Department Store Days

mays-and-jones-store-1When Mays & Jones was the place to shop

Story by Jerry C. Smith
Photos by Wallace
Bromberg Jr.

Submitted photos

Its motto might well have been MOUNTAIN BROOK GOODS AT PELL CITY PRICES. The owners of Mays & Jones Department Store spared no effort to bring the finest merchandise to their establishment.

From 1923 until its closing in the mid 1970s, Mays & Jones was the premier clothing and linens emporium in Pell City, and according to many who worked and traded there, the store’s business personality mirrored the quality of its goods.

Originally built in 1905 as Pell City Bank & Trust by the town’s founder, Sumter Cogswell, the building was remodeled in 1923 as Mays & Jones Department Store. Its construction was of brick made at Ragland Brick Company. Although solely owned by local retailer Blair Jones, he added his wife’s maiden name to the store’s façade to show that it was indeed a family business.

Pell City resident Florence Compton, now 89 years of age but looking 60, relates that she loved every minute of her 31 years as their bookkeeper. Her career began in 1943, just after she graduated from Pell City High School. “It was a wonderful place to work,” she says. “Mr. Jones had a heart of gold and would bend over backward to see that every customer was able to find exactly what they wanted.”

Mays & Jones was not without competition. Downtown Pell City hosted other stores that carried similar inventory, such as Mitnick’s, Cohen’s and Roberson’s. Lorene Smith, who started her long career in Ladies’ and Childrens’ Shoes in 1946, often accompanied Mr. Jones on buying expeditions to ensure the store carried only the best medium-range goods. Jones also had buyers who went to dealerships in New York and elsewhere. He wanted his store to be the destination of choice for local folks who wanted uptown quality at an affordable price.

Garland Davis of Mineral Springs Road tells that he and twin brother, Harland, often picked blackberries at 50 cents per gallon to pay for their school clothes and would never think of buying them anywhere other than Mays & Jones.

Former store manager Mack Taylor, who served from 1968 until 1971, advanced their trade even further by arranging for advertising fliers, originally printed for Bob Cornett’s local newspaper, St. Clair Observer, to also be inserted in the Birmingham News. Soon customers were coming in from all over. Taylor says there were often 40-50 people waiting for the doors to open on sale days, many of them from Birmingham, Ragland and Ashville.

Most store employees had long tenure and displayed a strong loyalty to Mr. Jones. Florence and co-worker Lorene recall working with Jones’ wife Dixie Ann; Virginia Nelson; Linda & Etha May Haynes; Carolyn Robertson; June Tillery; twin sisters Clara & Mary Mays; Warner Hammett; Tommy Davis; Mildred Hardwick; Thurman Henninger; Nettie & Mary Cornett; Dixie Ann’s brother “Buddy” Mays; Peggy Pruett; Louella Starnes; Helen Hutton; Florence’s sister Clara May Compton; and Thurman Burnham. They also recall Tom and Essie Lovell, who worked together. He was in floor sales, and she handled clothing alterations.

Thurman “Red” Henninger created eye-catching window displays. He later set up his own Red’s Menswear store on Martin Street, next to the old Jack’s location. “Bunny” Beavers was janitor and also managed the stock room, which stayed very busy due to their ample stocks and liberal layaway plan.

Customers first
The store’s normal complement was eight to 10 workers, mostly in floor sales. As with many firms in those days, there were few of the benefits people take for granted today. Workers were paid a flat monthly salary. They worked six full days a week, except Wednesdays, when everything in town closed at noon. All hands were expected to be there promptly at opening time, formally dressed and ready to work. Everyone stayed until the last customer had been served.

This policy sometimes became irksome as last-minute customers dropped in, particularly on Fridays, shopped at great leisure, then left without buying anything. Employees were not allowed to clean up or shut down any department as long as a customer was in the store.

Many part-time extras, usually teenagers, were hired during big sales and the holiday season. Their layaway system saw heavy use during these times. Large numbers of paychecks were cashed on Fridays, some from the ordnance works at Bynum, but mostly from Avondale Mills. And you did not have to be a regular customer. Mr. Jones felt that, if he cashed enough checks, you would soon shop there because of their thoughtful service.

mays-and-jones-store-2Among Mays & Jones’ product offerings were shoes for the whole family; women’s coats, dresses, stockings, lingerie and sportswear; men’s suits and haberdashery items; some house linens; and other soft goods.

They also ordered custom uniforms for local banks and other firms with staff who served the public.

At one time the store sold toys and other home items, but its inventory eventually centered around clothing and personal items. Brands included Jarman, Sewell, Connie and Red Goose shoes, and Arrow and Van Heusen shirts.

Levi jeans were a best seller. Made from local Avondale Mills denim, these were not pre-shrunk. Many fashion-conscious buyers would put them on wet, then let them shrink-dry to conform to their body shape.

The shoe department sported an X-Ray machine, common in those days before we became aware of the dangers of radiation. Most often used on growing children, these devices displayed a live image of the bones of both feet inside a shadow image of the shoes. Youngsters gleefully wiggled their toes while Mom and the sales clerk studied a green screen inside the darkened cabinet to determine toe-room for growth. Thankfully, these well-intentioned hazards went away in the middle 1950s.

Lorene adds, “You wouldn’t believe how many people tried on shoes on the wrong feet. And one lady said she needed a larger size because her feet “expired real bad.”

Gerald Ensley related a story about buying shoes during World War II. In those days, leather was a strategic material needed for the war effort, so purchases were made using ration stamps, with only one pair a year allowed. Gerald’s mother had given him a stamp, and told him to buy some school shoes for the coming term on their charge account.

