Category: Traveling the Backroads

Destination:
St. Clair Airport

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

Peeking through a fence at Pell City’s St. Clair County Airport, 9-year-old Aaron Mathis already knows without a doubt what he wants to do for a living: he will be an airline pilot. For Aaron, this little country airport would soon become a field of dreams.

Established a few years after Logan Martin Lake was first created, St. Clair Airport, known officially as KPLR Hugghins Field, would one day cater to young Aaron’s aspirations, along with many others bitten by the aviation bug.

In 1966, Dr. Horace Clayton, an aviation medical examiner, secured a tract of farmland from Marlin Hugghins, a St. Clair businessman whose family still runs Hugghins Sod Farms. It was officially designated as airport property under a lease/payoff agreement with the newly-formed St. Clair County Airport Authority.

The airport’s infrastructure was built by insurance magnate Kyle Vess, under the name of KV Aviation, including the field’s first flight training school. KPLR was a deluxe operation from the start. The opening-day ceremony in 1966 was attended by Gov. George Wallace.

The runway, taxiway and airport grounds were kept in immaculate condition. No expense was spared to provide the best facilities and services available. Vess even built a control tower in anticipation of a great increase in air traffic, but it was never used except during air shows.

Robert Waldrop, who worked there as a lineman before moving into aircraft mechanics, tells of actually rolling out red carpets before the doors of visiting aircraft, while other linemen worked at clearing windscreens and leading edges of wings from dirt, smears and bugs, then waxing them for smoother airflow.

Robert got started in aviation at Talladega Airport as a lineman and general helper for $15 a week plus one hour of flight time, but soon moved to St. Clair, where he enjoyed a lifelong career of some 56 years in aircraft maintenance.

Discover St. Clair photographer Mike Callahan, who also worked at the airport in those days, recalls that Kyle Vess was one of those truly charismatic people whom everyone liked and trusted. He was a large man, very tall and weighing in at more than 400 pounds. Everyone appreciated the way he treated employees and customers. Many who knew Vess agree that, generally speaking, no nicer man ever ran a better airfield anywhere.

KPLR’s aircraft maintenance and avionics shops were so well-equipped and proficient that planes were brought in from hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles away for service. Birmingham-based Bill Woods Beechcraft routinely used these shops. All of Vess’ aircraft technicians were also rated pilots who could test-fly their work. Mike relates that the shop’s manager, Gene Tuggle, was very easy to work for and understood young people.

According to Mike, one of Tuggle’s top priorities was teaching his men to avoid walking into spinning propellers, which is more common around airfields than one would think. His workers and other airport personnel got reduced rates at the flying school. Vess would also help them go to college. Mike says the avionics shop, managed by Horace Diehl, operated around the clock in times of special need.

A popular hub
St. Clair Airport became a base for several military reserve units, such as 87 Maneuver Area Command (aka 87th MAC), and the 121st Aerial Recon Wing. Military versions of civilian aircraft were kept there, including Beechcraft Queen Airs, UH1 Huey helicopters, DeHavilland Beavers, L19 recon planes, OH58 Bell Kiowa helicopters, and a host of related equipment. One of KPLR’s Hueys was later recognized by its tail number in a news film as a copter being shoved off the side of a ship during the Vietnam evacuation.

The now-defunct Pine Harbor Golf & Racquet Club also had an airport connection. You knew you had become part of the local inner circle if you had a membership at PHG&R, a home on the lake, and an airplane at St. Clair airport. The club also had a seaplane facility at its Lake Logan Martin pier.

Danny Davis and the Nashville Brass visited KPLR in the 1980s in a plane emblazoned with a saxophone emblem.

However, Vess’ dream of an aviation empire would soon be halted by a process better explained by accountants and lawyers. In the mid-1970s, the field was transferred to St. Clair Airport Authority, which has owned and controlled it ever since. Sadly, Mr. Vess went to jail.

After the changeover, a southeastern distributorship for Cessna aircraft and a new flight school were established under the aegis of Sunny South Aviation in Florida. The flying school kept Handy Ellis and two other instructors busy training new pilots and re-certifying others with former military air service.

Present airport manager Bob Brown ferried new Cessnas from the factory to Sunny South in those days. He often stopped for fuel and a layover in St. Clair, never suspecting he would one day manage the airport.

Although a little belt-tightening became necessary, St. Clair Airport remained in service as a general aviation field which would soon became a mecca for area recreational pilots.

$50 hamburgers
Aaron is in Seventh Heaven. Having arrived at Sammie’s Touch & Go just after the doors opened, he is soon surrounded by dozens of veteran pilots, weekend patch pirates and hangar bums. The grassy field in front of Sammie’s hosts three or four dozen small aircraft, vintage warplanes, ultralights, even a powered paraglider. Aaron’s left ear is glued to a hand-held aircraft scanner as even more pilots fill the local Unicom frequency with radio chatter as they vie for landing clearance.

Sammie’s Touch & Go was named after its founder, Sammie Moore, and for a practice maneuver familiar to all pilots. Founded in 2000 as a place where Sammie could meet, eat and mingle with his flying buddies on a regular basis, it soon evolved into a fine public restaurant, patronized by hundreds. Their motto was DRIVE IN OR FLY IN, offering flying visitors a large, grassy aircraft parking area just off the north taxiway.

Local Chapter 1320 of the Experimental Aircraft Association (EAA) was also formed in 2000, for the benefit of dozens of recreational flyers and home-made aircraft builders who frequented St. Clair Airport. Membership quickly swelled to about 85, and the chapter was very busy for the next five or six years with all kinds of flying events and sponsorships. Sammie began holding monthly Fly-In Breakfast events to sponsor EAA1320 and to provide yet another reason for his flying friends to congregate.

Places like Sammies are where the term “$50 hamburger” originated. Pilots often traveled hundreds of miles to visit plane-friendly cafes, and since there is no cheap way to fly any kind of aircraft, it was often joked that the hamburger they ate for lunch cost them at least 50 bucks. These days, though, it’s more like a hundred-dollar burger at the few such places that still exist.

Tommy Thompson, local general contractor, plane builder and pilot, said, “Everyone loved coming (to Sammie’s). It was a friendly local hangout for pilots and has contributed a lot to general aviation in central Alabama.”

Sadly, Sammie lost his life in March 2002 when his Breezy experimental plane took a sudden plunge into the ground shortly after takeoff. It was a devastating blow to the community, resulting in one of the largest funerals in St. Clair history. But his charisma lived on, and so did Sammie’s and the monthly Fly-Ins.

On a nice Saturday morning, it usually hosted 30-40 small planes, their pilots and friends thronging the restaurant and grounds. For a small sum that went to benefit local EAA programs, visitors could gorge on eggs, biscuits, gravy, grits, pancakes, juice, hash browns, omelets and coffee while enjoying abundant camaraderie. Local folks also loved to gather at these Fly-Ins, fascinated by all those often-strange aircraft and the people who flew them.

Your writer recalls getting up before the crack of dawn to fry 18-20 pounds of thick-sliced Royal bacon, bake a hundred or so biscuits, and help with logistical chores shared by folks like 1320 President Tommy Thompson, Lynn and Bill Glenn, Terry Richmond, and any others who could be lassoed into volunteering.

Legendary landings
It was truly a wondrous place for aviation buffs, often visited by living legends like Joe Shannon and the Henley brothers — a magical environment in which young Aaron Mathis began putting a fine edge upon his chosen future in aviation.

The national EAA sponsored a program called Young Eagles, which provided funding for youngsters’ first airplane rides. One fine Saturday brought a visit from an intrepid young man who was going to fly a Cessna Skyhawk around the world. Aaron was chosen to take his official Young Eagle flight with this adventurer.

Actually, Aaron had been aloft in a small plane once before at St. Clair as a gift for his eighth birthday, but on this day he was actually allowed to handle the controls during the flight!

Bill, Lynn and Chris Glenn hosted many Young Eagles’ functions in their superbly equipped hangar near Sammie’s. Bill is a retired United Airline pilot, and Lynn is a pilot and expert aircraft restorer. They have since relocated to a private airfield near Wilsonville, but during their tenure at KPLR, the Glenns’ hangar was the hangout of choice when Sammie’s was not open.

Another noteworthy denizen was Ed Stringfellow, who holds ratings on more types of airplanes than he can recall all at once. Ed had the largest hangar at the airport — some 12,000 square feet. At one time, this cavernous building held a Mitchell B-25 bomber, a North American P-51 Mustang fighter, a North American AT6 Texan advanced trainer, a Piper J3 Cub and a BSA motorcycle. Ed loved old planes and employed expert mechanic Ted Campbell full-time to maintain his flock of collectibles. Robert Waldrop has also worked for him. Over the years, Ed has owned a Cessna 310 twin and several Beechcraft Staggerwing biplanes, plus a number of other small craft.

