Category: St. Clair History

Springville Museum

Quest to Preserve Past a Labor of Love

Story by Jackie Romine Walburn
Photos by Michael Callahan

Designed and curated by history-loving volunteers, the Springville Museum takes visitors on a tour of people, events and artifacts of the St. Clair County town named for its natural springs, known for its historic downtown and a famous son who had a TV pig named Arnold.

Located at the 1903 downtown building that once housed Masonic Lodge No. 280, the Springville Museum opened in the fall of 2015. Volunteers with the Springville Preservation Society staff the museum when it’s open to the public the first and third Saturdays each month and on special occasions, says Museum Director and volunteer Kathy Burttram.

“We are very proud of the museum and want everyone to come see what we’ve accomplished,” says Burttram, who adds that Springville volunteers and expert advice from the Alabama Department of Archives and History helped get the museum ready for visitors.

Two Masonic Bibles, an antique Masonic emblem and signs from the turn-of-the-century building are displayed behind the museum counter and gift section. This section also features artwork by artist Clay Allison, including intricate watercolor and line drawing prints of the town’s many historic building and homes, plus note cards and Christmas ornaments that are sold to benefit the museum and the Springville Preservation Society. Allison, a volunteer himself, also designed the exhibit signs and museum of city history signs out front on Main Street.

The society owns and operates the museum plus a recently refurbished 1800s cabin they call the White House, which will be the city’s welcome center next to city hall, and the 1921 Rock School.

Initially called Big Springs about the time the first church was built in 1817, the town’s name changed to Pinkhill in 1833, when the first post office was established, and officially became Springville in 1834 and incorporated as a town a generation later in 1880, according to the Encyclopedia of Alabama.

Museum sections include a children’s area, a vintage kitchen, a music room, plus exhibits on famous Springville folks of note, military veterans, businesses and schools, including the first grade to college academy, established in 1861 and later called Springville College, that attracted college students from throughout the southeast until it was destroyed by fire in 1912.

The CHILDREN’S exhibit is an interactive space with rotary phones and their corded touchtone cousins, plus manual typewriters, vintage board games and children’s books. The Preservation Society wanted an area where children could experience things from the past and stay busy while adults tour, Burttram says. The museum plans to continue the “Children’s Day at the Museum” program started last summer by society president Frank Waid, with interactive activities and stories on a summer date to be announced.

The KITCHEN exhibit – designed by Sally Golsby, Sandra Tucker and Carol Tucker – is centered by an antique Norge refrigerator, on loan by Frank and Janis Price. Antique dishes, a wooden ironing board and iron complete the display that looks like your grandma’s or even great-grandma’s kitchen.

A LIVING room exhibit, also called the music or church area, was developed by volunteers Gail Hammonds, Sara Trotter, Kathy Burttram and Donna Davis. They created a nostalgic music parlor highlighting an antique piano and organ, surrounded by antique velvet furniture and hymnals, song books and sheet music dating back a century or more.

The upright piano was originally in the Forman Street home of James L. Forman and his son, the late St. Clair probate judge Ward Forman, and is on loan from Forman descendant Lew Windham. Next to the piano is an ornate organ, circa late 1800s. The organ was originally in the parlor of the McGee family from Lamar County and is on loan from a descendant, Evelyn Criswell of Springville.

A CAMERA exhibit, developed by volunteers Clay Allison, Donna Davis and Ed Bruchac, includes a display case of vintage still and video cameras on loan or donated by local folks. These include 35 mm and the wider 110 mm cameras and the film and film canisters that were commonplace before the advent of digital photographs.

A 1921 one-tube radio rests on top of the camera display.

Appropriately, on the wall near the camera display case are framed play bills from the Springville Theatre, a movie theater that changed movies every two days back in its heyday in the 1950s. Donated by local resident Janet McBroom and preservation society volunteer Carol Pearson Waid, the posters show the movies that were at the downtown theater with original play bill artwork. Some posters include notations handwritten by a young Mrs. Waid, who noted who she went to the movies with. Teasing her about her teen-age record keeping on the movie posters, Burttram says, “Somebody told Carol, ‘I didn’t know you dated so many different people.’”

Carol Pearson Waid and her husband, society president and Vietnam veteran Frank Waid, helped put together the MILITARY exhibit which includes armed services uniforms dating back to World War I plus some Civil War documents. “We have been so fortunate that as word got out about the different exhibits being put together, people would just bring items to loan or donate,” said Burttram.

This was true of many exhibits, particularly the military ones, which includes a wide variety of armed services uniforms, plus battlefield letters to and from home and other sentimental items from military families.

Frank Waid, who was a helicopter pilot in Vietnam and served in combat again in the Desert Storm conflict, loaned Vietnam era items. These include a tail rotor blade, signed by servicemen, from a UH1N twin engine Huey helicopter used by special operations forces in Vietnam. Waid also loaned for exhibit his Vietnam Flying Squadron party jumpsuit worn at celebration parties after successful completion of exceptionally long or difficult missions. The unofficial jumpsuit, with its star-spangled peace sign patch, was from the 20^th Special Operations Squadron at Cam Rahn Bay in South Vietnam.

At museum center is a full-sized metal traffic light from downtown Springville, complete with bullet holes. The ragged bullet holes in the light’s thick metal frame came courtesy of a nearby resident who got frustrated with the red-yellow-green lights shining in his windows and tried to shoot them out more than once.

A BUSINESS exhibit includes an antique cash register and scales and one of the “premium” bowls customers could earn by trading at Bud’s Dollar Grocery store. The bowl was shared with the museum by the Joe and Helen Sarusce family. The Pearson sawmill, founded by Carol Waid’s grandfather, is featured as being the largest employer in Springville during its peak period prior to its closing in the 1960s. Pearson Hardware, the Simmons sawmill and an old barbershop pole, on loan from the Ricky Hill family, are highlights of the business exhibit designed by Kathy Burttram and Donna Davis.

An exhibit on the Springville Skating rink, includes a giant rotating disco light and sign from the skating rink ceiling. Skates are on loan from Carol Waid and Carol Tucker.

A MEDICAL section features Ash Drug Store, pharmacist Dr. Harold Bettis, and local physicians, Dr. Robinette Smith and Dr. James McLaughlin, and includes a syringe kit from about 1900 and other antique medical items.