Gerald was told to buy brogans, a simple, inexpensive, rugged shoe whose un-cured war-time leather often wrinkled and discolored when wet. Upon reaching the store, however, Gerald first did a little window shopping, and noticed a fine-looking pair of patent leather shoes on a mannequin. Mom or not, he decided that’s what he wanted.

Mr. Jones told Gerald that he knew his mother had not sent him there to buy those, as such shoes often came apart from the rigors of being on a young boy’s feet. But Gerald insisted, and left the store sporting snazzy, shiny patent leather shoes.

Unfortunately, it had been raining that day, and the way back was sodden with mud holes and puddles. By the time Gerald got home, his fine new shoes had loose, flapping soles and had long since lost their glassy sheen.

A helping hand
Mays & Jones had a long-standing reputation for helping those in need. Florence relates that they had more than a thousand credit customers. Taylor tells of an unemployed truck driver who came there looking for work clothes but had no money. He was given clothes on credit, and as soon as the man got his first paycheck, returned with a payment. Further, he brought Taylor 5 pounds of shrimp from his new job of transporting seafood from Florida, and thence used the store for all his family’s clothing needs.

Taylor says that Mr. Jones customarily spoke to everyone, even people walking by on the sidewalk. Lorene adds, “He didn’t spend his day sitting back there in his office; he was out front greeting customers.” He was known for commiserating with townsfolk in needy circumstances, offering kindly advice as well as goods. A dedicated community man who never refused to make a charitable donation, Jones served as an officer in the Chamber of Commerce and Lions Club and was a devout Methodist.

The building’s second floor was reserved for rentals to business clients, among them the Pell City DHR office. Current building trustee, attorney Ted Van Dall, says that during the building’s hundred-year-plus history there has always been at least one lawyer upstairs. Attorney/judge Edwin Holladay was once a tenant. Dr. R.A. Martin’s brother, Claude, had a dental office there.

Another one-time tenant, Bill Hereford, was a former attorney, judge and mayor of Pell City. He says the front windows were helpful to lawyers because they could see who was walking with whom from the courthouse to Rexall for lunch and who visited other law firms on the square.

Hereford purchased the Jones’ family home on 3rd Avenue North in 1987 and still lives there today. It’s a magnificent old dwelling, faithfully preserved except the old steam radiators and attic fan have been upgraded to central heat and air.

He tells that the Jones family had the first television set in Pell City in the early 1950s and that Jones delighted in inviting neighborhood kids in to watch the Saturday shows. Jones’ daughter, Dixie Ann Newman, was a former legal client of Hereford’s.

After Jones’ passing in 1968, the business was owned for a few years by Dixie Ann’s family, the Newmans, before the main store was shut down in the early 1970s. Some remaining inventory was moved to another short-lived location in the present Ben M. Jacobs Masonic Lodge building. Established by Mack Taylor, this new store was called Mays & Jones Home Goods.

In 1975, the original building suffered major damage in a tornado that struck downtown. Various other firms have since occupied its repaired premises, which now hosts Farmer’s Insurance Company. The old bank safe and vault still exist, far back in a rear corner. It’s always left open and unused because the combination is long-forgotten. It’s only been robbed once, by someone who chiseled a hole through the second floor, then blasted the safe with dynamite. The yegg was never caught.

Both Florence and Lorene speak highly of their days at Mays & Jones, naming it an ideal place to work and shop. Most anyone over age 60 in Pell City will attest to its quality, fairness, and genuine concern for customers that brought them back year after year.

Fore more images of Mays & Jones Department Store, read the full digital or print edition of the August & September 2014 edition of Discover The Essence of St. Clair Magazine.

Pell City Works

Pell-City-works

Smithsonian coming to town

davis-general-store-insideStory by Carol Pappas
Photos by Wally Bromberg
and Graham Hadley
Submitted photos

Pete Rich pulled back the curtain of the bright-red photomat booth and stepped outside. His signature grin that seemingly stretches from ear to ear unmistakably revealed what had just happened.

He had told his story — the story of his family, of his life and of his work — to a camera lens inside the booth. And he was proud to tell it. He was prouder still that it will be shared for years to come.

It was an oral history that was recorded for a statewide video produced by Alabama Public Television for the Smithsonian Institution’s Museum on Main Street program coming to Pell City in July.

Rich was among 25 Pell City citizens who shared their story in April that will be shown on the ‘big screen’ at CEPA — The Pell City Center for Education and the Performing Arts — during a five-week exhibition called The Way We Worked.

Made possible through a partnership of the Smithsonian Institution and Alabama Humanities Foundation with support from Alabama Power Foundation and Norfolk Southern Railroad, only six cities are chosen to host the traveling exhibit on its yearlong tour through the state.

It is part of the national Museum on Main Street program, which travels to smaller towns and cities to provide an opportunity for their citizens to tour a Smithsonian exhibit.

pell-city-works-MOMSPell City kicks off the exhibit tour, which will be held at CEPA July 19 through Aug. 23.

The centerpiece of the exhibition is an actual Smithsonian exhibit exploring how America worked over the past 150 years. It is a 600-square-foot display of old photographs, narratives and interactive elements that help tell that story.

Surrounding it will be local exhibits detailing the work and history from around St. Clair County, primarily the southern region. Artifacts and old photographs will tell the story of Avondale Mills, the building of Logan Martin Dam, the creation of Logan Martin Lake, constructing U.S. 231 and myriad other history-making events that comprise the region’s past.

“We are so proud to be hosting this exhibition,” said Pam Foote, project director. “We thank the Alabama Humanities Foundation and the Smithsonian Institution for giving our citizens and our young people this rare opportunity — an opportunity they might not have otherwise — to see an actual Smithsonian exhibit.”