He came to St. Clair in 1978 looking for a place to hangar his 310, which he flew in connection with his lumber business. Over the years he’s racked up thousands of flying hours, and holds every rating possible for propeller-driven aircraft, including certified flight instructor.

Ed built his first hangar at St. Clair in 1988, later erecting a much larger one to hold the B-25 bomber he had just bought. But his pride and joy was Tiger Lily, his beloved P-51 Mustang. People used to rush to the airport every time they heard him flying overhead because they knew he always made a sizzling, low-level, high speed pass over the field before landing.

P-51s were the hottest fighters of World War II, the best ever built. To hear one pass by just a few yards away at full speed, its engine ablaze with raw power, is an unforgettable experience. Ed’s Mustang fly-bys were the highlight of many a weekend day at St. Clair.

Now 86, Ed still flies. He, too, relocated to Wilsonville, but has reduced his covey of vintage warbirds to a single Boeing Stearman WWII-era trainer biplane.

Tommy Thompson’s ¾ scale Loehle P5151 Mustang was a superbly crafted knockoff of the real thing, much admired at air events. Tommy has built and sold three of them, and was working on a ¾ scale Spitfire based upon the same fuselage, but was unable to complete it due to various events that would forever alter the field’s persona.

Change in the wind
True to the axiom that the only real constant is change, in recent years KPLR has gradually evolved from its previous, free-wheeling format to more of a mainstream player in general and corporate aviation. The old FBO (air terminal building) where all gathered to chat, drink stout coffee and critique each other’s landings was torn down and replaced with a new building constructed to current FAA standards and the needs of a modern air facility.

Fly-in breakfasts gradually faded away as attendance fell off for various economic, personal and logistical reasons, finally resulting in the dissolution of EAA Chapter 1320 and a turning point in local interests. Some hangar tenants relocated, while others sold their planes and moved to other ventures.

The good folks at Sammie’s later tried to revive the Fly-Ins to benefit a local charity, but that effort was short-lived. Eventually, Sammie’s closed its doors to the local daily dining scene, but Sammie’s daughter and son-in-law, Michelle and Craig Frickey, still use this unique venue to host receptions, holiday parties, meetings and other catered affairs.

Vital modifications were made to the taxiways and runway, a large parking apron was built in front of the new FBO, several large, improved hangars were added, and an automated weather-reporting system tower was installed in an area once used as a landing zone by a skydiving club.

It’s a place with great potential. Terry Capps, Airport Authority member and former field manager, says KPLR will always be a general aviation airport, plus, the FAA now has it officially listed as a “reliever” airfield for larger airports like Birmingham. There is a new flying school on premises, Etheredge Aviation and Flight Training Services, to fill the void left by long-time instructor Jim McLeod, who has retired to Tampa, Fla.

Ed Stringfellow helped negotiate for state and federal grants to fund these improvements, often dealing with Aviation Commission Chairman Gene Tibbets, son of World War II bomber pilot Paul Tibbets, whose plane, the Enola Gay, dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. No doubt the P-51 rides Ed provided for various notables helped smooth the way.

Even with its changes, St. Clair maintains a lot of the old spirit and fellowship. Pilots still gather for coffee at the new FBO and its spacious pavilion overlooking the apron and runway. Many hangars still shelter experimental and light sport aircraft. New aviators still learn to fly and still get their shirttails cut off upon completing their first solo flight.

There are several familiar faces there, folks like former Pell City mayor Bill Hereford, who once owned three planes at St. Clair but is now down to a single Piper Archer named Baby. He got his license in 2003 at age 63 under the watchful eye of his instructor, former Pell City Councilman Donnie Todd.

Ron Gilmer is another St. Clair stalwart whose favorite thing was taking kids up in his superb Cessna Skyhawk, 53Romeo that every local pilot, your writer included, loved to fly. Other flyers include Joe West, retired Birmingham fire chief and ultralight pilot; Discover St. Clair photographer, Wally Bromberg with his Piper Tri-Pacer; Terry Capps, Airport Authority member and Ercoupe pilot; and attorney Erskine Funderburg, who is also chairman of the Airport Authority.

Other Authority members are Mike Fricker, Joe Suttle and Pell City Police Chief Greg Turley. The airport facilities are currently managed by Robert Brown, a retired Delta Airline captain.

Bob has impressive credentials, having spent most of his adult life working around airports and aircraft. With more than 20,000 hours of accident-free flying time in airliners, freight haulers and numerous smaller craft, Bob knows about airplanes and aviation.

He got his wings in Miami in 1963, earning his license in an Aeronca Champ. After serving in the Air Force, he flew freight service in a Lockheed Electra, hauling varied cargoes from racehorses to bundles of new shirts being delivered to Bogota, Colombia.

After taking his position at KPLR about a year ago, Bob has made several safety improvements, such as daily runway inspections to remove foreign objects and debris that might cause damage to aircraft and their engines. Fuel tanks and supplies are monitored daily for condensation and tampering. He also provides full training for linemen in safety and fire fighting. Bob is working with the city to get a full-time fire truck on premises.

He says that around 90 airplanes are based at St. Clair. The field has proven very useful for search-and-rescue operations, aerial real estate showings and utility/power line surveys as well as a base for banner tow-planes, advertising blimps and crop dusters. There are two large corporate hangars on field, and companies are encouraged to build their own, using a ground lease arrangement.

Ron Gilmer’s nephew, Rickey, now operates an airframe and engine repair service called Gilmer Aviation in a large hangar once occupied by Christine Beal-Kaplan’s SARCO (Small Aircraft Repair Company). Holder Aviation handles avionics services in another hangar.

And what of our wide-eyed youngster, Aaron? Well, he soloed in 2012 at St. Clair under the guidance of Jim McLeod, proudly sacrificing his shirt tail to hang on the wall at the FBO.

He’s 19 now and well on his way to a commercial air transport license. A student at Wallace State in Hanceville, Aaron is involved in an intensive aviation syllabus involving dozens of flight hours each month.

He says the time is right for new transport pilots because most of the Vietnam-era crossover pilots are now retiring. He feels that commercial aviation is leading the recovery from America’s general economic slump.

No doubt he will always treasure the days spent at KPLR as a child, looking through the fence, not over it, and dreaming of the day when he would say, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Mathis. I’d like to welcome you aboard our flight to. …”

Hearing that as an airline passenger would certainly make my day, too.

A legacy remembered

Story by Jerry Smith
Submitted photos

January 8, 1953, was a cold, rainy day. Pell City’s town physician knew he had little choice but to attend a special meeting at the county courthouse. The good doctor had discouraged this meeting, even threatened to not attend, but the city fathers prevailed. As he walked across the town square, bundled against the wind and rain, he undoubtedly reflected on events that had led to this day, and this meeting.

Born in Plantersville, Ala., in 1879, only 14 years after the Civil War, Robert Alfonzo Martin grew up on a farm and got his primary education in Dallas County public schools. After two years at Auburn, he went on to Vanderbilt University in Nashville, graduating in 1901 with a medical degree.

Excellence was in his bloodline. Both great-grandfathers had been high military officials in the Revolutionary War. The choices he made soon after graduating Vanderbilt were the beginning of an exemplary career in which he not only excelled as a physician, but also helped build Pell City into a healthy, dynamic industrial town.

Dr. Martin was an imposing man, more than 6 feet tall. He always wore a suit and had an air of natural dignity about him that engendered respect whenever he walked into a room.

According to granddaughter Nancy Jordan, “Once you entered his realm, you were his patient, someone who needed him right then. It didn’t matter if you were family, a regular patient or a total stranger. To all, he was very approachable.” Pell City restaurateur, Joe Wheeler, says Dr. Martin was “kind … very dedicated … not a man of many words … always had something good to say to you before you left his office.”

Pell City gets a new hospital
Dr. Martin came to Pell City in January of 1903, shortly after an economic downturn had decimated the newly-formed city. Sumter Cogswell had succeeded in getting it back on a positive track with the addition of Pell City Manufacturing Company. Clearly, this facility’s employees would need quality medical care — a wonderful opportunity for a young doctor of Robert Martin’s caliber.

Quoting Jordan, in her treatise in Heritage of St. Clair County, “There were no roads in those days. He had to travel by horse and buggy, sometimes even a saddle horse … to visit patients. He operated in homes when the only light was from a flickering oil lamp and was present at the birth of many babies where the only sterilization came from water heated … over logs of a hot fire.”