The Springville Museum name drops with a FAMOUS PEOPLE exhibit. Noted Springville natives include Hank Patterson (1888-1975), an actor who portrayed Fred Ziffel on TV’s Green Acres, a character known for his pet Arnold the Pig, and had a recurring role on Gunsmoke.

There’s Margaret Byers, an actress, musician and “little person,” who starred on Broadway, including playing a munchkin in a Broadway production of The Wizard of Oz. Miss Byers later taught first grade back home in St. Clair County. And, there’s Springville-born cartoonist Milton Caniff who created the Steve Canyon comic strip.

Springville natives who made their mark in the sports world include Arthur Lee “Artie” Wilson. Wilson was a shortstop and left-handed hitter whose .402 mark with the Birmingham Black Barons in 1948 is thought to represent the last time anyone at the top level of professional baseball broke the .400 barrier.

Springville sports notables include Brandon Moore, who played baseball at Auburn University and played and coached on a number of professional baseball teams, including the Kansas City Royals and Chicago White Sox organizations. He also had a coaching stint with the Birmingham Barons.

The exhibit also includes native son Randy Howell who brought fame to St. Clair County when he became the 2014 BASSmaster fishing champion.

In politics and public service, Springville’s Marilyn Quarles was the first modern day female member of the Alabama House of Representative when she was elected as a Democrat in the 1970s. She was also a teacher, and her family owned the town’s Dairy Dip and Springville theater.

Noted among local politicians is James Clarence Inzer, an attorney who served in the state senate and board of education in the 1920s and 30s and as Alabama lieutenant governor from 1947-1951.

Also featured is current state senator for District 11, Dr. Jim McClendon, a Vietnam veteran, retired optometrist and member of an original Springville family.

The museum also recognizes Springville families with FOCUS FAMILY Tree display that rotates every three months. Recent focus families are The Charles Lovett and Mildred Terry Herring family and the James Shelby and Emma Tucker Jones family.

Another display tells the story of a train derailment in 1969 that shook the town and destroyed the depot. On January 16, 1969, a train carrying propane tanks derailed at the Springville Depot and hit additional propane gas tanks that then exploded. Firefighters from from as far away as Birmingham and the National Guard responded to help fight the blaze. Although damage to the town was considerable, and 400 people were evacuated from their homes, no one was killed.

SPRINGVILLE SCHOOLS display, designed by volunteer Donna Davis, features a 1929 yearbook for the Springville High School Tigers and pictures of classes from the 1950s and earlier.

UPSTAIRS at the museum, volunteers work organizing reference and research materials to be used for genealogy searches. New Springville resident Paulette Kelly is helping to organize materials, including ledgers and vintage books for the upstairs section. Springville native Sandy DeBerry is another volunteer helping to ready the archives and reference areas.

“It’s fun learning the history of Springville as we go along,” Paulette says

“I love history and love the small town I grew up in,” says Sandy DeBerry. “Preserving history is important work.”

A plat map cabinet upstairs, donated by the Tucker family, will be used to store maps, large ledgers and bound copies of the St. Clair Clarion, a weekly newspaper that operated through the late 1980s.

To learn more about protecting the artifacts and treasures displayed and available for reference upstairs, museum volunteers visited the state’s department of archives and history, where Museum Services Director John Hardin was particularly helpful, Burttram says. In turn, state Archives staff visited the new Springville Museum.

That relationship helped the museum volunteers know to apply for a small grant from the state archives. The grant helped purchase a dehumidifier, tinting for front windows and archive supplies to store scrapbooks, ledgers, journals and old photos.

Projects taking shape upstairs also include work on a book about veterans of St. Clair, the design of a display using the electronic bell from the Methodist Church that still chimes, and creation of a music display featuring donated albums and sheet music. Two types of pews original to the Masonic Lodge are upstairs along with a quilting frame still to be developed into a display.

Burttram says anyone interested in volunteering or helping with or participating in the St. Clair veteran booklet can contact her at kpburttram@hotmail.com.

Other Museum volunteers who have helped with bookkeeping, cleaning, remodeling, painting and more include Millicent Yeager, Glenn Miller, Crissy Sharp, Harold Riker, Tami Spires, Sandy DeBerry and Society secretary-treasurer Sean Andrews.

Other Stories

Marcus H. Pearson

Tales of a Springville inventor, entrepreneur

Story by Leigh Pritchett
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.
Submitted photos courtesy Carol Waid

Marcus H. Pearson was a small, quiet, humble man, with big ideas that made an impact on farmers, herdsmen and churchgoers.

Those big ideas netted two patents (one when he was just 26), made putting up wire fences a little easier and aided congregations with their building projects.

Oh … and his chicken house once held Auburn University’s live War Eagle mascot.

According to granddaughter Carol Pearson Waid of Springville, Pearson was quite the entrepreneur. “Granddaddy had several different businesses.” Among them were Pearson Lumber Co. and Sawmill, a grocery store and a gristmill.

All were on property situated at US 11 and Cross Street. Also on the site were Pearson’s home, workshop that was full of punches and patterns, and, of course, the famous chicken house.

“All of this was Pearson property,” Mrs. Waid said about the expanse that surrounds Pearson’s home, where she and husband Frank Waid now live. “This is the house Grandma and Granddaddy built.”

The 1931 home features original wood floors and cabinetry, four fireplaces, a telephone directory from 1956, Pearson’s accordion and a bed that belonged to his grandmother.

The yellow building at the corner of US 11 and Cross Street that currently houses Louise’s Style Shop and C.E. Floral Gifts and Novelties was the grocery store.

Mrs. Waid worked at the grocery store as a girl. “I worked there for a nickel a day,” she said.

The lumberyard was behind Pearson’s house, as is the current home of grandson Tommy Burttram.

As for the gristmill, Burttram’s parents – Ed and Willie Pearl Pearson Burttram – remodeled it for their home as newlyweds. When they decided to build another dwelling, they relocated the gristmill and incorporated it into the architecture.

Being enterprising seemed to be a family trait as Pearson’s father, W.R. Pearson, was also a business owner. He operated a blacksmith shop just across US 11 from where the Waids live. Working in the blacksmith shop, Marcus Pearson learned smithing, buggy repairing and woodworking.

Kathy Burttram, Tommy’s wife, has a ledger from the blacksmith shop chronicling the work done there daily.

Close to the blacksmith shop was the home of Pearson’s parents. They had the first telephone, first radio and first bathtub in Springville. Mrs. Waid said neighbors came to see the bathtub with their towels in hand.

