokol added some of the industrial buildings that were built alongside the city’s tracks. His layout includes Loveman’s Warehouse, Pittsburgh Plate Glass Co. and the A&P Warehouse and Distribution Center.

First National Bank and Pete’s Famous Hot Dogs are represented in the layout, while some of the stores, such as Marilyn’s Knit Shop, were named for family members. Businesses in the Ensley section of the layout include Ideal Furniture, The Bank of Ensley and Gilmer Drugs. Sokol recently added Phase 2 of his railroad, which extends into an adjacent room measuring 13 x 6 feet.

Details matter

Sokol said the skills he honed during his architectural career, which spanned more than 30 years before he retired as CEO of Evan Terry Associates in 1998, has come in handy. “It definitely helps,” he said. “I have the design ability and the construction knowledge.”

Being his own client has allowed him the freedom to build everything just the way he wants. Although much of the layout was based on historical renderings, he took some artistic liberties, as well. “When you own a model railroad, you’re the owner and designer and you can make all the decisions,” he said. “When you’re playing all the roles, it’s easier.”

Special attention is paid to the lighting setup down to the street lamps

Sokol’s attention to detail is amazing. Although many model railroaders buy pre-made tracks, he bought the rails and used a band saw to cut 35,000 tiny wooden ties, which he attached with miniature metal spikes. “It’s all hand-laid, just like the real railroad does,” he said.

Most of his buildings are scratch built, meaning he designed, cut, assembled and painted them by hand, rather than using a kit. A watercolor artist, Sokol’s painting skills add an additional level of realism to his cities and buildings that takes time to create. He spent six months, for example, building and painting the railroad trestle, which is modeled after the L&N Cane Creek Trestle #10 in Brookwood.

Sokol’s favorite building, which happens to be the first one he made, is one he named the Starry Eye Mattress Company. In addition to the architectural details, there’s a dumpster, trashcans, barrels, bales of cotton and small wooden pallets where workers can be seen stacking mattresses.

The design won two regional awards, including Best in Show, and was displayed one year at the National Model Railroad Association’s convention. “One of the kit manufacturers from Maine found me and said, ‘I want to build a kit out of this model,’” he said.

Sokol gave him permission and the kit maker changed the name of the business to Sokol’s Mattress & Furniture Company as a nod to the creator. The original limited run of 500 kits, priced at $160 a kit, sold out in the first year. Some are currently being re-sold on eBay for more than $200.

While many of the railroad accessories can be purchased, Sokol spends hours creating his own. Model railroad switches, which allow trains to be guided from one track to another, can be purchased for about $30. “I built my own switches for $2 worth of materials,” he said. “I probably saved about $3,000 right there.”

Although saving costs in what can be an expensive hobby is a motivator, part of the fun for Sokol is figuring out how to make his own buildings and structures. The blast furnace on his Sloss Furnaces layout, for example, was made from a wiffle ball bat. “I needed something that was rounded and tapered, so I just cut off each end of the bat,” he said.

He made his lampposts, which are only a few inches tall, out of three different thicknesses of tubing. All of the lighting on the layout, whether on lampposts or in buildings, is fiber optics, he said.

Much of the materials he uses comes from his own backyard. He gets scoops of dirt, bakes it to kill any bugs, sifts it, and attaches it to the ground of the layout with white glue. He makes tree trunks from azalea limbs, drilling holes in the trunks to add smaller branches. Sokol uses hairspray to make clumps of painted ground foam that he uses for the foliage on trees and bushes. “I’ve given workshops on making trees,” he said.

Sights and sound

The electronics that are part of the railroad layout are as impressive as the designs. One of the most popular features is a lightning and rainstorm over one of Sokol’s buildings on his miniature Red Mountain. The soundtrack features thunder and wind, slamming screen doors, barking dogs and other lifelike noises.

The evolution of the technology used to operate the trains makes everything more realistic, Sokol said. “It used to be that every train on the track would go at the same speed and in the same direction,” he said. Now, there’s a computer chip in each locomotive, and model railroad engineers can run trains backward, forward and at different speeds, all on the same track. They can also control sound effects, such as bells, horns and brakes.

Although Sokol completed most of the work on his layout himself, he had several model railroader friends who shared their expertise. Steve Singer helped lay the ties and build the benchwork, which is the foundation for the trains and scenery. Winston Greaves helped with the electronics, and Dave Whikehart helped build the structures. Sokol said he figures everything is about 80 percent complete, but don’t hold him to it.

“A lot of people will ask model railroaders when they are going to be finished, and the answer is they will never be finished,” he said. “There is always more detail to add, and some will build a scene, decide they don’t like it and start over with a new one.”

Although the trains have brought Sokol much joy, they are not his only hobby. He and his wife love to travel – they’ve been to Australia and New Zealand this year and often spend a month or more in a city so they can live like the locals. Although he loves the adventure, he’s always glad to get back to his model railroad.

For the past 15 years or so, he and the other members of the Wrecking Crew club have built locomotive exhibits for the McWane Science Center, which are displayed during the holidays. Aside from the fun of helping to create the layouts, he enjoys watching the children and families enjoy them.

“It’s very rewarding,” he said. “This is a great hobby.”