A local debate still simmers over whether Dr. Martin or his civic contemporary, Sumter Cogswell, had the first automobile in town, but his granddaughters insist that the doctor’s red Maxwell was first.

Jordan continues, “Dr. R.A. Martin was energetic and possessed a dream of some day being able to afford the community with better hospital facilities than existed in any comparable size community in Alabama.”

And that is exactly what he did.

In 1919, Avondale Mills bought Pell City Manufacturing, re-naming it after their home plant in Birmingham. Dr. Martin headed a new medical facility on the Avondale campus, the Gertrude Comer Hospital. It was at Comer that he met Miss Elsie Dunn, who would work with him as head of nursing services for decades, both at Comer and in the private clinics Dr. Martin later founded.

Besides being a full-time doctor and administrator for Comer Hospital, Martin was also the official medic for two railroad systems that passed through Pell City. Should a trainman or passenger become sick or injured between Anniston and Birmingham, he attended their needs, whether at Comer Hospital or on site.

Dr. Martin always made sure Avondale’s hospital had the most modern equipment and employed the latest medical techniques, a diligence he later extended to his own clinic and hospital as well.

The corner drugstore
Dr. Martin created Pell City Drug Company, which became one of America’s first Rexall franchises. His druggist, “Doctor” Stokes, worked there for more than 50 years and became a legend in his own right. It’s said that he was dressed for success when he first arrived by train, with top hat and ornate walking cane.

According to Wheeler, Doctor Stokes was the accepted “go-to” whenever Dr. Martin and his colleagues were unavailable. He compounded medicines and prescriptions from chemicals stored in brown jars and bottles in his pharmacy. And his chemist skills weren’t limited to human beings. Wheeler recalls telling Doctor Stokes about his coon hound’s tender feet. Stokes concocted a soaking solution of glycerin and rose water that fixed the pooch right up.

Dr. Martin also operated Pell City’s Greyhound franchise as well as the local Western Union telegraph office from the drugstore. During World War II, many of those telegrams brought despair to families of lost soldiers, but the present store owner, Gerald Ensley, also recalls the joy of hearing that his father was coming home from overseas.

Ensley says Dr. Martin’s store sold a little of everything, “a lot like Walmart.” Besides prescription drugs and a soda fountain and lunch counter, they also handled most anything from bicycles to school books. Like two other drugstores in that same city block, they had curb hops to ensure the best of service.

Ensley relates that Pell City Drugs would take gift orders for special occasions, such as Christmas, purchase the goods in quantity at wholesale markets, and store them for customer pickup at a warehouse. Like many other rural professionals of the day, Dr. Martin often accepted barter in lieu of money, especially during the Depression.

When Avondale Mills closed Comer Hospital in 1931, he shifted his entire practice to a temporary clinic upstairs over his drugstore while construction proceeded on his new hospital, next door. This clinic had six beds, an examination room and an operating room.

According to Ensley, the upstairs clinic had two dumbwaiter systems — one for transporting food and medical supplies from the drugstore for patients and the other for soiled laundry. The clinic had the building’s only indoor restrooms. Drugstore patrons used an outhouse on the alley.

The clinic’s floor space still exists today, hosting lawyers and other tenants. Its fine hardwood floors and embossed tin-plate ceilings reflect earlier days, when décor was simple but durable and well-crafted.

Heated by coal stoves in winter, the clinic was well-lighted by large windows which provided cooling breezes during the summer. Dr. Martin’s capable staff were always just a few steps away. Indeed, Dr. Martin, himself, might answer your call, as he practically lived in his infirmaries. Even though this was a temporary clinic, the operating room was very well equipped, albeit located an uncomfortably short distance from patient rooms.

Martin Hospital
Dr. Martin had a grand vision for his new hospital. He would build it to his own specifications, operate it as he saw proper, and do it all without outside funding. He applied for no grants, nor was he willing to allow his new facility to become part of any medical organization. In that respect and many others, his hospital stood alone.

The new building was constructed directly behind Pell City Drugs, in an area now occupied by law offices. Originally named Pell City Infirmary, it opened in 1933. More space was added through the years until, in 1941, it boasted 42 beds and the finest operating room of any small-city hospital in Alabama.

Nancy Jordan states that her grandfather was constantly attending the best medical schools, getting postgraduate certificates from Johns Hopkins, Mayo Clinic, New York Polyclinic and Harvard Medical School, all to insure that his facility would be second to none and his patients would get only the finest care. To quote Jordan, “His search for knowledge in his chosen field was unceasing.”

He was also blessed with a competent staff, including Dr. Stitts and the irrepressible Miss Dunn, whom Ensley fondly characterizes as “the bossiest person he ever knew.” Joe Wheeler’s aunt, Alma Ruth Manning, was also a nurse at Martin Hospital.

Nurses were often hired without credentials, trained at the hospital, then sent to school for their nursing degrees. At first there was a nurses’ quarters on the second floor of the hospital. They eventually moved into a nearby house that had been converted to a dormitory. There were several young doctors who worked out an internship at his hospital, then went away to form successful practices of their own.

Dr. Martin’s associates were quite serious about their work, but also knew how to enjoy their off-days. Several local folks recall three nurses who rode around town in a red Renault Amphicar, an amphibious vehicle designed for both road and water travel. The car had a propeller in back and was steered using the front wheels while afloat. They would drive up to a boat launch, then plunge right off into the lake in front of awed onlookers. Jordan’s sister, Carolyn Hall, says Nurse Speaker bought this unique auto to reach her home on land that had become an island after Logan Martin was impounded.

The Martins eventually built a fine new brick home on Oak Ridge. Miss Dunn moved into their old downtown residence. But once his hospital was established, Dr. Martin hardly ever went home, choosing instead to live in a small suite at the hospital, making himself available at all times for the inevitable emergencies.

Nancy and Carolyn recall visiting him there at least once a week to bring fresh clothes and pick up household money for Mrs. Martin. Young Wheeler ran lots of errands for the Martins, from delivering groceries to their home and the hospital, to helping Mrs. Martin with various yard and household chores. He says he loved working for her because she was a very sweet lady who always gave him $5 for whatever he did. In those days, that was a princely sum for a youngster.

At age nine, Gerald Ensley peddled farm-raised victuals such as blackberries, greens, corn and peas to the hospital. Dr. Martin had a way of involving everyone in the community in his work. Ensley says, “… Dr. Martin knew everybody in town by their first name — their momma and daddy, grandparents, and all their children.”

St. Clair County abounds with people who were treated by Dr. Martin at his hospitals. Ensley recalls when everyone in his family had been bitten by a rabid dog and were administered a long series of painful shots in the belly by Dr. Martin. Wheeler once got a rusty nail stuck completely through his left eyeball. Dr. Martin used his uncommon surgical expertise to repair the damage. Joe still has perfect sight in that eye today, some 60 years later.

Family was no stranger to the clinic. Dr. Martin removed ruptured appendices from both young granddaughters, Nancy and Carolyn, within three days of each other. Nancy says, “Family didn’t matter. Once you entered his office as a patient, that’s exactly what you became until it was all over.”

Birthin’ babies
Of all the services performed by Dr. Martin and his staff, obstetrics was near the top of the list. According to Nancy, more than 10,000 babies were delivered by her grandfather, including her and Carolyn. When his daughter, Mary Ruth Kincaid, was about to deliver Carolyn, Dr. Martin asked whom she wanted to perform the delivery. “Why you, of course, …” was her reply. Anyone else was unthinkable. In fact, he had also delivered their mother, Mary Ruth.

Local resident Garland Davis often reminisces over a 1938 photo of his mother, Lily Mae Davis, holding him and his twin brother, Harland, with sister Elsie Mae. Harland and Garland were the first twins born in the new Martin Hospital, an event which made the Birmingham News.

The Davis children are also featured on a large period photo of about 30 “Dr. Martin babies” and their mothers, standing in front of Martin Hospital. At one time, the number of babies he delivered exceeded the population of Pell City.

Citizen R.A. Martin
A truly tireless and dedicated doctor and medical administrator, Martin was also a model citizen. According to Jordan, he belonged to the Ben M. Jacobs Masonic Lodge, Zamora Shrine, Woodmen of the World, American Medical Association, World Medical Association, St. Clair Medical Society, Civitans and First Christian Church.

In Heritage of St. Clair County, Jordan adds, “Aside from his medical practice, Dr. Martin was very much interested in the future of his beloved Pell City. He took an active and leading part in all civic enterprises, was instrumental in the development of this community and gave freely of his time and money in every project designed for the up-building and betterment of his hometown.”