Born in 1879, Marcus Pearson received from his mother, Frances Amelia Truss Pearson, the lineage of the Truss family for whom Trussville is named, Mrs. Waid said.

As a child, Pearson watched the creation of what became a tourist attraction in Springville until the 1960s. Mrs. Waid explained that Springville gets its name from a spring, which later was transformed into a lake. “Granddaddy saw them dig (the lake) with oxen,” she said.

In 1909, Marcus Pearson’s red, Pope-Hartford Model B became the first automobile recorded in Springville. His was only the fourth vehicle to be registered in all of St. Clair County.

He married at age 41, played the accordion and harmonica, and did not believe in working on Sunday.

“He thought Sunday ought to be kept holy,” Mrs. Burttram said.

He was a disciplinarian, lived 95 years and enjoyed hearing Mrs. Waid play What a Friend We Have in Jesus on piano.

“Granddaddy was on the building committee of the ‘Rock School,’” Mrs. Waid said, referring to Springville’s historic hillside school constructed of rocks. “He wanted to build it on the level ground. But he was outvoted because people wanted it built on the hill so people from the train could see it.”

Mrs. Waid said one of Pearson’s friends was James Alexander Bryan, who was a noted minister and humanitarian in Birmingham. In fact, “Brother Bryan,” as he was called, officiated when Pearson married Opal Jones.

The Pearsons had three children, one of whom was Marcus M. Pearson. Son Marcus — Mrs. Waid’s father — assumed the lumber business in 1950, served on the board of education and was mayor of Springville in the 1960s, Mrs. Waid said.

When another son, Frank, decided to play baseball for Springville, the automobile that father Marcus H. Pearson had at that time served as the team “bus.” It was spacious enough to transport the whole team to the games, Burttram said.

Marcus H. Pearson actually held patents on two different plow designs. The 1907 patent was for improvements to make the wooden plow more durable and easier to manufacture, according to his application to the U.S. Patent Office. This farm implement also had adjustable handles and a design that would “take the ground better and … not choke up as rapidly as the ordinary plow.”

That plow and his Pearson Fence Stretcher — to keep wire fencing from tangling during installation – received a blue ribbon at the 1907 Alabama State Fair.

In 1951, he received his second patent, this time for a “regulator for flow of material from a hopper” affixed to a plow.

The hopper, explained Burttram, distributed guano (fertilizer) simultaneously with tilling.

The patent application states that the design offered “lever control without stopping use of the hopper, adjustment without a ratchet or wrench, (and) locking in a fixed position without a tool.”

Burttram quite literally had a hand in the manufacture of this model when he was but a lad of 10 years old.

“Tommy’s first job was working for Granddaddy Pearson,” said Mrs. Burttram.

With a chuckle, Burttram recalled that his grandfather did not ask Burttram if he would like a paying job. Instead, Pearson asked the boy if he would like to have a Social Security number.

Having a Social Security number was something to be envied, so Burttram naturally wanted one. When he received it, his grandfather put him to work painting distributor boxes on plows.

Burttram said he was paid 10 cents for each box he painted.

“I thought I was really something,” Burttram said with a grin.

Mrs. Waid warmly recounts going with Pearson to sell and deliver his plows. Traveling to Oneonta or Blountsville or wherever made the preteen girl feel pretty special.

She and Burttram said Pearson’s blue Studebaker pickup served as the delivery truck. All these years later, Mrs. Waid parks her automobile under the same carport where Pearson kept his Studebaker.

Also, one of the 1951 plows has a place of prominence on Mrs. Waid’s front porch.

At one point, Sears & Roebuck asked Pearson to put a gasoline engine on his plow as a prototype. It also had additional wheels for stability, Mrs. Waid said.

Through his lumberyard, Pearson established a legacy in several churches in the area, Mrs. Waid said.

For example, Pearson assisted in 1926 with the manse of Springville Presbyterian Church, which is noted by an historical marker, Mrs. Burttram said. (Incidentally, Mrs. Waid is secretary at that church.)

For Burttram and Mrs. Waid, the lumberyard was not a place of business, but rather a land of adventure.

They explained that the freshly milled lumber was placed in triangular stacks to allow the wood to dry.

“They made great, little playhouses,” Mrs. Waid said of the triangles. She and playmates also would get into them to picnic.

The imaginations of Burttram and his friends transformed the stacks into army bunkers.

And finally, we come to the story of how Pearson’s chicken house entered the annals of collegiate trivia.

In the mid-1960s, when Mr. and Mrs. Waid were married students attending Auburn University, Waid was a volunteer trainer and handler for the live War Eagle mascot. After a game in Birmingham between Auburn and its in-state rival, the University of Alabama, the couple spent the night with Mrs. Waid’s parents, who lived next door to the Pearsons.

Because the cage used for transporting the eagle was a little tight for an overnight stay, Waid decided to give the bird a place to spread its wings, so to speak. Thus, the little fowl guest was given accommodations out back in Pearson’s chicken house … minus the chickens, of course.

Other Stories

Locks of the Coosa

Steamboat A-Comin’
Captain Lay raises the bar

Story by Jerry C. Smith
Photos by Jerry C. Smith
Submitted photos

In the two years surrounding the end of the Civil War, Capt. Cummins Lay set a Coosa River record that remains unbroken today; he’s the only river pilot to navigate a steamboat over the Coosa’s entire length, in BOTH directions.

Beginning at the confluence of three smaller streams near Rome, Ga., the Coosa was fairly easy to navigate in the 19th century, at least from Rome to a few miles south of Gadsden. Several rocky shoals and other obstacles had been deepened or cleared with explosives for steamboat traffic, and a thriving river commerce quickly developed between those cities.

But from Greensport to Wetumpka, the Coosa presented a raging maelstrom of rocks and rapids, its bed littered with wreckage and cargo from innumerable keelboats, flatboats, rafts and other crude shallow-river craft of that era. Many who dared to brave the Coosa’s rocks and whitewater shoals never reached their destination.

That section of the Coosa straddles a geological feature called the Fall Line, which separates Alabama’s mountainous northern regions from a much flatter coastal plain. The names of several shoals in that area describe their nature: the Narrows, Devil’s Race, Butting Ram Shoals, Hell’s Gap, and the infamous Devil’s Staircase, which is still a favorite canoeing spot at Wetumpka.