Features

Chandler Mountain: Save the Mountain effort focused on history and the future

Top Photo: Keith Little Badger, Cherokee tribe of Northeast Alabama, surveys area

Story by Mackenzie Free and Carol Pappas
Photos by Mackenzie Free

Charlie Abercrombie has a history on this mountain, dating all the way back to the War of 1812 and a man by the name of Chandler.

That’s why today’s fight to save it meant so much to so many. For Charlie, it was personal.

Many joined the fight along the way and for varying reasons – from newcomers to old timers. It was personal to them, too.

Mackenzie Free, a photographer for Discover Magazine, joined the effort and was a vocal advocate in the Save Chandler Mountain movement. She lives in the mountain’s valley on the same land her husband’s family raised generations. Mackenzie and her family stood to lose it all – just like Charlie – if Alabama Power’s quest to build a hydro dam there succeeded.

Charlie Abercrombie on the dam on family’s land

It didn’t.

This is but one story among many, painting the picture of how history could be lost so easily. Here are excerpts from Charlie’s story that Mackenzie shared on social media at the height of the fight to save the mountain:

This is Charlie Abercrombie.

Out of all the folks I’ve met since moving out to the Steele/Chandler Mountain area 10 years ago, he might very well be one of my favorites.

I “think” he said he’s 77 years old, but I might be mistaken because he’s far too sprightly and agile for that to be correct.

He’s very charming and intelligent and has a memory that far exceeds mine.

He is also humble, hardworking and takes a lot of pride in his land.

You see, this land he calls home is special.

Very special …

His property was part of a presidential land grant from the U.S. government to Mr. Joel Chandler (yes, Chandler… as in ‘Chandler Mountain’) for fighting along with Andrew Jackson in the war of 1812.

A short while later, in the early 1840s, a grist mill (grinding wheat to flour and corn to meal) was built here. It was powered by water… this dam and Little Canoe Creek.

One of the pictographs found on the mountain

Mr. Abercrombie’s great grandfather later purchased this property and grist mill from the daughter of Joel Chandler in 1896. Let me reiterate that … 1896!!

(*To put that in perspective this property has been in his family longer than Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arizona, Alaska, and Hawaii, have been a part of the United States!!!)

This land is more than just his home… its history!

It’s his heritage.

It’s sewn into the very fiber of who he is.

It’s his legacy.

And you’ll find that is a common theme for most of these families (mine included) that stand to lose everything their forefathers fought so hard to protect.

It’s more than land … it’s bigger than that.

It’s not money either … it’s about history, heritage and the American dream.

Land has always been a staple of the American dream. From the Mayflower Compact of 1620, to the Homestead Act of 1862, all the way down to the ongoing battle we face to preserve what we have today … land has always been a integral component and driving force for the American way of life.

Mr. Abercrombie’s family worked their entire lives to earn, maintain and preserve the land they have for the next generation.

He is a steward of this land and the natural wonders around him … just as his great grandfather was.

He stands to lose it all.

The same sentiment played out across the mountain and down in the valley. They treasure the land, and they want to preserve it for future generations.

People like Fran Summerlin, Ben Lyon, Leo Galleo and a host of others led what did indeed become a movement to stop the project. The Alabama Rivers Alliance lauded them with an award for what was called a valiant battle.

The consensus was that the mountain isn’t just a geologic formation, it stands as a monument to history and heritage. It still stands because people cared enough to get involved in a fray most didn’t think they could win. But, they did.

Native American groups stepped in with support for preservation of land their ancestors once lived. Twinkle Cavanaugh and Chip Beeker of the Alabama Public Service Commission visited the mountain, heard the group’s pleas and decided their votes on Alabama Power’s proposal would be ‘no.’

Within days, Alabama Power announced it was cancelling its plans.

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Cool Springs Missionary Baptist Church

Founded in 1869

Story by Joe Whitten
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.
Submitted Photos

The name Cool Springs calls to mind a wooded bower where weary wanderers of long ago found peace and rest in the springs’ restorative waters.

And when a church is named Cool Springs Missionary Baptist, it is lovelier still, for it speaks of refreshing the soul and spirit. Psalm 104:10 reads, “He sends springs into the valleys, which run among the hills.” This was the motto verse for the church’s 150^th Anniversary in 2019.

The man who would establish this church, Alexander Clark Ramsey, was born in 1812 in Jackson County, Georgia, to John and Sarah Anderson Ramsey, according to Ramsey family history provided by Beth Jones and Judith Abernathy.

Their research also shows that “Sarah Anderson Ramsey was ¾ Cherokee and Creek Indian. She moved to St. Clair County, Alabama, with her children after her husband died in Rhea County, Tennessee, in 1829. The family believes that Alexander Clark also came to St. Clair County c1829 as well.”

Records show that at age 22, Alexander “entered land at Cool Springs with the government” in 1834, and by that same year, he had married Nancy Ann Ross, born in 1803 in South Carolina.

Alexander and Nancy Ann built a home in Cool Springs and reared a family of three sons. Two died during the Civil War: The first, recovering from wounds was returning home by train; however, the train crashed, and he died in the wreck. The second son died of measles.

The third son, John Washington Ramsey, returned home and lived his life in Cool Springs. Oral history states that when he returned from the war, John Washington could not embrace his family until his clothes were boiled and he had rid himself of lice.

The nearest church, Ashville Baptist, lay five miles northeast of Cool Springs. To attend this church, worshipers traveled these miles, by walking, by wagon, or by horseback. Inclement weather made this journey tedious.

