Tag: Features

St. Clair Horse Country

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Lusitanos, Arabians find home in St. Clair

Story by Elaine Hobson Miller
Photos by Jerry Martin

From the deserts of ancient Arabia and the bullfighting rings of Portugal, two distinctly different yet equally majestic horse breeds have made their way to St. Clair County. World-class Arabians prance and play at Don Olvey’s Aradon Farm in Odenville, while purebred Lusitanos strut and cavort at Robert and Carolyn Crum’s Shangrila Farm in Gallant.

The owners of both farms started their breeding programs for the same reason: They fell in love with a breed. Olvey’s passion started with a day at a friend’s barn, while the Crums began by admiring an exhibition horse. In each case, a spark was ignited instantly, and their encounters changed the course of their lives.

“I had a friend in the Arabian horse business, and he had an Open Barn with food and tours and invited me to come out,” says Olvey, 76, who rode American Quarter Horses as a child. “I saw these beautiful Arabians, a breed I had never seen before. I decided then and there to get into raising them.”

Olvey bought his first Arabian in 1985 while living in Hoover. He built a barn on his stepfather’s farm in Tuscaloosa County, where he kept his horses until he could find a place of his own. He considers his discovery of the land that was to become Aradon Farm as something magical.

“I wasn’t familiar with this side of town,” he says of Odenville. “I went to Pell City one day, looked on a map and saw Highway 174. I thought I would ride through there on my way home. Through the trees I saw this beautiful pasture, and I said to myself, ‘Oh, would I love to have that.’ I drove another block, and saw a for-sale sign. I called the Realtor immediately and signed the contract that day. It was just what I wanted.”

That first horse Olvey purchased was a stallion, because “every man thinks he wants a stallion,” he says. Then he bought four mares out of Missouri and had them shipped to Alabama. He did a lot of research to learn the industry, studying national Arabian horse publications to get familiar with the bloodlines. “Even in the Arabian breed, there are several different bloodlines,” says Olvey. “You’ve got the Egyptian strain, the Polish, the Russian, the Spanish, and the American strain — called domestic because we’ve taken all those others and blended them together.”

Although his original horses were either sold or died, they gave Olvey his start toward becoming one of the largest Arabian breeders in the Southeast. He has two domestic Arabian stallions, both of them champions. Giaccomo was a Scottsdale Arabian Horse Show Champion 2-year-old colt, a U.S. National Top Ten Yearling Colt and a Region 15 Champion Stallion. PS Andiamo is a U.S. and Canada Top Ten Stallion. Both were sired by Marwan Al Shaquab, who is “the hottest thing in the (Arabian) breeds right now,” according to Olvey.

His two stallions and 12 broodmares produce six to 10 foals per year, which are weaned at four months and sell for $5,000 to $80,000 each. He also breeds to other people’s stallions, and ships semen from his own stallions to other breeders for a $2,500 stud fee. He has eight babies due next year. “We breed for halter horses, and that’s what we mainly show,” Olvey says.

Charlie Watts, one of the Rolling Stones rock group, bought one of Olvey’s mares and flew her to England. Olvey has spent time around Wayne Newton, one of the top Arabian breeders in the country, as well as the late actor Patrick Swayze. “At a horse show, everybody is just an Arabian horse person,” Olvey says. “Even Swayze you wouldn’t have thought was anybody special. He was there because he loved the horse and he wanted to compete and blend in.”

Until recently, his resident trainer, Les Sichini, handled the horses at shows. But three years ago Olvey started showing as an amateur with two of his Aradon-bred colts, Pysnario and Phantasy. He started winning right out of the chute.

“I’ve never had so much fun,” he admits. “I won in Scottsdale, won the Region 12 (a big Southeast show) and at National, I was in the top 10 out of 29 horses. I was thrilled with that.”

While he used to enjoy trail riding, he can’t ride anymore due to back surgery. His carpet business, Don’s Carpet One, keeps him pretty busy, and so does his fight with cancer. “In 2003 I was told I had two years to live,” he says. “Three and a half years later, I was told that again. I’ve been undergoing treatments for nine years, and I’m still in the battle. I’m really a strong believer, I’m a Christian, and I’m at peace with whatever God wants.”

Portuguese roots planted in Gallant

Robert and Carolyn Crum were living in West Palm Beach, Fla., when they saw their first Andalusian horse. “He was a gorgeous black exhibition horse, and we started talking to his trainer,” Carolyn relates. “We decided to start breeding Andalusians.”

In 2001, they went to Mexico to get married on the farm of a breeder of Andalusians and Lusitanos. Intending to buy an Andalusian, they came home with a Lusitano stallion and mare instead.

The Andalusian and the Lusitano are related, both having come originally from Spain, according to Carolyn. That country used them for bullfighting. When Spain outlawed bullfighting, there was nothing for the Spanish horse to do. So Spaniards started breeding them for beauty and elegance. The Portuguese still used these horses for bullfighting and trained them for the ring by having them work cattle in the fields.