As an added benefit, “we get to put our signature on this event with our own local exhibits. Our committee of planners is busy gathering old photographs and artifacts from all sectors of the community to transform the grand lobby of CEPA into an impressive exploration into our past.”

Tour guides, or docents, will take individuals and groups on a visual journey of America and the region’s rich history of work. Free, special events will be held in conjunction with the exhibition, including an evening made possible by the Pell City Library with best-selling author and Pulitzer Prize winner Rick Bragg in August. Bragg’s The Most They Ever Had, a compilation of real-life stories of America’s cotton mills, will be the focus of his talk.

Alabama’s master storyteller Dolores Hydock will present the life and work of Norman Rockwell.

Alabama’s mobile training lab, a robotics display that is a tractor-trailer-truck long, will be onsite for three days to give an impressive view of how the world works now and in the future.

And other events are being developed, like Denim Day, when everyone is encouraged to wear denim in remembrance of Avondale Mills, Pell City’s grandfather industry.

On the movie screen in CEPA’s theatre, the oral history project will play throughout the exhibition, providing opportunities to hear the stories told firsthand not only by Pell Citians but by Alabamians from around the state.

“This is truly a coming together of our whole community around our past, and the oral history project took on a life of its own,” said Deanna Lawley, who with husband, Barnett Lawley, coordinated it. “The stories were so touching, and they gave us a real glimpse into our community’s rich heritage of work.”

The “Red Box” will return at exhibition time, and additional oral histories will be recorded for posterity. “It is so important for us to preserve these memories. They are the stories and events that shaped us as a community,” Lawley said.

Dr. John Kvach is lead scholar on the Smithsonian project for Alabama Humanities, and he led a workshop for teachers and administrators from Pell City and St. Clair schools. Five video cameras were donated to the Pell City School System to record future oral histories, and Curriculum Coordinator Kim Williams said oral histories will now become part of the system’s curriculum from now on.

“Our teachers were so excited after Dr. Kvach’s workshop,” Williams said. There is a new enthusiasm among teachers from kindergarten all the way up to 12th-grade for incorporating oral histories in their teaching. “What a novel approach to connecting students with older generations and helping them not only learn but understand history from those who have lived it.”

The exhibit is open to the public, and school tours are being scheduled as well. In addition, if a group, club, church, senior center or other organizations would like to schedule a tour, they are asked to call 205-338-1974 to book their tour.

“We want this to be a region-wide event celebrating our history, and we encourage all who can to come and tour our museum on main street,” Foote said. “There will be plenty of opportunities to reminisce, to learn and to understand this thing we call history.”

Organizers hope that it will be an opportunity for the future, too. Pell City does not have a museum, and discussion is now centering on this event being a springboard for the establishment of a museum for the city.

“With every display, we have had our eye on the future and how elements of this exhibit can be used in a full-fledged museum,” she said. “People are getting excited, not only about the prospects of this event coming to town but what it can mean in coming years. This has been a great experience for our community, and we hope that the momentum continues.

For more information, visit the Pell City Works Website: www.pellcityworks.org

Historic Vision

Eye doctor preserves old Ashville bank building

ashville-bank-restorationStory by Carol Pappas
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.

When Dr. Shonda Wood was looking for a place to open her eye care office, she found the perfect location inside a piece of Ashville’s history.

Wood Family Eye Care is the newest occupant of the old Ashville Savings Bank, built in 1906.

“We refinished the inside and made it ours,” Wood said. “Terry Marcrum, the previous owner, gave us a really good start, and Brian Sparks Construction helped with the finishing touches.”  It is a complementary blend of old and new, featuring state-of-the-art eye care with the unmistakable signs of history all around. A photo on the wall is from 1908. The walls themselves, are original brick and plaster. “We tried not to touch what was still in good condition,” Wood said.

The original brickwork is there. So is the door and window. There is a new version of tin tiles on the ceiling to bring back the feel of what it was once like.

Even the front of the bank vault door is still intact — a focal point on the facing wall as you walk in. An old Ashville Savings Bank sign was found during renovations of the building, and that has its place, as does a 1910 stove. “Kids like to hide crayons in there,” Wood said.

Since the renovation, remembrances of the old building have been abundant, she said. One person identified loan papers of his grandfather found in the vault. Others have recounted when the bank president shot a robber in the doorway. “There have been a lot of stories,” she said.

Her wish was to be “true to history,” and she wanted to be a part of bringing it back to life and preserving it. She has restored the old and added new. A modern addition is in the rear of the office, enabling her to deliver comprehensive eye care — from babies to seniors.

“We treat the overall patient,” she said, noting that she monitors for diabetes, cataracts and other eye issues. “We don’t want this to be just an eye exam. We want them to be a friend, not just a patient.”

It’s why she opened her practice in Ashville in the first place. Originally from Fayette, she was looking for another small town in which to live and to practice. “We wanted a small town feel and a close knit community for our children.”

She found all of what she was looking for in St. Clair County. She, her husband, Jonathan, and five children live in nearby Springville, and her office is centrally located in downtown Ashville.

It all has been an ideal match, she said. She was looking for a building “with character,” and the old Ashville Savings Bank was in need of a revival.

“I think more people should do that,” Wood said. “Our grandkids aren’t going to see many buildings like this if we keep tearing them down or letting them fall.”

Camp Sibert

CAMP-SIBERT-smoke-generator

St. Clair’s secret military past

Story by Leigh Pritchett
Submitted photos courtesy of the
Scarboro Collection, John McFarland and
government archives

Etowah County spent much of World War II shooting at St. Clair County.

That is the lighthearted explanation that historian John McFarland of Rainbow City gives for the “friendly fire” relationship the two counties shared.