Manufactured goods, agricultural products, timber and passengers flowed freely from northwest Georgia into Etowah, DeKalb, St. Clair, Jefferson and Talladega counties. But the Coosa’s hazardous shallows below Gadsden required unloading all cargo at Greensport, then hauling it by wagon, and later by train, for more than 140 miles before reloading onto other boats at Wetumpka, a costly and tedious detour for shippers. It was in this setting that Captain Lay made his two heroic, record-setting steamboat runs on the Coosa.

In 1864, according to Harvey Jackson’s Rivers of History, Lay escaped from a Union-besieged Rome with two steamboats, the Alpharetta and the Laura Moore. He extinguished their boilers and let them drift silently down river in the night until out of cannon range, then fired them up again and piloted them to Greensport. Vital ship parts and her crew were shielded from small-arms fire by bales of cotton stacked on deck.

Jackson relates, “About the time (Lay) reached Greensport, a late spring storm had hit the valley, and the river was out of its banks. Fearing the Yankees would … follow the Coosa into Alabama, he decided to take advantage of the high water and pilot (his two steamers) farther south, where they would be safe. He moved downstream, ‘high, wide and handsome over inundated cotton and corn fields’ as if the shoals and rapids never existed.”

Lay moored the Alpharetta at Wilsonville, then prepared the Laura Moore for an epic voyage on to Wetumpka using the flooded river to navigate shoals usually floated by only the bravest of boatmen.

Jackson continues, “Stripping the Laura Moore to make her light as possible, Lay took her into the most dangerous stretch of rapids on the river. Following ‘boat shoots’ (shallow channels) when he could see them and using his river sense when he could not, Cummins Lay guided the Laura Moore around rocks, through channels, and finally over the Devil’s Staircase, whose roar must have drowned out every sound made on board by engines or men.”

After resting in the river pool at Wetumpka, Lay then took his steamer on to Mobile, via the relatively placid Alabama River, where it forms at the confluence of the Coosa and Tallapoosa Rivers, just south of Wetumpka.

Captain Lay had acted wisely. General Rousseau’s raiders seized Greensport less than a month later, destroying a ferry that had been in service since 1832 and wreaking other wartime ravages that would surely have included Lay’s steamboats. But Lay was not a man to rest upon laurels. In 1866, after the war’s end, he decided to make the same trip, in the same boat, except traveling up river instead of down.

Jackson’s narrative tells us, “… at the foot of Wetumpka Falls, (Lay) waited aboard the recently re-fitted Laura Moore, hoping for water high enough to carry his boat over the rapids to the flat water of the upper Coosa. In spring 1866, the rains came. The river rose and, when it crested, the Laura Moore steamed out into the channel.

“Fighting the current and dodging debris, Lay made it to Greensport and from there had an easy run on into Georgia. … Cummins Lay now held the distinction of being the only captain to make the return trip. Records are usually broken; this one still stands.”

Captain Lay had proven that, given enough water, the Coosa could be navigated by larger commercial craft, rather than the customary flatboats and shallow-draft keelboats. He made it incumbent upon business interests and government to cooperate in making Coosa River navigation a reality.

Lay’s challenge is met

In 1867, U.S. Army Maj. Thomas Pearsall was given the task of surveying the Coosa’s entire length for a navigational feasibility study. Operating on a generous (for that era) $3,000 budget, Pearsall quickly completed his work, although Jackson reports that the last 60 miles, which involved a total drop of more than 275 vertical feet, gave the major’s voyage an exciting white-water finale.

Pearsall recommended no less than 25 locks, using dams to deepen the waters around them. Also proposed was a 50-mile long Coosa-Tennessee River canal from Gadsden to Guntersville. By 1871, this plan had been modified to 31 locks, but the Tennessee canal, which would have added $9.5 million in cost, was dropped.

According to Jackson, “Someone estimated that all this lock and dam work could be accomplished for the sum of $2,340,746.75 – a figure impressive if for no other reason than the certainty of the cents.” If that seems small, consider that in modern money it would be more than $50 million, plus the fact that labor was cheap, plentiful and not subject to OSHA restrictions during those turbulent Reconstruction years.

The first three locks were essentially completed in the 1880s. Lock 1 was about a mile downstream from today’s Greensport Marina. Lock 2 lay some three miles farther south, sharing a channel with Lock 3, which was at the south end of Ten Island Shoals, now just below Neely Henry Dam. These three locks, along with various improvements upstream, opened an additional 25 miles of the Coosa to commercial shipping, but various interests lobbied to halt further development in favor of other priorities.

Jackson relates that in 1890, Captain Lay’s son, William Patrick Lay, formed a group of Gadsden businessmen into the Coosa-Alabama River Improvement Association, to champion continuation of the project to its intended goal of a fully-navigable waterway from Rome to the Alabama River, thence to literally any port in the world via Mobile.

Their efforts paid off, at least for a while, as work began on Lock 4 near present-day Lincoln and Riverside, Lock 5 just south of Pell City, and Lock 31 at the base of the rapids in Wetumpka.

Using separate funding, dredges kept the channel reasonably clear while these projects were under way. A 1974 Birmingham News story by Jenna Whitehead describes how Lock 4 took shape: “Mrs. Alice Hudson sold five acres, 4 miles northwest of Lincoln, for the lockhouse and lock. … Barracks were built for some of the workers, some lived on the two (work) boats during the week, some lived at home, some built houses in the area, and others boarded with families in the community.

“Mrs. ’Ma’ Hudson lived east of the dam site and kept a huge barn to board the mules in the wintertime and lean times when funding ran out on the construction. Each lock was equipped with a lockhouse for the keeper, whose job was to raise and lower boats, rafts of wood, launches and to check water levels and temperature.

“Lock 4 was chosen to be the site of the headquarters for the Army Corps of Engineers and was completed in 1890. The building was used for office space and dining area for the workers, but in 1931, when the lock was no longer in use, the property was leased by individuals. In 1964, the lock house became the property of Mr. and Mrs. J.J. Monaghan, who used the building as a home.” William Tuck, who had married Ma Hudson’s daughter, was listed as a lockkeeper.

Regarding construction, Whitehead’s story adds, “Rock for Lock 4 was quarried at Collins Springs, … hand-hewn by local laborers, and brought to the site on railroad cars. Log books at Lock 4 record that in 1892 Lock 4 was navigable but not completed until 1913. Lock 5 was completed and usable, but the dam broke in 1916 and work along the Coosa River ceased.

“Construction of Lock 4 created a community in the area; …stores sprang up, and roads were alive with local wagons hired to bring in brick, wood and stone.”