We know the Ramsey family worshiped there from Mattie Lou Teague Crow’s history, Ashville Baptist Church and Its Beginnings. In her research, she discovered among Col. John Washington Inzer’s notes about the church a paper dated 1858, which listed those who pledged money toward constructing the second Ashville Baptist sanctuary. The listed names included “Clark Ramsey,” who pledged $10.00 – not a meager sum in those days.

Realizing the advantages of a local church for the Cool Springs families, Alexander Clark Ramsey and his son, John Washington, with other Baptists, organized Cool Springs Missionary Baptist Church in 1869. We do not have the names of the Charter Members other than John W. Ramsey, for the church’s earliest existing record book dates to 1883, 14 years after the organizing date.

The original church bell still in attic today

These were Reconstruction years and money was scarce. The men of the church and community felled trees, notched logs and constructed a log sanctuary which stood on the same property as today’s building and near the springs’ refreshing waters. Winter heat came from a log burning fireplace.

The 1883 minutes book lists 37 male members and Rev. J.S.E. Robinson as pastor. Rev. Robinson (1849-1924) pastored St. Clair County Baptist churches for over 50 years and preached revivals almost every year. A brief history of Friendship Baptist gives an account of a revival Rev. Robinson preached there. “He was asked if it were true that he had converted 60 souls during the revival. His answer rang out, ‘I never done it. God done it!’”

The walls of the log church resounded with Gospel preaching for 22 years, until the congregation needed a more commodious sanctuary. In a transcribed talk presented by Bessie Whitfield Burttram at the church’s Centennial Anniversary, she stated that in the January1891 business meeting, “Bro. W. Johnson was endorsed to have a bill of lumber cut for the new church building.” Then in March, “… a committee of five members was appointed to ascertain the indebtedness of the new building and to assign to each male member his portion of the cost.” The dates of completion of the building and the first service are unrecorded.

The 1891 building had two front doors – one for men and boys and other for women and girls. Judith Abernathy recalls her Aunt Roberta Ramsey Ensey telling how her “best beau” would walk her to the women’s door and then he entered by the men’s door.

Although remodeled and updated over the years, that building still serves the congregation today. The two front doors are gone, and all enter to worship through the same double doors.

In January 1913, a motion was made and approved “…to sell the timber on the church lot.” The timber sale resulted in $13.58, and they “purchased new seats for the church.”

Cool Springs has always had a concern for the spiritual and physical needs of its congregation and others. Church records show that in 1925, Mr. A.L. Galbreath, a farmer, told the membership that he had planted a five-acre plot “for the Lord.” When that was harvested and sold, “He brought the money received to the church to be divided between the pastor and the orphan’s home.” In those days, pastors were often paid with farm produce. Cash would have been a Godsend in 1925.

Today, Baptist churches conduct Sunday school classes for all ages. This wasn’t always the case. Sunday schools originated outside of established churches and were interdenominational.

In a Jan. 6, 2012, online article titled, “Sunday School an Evolving Institution,” it says that denominations moved slowly in organizing Sunday school classes. The same article states that “The Southern Baptist formed its Sunday School Board, now Lifeway Resources, in 1891.” Therefore, it’s not surprising that in April 1895 a motion to organize Sunday school at Cool Spring didn’t carry. They later approved Sunday school classes, but church minutes seem not to have recorded the date.

Membership increased, and church minutes show that in1936 the congregation approved remodeling and adding Sunday school classrooms, and Alabama Power installed electricity that summer.

For classrooms, the church decided to dig a basement under the 1891 structure. In a recent interview, Beth and Ross Jones and Judith Abernathy, told the basement’s history. “In 1936, teenage boys with a short mule named Bell, a slip scrape, shovels and picks dug the basement under the supervision of the older men. Church members picked up rocks to make the basement foundation to the addition. One of the men hauled them over here on his Studebaker truck.”

The US economy had improved by 1936, but in 1937, it took a dive which lasted until late in 1938. This unexpected decline involved the church members’ finances, so, completing the remodeling and basement rooms progressed at a tortoise pace.

In speaking of this, Judith told that in a business meeting someone suggested that the ladies of the church might give their Sunday eggs to help pay off the indebtedness. “The women sold eggs gathered on Sunday and put that money in the collection.”

It took from 1936 until 1938 to complete the remodeling, “However,” Beth Jones observed, “we have a full set of Sunday School rooms still in use today under the sanctuary built 132 years ago.”

A significant 1938 event occurred when Dr. Jacob Gartenhaus, director of the Southern Baptist Home Missions Board, accepted an invitation from the Cool Springs WMU (Women’s Missionary Union) to come speak to their group. Cool Springs’ WMU invited all churches to attend his presentation but as reported in The Southern Aegis of Feb. 3, 1938, due to inclement weather, only Cool Springs folk attended. “However,” the article continued, “Dr. Gartenhaus expressed a desire and determination to visit again.”

Dr. Gartenhaus, a Jew, was born in Bukowsko, Poland, in 1896. As a young adult, he came to New York City where he converted to Christianity. He attended Moody Bible Institute and the Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky. He served 27 years with the Southern Baptist Home Missions and was known as the “Southern Baptist Jew.”

Eighty-five-year-old June Smith, WMU member, recently told of WMU women quilting for the public. “We put the money in the WMU treasury,” she reminisced, “and that money went to missions. We’ve always been big on missions – and still are.” Cool Springs’ heart for mission continues strong today.