Nonetheless, his summary is factual: The woodlands of St. Clair and Etowah counties cloaked a military installation’s clandestine mission.

Called Camp Sibert, the reservation stretched 36,300 acres. Attalla and Gadsden served as the boundary on the Etowah County end of the camp. In St. Clair, Sibert extended into Steele and nearly to Ashville. The installation’s other two boundaries basically were U.S. 411 on one side and U.S. 11 on the other, said Wayne Findley, instructor at Gadsden State Community College and a historian who has spent 25 years researching the camp.

“It was huge, massive,” Findley said of Sibert.

And yes, Etowah did take aim at St. Clair, possibly millions of times.

That is because equipment was set up in the vicinity of Dunaway Mountain in Etowah County, very near to the border of St. Clair. During training sessions, mortar and bigger artillery were fired across Canoe Creek into St. Clair, explained Findley.

“The Chemical Warfare Service loved this place” because troops could use live rounds and chemicals, Findley remarked.

The mission of the camp was so stealth that soldiers were bound by an oath of secrecy, Findley said. They were not released from it until the 1990s, and those who lived around the camp apparently knew little of its mission.

“The people didn’t know a whole lot of what was going on in Camp Sibert,” only that some chemical weapons were involved, said 88-year-old Fred Rogers of Chandler Mountain in Steele. He was a teenager when the camp was established.

Yet, some facets of the camp were highly publicized and helped to promote the war effort. One piece of memorabilia in McFarland’s extensive Sibert collection is an October 1943 Senior Scholastic reader, whose cover photograph is of a smoke generator creating a smoke screen at the camp.

camp-sibert-joe-lewisFindley also noted that Sibert fielded a baseball team – the Gas House Gang – that won a state championship. Plus, the camp’s band was sent on tours as an encouragement to citizens to be proud of their military.

The work to establish Camp Sibert commenced three months after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941.

According to a chronology Findley has composed, the U.S. Army on March 13, 1942, inspected the site under consideration for Camp Sibert.

“Six days later, the area in northeastern Alabama was chosen over similar areas in West Virginia and Texas,” states an article written by Findley and fellow researcher Joseph T. Robertson (now deceased) for the January 1995 edition of The Alabama Review: A Quarterly Journal of Alabama History.

Fred Rogers noted that the expanse encompassed by the camp was known as the “flatwoods area” because it consisted of farmland and forestation, with few roads. “It was perfect for what they wanted to do with it,” Findley said.

According to The Review article, the site had to possess certain features needed for chemical warfare training: a secluded place where toxic gas could be used, basically level terrain for tanks and armored vehicles, and wetlands and forestation for bivouacs.

In June 1942 the government began issuing “Declarations of Taking” to obtain the necessary properties, the chronology states.

St. Clair County probate records available at Ashville Museum and Archives list owner after owner whose land the government was acquiring and the compensation each person was receiving. Some of the entities affected by the acquisition were Deerman’s Chapel Church and Deerman’s School, among others.

In all, 557 tracts of land in Etowah and St. Clair were involved in the acquisition, states The Review. “With the assistance of the Farm Security Administration, all 339 families who resided in the area were relocated with no major problems. Construction of the camp began immediately.”

Also in June 1942, a “tent city” formed to quarter those who would work on the camp before permanent accommodations were available, Findley’s chronology shows. The next month, the first trainees arrived.

On Christmas Day 1942, the camp was dedicated, “although it was only 80 percent complete. By the summer of 1943, the camp was self-sufficient” and could accommodate as many as 30,000 soldiers. With 41 miles of roads, the camp boasted 1,500 buildings, among them a hospital, theater and prison stockade, according to The Review.

Findley and McFarland said the camp also had an airport, store, chapel, lighted tennis courts, boxing ring and its own newspaper.

The scope of Camp Sibert was a premier undertaking. “Never before in the history of the Chemical Warfare Service had such an extensive facility been provided for instruction in the tactics and techniques of chemical warfare,” The Review states.

The “Post War Utilization Studies,” a War Department document dated September 1945, placed the total cost of construction and land acquisition at about $17.66 million.

The installation was named for Etowah native Maj. Gen. William Luther Sibert. During World War I, Sibert was handpicked by Gen. John Pershing to command the first U.S. soldiers into France in 1917, The Review reveals. “Because of his experiences, Sibert would be appointed the first Chief of the Chemical Warfare Services.”

At the time of World War II, some thoroughfares in Etowah and St. Clair were known by different names, Findley said. For example, the present-day U.S. 411 was “U.S. 11” then. What is now U.S. 11 was “Alternate 11.”

While the camp was in operation, names of some other roads were different too, stated McFarland. Pleasant Valley Road was “Range Road” and the site of Gate No. 2, while Canoe Creek Road bore the moniker “Impact Road.”

Findley added that the stretch from Attalla to Camp Sibert on what would later become Alabama 77 was called “Gate No. 1.”

The camp’s restriction on civilian traffic created a bit of a logistics problem for people in Steele who needed to go to other parts of St. Clair County.

“We couldn’t go through Camp Sibert to get to Ashville, the county seat,” Fred Rogers remembers. Residents in that part of St. Clair had to travel along “Alternate 11” to Whitney and on to what is now U.S. 231 in order to get to Ashville.

Though younger than his brother Fred, 85-year-old Hoover Rogers of Chandler Mountain also recalls a few things about the camp. One recollection is of seeing uniformed soldiers, with weapons in hands, coming over that mountain on training marches.

“I was intrigued by them and wondered where some of them were from,” said Hoover Rogers, who was a teen at that particular time in history.

He also remembers that word would get around when a celebrity, such as funnyman Red Skelton, was stationed at the camp.