Dr. Martin invested heavily in land purchases, both locally and out-of-state, eventually owning hundreds of acres of prime land in and around Pell City. These holdings included the town’s main cemetery, which he owned until his death in 1954. Today, the grand Martin/Kincaid mausoleum looks down upon his former domain from the cemetery’s highest hilltop.

Most older Pell Citizens know that Comer Avenue was once the right of way for a railroad that joined the Seaboard in Coal City with other rail lines in Pell City. What is not generally known is what happened to all those tracks, crossties and other rail hardware that had to be removed to convert Comer into a road. Always the entrepreneur, Dr. Martin bought all this salvage, had it dug up, and sold it as scrap metal.

Dr. Martin Day
Steeling himself for this dreaded meeting, the doctor squared his shoulders, straightened his tie, and walked boldly into the meeting chambers  …

On Jan. 8, 1953, the Pell City Chamber of Commerce hosted a gala event known as DR. MARTIN DAY, to honor one of its finest, most influential citizens. This was exactly 50 years after he had first hung out his shingle in 1903.

Literally everyone was invited. Planned months in advance, the Chamber had made provisions for a parade with local bands and outdoor viewing stands, much like today’s Block Party. Thousands were projected to attend, but nature threw a curve ball of torrential rains on the chosen day, so only hundreds actually participated.

Local businesses closed for the day, and the little county courthouse was jammed with admirers, many of whom had been delivered by the good doctor. Speakers included Hugh Comer, chairman of the board at Avondale Mills; Dr. Charles N. Carraway, who was his former roommate at Vanderbilt and founder of Carraway Methodist Hospital in Birmingham; and a host of mayors and other dignitaries from as far away as Birmingham and Guntersville. Among those by his side were his beloved wife Mary Gee (Campbell) Martin, and the indomitable Miss Dunn.

A legend passes
In early 1954, Dr. Martin was diagnosed with coronary thrombosis and taken in a Kilgroe ambulance to the famed Ochsner Clinic in New Orleans, where he succumbed on July 10, just 12 days shy of his 75th birthday.

Jordan describes his funeral in Heritage of St. Clair County: “Business was at a standstill. … Close to 1,500 people came to pay a last tribute to him as his body lay in state at a local funeral home. … Hundreds came to the Methodist Church for the funeral, (and) followed him to his grave in spontaneous and impulsive outbursts of love and affection for this tall, handsome man who had served them not only as doctor, but as a friend and advisor for more than half a century.” She adds that, because of the huge crowd, his service had to be broadcast on speakers outside the church.

Sometime after his passing, the main north/south thoroughfare in Pell City was renamed R.A. Martin Street. But perhaps his finest epitaph is found on the silver chalice he was given in the year previous, on Dr. Martin Day :

IN HONOR OF DR. R.A. MARTIN, A DISTINGUISHED AND PROGRESSIVE CITIZEN, AND ABLE PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON,  A BENEFACTOR OF THE UNFORTUNATE AND UNDERPRIVILEGED, COMMEMORATING FIFTY YEARS OF SERVICE.

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The lake that is no more

Story by Jerry C. Smith
Submitted photos

Water is an absolute necessity for any permanent settlement, be it an Indian village or a major city. An area in northern St. Clair County is blessed with five springs, arranged in a circle around a sixth major spring that provided early settlers a virtually unlimited supply of pure, cold water.

In Davis & Taylor’s History of Springville, AL, Margaret Forman Windham tells of Springville’s earliest days: “As the Indians had been attracted to good watering places, so were the early frontiersmen. The springs which bubble forth cold, clear water made this area a camping spot for families moving westward from the Carolinas, Virginia, Tennessee and Georgia.

“The first settlers were some of these voyagers who so admired the hills, streams and virgin forests that they decided this would be their home for all time. … Big Springs was the name the settlement went by prior to the establishment of the post office in 1833.”

It took little imagination for the town fathers to come up with another appropriate name — Springville. Windham relates that the first industry which made major use of these waters was a tannery. In no time at all, houses, churches, and businesses began to “spring” up near the basin.

Some prominent pioneer families were Thomason, Truss, King, McClendon, Woodall, Bradford, Laster, Forman, Osborn, Sprueill, Fuller and Keith. The area is still populated with their descendants.

As Springville grew, the city decided to build a lake in the center of town. Windham describes its construction: “With mules and scrapes, the area was dug out to a depth of about 3 feet, leaving an island on which a tree was growing in the center of the lake. About 1900, a concrete wall was built around the lake leaving openings for the five surrounding springs to empty their waters into the lake.” According to Windham, Dr. James McLaughlin, owner of the property and mayor of Springville, deeded the whole thing to the city. Once completed, McLaughlin himself introduced a large species of carp into its waters, eventually adding bass, bream and trout as well.

The carp flourished and quickly grew to enormous size. Various stories put their length at up to 4 feet and weight as much as 20 pounds. Feeding these gentle giants became a favorite leisure pastime for the townsfolk and their visitors, the fishes becoming so tame they would take food right from one’s hand.

The city augmented the fishes’ feeding with corn, which enticed the huge carp and other species to root for the kernels on the lake bottom, uprooting and destroying moss which had become a problem. Windham’s narrative also mentions the strange fact that all the bream stayed on one side of the lake while all the trout kept to the opposite side.

This pleasant ritual continued for decades. Your writer remembers feeding them in the 1950s during rest stops, as my family traveled from Birmingham to visit relatives in Etowah County. Springville native Margaret Cole remembers that, when her mother worked at Milner’s Cafe in the 1930s and 1940s, they would often give Margaret stale bread to feed the fish. Her daughter, Donna Cole Davis, also frequented the lake while her mother was at Mrs. King’s beauty parlor. Mrs. Cole also remembers baptismals in the lake, when she was 6 years old.

In earlier days, a bowling alley was built on a hill behind the lake, quickly becoming Springville’s social center, hosting square dances and other community events. The bowling alley was eventually replaced with a latticed summer house.

This new structure had a bench going around all four walls inside, a favorite place for young people to gather. Like its bowling alley predecessor, the summer house was a favorite place for weddings, Boy Scout programs and other group functions.

Easter Sunrise services were held on the hill behind the lake. Windham describes it thusly: “…the service was carried on over a loudspeaker which allowed the people the choice of staying in their cars or getting out. The beautiful natural setting and the opportunity for a rather private worship gave a very special meaning to the service.” Mrs. Cole also recalls these occasions, and the giant cross on the hillside made of white stones which were later taken up and stored for re-use the next year.

In the 1930s, tennis courts were added, built by the city and maintained by local young folks. These courts were replaced by a municipal swimming pool in 1960. Perhaps the pool was installed to curtail swimming in the spring lake itself, as described by Windham in her treatise:

“The lake always tempted the young people to come in for a swim, but the water was so cold the swimmers seldom stayed for long. …Two young men who were staying at the Herring Inn went to the lake at night for a brief swim in the nude. (Two local boys) found the secret of the bathers and decided to play a joke on them. One dressed up like a girl and after making sure the swimmers were in the water, he and the other boy strolled to the lake and took their seat on a bench close to the water.

“Being a bright moonlit night, the swimmers dared not leave the water, but soon became so cold that they called out to the couple to please leave so they could get out. The couple made no reply, and the shivering boys decided to climb up on the island. Realizing the one tree was insufficient cover, they again asked the young couple to leave.

“When nothing happened, the boys swam to the edge closest to their clothes and scrambled out. Only then did they discover it had been two boys sitting there all the time.”

Margaret Cole recalls another amusing incident, wherein a lady of her acquaintance who was a fanatic about housecleaning took umbrage when a local boy spotted some dust in her house. She chased him down the hill and threw him in the lake!

Springville installed a city water system in 1935, capping two of the largest springs to ensure a never-ending water supply. However, there was little chance of a shortage. According to Windham, Alabama Power Company estimated the total natural outflow from the lake at a million and a half gallons per day, its water so pure it needed almost no chlorine or treatments.

This municipal water came directly from the springs themselves, at least for the time being, what occurred in the lake had no effect on the water supply. It’s said the lake sometimes overflowed due to heavy rains and drainage, with fish occasionally washed out onto the banks, but the water was never muddy except following an earthquake in Alaska in 1964.

Springville Lake continued as a tourist attraction and local gathering place through the late 1960s. Mayor Pearson himself often officiated over raffles and other social events at the lake. But time and progress change things. New industries and residents in town required that an even more abundant water supply be furnished.

There are several other springs in the area, but the cheapest method was to simply fence in the lake to minimize surface contamination, and draw water from the lake itself as a multi-spring-fed reservoir. This move drew opposition from several prominent Springville residents, but the fence prevailed until 1972, when the State Health Department ruled that its open-air water supply was inherently unhealthy, despite the fact that other cities like Birmingham routinely use surface water supplies.