The Golden Age

With the completion of these dams and locks, the river was open for commerce and pleasure all the way from Rome to the shoals near present-day Logan Martin Dam. Steamboats plied the Coosa regularly, carrying everything from bales of cotton to affluent travelers. It was much like Twain’s Mississippi, except upon much narrower waters.

A newspaper item of that era proclaimed, “The Magnolia is 161 feet long, 26 feet wide and can carry 225 tons of freight. There are 20 splendid staterooms, with new and comfortable bedding. Each berth is carpeted. Her cabin accommodations are superior to those of any boat ever on the Coosa. The bill of fare is not excelled by any hotel in the cities. … The officers on the boat are all clever and affable gentlemen.”

From a treatise, Our Coosa: Its Challenge and Promise: “On the passenger deck sleeping and eating, games and promendar (sic promenade) took place, and the calliope and bands made music for dancing. Goodbyes and welcomes, moonlight rides and romance, the heartbeat of the time was measured in steamboat time.”

These boats’ names usually felt good to the ear; Clifford B. Seay, Magnolia, Alpharetta, Dixie, Cherokee, Hill City, City of Gadsden, Pennington, Coosa, Etowah, Endine, Sydney P. Smith, Dispatch, Clara Belle and Georgia. A steam work boat, originally the Annie M. but later renamed Leota, inspired the popular cartoon strip, “Popeye” (see side story for details).

According to family genealogical data, Greensport had been founded by descendants of pioneer Jacob Green, born in 1767, who came to northern St. Clair around 1820, just after Alabama became a state.

Several generations of Greens created a thriving settlement to take advantage of the necessity of off-loading of freight for land transport to Wetumpka. Eventually, the Evans family joined the Greens by marriage, and their Greensport Marina remains as a marker to a once vibrant village. It was a glamorous age that lasted some 50 years and involved more than 40 different steamboats, but change was again in the wind. It seems W.P. Lay had even bigger ideas for the Coosa.

Putting the Coosa to work

According to John Randolph Hornady’s book, Soldiers of Progress and Industry, John Hall Lipscomb Wood, the landowner at Lock 2, insisted on a permanent flume to provide water power for milling and other purposes. Legend has it that Mr. Lay was so impressed with the power of the water running through this chute that he conceived the idea of harnessing the whole river for hydroelectric power.

Quoting again from Our Coosa, “(Lay) sold his steam plant in Gadsden and built a small hydroelectric plant on Wills Creek, a Coosa tributary near Attalla. In 1906, with capital stock of $5,000, he organized a small corporation, named it Alabama Power Company, and became its first president.” And the rest, as they say, is a whole ’nother story.

Lay never saw his dream come to life. He died in 1940. Lay Dam, the first hydroelectric plant on the Coosa, is named for him.

In a Birmingham News story, Robert Snetzer, of the Army Corps of Engineers and president of W.P. Lay’s Coosa-Alabama Association, said, “… (The locks) were built with federal funding, and with the delays in funding, the riverboat traffic died out. Truck and railway transportation became more economical, thus the work halted between Greensport and the Alabama because it would not prove profitable.”

Nevertheless, the lock system was still in occasional use until the early 1930s, mostly for rafting logs downriver. The last boat to officially pass through the locks was an Army Corps dredge. Many of these structures were dynamited or taken out of service prior to closing spillways on the new hydroelectric dams that formed lakes Logan Martin and Neely Henry.

Among other rising water casualties was Dave Evans Sr.’s ferry at Greensport. Established in 1832 by Jacob Green and later captured by Rousseau’s raiders during the Civil War, Evans operated it until the waters began to rise, using a small skiff with 6 horsepower outboard motor to push the ferry across the river.

He’s quoted in a 1954 Anniston Star story: “Me and my brother have twelve hundred acres here. We figure the whole place will be flooded, so we just plan to move to higher land and go into the fishing business.”

Lock 1 and Lock 2 are now underwater. The sidewalls of Lock 3, just below Henry Dam, are still visible in a former lock channel beside Wood’s Island. Greensport Marina is a Neely Henry landmark. Evans’ son, Dave Evans Jr. is still among the living, strong and wise at age 85.

Of Lock 4, nothing remains except a single wall from the old lock structure and a few hand-hewn rocks from its dam. Lock 5’s ruined dam was never rebuilt, but its remnants lie under 3 to 5 feet of water, near Choccolocco Creek.

However, these abandoned stoneworks are not without their uses.

New life on the river

For many decades, fishermen have found those walls, both before and after impoundment, to be ideal for certain species, such as drum, northern pike and catfish. Pell City resident Fred Bunn tells of going with his father, Frelan “Shot” Bunn, to the old stoneworks at Lock 4, near Riverside.

“Shot” was the manager of a local auto parts store which always closed on Saturday afternoon. A pre-teen at the time, Fred treasures the memory of these father-son fishing trips to Lock 4 and occasionally other lakes, such as Guntersville.

Fred says, “You could catch bream this big (with both hands put together) along with some really huge bass and all the drum you wanted. When the water was down, you could walk across the dam, but we mainly fished off the St. Clair-side bank, where water ran over the dam.”

He adds that there was a bait shop with boat rentals beside the dam, but most folks just bank-fished in the turbulent waters among the rocks.

Riverside resident Jim Trott, now 78, echoes Fred’s recollections, adding that there was once a man who, for 50 cents, would take you in his boat to a big rock near the middle of the dam. Jim also recalls riding across the river on both Dave Evans’ ferry at Greensport and another ferry near the Lock 3 site.

Jim liked to use a long cane pole, baited with crawfish, river mussels, or hellgrammites (Dobson Fly larvae) they had caught in nearby ponds and shoals. He says, “You could literally fill the bed of a pickup truck with drum and catfish, and we did many a time. We hauled them to Gadsden to sell by the pound to people on the street.”

Jim, originally from New Merkle (now Cahaba Heights), often visited the river as a boy, accompanied by an older brother-in-law. About 25 years ago, shortly before retirement, Jim bought a home just downriver from Lock 4. It’s as idyllic as it gets, sitting on a fine, grassy knoll overlooking one of the most scenic coves on the Coosa.

He still frequents the waters around Lock 4, though nothing remains of that structure except a single long wall and a few prime fishing spots known only to Jim’s GPS. But he’s not sharing those with the general public.