Skelton was not the only famous person to be assigned to the camp. Heavyweight boxing champion Joe Louis, featherweight champion Bobby Ruffin and actor Mickey Rooney also trained there, Findley said.

In fact, Rooney met one of his many wives while stationed there, Findley said.

McFarland, who gives presentations at the University of Alabama-Gadsden Center, described the camp as “a catch-all.” In addition to chemical warfare instruction for entire units and for individuals who were to become replacements, the camp also provided basic training to recruits and housed prisoners of war.

Originally, its POW camp was a satellite of the one at Fort McClellan in neighboring Calhoun County. However, it soon became a separate entity, even incarcerating some of Adolph Hitler’s elite SS, or “storm troopers” as they were called, The Review reveals.

By mid-March of 1944, more than 12,000 soldiers and 88 combat units had received training at the camp, reported Findley.

In all, 169 US chemical warfare units were instructed there, a number that represented 47 percent of all such American units involved in World War II, The Review states. Of the 169 units, “44 were Black units.”

McFarland said Black soldiers generally were in smoke generator units or clerical positions, while Caucasian soldiers tended to be members of chemical mortar battalions.

In the spring and summer of 1945, the dynamics of World War II changed significantly, ultimately sealing the destiny of Camp Sibert.

With Germany surrendering first and Japan following a few months later, the need for the camp’s services greatly diminished.

In September of that year, the War Department issued its “Post War Utilization Studies,” on whether to make Sibert a permanent camp capable of accommodating 19,950 enlisted men, plus officers. Such an endeavor was estimated at $45 million. For this and other reasons, the project was deemed unfeasible.

As a result, the camp was decommissioned; the fixtures and contents were rendered to surplus; properties were sold to the original owners or to interested parties; and land, buildings and infrastructures were given to municipalities.

The Rogers brothers experienced some of the results.

After the war, Fred Rogers worked at AAA Pottery in Attalla, a business that was housed in old Army buildings. He later taught and was principal in a school situated on former camp property.

Hoover Rogers was a teacher and later principal of Chandler Mountain School, which benefited from surplus goods from the camp.

Their older brother, Henry (now deceased), purchased some Steele property that had been part of the camp and built his house there. Henry also worked as a civilian on “fire watch” (patrol duty) at the decommissioned camp until it was completely closed. When all surplus items were relocated and warehoused in Etowah County’s Glencoe, his job moved there, too, according to his brothers.

As a teen, Findley attended junior high in what had been the officers’ club. In the lunchroom, the autographs of Red Skelton and Mickey Rooney were still prominent. Findley also climbed chimneys that had been part of the camp hospital and collected brass he found near the rifle range.

McFarland, who lives in Etowah County close to the St. Clair border, resides on property that was within the cantonment of Camp Sibert. A few years ago, he received notification that his property qualified for a government cleanup effort.

Some 40 years after World War II, Congress determined that former defense sites should be cleaned up, according to Lisa Parker, deputy public affairs officer for the Mobile District of the Army Corps of Engineers.

It was the intent of Congress “to restore properties formerly owned by, leased to, or otherwise possessed by the U.S. and under the jurisdiction of the Secretary of Defense,” Parker stated.

Of the St. Clair sites that were investigated for possible cleanup, only one was found to need attention, noted the Corps of Engineers. Work at that site — which includes an area in Steele, close to Interstate 59 — is in progress.

Among the items already discovered are “4.2 mortars, .30-caliber rifle, machine gun, .22-caliber rifle, sub-machine gun, .45-caliber pistol, grenade, artillery, bazookas and anti-aircrafts,” said Parker.

Editor’s Note: Additional assistance with this article was provided by Charlene Simpson of Ashville Museum and Archives, RoseMary Hyatt of Northeast Alabama Genealogical Society, Pat Coffee of the Town of Steele, Jody Gilliland of Chandler Mountain Baptist Church and Jack Hayes of American Legion Post 109, Pell City.

Lofty Tales

Alabama’s ‘First Lady’ of flight

Story by Jerry Smith
Submitted photos

In 1929, a 9-year-old Birmingham girl named Nancy Batson had a special Christmas wish. She wanted a flight suit, pilot helmet and goggles. The eventual fulfillment of this young lady’s dream of becoming a pilot set a pattern for a lifetime of excitement and service to country, starting during an era when women were expected to have vastly different aspirations.

Born in 1920 to an affluent family in the old Norwood district of Birmingham, Nancy fell in love with aviation at an age when most little girls were still playing with dolls. As a 7-year-old, her parents took her to watch Charles Lindbergh as he walked from a car into Boutwell Auditorium. Nancy was enthralled.

According to Sarah Byrn Rickman in her book, Nancy Batson Crews—Alabama’s First Lady of Flight, Nancy loved to pretend her bicycle was a biplane, imagining it to have wings. Her favorite clothes were jodhpurs, jacket, boots, and a white silk scarf, as worn by all serious aviators of that day. Clearly, Nancy Batson was born to fly, and everyone knew it, including her parents.

She attended Norwood Elementary, spent her summers at St. Clair’s Camp Winnataska and graduated from Ramsay High School in 1937. Afterward, she attended the University of Alabama, where, in her own words, she “…majored in Southern Belle.” George C. Wallace was a classmate and dance partner. While at UA, she also met Paul Crews, the man whom she would marry several years later.

At the university, she became involved in the Civilian Pilot Training Program. Nancy soloed on March 20, 1940, got her private pilot’s license about three months later and began an aviation career that would earn her a place among the Greatest Generation.

Her father bought her a used Piper J-4 Cub Coupe for about $1,200, instead of another, cheaper J-3 they had looked at which was in really poor condition. In Nancy’s words, “I didn’t ask for that plane. … Daddy decided that that was the airplane he was going to buy me. … I’m 20 years old and a senior in college. Other girls had automobiles. I had an airplane.”