What would a Baptist worship service be without instruments to accompany the singing? However, beginning with the Reformation, protestants congregations sang acapella, for the organ represented the religion they protested. And 350 years later, most rural churches in the United States still sang without instruments.

Hymnbooks came with lyrics only. Instruments were also expensive, but the invention of the pump organ made that instrument affordable, but churches still resisted purchasing them.

We see that at Cool Springs in 1901, the motion to purchase a pump organ did not pass. Opinions changed by 1902, and the congregation approved buying an organ, and Myrtie Whitfield was organist for many years. One can only imagine the harmonious blend of voices and music the first Sunday it was played.

Today Leah Attaway plays the piano for the church. She studied piano for 10 years with Electa Stevenson, the well-respected piano teacher in Odenville, then continued music studies at Samford University. Leah’s first cousin, Kerry Montgomery, serves as song leader.

Singing schools that were held in churches became popular in the 19^th Century and continued until into mid-20^th Century. An announcement for one at Cool Springs appeared in the July 7, 1915, The Southern Aegis: “The Eureka Normal School of Music will hold an eighteen-day service under the direction of Homer E. Morris of Oneonta at Cool Springs five miles southwest of Ashville beginning July 12, 1915.”

The cost for 19 days’ study was $1.50, and for those coming from a distance, boarding for the duration was “very reasonable.”

All Day Singings occurred once a month in many St. Clair County churches, and singers from all over the county attended. In the Dec. 6, 1928, issue of The Southern Aegis, “Cool Springs News,” we read, “Cool Springs Singing Society attended the singing at Poplar Springs and report a good time.” Another in the April 1931 issue announced that at the All-Day Singing at Cool Springs there would be quartets from “Leeds, Acmar, and Odenville. …We are expecting a grand day. Bring well-filled baskets (of food).”

The St Clair News-Aegis of April 16, 1959, announced that “Lee Smith and the Master Workers Quartet from Akin, South Carolina, and Rick Mays and the Jubilaires Quartet of Birmingham” would be at Cool Springs, and that Ray Wyatt was the program chairman.

Beth Jones recalled that once when she was a child, she had the mumps and couldn’t attend. “Our family lived about 3/10 of a mile from the church, and that day, cars were parked all the way to our barn. I was on our front porch, and with the church windows open, I could hear the singing. We used to have big singings.”

Vacation Bible School (VBS) began at Cool Springs in 1947 under the ministry of Bro. Oscar Mitchell, and it has continued every year since then. Bro. Mitchell’s wife, Nellie, directed that first year.

Later, Peggy Jarrett directed many VBS weeks and is remembered for her concern for children. “I never will forget,” a church member said, “how when she always prayed, ‘Bless the children.’ She worried about children.”

Other VBS directors from bygone days include Margaret Sellers and Mary Ramsey.

June Smith’s family joined the church in c1950 when she was 12 years old, and she remembers well VBS time. One of her teachers, Gladys Smith, became her mother-in-law when June and Ralph Smith married.

Recently, she told how Lena Morris and Ruby Kirkland prepared cookies and juice each day for the children. “Mrs. Morris would squeeze oranges and make fresh juice for us.”

Today, Regina Ash directs VBS, and the entire church participates. Each year, between 50 and 60 children attend – Peggy Jarrett’s prayers answered. The purpose of VBS is teaching children about the Bible and God’s gift of salvation. Each year, children come to faith in Jesus Christ through this church ministry. These new converts wait until after the yearly revival to be baptized.

Until recent years, most churches held revivals every summer. Through the 1950s, the evangelist preached a morning service, had lunch with a church family, made visits in the afternoon, and preached at night services.

Churches announced revivals, as in this Aug. 8, 1917, ad in The Southern Aegis: “A series of revival services is being held at Cool Springs Church by Rev. E.P. Moore, who has many old friends in this community.”

Cool Springs scheduled revival week at the end of July. If the first week proved especially effective with many converts, a revival could continue for two or three weeks. Extended revivals were called “protracted meetings.”

The Ramsey sisters reminisced about revivals. “Ladies of the church took turns cooking for the evangelist and had the meal ready after the morning service,” Judith recalled.

Rev. Pearl Tinker was their favorite evangelist, for he brought his family and stayed with the Ramseys. “Judith was friends with the older daughter of the pastor, and I was friends with the younger daughter. We went to all the dinners!” “But,” Judith added, “we girls waited until the grownups had eaten.”

When revival ended, “Baptizing Sunday” came soon afterwards. This service occurred at the “Baptizing Hole” on Canoe Creek until the installation of the indoor baptistry in the 1980s.

Ross Jones recently reminisced, “The baptizing hole was originally a ford, so it was a rather shallow place with some areas deep enough for baptizing.” Beth joined in, “On Saturday before baptizing, some of the deacons would build steps going down from the bank into the water.

“Then on Sunday morning before the baptizing, John Ramsey, one of the deacons, would carry a long rod and go down the steps and check to make sure no holes had washed out during the night that could cause someone to fall. Then before baptizing started, a deacon would precede the pastor into the water to scare off the snakes.”

When the church added the baptistry inside the church in the 1980s, Pat Massey thought a painting of the Baptizing Hole would be a good background scene, showing “the olden days.” He commissioned Karl Scott, St. Clair Springs artist, to paint the scene, and the church paid the cost.