Alabama Power Company’s chain of mighty hydroelectric dams and powerhouses helped change the economy and lifestyle of an entire region, but the final Coosa plans did not include navigational locks.

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Mulligan Stew

A distinctly Skeeter Park tradition

Story by Jerry C. Smith
Submitted photos from Hazelwood Family

What’s Mulligan Stew? Well, it’s a big potful of boiling water, loaded with whatever meats and vegetables one has on hand, and cooked until safely edible. However, for St. Clair’s Skeeter Park folks, it’s always been a fine excuse to get together for a grand party on a creek bank somewhere near Eden, pig out on Mulligan and enjoy a tradition that’s occurred non-stop since the 1930s.

You won’t find Skeeter Park on any GPS, nor talked about in society columns, but hundreds of St. Clair folks will agree it’s a culinary and fellowship delight for lucky invitees. While the cuisine has varied over the decades, the camaraderie has remained.

There were actually two distinctly separate groups who held similar events in the same general area: one, a private annual reunion begun in the 1930s that’s still celebrated today, and the other a more frequent but less structured community affair that got together in the 1960s and 70s.

The original group was organized by two local residents, Frank Patterson and John Willingham. They were soon joined by Frank’s brother, Willard “Shanghai” Patterson, and their close friend, W.T. “Dubb” Hazelwood.

These fellows had hunted and fished around Wolf Creek as boys, often camping there overnight to rest and cook their prey. As the youngsters grew into men, their outdoor meals became well-known and, before long, friends started drifting in to share their rustic fare.

Dubb’s son, Ben Hazelwood, soon joined the fun, later taking an active role in food preparation, with help from his own son, Benjamin, then called Little Ben but now 36 years old. The elder Ben recently passed away, but younger Ben continues the Mulligan tradition in memory of good times with his father, and because it’s so much fun.

The official Skeeter Park venue is an unimproved clearing in the woods near Wolf Creek, on land always owned by the Jones family. The park is only about 40 yards wide and 50 yards long, but has a good spring for cooking and drinking water. Dubb’s daughter, Marion (Hazelwood) Hultgren, currently of Tucker, Ga., says the area was a wondrous place to visit any time of the year, abounding with wildflowers. Mulligan Stews became generally popular during the Depression, when roving bands of hobos and others seeking work would gather into camps, often alongside railroad tracks. They had little, but usually shared it for the common good.

Various campers might contribute a couple of onions or a few ears of corn “borrowed” from a nearby farm, a chicken of similar origin, maybe some potatoes and carrots. Separately, not much of a meal, but when cooked together, they became a nourishing sustenance for all.

The Skeeter Park guys found Mulligan easy to make and serve, universally accepted, and impossible to criticize because there is no official recipe. Cooked in 5-gallon steel lard cans which were bought new every year for the purpose, these versatile stews could contain anything edible, including squirrels, rabbits, chickens, turtles, even beavers, but they never added pork until later years when it became plentiful. Nor was venison used, as deer were quite scarce in those days.

Young Ben recalls camping out at the site overnight so he could clean out the spring and be ready the next morning to build a fire big enough to heat two kettles full of water. He says his father expected that water to be boiling when he showed up a few hours later to start the stew.

Ben remembers that, even in latter years, they sometimes used freshly-killed whole squirrels, including heads but without entrails or skins. Side dishes included Southern-reunion staples like cornbread, biscuits, white loaf bread, green beans, sliced tomatoes, and occasionally a potato salad and other party fare.

Dubb’s children, Marion (Hazelwood) Hultgren, Kent Beavers and Freddy Hazelwood, were quite specific about the way their father ran the proceedings. Everyone who handled raw food had to wash their hands vigorously and keep them clean during its preparation.

He was very particular about who handled food and stirred the pots, usually doing most of it himself. The pot had to be stirred in perfect figure-eights, lest it burn. Further, Dubb insisted that stirring sticks had to be hickory saplings of a certain diameter, with just the right size fork at the end.

The stew was boiled and stirred for hours, until all meat had fallen off the bones which, coincidentally, helped disguise the species of whatever animal was in the pot.

Kent said, “If you didn’t know what you were doing, you just sat over there in the shade and drank beer with the others.” Marion added, “If you really messed up and burned the stew, you got thrown into Wolf Creek.”

Attendance was widely variable — as few as a half dozen to more than a hundred, including several regional dignitaries whose names would be easily recognized. Mulligans drew visitors from the ranks of many noted St. Clair families, among them Beavers, Castleberrys, Bowmans, Footes, Bynums, Ginns, Hazelwoods, Robertsons and Cornetts.

For the first three decades or so, participation was limited to men and boys, but in the “liberated” 1970s, they occasionally allowed family ladies to attend. Marion, who was 25 at the time, recalls being among the first girls on the scene. She helped memorialize those days with her photos, some of which appear with this story.

Naturally, these fun-loving folks didn’t confine their activities to eating. According to Freddy and Kent, the guys played poker, took bets on football scoreboards, pitched horseshoes and washers, even shot a few dice. Singing and guitar playing was usually part of the festivities, although they didn’t bring instruments on very cold days, as it could make the strings break.

Alcohol was usually present, but didn’t cause the kind of problems one might think, because Dubb and Ben kept strict order. Lawmen occasionally showed up, but only for food and fellowship. Whether certain attendees fell into Wolf Creek or were actually thrown in to help sober them up is still open for debate.

It’s rumored that Shanghai once asked some poker players for a share of the pot to help finance their meal. If more than $30 was spent on supplies in the old days, it was considered an especially lavish party.

In later years, another group began meeting nearby, at first along the north bank of Wolf Creek, then under a pole shed that still stands behind a convenience store in Eden. This gathering was started in the late 1960s by the store’s owner, Troy Bannister. Longtime Pell City resident Fred Bunn recalls going there in the 1970s, and seeing the late Tootie Hare and both Ben Hazelwoods among others who frequented both gatherings.

Fred says these events were held at random intervals, averaging about once a month, and usually ran all day long, averaging about 20 to 30 people at any one time, with others drifting in or out as opportunity allowed. Fred adds that they didn’t restrict themselves to Mulligan Stew, often substituting more basic country fare like chitterlings, barbecue or local game animals.

Under the leadership of young Ben, the Hazelwoods still follow the Mulligan tradition, usually every November at the old Skeeter Park site. They’ve been selling printed T-shirts and ball caps among their group since 1992 to help raise money for basic expenses, with the surplus going into a mutual aid fund to help members with unexpected hardship.