In a move that incensed people all over the county and beyond, the city filled in the lake with dirt, capped a couple of major springs, installed powerful pumps, and resumed drawing water from them just as before, except now Springville’s treasured lake was gone, never to be seen again.

Letters of protest and op-eds flew like autumn leaves, but to no avail. One such editorial was written by then-recent newcomer to St. Clair Springs, writer Carolynne Scott: “… The fact that Springville needs more water has my sympathy, but I sincerely feel burying Springville Lake is not the way to do it.

“Everywhere I go … people are asking about the Lake, reminiscing about the days when the garden clubs beautified it, and they all drove out to have picnics around it on Sunday afternoon.”

Frank Sikora of the Birmingham News wrote: “Springville Lake was a natural park. … You could hardly walk around the place through the crowds that came on July 4. Now it’s gone. Where the water was, there is now only red-yellow dirt … Nobody wanted it to happen, but it did.”

Today, the lake basin can be seen as a round clearing, directly behind the former House of Quilts on Main Street. A pristine, crystal-clear stream gushes out its overflow pipe, passes under US 11, thence onward to merge with effluence from other springs in Springville’s new Big Spring Park, the combined waters eventually finding their way into Canoe Creek and the Coosa River at Lake Neely Henry.

No doubt many old-timers still feel an occasional nostalgic twinge when recalling their childhood experiences of picnics, dances and watching gigantic carp take food right from their hand. Such simple pleasures are hard to come by anymore.

Lew Windham wrote some poignant verse as an epitaph for Springville lake. Here are a few stanzas:

I WILL COME BACK
I will come back to step on the worn yet worthy wooden bridge,
And recall the many times we dove into the cool clear water,
Plunging deeper to the bottom in hopes
Of finding handsome treasures thrust into it years before.
I will come back and sit at the picnic table under the elms,
And gaze into the circular body into which pounds of bread
Feed the ever-hungry carp which crowded about
To gulp down any small bite.
But the path, the bridge, the spillway, the fish
And the lake will be gone this year, and my coming back
Will only be a sad journey, I fear.

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A look back at how St. Clair County got started

Story by Jerry Smith
Photos submitted
Photos by Jerry Martin

A wagon train set out from Georgia in late autumn of 1816, headed westward-ho toward Shelby County, Alabama, to settle with other recent migrants from North Carolina. Among these latest emigrants were John Ash, his wife Margaret, daughters Jane, Samita and Betsy Ann, Margaret’s parents and seven slaves.

Alabama Heritage magazine relates that in January 1817, the travelers stopped for the night at a spring in St. Clair, near the old Creek Indian town of Cataula. Once encamped, the family decided to explore a bit by driving their wagon down an Indian trail (now Beaver Valley Road). While his family was admiring the scenery, John spotted a deer and shot at it.

The noise made the horses bolt, and little 3-year-old Betsy Ann was thrown from the wagon. She died from her injuries a few days later. Understandably, everyone in the wagon train was totally devastated.

Although Shelby County was not far away, the Ash family decided they could never drive off and leave their daughter buried alone in the wilderness, so they bade farewell to their fellow pilgrims and settled in.

Margaret’s father, the Rev. Thomas Newton, built a dogtrot cabin near Betsy Ann’s grave. Now known as the Ash-Newton Cabin, it’s listed as the oldest standing house in St. Clair County.

John Ash was the first white man to officially settle in the area. He homesteaded some property in 1817, acquired legal title in 1820, and built a fine, two-story home which still stands, albeit in pitiful condition, just 1.5 miles west of the present-day junction of US 411 and US 231.

John became the county’s second judge, served three terms as state senator, and still found time to sire and support a family of 15.

In History of St. Clair County, historian Mattie Lou Teague Crow relates that, when organized in 1818, St. Clair County “… reached to the Cherokee Nation, well beyond what today marks the city limits for Attalla and Gadsden.”

Thus, the new city of Ashville would fall near the exact geo-center of St. Clair, making it an obvious choice for a future county seat. The first courts, according to Crow, were held at the home of Alexander Brown, near the Indian village of Littafuchee, about four miles south of present-day Ashville.

The town itself was established on a huge land patent granted to a local investor, Philip Coleman, who laid off a plat map of some 30 acres, including a courthouse square. First known as St. Clairsville, the town was incorporated shortly after Alabama became a state in 1822, and its name was changed to honor its founder, John Ash.

In 1823, Coleman sold Ashville for $10,000 to its five town commissioners, which included Ash. By the following year a log courthouse and jail had been built, not on the square, but across the street, because they were meant to be temporary structures. Nevertheless, these log buildings stayed in use until 1844, when the present day courthouse was built on the square. Crow tells that, until then, the square was used as a “village green” for socializing, horse hitching, local produce marketing and an occasional hanging.

One of the most impressive additions to Ashville was the Dean/Inzer house. Built in 1852 by Ashville merchant Moses Dean, the beautiful Greek Revival home became occupied in 1866 by John Washington Inzer, who would have a marked influence on the development of Ashville, St. Clair and Alabama.

Like Ash, Inzer was a vibrant, ambitious man. Born in 1834 in Gwinnett County, Georgia, his family eventually moved to Eden, near Pell City. At age 20, Inzer studied law, was admitted to the Alabama Bar one year later, and moved to Ashville to practice his profession in 1856. At the ripe old age of 25, John Inzer became St. Clair’s probate judge.

In 1861, he represented St. Clair in the Secession Convention, which was held to decide if Alabama would secede from the Union. Only 27 years old, Inzer was the youngest man to attend this convention, and was the last surviving delegate at his death 66 years later.

John had voted against secession, but like many of his day, willingly joined the Confederate Army. He was quoted as vowing, “… if Alabama should secede … I would go with her and stand by her in every peril, even to the cannon’s mouth.”

From the rank of private, he quickly rose to lieutenant colonel in the 58th Infantry Regiment and served in many bloody battles, including Corinth, Shiloh and Chickamauga.

Taken prisoner at Missionary Ridge, Inzer was held at Johnson Island in Ohio for 18 months. His journal reads, “The Yankees here guarding us have been keeping up a regular fire on us a large portion of the time since we came here. … Such shameless cowards the Yankees are.”

Colonel Inzer’s strength, boldness and intelligence had not gone unnoticed by his enemy. During Reconstruction he was again appointed probate judge, this time by the Union, then later reappointed by popular vote. He became a state senator in 1874 and again in 1890.

Inzer was a trustee of Howard College when it was originally located in Marion, Alabama, serving in that capacity until after the college moved to East Lake in Birmingham. Howard College is now in Homewood and known as Samford University.

A tireless public servant, Inzer was a also a trustee for the Alabama Insane Hospital in Tuscaloosa, later known as Bryce Hospital, and served as Judge of the 16th Circuit Court in 1907-1908.

Colonel/Judge/Senator John Inzer, also known as the Grand Old Man of Alabama, died in 1928 at age 93, a remarkable lifespan for that era.

He lies at rest today in Ashville’s “new” cemetery, a few hundred feet behind his home.

Members of his family occupied the Inzer home until 1987, when it was willed to Camp 308 of the Sons of Confederate Veterans. The home has been diligently restored and currently serves as a living museum in honor of Inzer and his beloved Confederacy. Mrs. Crow published Inzer’s journals as Diary of a Confederate Soldier, now available at Ashville Archives.

Notable figures in Ashville history

Ashville’s first merchant was Archibald Sloan, postmaster and proprietor of a mercantile business on Lot 22 of the new town. Others quickly followed, including merchants, lawyers, doctors, preachers and teachers. Ashville’s first school was established in 1831 as Ashville Academy.

According to Crow, the Academy’s host building was known as Mount Pleasant Meeting House, also shared by Methodist, Presbyterian and Baptist congregations. There was a Methodist church in Ashville as early as 1818, well before the town had a name. Now known as Ashville United Methodist, among its early congregants were many names familiar to St. Clair historians, such as Byers, Robinson, Cather, Box, Embry and its circuit-riding minister, O.L. Milligan.

The two-story Masonic Lodge building, built for Cataula Lodge No. 186, was later used jointly by this Methodist congregation and by the Masons until 1892. The lodge building has an incredible history of its own, having been moved across town twice when its space was needed for other buildings. Both moves were momentous occasions to the townsfolk.

The Baptists built their own sanctuary in 1859, across the road from the Meeting House. Among its clergy were James Lewis, Hosea Holcomb, Sion Blyth and Jesse Collins. The sanctuary was built by Littleton Yarbrough, the same man who designed and built the courthouse and town jail.