The most recent update to the sanctuary occurred in 2016. For 10 years the congregation had saved money to install a cupola for the original church bell. Several carpenters assessed the structure and determined the bell was too big and heavy for a cupola. Since the old Cool Springs School bell would fit, it hangs in the cupola today. The historic church bell remains in the attic and is rung on Memorial Day.

The Cool Springs School stood across the road from the church and to the left of the cemetery. Organized toward the end of the 19^th Century, classes first met in the church, it seems, for church records of July 1899 state, “Permission was granted for the church building to be used as a school.” Sometime after that, the community constructed a school on land donated by the Ramseys. It stayed in use until the 1940s when Cool Springs students were sent to Ashville school.

After building a home in the area in 2010, Chuck and Regina Ash wanted to worship in a local church, and after visiting other churches, they joined Cool Springs, and they both participate in church ministries. Chuck had grown up in the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, so when he and Regina chose Cool Springs Missionary Baptist, Chuck was baptized by emersion as required by Baptist. “I had to learn how Baptist do things,” he said.

Chuck learned well, for on March 20, 2022, he was ordained as a deacon along with David Murphree, Steve Ray and Jacob George. These four serve in fellowship with the other deacons: Ross Jones, Jim Montgomery, John Ray and John McWaters Sr.

Jacob commented on how the church had influenced his life, for he had grown up being taught the Bible and the things of God. “The church family itself has played a big part in me learning how important family and good friends and fellowship are,” he said. “At Cool Springs, most of our members are older, so, for me as a young man, it’s good to be around their wisdom.”

Brother Curry Harris has pastored Cool Springs since 1989. He also refers to the congregation as family. “In my 34 years, we have laughed, wept, celebrated and mourned. We celebrate marriages and births and watch children grow up. They feel like my own children.”

Of church members’ funerals, he said, “We weep and mourn for the family and our church family, but we celebrate that because of Jesus, they are with Him and we will be together again one day.”

Of the camaraderie and fellowship of his congregation, he recalled a September 17, 2023, picnic at Camp Sumatanga. “We prayed for each other’s needs, worshiped the Lord, enjoyed His beautiful nature and studied God’s Word. We ate together – Yes, fried chicken and banana pudding because we’re Baptist! Afterwards, some played horseshoes, children rode bikes, and others enjoyed walking or just talking and fellowshipping.”

Brother Harris’ plans for Cool Springs include to continue reaching out to the community and to continue fighting the good fight.

The ministries of this church are founded on the Gospel of Jesus Christ who said, “Whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:14, NIV Translation)

Composer John Peterson used this verse when he penned the chorus of his gospel song, “Springs of Living Water.”

Drinking at the springs of living water,

Happy now am I, my soul is satisfied.

Drinking at the springs of living water,

Oh, wonderful and bountiful supply.

Cool Springs Missionary Baptist Church, a refreshing oasis in a chaotic world, invites you to come.

Other Stories

Healing hands of St. Clair

County has a long history of medical excellence

Story by Joe Whitten
Submitted photos

St. Clair County throughout its history had a thriving medical community with doctors practicing medicine in all parts of the region. Many of the names are familiar to this day, stemming from their descendants perhaps or a particular road or place in the county that bears their name.

They were pioneers in the county’s history, and a sampling of the details of their lives gives a glimpse into who tended to the medical needs of St. Clair’s early settlers.

DR. WILLIAM A. BEASON

Dr. Beason was born in 1867 to Rufus and Carrie Ann (Staton) Beason in St. Clair County and was the eldest sibling of Flora (Beason) Montgomery, George D. Beason, Charles W. Beason, Martin V. Beason, and Sidney L. Beason. He was also the great grandson of St. Clair County pioneer Curtis Grubb Beason and the great-great grandson of American Revolutionary patriot Capt. Edward Beason.

On Oct. 30, 1901, with Rev. Noah A. Hood officiating, Dr. Beason married Ms. Lillie Eugenia Phillips at her family home, known today as the Phillips-Cunningham House.

The bride was the daughter of James Madison and Elizabeth (Yarbrough) Phillips and the granddaughter of Littleton Yarbrough. The couple lived for many years in the Byers-Prickett House with Mrs. Beason being noted as a gracious, Southern hostess.

“Dr. Beason was loved and respected by all who knew him intimately and was a man of strong convictions and always outspoken for things he believed to be right.” He was known to never drive over 35 miles an hour. When asked why he didn’t drive faster, he would always reply, “At 35 miles per hour, a car is still cheaper to run than a horse.”

Of his beloved wife it was said, “No man ever had a nobler and more helpful companion. She knew his work and helped him in its performance in many ways.”

Mrs. Lillie Beason “was widely known over the state. She took great interest in educational affairs” and always remained active in supporting “many movements for the betterment of her people.”

For several years she held the office of chairman of the St. Clair County Board of Education, earning her the noteworthy recognition of being the first woman elected to office in St. Clair County. “She was also president of the Baptist Missionary Union and a leading member of the Ashville Chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy,” and “was a brilliant woman… (with) many cultivated talents.”

Both were laid to rest in Ashville City Cemetery.