Ben mentions one fellow who got his hand chopped off in a work accident. The Mulligan fund helped this man’s family through some rough times.

The family says this year’s Skeeter Park Mulligan will be an especially poignant one, as they recently lost their beloved father and brother, Ben Hazelwood. Your writer has been invited, and I’m certainly looking forward to it.

No, I will NOT say when or where.

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Iola Roberts

A 60-Year Legacy

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.
Photos courtesy Pell City Library Archives

Iola Roberts Elementary seems more of a tradition than simply a school. And its namesake would probably applaud that notion.

After all, Miss Iola Roberts more than earned her name on the school that has since seen generations pass through its doors. She set the standard that is still valued six decades later.

Present-day Iola Roberts School celebrated the legacy she left with an anniversary reception in late April, remembering 60 years of the school’s history.

Iola Roberts will always be a part of the school beyond the name. Her portrait hangs in the school’s lobby, seeming to keep a watchful eye on the school she loved and the students she nurtured and encouraged as if they were her own.

But step out of line, and the whack of a ruler across the palm or a tiny chin caught in her signature thumb and forefinger pinch weren’t far away.

Strict disciplinarian and cultivator of cultural arts were her hallmarks. And many a graduate will tell you those two seemingly opposite characteristics are what shaped their later lives – for the better.

It has been 60 years since Iola Roberts School opened on Pell City’s main thoroughfare, US 231. It was formerly known as South St. Clair School. Before that, it was the Avondale School, serving the Mill Village. Miss Roberts actually came to Pell City at the request of mill executives who wanted her to run their school.

And run it she did.

“Miss Roberts made sure we had music and art and good manners,” said Julia Skelton, a former student, who attended the anniversary celebration along with more than 100 others.

In a video tribute to the anniversary, Gaston Williamson underscored the recollection. “Miss Roberts’ emphasis was on 1. Behaving, 2. Manners, and 3. Culture,” he said. The school had a choir, and plays were standard fare.

Andrew Wright, who was principal at the school and a former student, said during his tenure, he tried to continue what Iola Roberts began. His administration offered a well-rounded education that included the arts, and faculty taught students how to understand the world around them.

Dr. Michael Barber is an Iola Roberts alumni who has a unique vantage point when it comes to Iola Roberts. He served as principal at the school, and he is now superintendent of the school system.

The values he learned at Iola Roberts as a student are the principles that guide him to this day – “making a difference in the lives of children every day.”

While his approach as principal was a little more unconventional than Miss Roberts’, he got students’ attention just the same. He focused on reading at the school, and when students met their goals, he rewarded them with feats like jumping out of an airplane, getting arrested by the faculty, shaving his head and kissing a pig.

“Iola Roberts has always been a magical place that seems to transport former students back to their childhood,” Barber said. “I am always amazed how accurately students from the 1950s, 60s, and 70s can with great detail recollect fond memories of the school. When a grandmother or grandfather of a current student pauses by a classroom door, lunchroom or staircase, you know they are visiting a very special memory of their own childhood.

“I still do the same thing today. I cringe when I walk into Iola’s cafeteria because that is where students received their vaccinations from the county health nurse, Ms. Zachy. All students lined up against the wall and received their shots in front of each other. Many of us fell to the floor writhing in pain.”

Barber also remembers field day, a highlight of the school year. “I relive the greased pig chase each time I walk onto the playground. We actually chased greased piglets during field day. If you caught the critter, you won a big candy cane. My brother, Kinsman, caught a pig and we ate the candy cane for a week.”

For Barber, he has seen the school from different angles over the years, but the conclusion is always the same. “The employees of Iola have always carried on the wonderful atmosphere found at the school. From the time of Ms. Roberts to today, they welcome children daily. For me, it was Millie Ann Lawley in the first-grade and wonderful teachers each year after.”

The school has traditionally been a mainstay of the community. “The people who attended Iola as students feel an ownership and special connection to their school. I don’t fuss when my own grown children want to go by Iola when they are in town. I feel so blessed to have attended and worked at such a special school.”

Although the anniversary celebration was an opportunity to look back at the legacy. It also was a time for new traditions. Faculty unveiled specially designed Iola Roberts pins, and former faculty and present faculty were “pinned,” forever linked by a common bond.

And when children leave Iola Roberts and continue their school career all the way through Pell City High School, faculty pledged to be back at their graduation to let them know how special they are with a pin of their own. It signifies a kinship shared by all those who pass through Iola Roberts Elementary.

“It was wonderful to see former teachers and students share their common love for Iola Roberts Elementary School at the 60th anniversary celebration,” Barber said. “I saw and listened to people who qualify for senior citizen benefits become children again.”

And that’s a tradition that seems to continue year after year.

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96 and going strong

Farmer once served as bodyguard for Gen. Eisenhower

Story by Linda Long
Photos by Jim Smothers
Submitted Photos

The old wooden farmhouse is typical of many found in rural St. Clair County. Surrounded by winter swept fields, a Black and Tan hound sits on its front porch poised to sound a welcoming bay to approaching visitors. Across the way, a patch of dark green turnip greens awaits, ready for the picking.

Yes, the old house may look typical, but the farmer who lives here is anything but. At 96 years old, W.M. (Ike) Murphree still works his 105-acre farm, the place where he is the happiest. “I was born to be a farmer and a gospel singer,” he says, but, fate and Uncle Sam had other plans for this quiet, unassuming gentleman. Back in 1943, Ike Murphree found himself on the front lines of history, an ocean away from his beloved country home.

Dressed in his usual starched denim overhauls and a plaid shirt, Murphree chuckled, “I’ve been accused of having a computer in my head.” That becomes obvious as the farmer turned story teller recalls memories of a life well lived. Sitting in his small living room centered by a braided rug and a blazing space heater, Murphree is surrounded by faded black and white photographs, family pictures which line the walls. An upright piano holds a hymnal open to one of the farmer’s favorite songs. And over it all, the American flag hangs proudly.

Reaching back in time to tell his story, Murphree’s steel blue eyes take on a faraway look as he remembers the day his life changed forever. It was 1943. The then 26 year-old young farmer walked slowly back from the mailbox that crisp fall morning, letter in hand containing news which he knew he must share with his beloved wife Alice Lucille. The letter announced his induction into the United States Army.