According to Mrs. Crow, Yarbrough cut its timbers from his own plantation, hand-planed and shaped each board, hauled it all to the site by ox wagon, and assembled the entire church without a single nail or screw by using hand-carved wooden pegs. Each peg was marked by a Roman numeral matched to its hole.

The Presbyterians built their own edifice in 1879, the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, now a Church of Christ. Its congregation and founders included Rogans, Curriers, Newtons, Fulghums, McCluneys and Oldhams.

When these churches vacated the Academy building, a new school was built in another part of town. John and Lydia Hardwick Vandegrift bought the old building, moved it across town, and converted it into a fine dwelling. Ashville Academy became St. Clair College in 1896 and Ashville High School in 1910.

Mrs. Crow wrote that during Reconstruction after the Civil War, all St. Clair Episcopal churches were closed under martial law because Bishop Richard Wilmer had refused to pray for the President of the United States.

Ashville comes of age

Ashville remained a fine little settlement during its maturing years, according to retired Judge Charles E. Robinson. He tells that, during his childhood, he and his buddies would freely roam around town from early morning until dusk. In fact, he credits his chats with old folks and local lawyers for much of the wisdom he later used on the bench.

Charlie and his cohorts were an inquisitive band, seeking out adventure at every turn, often spying on gypsies who had camped nearby, and sometimes watching the town drunk in the throes of DTs. Robinson said they routinely visited several homes around mealtime and ate where the food looked best. The boys also frequented Teague Hardware and Teague Hotel, as Robinson is related to that family.

Judge Robinson comes from a St. Clair pioneer family of judges and lawyers, and he and son Charles Jr. have a law office in Ashville, where they now serve as third- and fourth-generation attorneys. His father served in the state Legislature in the 1940s, and his namesake grandfather was a US attorney around the turn of the century.

He describes a place northwest of Ashville where his grandfather grew up, called Robinson Hill by the locals, “… There was a fine spring about 250 feet up that mountain. It had a concrete trough which fed water all the way down the hill to the house, where it collected in yet another large trough. … There was a dipper hanging beside it for drinking water. … The overflow ran into a livestock corral, then Lord knows where it wound up.” He adds that his grandmother would catch fish in Canoe Creek, keep them in the trough, then dip out a few when they wanted fish for supper.

Robinson says when his father was practicing law, the courthouse had no air conditioning. During high-profile trials, local folks would congregate outside its open windows to eavesdrop on the process of justice. He also tells of a place just southwest of town called Gallows Hill, where hangings were once held.

Among prominent early Ashville family names known to the judge are Glidewell, Davis, Frazier, Adkins, High, Sullivan, Bowlin, Montgomery, Philips, Embry and Cobb, many of whose descendants are still in the area. Other sources list Ramsey, Tucker, Hodges, Coker and Lonergan.

The 73-year-old Robinson describes the Ashville of his boyhood as a purely-Alabama country town, where relatively few people moved in and, once there, even fewer moved away. Most local folks were farmers, although many worked in Gadsden at Republic Steel and Goodyear. He says they were all decent folks who loved the South, worked hard and respected people of all colors and walks of life.

Historic Ashville today

Like most small towns, local lore abounds. One of the best-known sights is the “Upping Block,” a huge, rectangular chunk of sandstone on the west side of the square that was once used as a stepping stone for ladies to mount horses, a community meeting place, a soapbox for local orators and politicians and, according to local legend, a place where slaves were once displayed for sale.

World-famous archer Howard Hill is buried in the town cemetery, where he lies beside his wife, Ashville’s Elizabeth Hodges. Hill, originally from Vincent, Alabama, did all the fancy bow and arrow work in old movies like Robin Hood, starring Errol Flynn, and other lesser-known films. His archery feats using extremely powerful English longbows of his own making are legendary and unmatched to this day.

Those who wish to pursue Ashville and St. Clair history have a great friend in Charlene Simpson, long-time curator of Ashville Archives, next to the Robinson Law Firm, facing the square. This amazing lady presides over several rooms full of documents and museum pieces. She can guide you through almost any genealogical or historical quest pertaining to St. Clair, with an unrivaled knowledge of historical resources in the area.

Today’s Ashville retains much of its mid-century look as well as plenty of scenic antebellum buildings, historic markers and other souvenirs of simpler days.

It’s well worth a visit.

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When St. Clair’s largest city was just getting started

Story by Jerry Smith
Submitted photos

What magic molded a sleepy little whistle stop of 40 souls into St. Clair County’s largest city? Actually, the town owes its success to a missed train and a fortuitous marriage. Pell City was blessed with both a father and a mother — Sumter Cogswell, who nurtured it from infancy, and Lydia DeGaris Cogswell, who helped rescue it from a premature demise.

A town charter was granted in 1887 at the request of six local businessmen: John B. Knox, T.S. Plowman, D.M. Rogers, J.A. Savery of Talladega, John Postell of Coal City and Judge John W. Inzer of Ashville. Postell was general manager of the East & West Railroad, and Inzer was the company’s attorney. The line was owned by the prominent Pell family of New York City, Pell City’s namesake. (See Discover August/September and October/November 2012 for more on that railroad.)

An official incorporation map shows that Pell City was only about eight blocks square, some 400 acres. At the time, there were few houses and even fewer buildings, the largest of them the two-story Maxwell Building, which still stands on Cogswell Avenue next to Gilreath Printing.

The East & West was a short line that connected Seaboard Air Line Railroad with Pell City’s Talladega & Coosa Valley line and Georgia Pacific Railroad (later Southern), giving the town an important rail junction. A shared depot was built, but Pell City remained largely dormant until an insurance agent from Chattanooga missed his train and had to lay over for the night.

A 1936 St. Clair Times story recounts: “On a blustery March day in 1890, a young man about 29 years of age chanced to be en route to Talladega and was to change trains at a place known as Pell City. … The young man was a guest at the Cornett House. … Looking out his window the next morning, the young man was so impressed with the natural beauty of the countryside, and it reminded him so much of the “Blue Grass” country of Kentucky, that he was interested. The young man … was Sumter Cogswell.”

According to records furnished by Pell City’s Kate DeGaris, Cogswell worked as an agent with North American Insurance Company, a Kentucky-based Rockefeller subsidiary. He was traveling to Talladega to meet with the Mr. Savery to discuss establishing a new NAIC agency there.

While in Talladega, he also met with Mr. Plowman, president of Pell City Land Company, which owned the town. Cogswell felt that Pell City’s three railroads, natural beauty and proximity to the Coosa River made it a natural spot for future development. Even better, the town was already up for sale.

Cogswell negotiated a two-week option to secure the property, and quickly sold it to Pell City Iron and Land Company for $50,000. They resurveyed the town, and added more housing. Hercules Pipe Company, owned by Boston capitalists, came to Pell City in 1891 to begin the town’s industrial base. Cogswell soon left town, secure in the notion that the seed he’d planted would grow and blossom naturally.

In Heritage of St. Clair County, a latter-day Lydia DeGaris writes that Sumter returned home to Chattanooga only to find that his wife had left him for his best friend. Distraught, Sumter left Chattanooga and moved to Memphis, Tenn. It was there that he would meet his future bride and Pell City’s maternal benefactor, Lydia McBain DeGaris.

Lydia was a recent widow of Charles Francis DeGaris, who was 34 years old when he and 18-year-old Lydia married. In fact, his proposal to Lydia had come as a shock to her mother, who until then had assumed Charles had been coming there to see her.

DeGaris was a well-educated, accomplished civil engineer. Their marriage lasted from 1885 until his death in 1898. They produced three sons, one of whom would actively participate in Pell City’s future. The DeGarises had designed their dream home just prior to Charles’ death. Lydia saved the plans, hoping to build it herself when things got better.

She met Sumter at one of her Uncle George Arnold’s lavish parties. Sumter was from a prominent family in Charleston, South Carolina, and had recently established a new agency in Memphis with five states under his jurisdiction. He was born on the first day of the Civil War in 1861, when Charleston’s Fort Sumter was fired upon, hence his name.

Lydia quickly abandoned her current fiancé, and married Sumter in 1900. They moved to Atlanta, where Sumter took over the management of her late husband’s sizable estate.

In 1901, Sumter revisited Pell City after a 10-year absence and found that it had almost died. In her History of St. Clair County, AL, Mattie Lou Teague Crow describes it thusly: “Upon looking from the train window, he was surprised to see a deserted village. The streets were grown up with weeds. The houses were empty, and the place had the appearance of a ghost town.” Other sources relate that goats inhabited the ground floor of the Maxwell Building.