After graduation, Nancy spent a lot of time around Birmingham Airport and joined the newly-formed Civil Air Patrol in 1941. All the while she was flying at every opportunity, building up logbook hours for the future. She got her commercial license in 1942 and began charging people a dollar apiece for rides in her J-4.

After being refused an instructor’s job in a local flight school because she was a woman, Nancy went to Miami and took a job as an airport control tower operator, but quickly became bored with it. She then got an instructor job at Miami’s Embry-Riddle Aeronautical Institute, where she trained Army Air Corps flying cadets. But Nancy wanted to do bigger things with her life.

She heard that a new wartime ferrying operation was being formed that had a women’s squadron. They flew brand-new airplanes from factories all over the country to seaports to be loaded onto ships for the war overseas.

In true Nancy-Batson fashion, she didn’t even wait for a confirmation. She just boarded a train for the group’s headquarters in Wilmington, Delaware, and presented herself to Nancy Love, the squadron’s leader. In Rickman’s words, “Nancy Love watched as a tall, very attractive blonde — dressed in a stylish brown herringbone suit, small matching hat, and brown leather, high-heel pumps — entered her office.”

Within minutes, Love had gotten Nancy accepted and set her up for a physical and flight test the next morning. She easily aced both tests and became a member of WAFS, Women’s Auxiliary Ferrying Squadron. Since WAFS was not officially a part of the U.S. military, Love had her girls fitted for uniforms she’d designed herself, although each had to pay for her own.

At first, they ferried PT19 primary trainers and Piper Cubs to training bases. Eventually, the WAFS transitioned to more sophisticated combat aircraft, flying everything from bombers to the mighty P-51 Mustang, the most fearsome fighter plane ever built. There was a name change, too. WAFS became part of WASP, Women Air Force Service Pilots, complete with new blue uniforms.

Most warplanes were designed around male pilots, but the WASP ladies substituted determination for brute strength and made any adjustments necessary to complete their missions. One really petite WASP had a set of wooden blocks made so her feet could reach the rudder pedals.

Several WASPs were lost to training and ferrying accidents, and many more had close calls, including Nancy. She once spent a chilling two hours trying to force a balky nosewheel down on a Lockheed P-38 Lightning that also had engine trouble.

Most planes flown by WASPs were brand new from the factory, their first flight test being the ferry journey itself. These valiant ladies had to deal with really scary, sometimes life-threatening problems on a regular basis.

According to Rickman, there was no such thing as a schedule. They flew whatever needed flying to wherever it needed to go, often coast-to-coast. There was a war on, and thousands of planes were being built very quickly. Nancy learned and mastered more than 22 military aircraft types, many of them high-performance fighters with more than 2,000 horsepower. One of her advanced instructors was a future U.S. senator, Barry Goldwater.

In spite of all they had done for the war effort, the government still insisted WAFS/WASP was not military and refused any and all benefits, such as insurance, death benefits, hospitalization, pensions, etc. In fact, they were not even accorded an American flag for their casket if they died while serving. Many a bitter Congressional battle was fought over these issues, but WASP remained disenfranchised for the duration of the war. When all was said and done, they were simply told to go home, as if their valiant service had never existed.

Just after a farewell party on their final night on the base, the Officers Club caught fire. They had spent many off-duty hours there during their 27 months of service to WASP. Rickman tells what happened next: “Nancy Batson watched the building go down in flames. She wondered if she was watching her future burn with it. Her passion — her need to fly those hot airplanes — would have to be channeled elsewhere. … A modern-day Scarlett O’Hara, a heroine of a different war and a different time in history, Nancy would think about her future later — when she got home to Alabama.” “Let it burn,” she hollered, and added a rebel yell. “Let it burn!”

Once home, Nancy languished in relatively tame pursuits for a while, not even wanting to fly. She became particularly desolate when a close friend who was serving in China was killed in action while flying his four-engine transport over the “Hump” in Burma (now known as Myanmar).

In 1946, Nancy’s college friend, Paul Crews came home from the war, and they were quietly married in the Batson home. Paul and Nancy lived in several places over the next 15 years. When the Korean War started, Paul, a reservist, went back into service in Gen. Hap Arnold’s brand-new U.S. Air Force. They lived at Warner Robbins airbase in Georgia, then Washington D.C., and finally settled in Anaheim, California, near Disneyland. The Crews also started their family — two sons and a daughter.

Not long after arriving in California, Paul quit the Air Force and joined his former general at Northrop Aviation. Nancy, meanwhile, had not flown a plane in more than 10 years, but after attending a WASP reunion, she found a renewed interest in flying. Finally, after taking a joy ride at Palm Springs Airport, she was reborn as a pilot.

Quoting Rickman: “Though she was a typical 1950s stay-at-home mom when the boys were young, by 1960 that homemaker mantle no longer sat well on her shoulders. Inside, she was still a pursuit pilot. … Her temporarily dormant inner drive was returning. … Nancy knew she was cut out for something more than a domestic life and prowess on the golf course.”

Flying high … again

Once restarted, she pursued her new flying career with a passion. Nancy already had 1,224 hours in her logbook from ferrying military aircraft. She quickly re-earned her elapsed private pilot’s license at a local airport. While building airtime toward advanced ratings, she also flew as copilot in the Powder Puff Derby, a cross-country air race for female pilots. By the end of 1965, she had updated her commercial and certified-flight-instructor ratings. While working as an instructor at Hawthorne Airport, she gave her 14-year-old son Radford his first flying lessons. After returning home later from Vietnam, Rad went on to become a successful commercial pilot.