DR. JAMES MADISON McLAUGHLIN

Dr. McLaughlin was born in Leeds in Jefferson County on March 22, 1838, to John and Margaret (Brinker) McLaughlin. The doctor’s father was an early settler of the State of Tennessee and was the son of Alexander Andrew McLaughlin, who had emigrated from Scotland to Tennessee.

James attended public schools and later read medicine with Doctors Robertson and Freeman in Springville. He later attended Atlanta Medical College, now the Emory University School of Medicine. During this time, he enlisted in Company C of 18^th Alabama Regiment, CSA and was soon afterwards promoted to Captain. In 1864, he was promoted to lieutenant colonel and held that position until the close of the war.

On Jan. 4, 1871, James married Isadora Forman, the daughter of James and Parthenia (Dean) Forman. The bride’s father was noted as taking a “… leading part in all matters and issues in which people were interested,” and being “… true and energetic in behalf of his friends…”

The bride’s mother was the daughter of Nathaniel and Parthenia (Edmundson) Dean, and the granddaughter of Benjamin Edmundson, a Virginian patriot who fought for independence as a lieutenant in the American Revolution. In her obituary, Mrs. Forman was remembered as “… always cheerful…” and “… a faithful and affectionate wife and mother,” who was “… thoughtful of every interest of her children…”

In 1875, the doctor opened a pharmacy and two years later welcomed his only child, Katherine, into the world on March 27, 1877. She would later marry Jacob Forney, a president of Jacksonville State University, who was the son of General John Horace Forney and nephew of Alabama U.S. Rep. William Henry Forney.

It could never be said that Dr. McLaughlin did not live a full life. During his 70 years, he was a member and elder of the Presbyterian Church, a Mason and Knight of Pythias, Mayor of Springville three times, examiner for the New York Life Insurance Company, the Penn Mutual Life Insurance Company, and for the Equitable Life Insurance Company; member of the board of pension examiners, county health officer, member and one of the organizers of the St. Clair Medical Society and counselor of the State Medical Society.

After declining in health for two years, Dr. McLaughlin passed away and was memorialized as being “… closely associated with all movements for growth and prosperity of our county,” and giving “… freely of his time, energy and guidance for its welfare.” Furthermore, “(h)e was beloved by all with whom he came in contact and held the respect and admiration of all his business and political associates.”

The magazine, Confederate Veteran, honored Dr. McLaughlin and observed that he was “… a loving husband and father, a good citizen, a brave soldier and a Christian Gentleman.”

DR. FINIS E. PERKINS

Dr. Perkins was born on March 2, 1859, near Trussville to William Washington Perkins (1829-1910) and Elizabeth (Praytor) Perkins (1832-1886). Dr. Perkins financed his dental training by selling Bibles and began practicing dentistry about 1880.

He had offices in Birmingham, Springville, Odenville and in other small towns in St. Clair County. One of his main interests was to teach dental care and health care to public school children. For at least 50 years, he was a regular visitor at many schools and always emphasized that every bite should be chewed 32 times.

A part of every lecture was a Biblical quotation from 1 Corinthians 6:19-20, “What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own? For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.”

He cooked most of his own meals and used olive oil exclusively to cook with because he considered animal fats to be bad for the teeth, gums and the human body. Wherever he ate, private or public, he first asked God’s blessing on that meal.

He was an active member and financial supporter of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church of Norwood in Birmingham.

Dr. Perkins was attracted to St. Clair Springs because of the healing powers of the sulfur waters available and in 1896 built a cottage there. He also took annual trips to Pike’s Peak and maintained a summer home there for many years.

Dr. Perkins never married and practiced dentistry up to his death on June 21, 1950, at the age of 91.

As Hippocrates, the ancient Greek physician known as the Father of Medicine, once said, “Wherever the art of medicine is loved, there is a love of humanity.”

The same could be said for St. Clair County’s early hands of healing.

Other Stories

Beaver Creek gristmills, cornbread and memories

Story by Joe Whitten
Photos by Mackenzie Free
and submitted Photos

Some of our readers are of an age to remember a family farmhouse with a wood-burning cookstove in the kitchen. As memory pulls them into distant reveries, the smell of cornbread browning in the oven is so real that mouths begin to water. On the table sits the fresh-churned butter that will crown a slice cut steaming from the cast iron skillet.

Then, as memory fades into 2023 reality, they realize a skillet of cornbread baking in a gas or electric oven smells just as good.

Two hundred years ago in St. Clair County, the meal for that “bread of memory” came from a local gristmill that had ground the farmer’s homegrown, dried and shelled corn.

Yarbrough waterwheel attached to wooden frame, submerged in Beaver Creek

In the book, Anthology of People – Places – Events of St. Clair County, Mattie Lou Teague Crow (1903-1999) in her article, “Mills in the Valley,” records that before the construction of local gristmills, “The man of the family often traveled all the way back to Georgia or Tennessee to have corn ground into meal. In time, each community had its own gristmill.”

Later in the article she laments that “Today we buy … a box of corn muffin mix, which (Tennessee) Ernie Ford assures us is ‘pea-picking good.’ But it’s a sad thing that today’s generation will never know what real cornbread was like. Corn pone. Egg bread. Spoon bread. Johnny cake. Crackling bread. Corn dodgers. Hush puppies. Today’s variety is a pale imitation of the bread our grandparents made from that wonderful water-ground meal.”