The Panic of 1893-94 had forced both Pell City Iron & Land and Hercules Pipe Company, into receivership. According to Grace Hooter Gates, in Model City of the New South: “The firm was a failure because skilled labor would not work in Pell City, according to local stories. The iron molders would get off the train, look around and, seeing nothing but one or two stores, would climb back aboard and then ride on in search of more excitement.”

Gates continues: “Louis D. Brandeis, trustee for the company, engaged J.J. Willett of Anniston to foreclose the deed of trust for Hercules in 1893. Though the scarcity of skilled workmen in Pell City was the popular notion as to why the plant moved to Anniston, the more likely cause was the substantial savings of over 10k yearly in freights.” Brandeis won fame as a tireless advocate for consumers’ and workers’ rights, and eventually became a noted U.S. Supreme Court justice.

Lydia purchased the ruins of Pell City from Brandeis for the paltry sum of $3,000, property that had been valued at more than $50,000 less than 10 years previous. She and Sumter began nursing the failing town back to health.

According to a newspaper story, Lydia put her dream home on hold, and instead invested her wealth in Pell City. From her new holdings, she gave land for a town square to host a new courthouse after Pell City had been selected as a second county seat, 150 acres of property and an abundant spring for the building of Pell City Manufacturing Company (which later became Avondale Mills), and other acreage for a city park, schools, churches, two fraternal lodges and First Baptist Church.

According to great-grandson Sumter DeGaris, they added three rooms to accommodate five children, plus a pantry, four porches, a servant’s house, carriage house and a large barn. Their arrival boosted Pell City’s population to 40. It is reported that they brought with them more groceries than were in the local grocery store’s entire inventory. The home they remodeled still stands today, at the corner of 18th Street and 2nd Avenue North in Pell City. It is currently occupied by Sumter DeGaris and has hosted some five generations of Cogswell/DeGaris kin.

Backed by his wife’s inheritance, Sumter quickly got down to business. He hired George W. Pratt to supervise the construction of the cotton mill. Once built, Thomas Henry Rennie of New England was hired to manage the business, whose stock soon went from less than $50 to more than $400 per share.

Next, the Cogswells founded the Bank of St. Clair County, presently known as Union State Bank, with Sumter as president and a dean’s list of local businessmen as directors, including McLane Tilton, E.J. Mintz, Arthur Draper, J. Fall Roberson of Cropwell, J.H. Moore of Coal City, Frank Lothrop of Riverside, and Lafayette Cooke of Cook Springs fame.

In 1902, Pell City faced two serious occurrences which would test its civic mettle. First, a warehouse full of dynamite and gunpowder exploded, killing several, destroying the depot, and heavily damaging several other properties. The explosives were stored in that location for use in excavating the Cook Springs railroad tunnel.

As if that weren’t enough, some citizens from “the other end of the county” approached the state Legislature, alleging that it was unconstitutional to have two official courthouses in the same county. It took years to settle this highly disruptive dispute, ending with a constitutional amendment in 1907.

Cogswell became mayor in 1903, serving for some 14 years. Sumter DeGaris tells that the town had a single saloon that provided enough tax revenue to pay for a grammar school, City Hall and numerous roads. Cogswell also served for many years on the City Council and St. Clair County Court of Commissioners.

As president of Pell City Realty Company, in 1909, Cogswell published a promotional booklet called, Keep Your (picture of eye) On Pell City, which touted everything from railroads to salubrious weather to Southern work ethic, often stretching facts to the breaking point. Quoting from that book: “The climate is simply faultless. The temperature in midwinter seldom falls as low as 30 degrees, and in the summer time rarely goes above 92 degrees. Cases of prostration from heat are unknown”.

Kate DeGaris tells that the Cogswells loved to quarter and entertain important visitors and investors in their home. A huge four-poster canopy bed was reserved for two uses only — overnight guests and having babies.

She also relates a story of how Sumter Cogswell, upon watching a poor man trudge past his home every day in bitter cold while wearing only a thin topcoat, gave him a brand new, expensive overcoat he’d received as a gift, and he kept wearing his old, tattered one.

The city flourished through World War II and beyond, with Avondale Mills supplying most of the cash flow. Lifetime resident Carolyn Hall relates that Pell City was a warm, safe place to live. While the “cotton mill” involved long hours and strenuous work, it was a welcome escape from even harder times for farmers and other locals who toiled all day for as little as a bucket of syrup.

Dr. Robert Alonzo Martin was brought to town to supervise a new hospital in the mill village, which was outside the town limits in those days. Dr. Martin became a leader in all things medical, made a lifelong career of providing quality care, and delivered some 10,000 babies to local residents. Martin Street, US 231 in Pell City, is named after him.

Pell City’s hard-working, industrious populace enjoyed many benefits from the “cotton mill,” including a fine lake, seasonal parties and every amenity a progressive company town could offer. The DeGaris descendants hosted lavish yuletide affairs, which were attended by people who had come from all over the county and beyond, mainly to sample Grandfather DeGaris’ potent eggnog (See accompanying story).

John (Jack) Annesley DeGaris, who hosted these Christmas galas in Pell City, was Lydia DeGaris’ son by previous marriage. Jack graduated Pharmacy School in Birmingham, served as pharmacist’s mate aboard a troop ship in World War I, and nearly froze in the North Sea when the ship was torpedoed.

He eventually returned home to Pell City, established Citizen Drug Company on Howard Avenue and, with the help of his wife Gertrude (Saylors), ran it successfully until his death in 1952. Jack was also a local campaign manager for Alabama Gov. Big Jim Folsom.

Jack’s son, Annesley H. DeGaris, writes in Heritage of St. Clair County: “… (Jack) was one of the best civic workers Pell City ever had. For many years, Jack gave a banquet for the football players, cheerleaders and coach as invited guests. Also, one day each year, Jack let the high school senior class operate the soda fountain in his drugstore, taking all the proceeds to help with their school trip. The Citizen Drug Store was always referred to as ‘the drug store in the middle of the block’ at 1907 Cogswell. …”

Lydia never got to build her dream home, but she and Sumter presided over a dream city of their own making. They’re an indelible part of St. Clair history. Pell City’s Howard Avenue was re-named in their honor after his death.

Longtime business associate McLane Tilton penned an appropriate epitaph for his dear friend Sumter:

His life all good,
No deed for show; no deed to hide,
He never caused a tear to flow
Save when he died.

To learn how they made enough eggnog for most of the town in a washing machine, check out the full edition of the December 2012-January 2013 edition of Discover The Essence of St. Clair.

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When mining helped turn a
crossroads into a thriving community

Story by Jerry Smith
Photos by Jerry Martin
Submitted photos

In 1910, Coal City was home to some 1,200 souls, far outstripping Ragland’s 600 and Pell City’s 400 combined. In fact, Coal City was once considered for a second county seat, but Pell City was somehow chosen instead. It was a coal mining boom town of impressive proportions, although you’d never recognize it as such today.

The first white settler to put down roots there was John Bolton, who arrived with his family in 1820. According to a Southern Observer story by Mattie Lou Teague Crow, Bolton had followed an Indian trail which ran from the Creek village of Cataula (now Ashville) to Cropwell.

They found their “four forties” of homestead land at the intersection of another Indian trail running from the Coosa River to today’s Friendship community. Bolton built a log cabin approximately where Old Coal City Road crosses Alabama Highway 144, and the area became known as Bolton’s Crossroad.

According to legend, a mixed band of settlers and friendly Indians were hunting on Bolton’s land. One of the Indians shot a deer, which fell into a creek. His arrow had broken when it entered the deer. As they ran to retrieve the kill, the Indian shouted “Thle Teka”, which is Muscogee for broken arrow.

Thus was the creek named, and the new settlement. Broken Arrow Post Office was established in 1839 in the home of its first postmaster, Francis Barnes Walker, who held that post until the Civil War. More settlers began moving into the area, building homes, schools, churches and other frontier accoutrements.

An abundant seam of coal was discovered by William Gould of Newcastle, England, who had heard of major coal deposits in the area. Gould and other pioneers dug wagonloads of coal from surface outcroppings and transported it on flatboats via the Coosa River to Selma and Wetumpka.

Gould formed Ragland Mines Company in 1854, and owned other coal lands in Shelby County. Somewhere around the 1850s, Broken Arrow became known as Coal City — a dependable source of quality coal of many types. During the Civil War, shipments of coal escalated in support of the war effort.

Harkey’s Chapel Methodist Church was organized in 1829. Its ministry survives today as one of the oldest in St Clair County. Mrs. Crow relates a legend about Harkey’s cemetery: the first burial was not a local resident, but rather a child from a tribe of gypsies who were camped nearby.