“One day I was working my farm, the next thing I knew I was packed and ready to head overseas. I had one son, Billy. We went down to the bus one morning. My wife was crying. Billy was saying ‘Daddy, don’t go. Don’t go.’ That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t know if I would ever see them again.”

Eventually, he did see his family again, but not before fighting in one of the bloodiest battles of World War II, narrowly avoiding disaster on the sea in the North Atlantic, being named a master marksman, serving as a member of the escort guard responsible for the repatriation of American held German prisoners of war and serving as a personal body guard to Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower.

It was January 1944 when Murphree saw some of his toughest combat operations. He was one of the American troops to storm the beach head at Anzio, a signature battle of World War II. Those scenes are etched forever in his memory. “The first wave went in and about 1,700 soldiers and nurses lost their lives at that landing,” said Murphree.

Though he started the war as a member of the infantry, his commanding officers soon learned of the young country boy’s sharp shooting skills, skills honed back home on Chandler Mountain while hunting for rabbit and squirrel. “I shot 198 out of a possible 220,” said Murphree, “everything the army had…30 and 50 caliber machine guns, a grease gun, a pistol, a rifle, the M-1 rifle, a shotgun, and the tanks. I would hit it (my target) every time. I was the only one of 200 people that did that, and it went on my record as a master marksman.”

Murphree’s job was to escort German prisoners captured on the battlefield to concentration camps, a dangerous and often deadly assignment. The old man is still haunted by some of his memories.

“We were climbing a mountain, German prisoners in tow. German snipers were in the trees, all around. I heard a gun go off. The bullet hit my buddy in the ankle. It tore his foot off, but I couldn’t stop and do anything for him. The next day I heard he bled to death. He had a wife and two little girls back home. I try not to think about that,” said Murphree in a soft voice, “ but I can’t help it sometimes. General Patton, one of the greatest military men ever to put on a uniform, said it best, ‘war is hell.’ You can’t make nothing else out of it.”

For most American soldiers in the European Theater that “hell” came to an end when — as Murphree explained — “the bombers were back on the ground, a peace treaty was signed and the guns were silent. Soldiers were loaded on the ships coming home. I said, ‘I want to go home,’” a simple request, but one that was not to be honored for almost one more year. “My company commander said, ‘No, you are still on special assignment. General Eisenhower needs you.”

That began the young soldier’s post war assignment as a member of the escort guard, whose duty was to protect General Eisenhower. One of his most memorable assignments in that role was to accompany the war hero on his first return visit to his hometown, Abilene, Kansas. It was on that trip that Murphree faced perhaps the most harrowing ordeal of his military career..

“The General flew to New York,” said Murphree. “Me and the other guards went by ship, the USS Sea Robin, a 55,000 ton battleship. About halfway there in the North Atlantic, we hit one of the worst storms in history. They told us we might have to abandon ship. We lost all our life boats and life lines. We were literally between the devil and the deep blue sea. The ship would rock up on its side and just hang there, and I would think well, it’s going over this time, but it would come back down and hit the water. It sounded like it was going to bust into a thousand pieces. Even the captain who had been sailing for 40 years said this was the worst storm in history.

“ Finally,” continued Murphree, “the USS Sea Robin limped into New York Harbor. Boy, it had taken a beating. I don’t see how in the world it made it through that storm.”

Then, pausing in his narrative, Murphree added, “well, actually, I guess I do see how it made it. I went down in the bow of that ship and I got serious with the Lord. I said, ‘Lord, there’s nothing I can do about it except for You. I’ve got a beautiful woman and a little boy back home, and I would like to go back to them.’ About half an hour later, it was announced on the intercom, that the storm had weakened. The captain said we had blown off our course, but he believed we would make it.”

By this time, Murphree just wanted to go home. “Each time I asked, all I was told was, ‘No, you are still needed here.’ I said, I don’t care nothing about being a big shot. I had been gone almost three years away from my wife and baby. All I wanted to do was get out of there, get this thing over and get back home. I wanted to get back on the farm, pick some cotton, grow some corn, smell some sorghum syrup a-cooking. That’s all I wanted to do.”

Finally, in 1946 , Murphree was discharged from the army. Once back home, he bought the farm where he now lives and where he and his wife raised their son William, Junior and three daughters Elizabeth (Mealer), Linda (Vaughan) and Alice (Cater). And, it was here where Murphree resumed his passion for gospel singing.

According to his daughter Elizabeth Mealer, “Daddy was into gospel singing from the time he was a small child.” As the story goes, one of his uncles took him to a gospel singing, and he actually got up there and directed a song.

Gospel singing was also on his mind in a fox hole in France. According to Mealer, “Daddy said he prayed if the Lord would get him home he would like to have a trio of girls that would sing. He always wanted a singing family, and that’s exactly what he got.”

“We had a wonderful life,” said Murphree, “Me and the Murphree sisters. We traveled around in a Greyhound bus singing the gospel all over the southeast from Montgomery to Georgia. That blood harmony. There’s no way you can beat it.” And his son sang bass in several gospel groups.

Murphree says about the only time he sings these days is when he’s out on his tractor. Neighbors listening closely might hear him bellowing out old favorites like, “What a Meeting in the Air,” That Heavenly Home will Surely Be Mine,” or Power in the Blood.”

Despite his age, Murphree lives alone, still drives a car, and works his farm along with some help from grandsons Wayne Mealer and David Murphree and great grandson Cody Mealer. He says he’s often asked what keeps him going at his age, and his answer is simple. “Hard work. If hard work would kill somebody, I would have been dead 35 years ago.”

“Somebody once told me ‘you don’t have a bit of business out here doing this at your age. When are you going to quit?’ Well, laughed Murphree. “I said I imagine when my toes are up.” Does he ever think about retiring? “Oh, sure. I think about it every year, and every year I say well, this will be the last one. But, then the wild onions put up and you can smell them; and the fruit trees bloom out, and the bees go to swarming. It just gets in my blood, and I have to get out there and go.”

Now, with a new John Deere tractor complete with power steering in the shed, Murphree may have even more reason to postpone his retirement. “Yeah, I’m proud of that tractor. When you get my age, it gets harder to steer but now that power steering has taken care of all that.”

“I can say I’ve had a good life,” said Murphree. “I was talking to my cousin the other night. She said, ‘I guess you realize how the Lord has blessed you.’ I do. He’s given me a good life. He shepherded me through one of the bloodiest wars in history and one of the worst storms ever on the sea. I have had a very good life. I don’t go around bragging about my life, but I am proud of it.”

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