Yarbrough Mills

Manoah Yarbrough no doubt built the first gristmill on Beaver Creek c1823. He moved his family from North Carolina to St. Clair County in 1822. His original destination was Choccolocco Valley in Calhoun County, but after learning of the Indian unrest in that area, he settled in St. Clair County.

According to an article written by Fitzgerald Yarbrough for The Heritage of St. Clair County, Manoah, having run corn and flour mills in North Carolina, had “brought his mill, including the mill rocks, with him,” and soon after getting “the family settled, he began constructing a dam across Beaver Creek to furnish power for his grist and flour mills. The dam is approximately 450 feet long and is built of mountain rock and dirt.”

Fitzgerald was proud of the fact that “The original dam is still used today as a roadbed leading to a bridge which crosses Beaver Creek. … The bridge foundation is the original dam where the water gates were.” Fitzgerald and his two sons, Fitz and Burk, constructed the bridge in 1985.

In the fall after the harvest and through the winter months, the family and farm workers added height to the dam “… to give a greater head of water so more machinery could be added.” Manoah died in 1840, and his son, Littleton, continued running the mill and making improvements.

In addition to corn and flour mills, over time, the Yarbrough mills included a sawmill, a shingle mill and a wool carding mill. Fitzgerald wrote of Littleton’s son, “My grandfather, John Yarbrough, Sr., ran the wool carding mill to make wool yarn for the Confederate Army during the Civil War. He was only 13 years old when the war began.” John Yarbrough, Sr., added a cotton gin, which operated until about the time WWI began.

The traditional waterwheel powered the mill until the 1880s. By then, Littleton had died and his son, John Yarbrough, mentioned above, operated the mills and continued making improvements to them.

“The turbine water wheel (that John purchased) was known as Morris Wheel,” Fitzgerald wrote, “because it was constructed at Morrisville, Alabama, and sold to my grandfather by John and Elbert Morris.”

When John and Elbert Morris came to Beaver Valley to install the Morris Wheel, romance blossomed between them and two of Fitzgerald’s aunts, for “A few years later, John Morris married my aunt Mae,” he wrote, “and Elbert Morris married Aunt Jennie.”

At the location of the mill, Beaver Creek flows wide and sparkling in the sun. The mill dam allowed a large lake to form above it which became a place local folk enjoyed for fishing, camping, swimming, fish fries and picnics.

With the passing decades, sediment built up behind the dam, thus reducing the volume of water in the lake. The Yarbroughs estimated that between the years 1823 and 1925, eight feet of sediment accumulated. Then in 1925, an exceptional flood washed out the water gate and swept the waterwheel downstream about 50 feet from its original location in the water house, which was also damaged by the flood waters and never rebuilt.

The waterwheel, still attached to its wooden frame, lies today in the waters of Beaver Creek and has not been removed for two reasons recorded by Fitzgerald: “(1) Its weight. It is very heavy, and (2) It is better preserved under water than if it was raised and exposed to the elements.”

The Yarbrough mill functioned for more than 100 years. The corn and flour mill stones carted here from North Carolina remain in the family. And from the sawmill, several 19^th century homes constructed by Littleton Yarbrough, with lumber sawn in his mill and dried in his kiln, remain in the Beaver Valley today. The kiln lay east of the dam and the outline of the rock foundation and sides remain visible today. In addition to these Beaver Valley homes, the Ashville Courthouse and the second Ashville Baptist Church building were constructed with lumber from the Yarbrough mill.

Abernathy Grist Mill

In the previously mentioned book, Anthology of People – Places – Events of St. Clair County, Larry McCullough wrote the article, “History of the Abernathy Grist Mill,” from history he collected from L.E. Abernathy and V. Ray Thompson. Larry wrote, “The Abernathy Grist Mill once located in Beaver Valley was purchased in 1918 by M.R. Abernathy after the sawmill he operated in Ashville was destroyed by fire. The mill was previously known as the Gilchrist Mill, though it is unclear who actually built the mill or when it was built.”

However, in the same Anthology, Lura Jean Cobb Smith, a Gilchrist descendant, has an article titled “Who Built the Mill?,” wherein she stated, “My Great-Grandfather, Truss Vann Gilchrist brought his family from Calhoun County to St. Clair County, bought farmland in the valley of Beaver Creek, on October 28, 1879. He and my grandfather, John Dudley Gilchrist, built the Mill now known as Abernathy Mill.” The rest of the article relates Gilchrist genealogy and family history.

In a recent interview, Judith Ramsey Abernathy recalled information her husband, Bob Abernathy, had gleaned about his grandfather, Marion R. Abernathy, who bought and ran the mill. “The Abernathy family lived in Cherokee County where, as carpenters and millers, they designed mills, dams and raceways – flumes for carrying water. The family mills there included a gristmill, sawmill and cotton gin.”

Marion was five years old when his father died. In those days, children in large families grew up learning how to work, and so did Marion. In the 1880 US Census, he is listed as a farm hand and living with his cousin in Cherokee County, Alabama. Then in later censuses, he is in St. Clair County.

The Abernathy family were related to the St. Clair County Lindsey family who “… had a mill on Canoe Creek northeast of Ashville,” said Judith, “and we believe that is why Marion came to St. Clair County.”

“The mill sat on a large lake created by dams on the creek,” she related. “Bob’s mother recalled seeing large trout in the lake. They built a big farmhouse on the Beaver Creek property. It had a dogtrot through the center and many large rooms.”