Other churches followed: Refuge Baptist in 1860, Broken Arrow Baptist in 1890, Pope’s Chapel Congregational Methodist in 1904, Shiloh Baptist (African American) in 1913, Mount Moriah Baptist in 1925, Wattsville Church of God in 1945, and Wattsville Freewill Baptist in 1947. In earlier days, some of these churches shared circuit rider preachers on alternate Sundays. Their churchyards host some of the oldest marked burials in the county, pioneer families such as Alverson, Barber, Carr, Rowe, Bibby, Milam, Savage, Crump, Weathers, Walker, Manning, Layton, Pope, Edge and Byers.

An old Birmingham Ledger article cites the Alverson & Moore firm as the oldest commercial business in Broken Arrow. They dealt not only in mercantile goods, but also operated a few mines, eventually constructing a two-story building to handle their operations.

The settlement had a succession of names, including Bolton’s Crossroads, Slope, Broken Arrow, Coal City, Wattsville, Old Town and New Town. Pell City native Sharon Gant says you can always tell a stranger because they pronounce Broken Arrow exactly as written, with four distinct syllables, whereas tenured locals always call it Broke-nar (two syllables).

According to Mrs. Crow, not long after the Civil War, George Washington Daughdrille brought his family from Demopolis to settle there. Daughdrille was educated at Howard College (now Samford University) while it was still in Marion, Ala. He had served in the Confederate Congress and, near the end of the war, joined the CSA army and fought under J.E.B. Stuart.

Once a wealthy man, he had lost most of his fortune in that war, like many other Southerners. The small wherewithal he had left was invested in coal interests at Broken Arrow. Though cash-poor, the Daughdrilles still owned a few trappings of wealth, among them some fancy French furniture, a rosewood piano, a harp and a small library.

Mrs. Crow relates that Mrs. Daughdrille was quite a musician, often entertaining their rustic neighbors in their log cabin with the music of Bach and Beethoven, and loaned books to those who could read.

The Daughdrilles also donated land for the Broken Arrow cemetery. The first burial was their infant grandson, “Little Jim” Daughdrille, whose repose was eventually joined by other family members and local pioneers. This cemetery, across from Broken Arrow Baptist Church, is a story unto itself.

It’s sited on rolling knolls with scant level space. Sisters Sharon Gant and Adonis Milam Fisher tell us that the ground there is so hard and rocky it was often necessary to use explosives borrowed from the mines at Ragland when digging graves. And then there’s the matter of the Broken Arrow ghost. (See sidebar story)

Daughdrille sold his mining interests in 1883 to John Postell, a business promoter. Postell changed the official town name from Broken Arrow to Coal City. He also built a narrow-gauge track called the East & West Railroad from Coal City to Cedartown, Ga., for shipping coal to various other rail connections.

Seaboard Air Line Railroad eventually bought this line as part of a new system that ran from Birmingham to Atlanta and all points beyond.

Seaboard converted the East & West Railroad to standard gauge and added a 7-mile section to connect with Central of Georgia in Pell City. Its roadbed comprised present-day Pell City’s oddly-angled Comer Avenue and Old Coal City Road, connecting with Seaboard’s main line near Wattsville Freewill Baptist Church. Coal City residents Clarence Alverson and Gilbert Pope recall hopping free rides to Pell City on the “Hoodlum”, as the train that ran this route was called.

This new rail link shifted the town’s geographical center northward a mile or two as the whole area began to build and prosper. Coal City officially incorporated in 1910.

There were four major coal seams: Dirty Dozen, Coal City, Broken Arrow and Marion. In fact, there was so much coal that residents picked it up off the ground or pried it from outcrops to heat their homes. In total, the coal basin runs about 32 miles long and two miles wide, ample reserves upon which to build a thriving local industry.

Mrs. Crow reports that some 600 to 700 miners worked at Coal City, often on overtime. Two new iron ore mines near Kiker’s Camp on the Coosa River employed more than 100 additional miners and brought even more settlers.

The quality and variety of Wattsville coal became widely known. Coal from the Bibby mines was especially good for use in blacksmith forges. Soon there were several mining interests in the area, including at least one Japanese company. Imagine the conflict of interests this caused as World War II became imminent. But all this mineral prosperity brought a few problems. A huge array of coke ovens was built near Shiloh Baptist Church, in an area Paul Manning calls Dog Fennel Ridge, where his father was born. These ovens roasted native coal to produce high quality coke, destined to stoke blast furnaces in Birmingham and elsewhere. Mrs. Crow describes the ovens thusly, “… they were in constant operation, belching forth evil-smelling, lung-choking black smoke.”

Another cottage industry flourished as well, evidenced by the name of a local waterway, No Business Creek. Locals all agree that its name has always meant “if you ain’t got no business there, don’t go.” Apparently, it supplied water for some questionable private enterprises. We can probably assume that a nearby place name, Home Brew Knob, had similar origins.

A major player in Coal City’s future was an ambitious politician/investor named T. Watt Brown, who already owned extensive land holdings in St Clair County. He re-organized the Ragland Coal Company in 1896, and eventually spread his mineral empire to Coal City and beyond. It’s been said you could walk from Ragland to Odenville on Brown’s land.

On Jan. 16, 1929, Watt managed to get the Coal City Post Office changed to Wattsville Post Office. Soon afterward, according to a story in Southern Aegis, 1929, Seaboard Railroad changed the name of their station, and a State Geologist re-designated the coalfield as Wattsville Coal Basin. In one fell swoop, T. Watt Brown had managed to get everything in sight named after him.

This did not sit well with many residents. It was felt that Brown had used undue political influence in forcing the PO name change but, if so, Brown seemed to have covered his tracks well. Petitions were signed, meetings were held, and serious threats were made, but the name persisted even unto today. Gadsden Times reported that some residents were so outraged they started receiving their mail via RFD from Pell City and Ragland rather than have it addressed to Wattsville.

Sharon Gant speaks of her mother, Elvie Milam, who would not utter the word Wattsville at all, citing a Bible verse that urges Christians to refrain from speaking of unpleasant, evil things. To Mrs. Milam, and apparently many others, Wattsville was a cuss-word.

Wattsville/Coal City became a true boom town, with a large warehouse, mine commissary, hotel which still stands today, several barber shops, livery stable, a casket factory, city hall, jail, some stores, pool halls, and several boarding houses, the most noted being Mrs. Louisa Alverson’s. Her prize roomer was none other than T. Watt Brown himself.

According to Mrs. Crow, the town’s social life consisted mainly of “… school concerts, church socials, dinners at the hotel and joy rides through the scenic hills to the river.” Men folks attended meetings at three fraternal lodges — Order of the Red Men, Odd Fellows and Woodmen of the World. A Masonic lodge opened later. All three original lodges shared Red Men Hall, which also housed a school and community meeting area. The Red Men, America’s oldest lodge, dated back to the Sons of Liberty in Boston. Their Broken Arrow chapter was active from 1889 to 1921.

The Wattsville/Coal City area built a succession of eight schools. The first was in the old Refuge Baptist Church building, followed by Old Town School near Broken Arrow Baptist Church, then Red Men’s School which met in the Red Men meeting hall. Next came Robinson School in Pope’s Chapel, then Rowe School at Mt. Moriah. The first Coal City School, built on a hilltop in 1919, taught all 12 grades. The last two students to graduate were Joe Black and Inell Savage, in 1929.

After that, Coal City School, also known as Rabbit Hop, served only elementary grades until it burned in 1951. Today’s official Coal City School is on US 231, near Paul Manning’s BBQ. Gilbert Pope relates that in the late 1920s an airplane was scheduled to fly over Coal City, and the school was let out to see it.

Pope also tells that electricity didn’t come to Coal City until the late 1930s, and the only fully-paved roads in the entire county were US 78 through Pell City and US 411 through Ashville. This was during the Great Depression, when Pope remembers working all day for a small bucket of syrup.

Whatever level of prosperity Wattsville had enjoyed in the earlier part of the century, the whole enterprise has gradually and mysteriously dwindled to nothing. Paul Manning, born in 1952, says it was essentially all over by the time he started school, except for a few strip mines owned by a Blount County firm. No one living today seems to know what actually caused the decline, whether from competition from DeBardelaben’s operations in western St. Clair, or conflicts of interest from Japanese-owned mines at the beginning of World War II, or just a mature community that had simply moved on to other interests.

There’s still a Wattsville Post Office and a water works, but one must now explore many side roads among Alabama’s lush foliage to find remnants of the now-unincorporated town’s former greatness — an abandoned city hall/jail, an old hotel that’s currently being renovated, several pioneers’ homes, cemeteries full of their families, and a few enigmatic road signs like Home Brew Knob, Memory Lane and No Business Creek.