Paul’s health began to fail during these years, so he took a lesser job at Northrop and began helping Nancy further her own flying career. In 1969, Nancy and Paul bought a new Piper Super-Cub, and she began using it to tow gliders into the air, often as many as 60 a day. “It worked out great,” Nancy said. “I was back in a tail dragger (aircraft with tail wheel instead of nose wheel), and I was in hog heaven.” She flew this plane solo in the 1969 Powder Puff Derby, which ended in Washington D.C. The flyers were invited to the White House to meet the Nixons. While in California, she also mastered glider-flying in her new Schweizer sailplane, often being towed into the air by her own Super Cub.

In 1977, Paul succumbed to complications of diabetes. By 1981, due to a bewildering chain of events and heartaches much too complex to delineate here, Nancy found herself back home in Alabama. Rickman relates, “For Nancy, the move meant starting over. … She was sixty-one years old. … The Alabama she returned to was nothing like the Alabama she had left in 1950. Nancy began to rebuild her life.”

Rebuilding life in Odenville

The Batson family owned a huge tract of farmland near Odenville that had lain idle for many years. Nancy had driven her RV back home to Alabama, crammed with everything she wanted to keep from California. She lived in the RV next to the farmhouse where she and Paul had first lived as a couple, while trying to figure out the best usage of their land.

Nancy joined a real estate firm and got her license. A few of their land holdings were sold to local people so Nancy could concentrate on a huge 80-acre tract that was the main part of their estate left by the death of her parents. She sold her beloved Super Cub to raise enough money to buy out the other heirs, then bought a partly-finished garage structure in foreclosure, right at the edge of the estate property. She moved her RV there while this building was being finished.

After moving into her new home, Nancy sold the RV and began a period of hot-plate and microwave austerity as she worked on what would become her crowning achievement, Lake Country Estates. Using local laborers and craftsmen, she developed one lot at a time. By 1992, Lake Country Estates was thriving.

She dabbled a bit in aviation, hung out with pilot friends and the Birmingham Aero Club and served on the St. Clair Airport Authority. She loved to hangar-bum, and occasionally visited the Four Seasons ultralight flying field at Cool Springs, where this writer first met her. (To my shame, I was still a kid at age 40, and wasted too much valuable time flying my plane rather than chatting with this remarkable lady. And now, some 30 years later, I find myself trying hard to compose a fitting story that could have been mine for the asking back then).

Pilot Ed Stringfellow tells of the time Nancy visited his hangar at Pell City Airport. She had used building materials from Ed’s Mid-South Lumber Company for some of her Estate houses. Shortly after dark, he invited her to go flying with him in his AT-6 trainer, a big, beefy tandem-seater with a powerful radial engine. Ed said, “Here she was, in her late 60s, and hadn’t flown a T-6 since the 1940s, yet she flew loops and other precision maneuvers, in moonlight no less, like she had just done it the day before.” Stringfellow also related a story from the old days, when a future premier Alabama aviator named Joe Shannon was stationed with the Army Air Corps at Key Field in Meridian, Miss.

Nancy had landed there in a twin-engine A-20 bomber she was ferrying to Savannah that needed a few essential repairs. Both Shannon and a mechanic were dazzled when a beautiful, long-haired blonde climbed down from the cockpit. After checking out her plane, Shannon asked the mechanic how long repairs would take. “Depends,“ he replied, “how long do you want her to stay here?”
A lasting legacy

Jim Griffin, director of Southern Museum of Flight, first met Nancy at Pell City Airport.

He had noticed a landing light way off in the distance, heading straight for the airport. This was unusual because the weather was practically unflyable due to high, gusting winds that had grounded everyone else. As the plane got closer, he watched as treacherous gusts threw it all over the sky, its pilot struggling to maintain control.

Despite vicious crosswinds, the Super Cub touched down perfectly, first on one main wheel, then both, exactly as one should land a tail dragger in such conditions. He was amazed when a 60-something lady pilot climbed out of the cockpit. When he praised her great landing under such awful conditions, she replied, “Aw, it wasn’t all that bad.”

Former Pell City Mayor and Judge Bill Hereford remembers Nancy as highly intelligent, yet easy to talk with and full of determination in everything she did. “One of the first things you noticed about Nancy Crews was her steely-gray eyes. They looked right at you and understood everything they saw, and yet she was never intimidating — just an honest, dynamic lady who always knew exactly what she wanted to accomplish.”

Christine Beal-Kaplan, herself a veteran pilot and aircraft mechanic, was one of Nancy’s best friends in St. Clair County. She once drove through Lake Country Estates while telling of some of their adventures while she was helping Nancy put that project together. Although 79 years old, Nancy flew more than 80 hours as co-pilot with Chris on some of her charter runs in a Beechcraft King-Air.

Sadly, Chris passed away recently, taking with her a vast store of anecdotes and memories of Nancy.

On January 14, 2000, Nancy Batson Crews fell into a coma after months of battling cancer and slipped peacefully away at age 80. In Mrs. Rickman’s book, son Paul Crews Jr. said, “She wanted to die in her sleep, and be worth a million dollars. …By the time she died — in her own bed — she was worth more than a million when you figure the land value.” She had indeed fulfilled her own prophecy.

Stringfellow recalls that he and some other pilots were supposed to perform a low, missing-man fly-over pass in Piper Cubs as Nancy was being laid to rest at Elmwood Cemetery, but the fog was almost to ground level, making the flight impossible. However, a huge airliner passed overhead at precisely the right time, making her graveside service complete.

Nancy was inducted into the prestigious Alabama Aviation Hall of Fame in 1989 and the Alabama Women’s Hall of Fame in 2004. Birmingham’s Southern Museum of Flight has a display case full of her belongings and memorabilia. Museum director Jim Griffin is particularly proud of that memorial, having known her personally. Nancy had accumulated more than 4,000 hours of flight time in her logbook, which is on display at the museum.