Larry McCollough describes the remains of the mill. “The dam is still intact except for a 20-foot section on the south side of the creek. The dam stretches 80 feet from end to end, stands 15 feet tall and is 10 feet thick at the base. Some of the rocks making up the dam are half as large as automobiles.”

According to Larry’s article, the millhouse was a wood frame structure that stood two stories high and sat “…atop the dam on the northside of the creek. …A cotton gin occupied the top floor, though the gin machinery was never used by Mr. Abernathy.”

The Abernathy mill never had the traditional waterwheel, so when time came to grind corn, the miller raised a sluice gate in the dam to release the water. “The water was directed through a water turbine. …The turbine converted the rushing water into power that turned various gears and shafts, finally setting into motion one of the 800-pound millstones. One stone turned in a circular motion (this one had to be balanced) while the other remained stationary during the grinding.” The ground corn meal fell into a hopper under which the miller had placed a sack into which he released the meal.

Margaret Franklin Berry, who grew up in Slasham Valley, remembers this process from the mid-to-late-1940s. “When we needed corn meal, my parents would send my brother and me out there to shell corn. I remember we shelled gallon buckets of corn. My daddy would take it to the mill to have it ground, and I’d go with him. I just thought that was fascinating to watch that man pour that corn into that hopper, and it come out cornmeal.” She couldn’t remember the name of the mill, but her description seems to indicate the Abernathy Gristmill.

Larry also pointed out that the millstones’ grooves would wear down from the grinding and required regrooving periodically. The miller used a hammer and chisel for this job. This chiseling left grit in the grooves for several days afterward, and during those days, the miller ground only chicken feed until the grit was gone.

Just as at the Yarbrough mill, the Abernathy millpond was a social gathering place where people could swim and fish in the cool water and then picnic on the bank.

In the early 1940s, unusually heavy spring rains caused Beaver Creek flooding, which swept the Abernathy millhouse off its foundations. At the time Larry wrote the article in 1985, “Boards, rafters and heart pine logs can still be seen beneath the clear waters, looking like the wreckage of a Spanish galleon.”

Time no doubt has taken its toll on those timbers the passing years. The millstones were retrieved by Larry and remain preserved at his home today.

According to Judith Abernathy, after the storm washed the Beaver Creek mill away, “Marion purchased land in Ashville and built a new home. He also began operating a heading mill, making wooden barrelheads. This mill was located at the corner of Highway 23 and 7^th Avenue in Ashville. Every day at noon, a steam whistle would blow at the mill.”

The Cox Mill

In an article on file at the Ashville Museum and Archives, Margaret Coker wrote of the Cox Gristmill in a paper titled, “Childhood Memories of an Old Gristmill.” Henry Cox operated this mill in Beaver Valley. According to Mr. Cox’s obituary in The Southern Aegis, Nov. 8, 1928, he became blind at the age of 12, and in spite of his blindness, as an adult he delivered mail in Beaver Valley for 15 years.

The Cox gristmill had the traditional waterwheel, and the dam across the creek formed a millpond. When the miller opened the water gate, the rushing water turned the waterwheel to power the mill.

“I remember helping my father by turning the handle of the corn sheller while he fed the ears into it,” Mrs. Coker wrote. “Then the corn was sacked and taken to the Cox Gristmill.” Folk could have their corn ground fine, medium or coarse.

“I remember as a small child going to the mill with my father in a wagon,” she wrote, “and then later in an early model Ford car. Some customers came bringing their sacks of corn across the backs of the horses or mules they were riding. Others came in buggies or wagons.”

She drew a word picture with this recollection from the past. “One of the pleasant memories of my childhood was walking into my mother’s kitchen and smelling the enticing aroma of hot cornbread just out of the oven of the wood burning stove. Even better was the taste of the bread when a slice of it was filled with home churned butter.”

The wonderful thing is a wood burning stove is not required for making family memories of your own. So, go to the store and purchase some self-rising corn meal – and a pound of real butter. For dinner tonight, open a jar of the vegetable soup you canned this past summer. Turn your oven – gas or electric – to 425 degrees and put the oiled iron skillet in the oven while it heats. A sizzling hot skillet gives a good crust to the cornbread. If you don’t have a recipe, there will be one on the bag of cornmeal you bought, or you can call your mother, your grandmother, an aunt, or a friend for their recipe.

Over the past 100 years, sugar has crept into cornbread recipes in the South, but for true, old-timey Southern cornbread, cooks don’t add sugar to the batter. Beloved storyteller, Sean of the South, addressed this in his Nov. 2, 2022, online blog titled, “For the Love of Cornbread,” when he wrote:

“Only a few days ago, I visited a restaurant in Franklin, Tennessee. It was one of those fancy joints where waiters and waitresses walk like they’re in need of fiber supplementation. The waitress brought me a hot basket of sweet cornbread.

“ ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ I said to the waitress. ‘There’s something wrong with my cornbread.’

“‘What’s wrong?’ she said.

“ ‘Well, I think the chef spilled a box of Duncan Hines into the batter.’

“No, sir, we put sugar in our cornbread.”

“ ‘Why would you do such a thing?’

“Because our chef is from Chicago.”

And cornbread lovers all over the South murmured commiserations along with Tennessee Ernie Ford, “Well bless his pea-picking heart!”

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