But, perhaps most fitting, wherever vintage pilots or Odenville folks gather to reminisce, sooner or later Nancy Batson Crews’ name will be spoken.

For lots more photos of this amazing woman and her flying career, check out the Discover 2013-January 2014 print and digital edition of Discover St. Clair Magazine.

Around the Next Bend

Sugarbush Farm: Antiques
and so much more

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Michael Callahan
Submitted Photos: Sugarbush Farm

If you weren’t looking for it, you just might miss the small sign out front that says, Sugarbush Farm. But if you passed by what lies just beyond it, rest assured, you missed out on something mighty special.

Tucked snugly behind the home that is barely distinguishable from others along Pell City’s Wolf Creek Road South is an 1850 cabin restored on the property and connected to the existing house. A few feet away stands another relic, a motel room from the old Rose Hill Motel in Irondale, which thrived in the 1930s and 40s.

But just around a dirt bend above the home of Jo and Paul Harris are the stables that once boarded more than 20 horses at a time. The covered arena across the way was once alive with the sound of children, horse hooves, riding lessons, shows and the nationally sanctioned Wolf Creek Pony Club.

As she turns the pages of photo albums and books, the familiar look of remembrance is unmistakable. So is the smile that accompanies it.

Jo and Paul moved to Pell City in 1973. He was a familiar face around St. Clair County, having graded cattle herds for the Extension Service. He judged 4-H and Future Farmers of America steer shows as well.

Paul had been a partner in a cattle corporation, sold his partnership and bought his own herd of Polled Herefords for breeding, leasing land around the county to raise his cattle. But during the Nixon administration, interest rates stood at 21 percent, and the president put a freeze on cattle prices. “It put us out of business,” Jo said.

But the couple was not to be deterred by the setback. Jo remembers telling Paul at the time, “You had your turn, let’s try horses.” Horses had been a passion of hers from an early age growing up in Oklahoma.

They secured their first boarder and “built from there,” she said. They developed a riding school with summer camps. She became certified as an instructor in the American Riding Instruction Certification Program. “I was working with an accounting firm and spent summer vacations with riding camps.”

Paul built the covered arena, and they would hold adult riders dressage clinics with a United States Dressage Federation instructor.

In the late 1980s, the Pony Club was chartered by the U.S. Pony Clubs – no small feat for a tiny town 40 miles outside the big city. It drew members from Moody, Talladega, Anniston, Birmingham and of course, its home in Pell City. “On Sunday afternoon, I gave lessons, and we held weekend competitions. We had a lot of fun,” she said as she thumbed through dozens of old photographs.

Sugarbush Farm was on the map as a pony club. “I’d like to think I made a difference with the kids,” she said. “I can’t say how many kids over the years, but my first student, Carrie Henderson, is now giving riding lessons in California.”

When health took its toll and she was unable to ride any longer, she acquired a Meadowbrook cart. In 2004, she traveled to Beaver Dam Farm in Nova Scotia to take a driving course. “That was the only time I got to ride on the beach.” She drives it now on a trail behind her home.

The cabin that Paul built

Jo and Paul’s homeplace is far from typical. They bought the 1850 cabin near the Shiloh battlefield in Tennessee. It was dismantled and moved to Pell City, where it took Paul two years to reassemble it. “You can still see the numbers on the logs,” she said.

There seems something familiar about the interior, perhaps because it was the setting for a handful of Southern Living Magazine photo shoots for various publications and occasions over the years. The coziness and the warmth envelops you as you enter, and the antiques Jo has collected over the years are the picture-perfect complement. Century-old quilts, shaker boxes and a cavernous fireplace as the focal point cannot help but send any visitor back in time.

Not your typical antique store

Step out back just across the gardens, and you’ll discover another remnant of days gone by – Jo’s antique shop. Sugarbush Farm Country Antiques and Folk Art is more than a sight to behold. It’s a treasure to savor.

Jo had passed by the vacant Rose Hill Motel many a time, seeing the motel cabins and wishing she had one. Her son discovered later they were for sale, and they bought two — one for her antique shop and the other serves as a guest house on her son’s land just across the way.

Its 192-square-foot frame encases rare collectibles Jo has just displayed for sale. She has reopened the antique shop and is hoping to pique the interest of antique and collectibles enthusiasts. She figures, she said, “If I get rid of it, the kids won’t have to.”

The collection is far from anything to be ‘gotten rid of.’ Hand-woven coverlets from York, Pennsylvania, and a 19th century coverlet hang from a quilt rack. Rows of shelves display her prized Blue Willow china with the buffalo mark on the back, signifying its century of age.

A butter churn reminds her of the days growing up on a dairy farm. “We made our own butter” and cooked from the garden. “I don’t think we went to the store except to buy flour and sugar,” she says.

French flatware, a William Britain Soldiers collection from England and Blue and White enamelware are but a few of the “finds” in her shop. There are delftware made in Holland, Blue Onion kitchen utensils and vintage Spring Bok puzzles, similar to jigsaw. There is even a collection of harness brasses used to decorate tradesman horses in England, the harness brass branded with the trade just as a logo would be used today.

“I have been a collector all of my adult life,” she says. She bought “things my mama used to have. I like to think back to the days when she did her canning.” And she quickly adds, “I don’t want to do it, I just want to remember it.”

Throughout the shop, the cabin and the 30 acres Jo and Paul call home these days, those memories of the past abound.

Jo sums it up in a simple, yet poignant thought that could be applied to antiques and memories alike: “I guess I’m just a collector at heart.”