“The Portuguese horse stayed more true to its roots than the Andalusian did,” Carolyn says. “The Lusitano is from Portugal.”

Originally from Birmingham, Carolyn was an attorney in Atlanta for several years when she decided to make a change and moved to Florida. That’s where she met Robert, who was in the construction business. It was a second marriage for both of them, and they shared a common interest in horses.

For the next 10 years, the Crums bred, trained and showed their horses. They concentrated on quality, rather than quantity, and their two stallions and two broodmares produced one or two babies each year. But they usually had half a dozen foals, colts and fillies of various ages and levels of training. Then the economy went sour, construction work dried up, and their health took a turn for the worse. The Crums had to make a difficult decision. “We almost got out of the horse business,” Carolyn says. “But we enjoy being able to see them every day. So we downsized to a smaller operation and changed our focus to breeding only.”

They also decided to leave Florida. With Carolyn’s roots in Alabama, they looked in this state and in Tennessee for some farmland and found a place in Gallant that was already set up for breeding warmbloods. They moved there in January, bringing trainer Whitney Wenzel, an Auburn University graduate from South Carolina, with them.

“It was a difficult move for 11 horses and all that equipment,” says Carolyn. “Half of my furniture is still in my guest house in Florida.” The Crums live in an apartment that’s part of their 17-stall barn, with plans to build a house one day.

Their breeding stock now includes three stallions and two broodmares. The grand old man of Shangrila Farms is Exaustivo, a 27-year-old who was born and trained at the Alter Real Stud in Portugal. The Alter Real was founded by the king of Portugal in the 1500s to breed classical equitation horses. Veneno Imperial is their 10-year-old exotic, buckskin-colored stallion imported from Brazil. Bolero (nicknamed Muffin) is a 6-year-old Shangrila Farm baby, whose grandsire was an international champion jumper, Novilheiro, ridden by famed British horseman John Whittaker. Bolero and Veneno have been featured in several international equine calendars.

They also have a couple of pets, including a rescued thoroughbred and a miniature horse named Cooper who loves to escape his corral and do laps around the barn. In addition, Whitney has five horses of her own.

At seven months, the Shangrila foals are weaned and ready to be matched up with a buyer, if they haven’t already been sold in-utero (before birth). The latter sell for $6,000, while the foals go for $8,000 and the weanlings for $10,000. The average would be $18,000 for a 2- to 3-year old, $22,000 – $25,000 for a 4-year-old under saddle with basic training. It isn’t unusual, however, for a Lusitano with great bloodlines and basic dressage training to go for $45,000, while one at the Grand Prix level of dressage could command $125,000.

“Lusitanos are used primarily for dressage. That’s where the market is,” Carolyn says. “They make wonderful cow horses, but no one wants one for that. They are too expensive for that discipline.”

After two heart surgeries, Carolyn, 75, can no longer ride. Neither does Robert, 72. The horses keep them young in mind and heart, though. They produce a calming effect on Carolyn, whether she’s rubbing their necks or watching them frolic in the pasture. The babies are her biggest joy, and she’s looking forward to a new crop next year.

“We haven’t had any babies for the last two years because of the economy, ” she says. “The number of our semen shipments are down, too. Horses are a reflection of the economy. But I‘m optimistic about this year.”

Features

Protecting Big Canoe Creek

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Story by Mike Bolton
Photos by Jerry Martin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Features

Friendly Neighborhood Airport

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Story by Loyd McIntosh
Photos by Jerry Martin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Build them, and they will fly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Features

Margaret’s Boom Town Days

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Dog’s Life

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Rural paradise, Kelly Run Farm, known far and wide for breeding, training retrievers

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin

It is one of those hidden-away places that you just might miss if you weren’t looking for it. But find the gated dirt road leading to Kelly Run Farm, round the bend and you come face-to-face with a rustic paradise.

A log home, wide-open pasture and ponds against a backdrop of towering trees make an ideal setting for Clarke and Dyxie Pauly, who wanted to get away from the harried pace of big-city life and pursue their passion for dogs.

To the Paulys, the land is their paradise. To their four-legged friends — some they own; some simply guests in their boarding operation — the land is their heaven.

Clarke Pauly has built a national reputation on this 30-acre tract that lies between Pell City and Odenville, breeding and training field Golden Retrievers. On a recent visit to Kelly Run Farm, named for the creek that runs nearby, the Paulys were playing host to two litters of Golden Retrievers, 13 in all. Theirs was a seven-week stay before moving on to points across the country, filling the wish lists of hunters and dog lovers and to be used as guide dogs in two instances.

The 9-puppy litter belonged to Taz, the Paulys’ 4-year-old field dog, and Mr. D.J. from Tennessee, who is a confirmation or show dog. It was the Paulys’ first attempt at breeding these distinctly different types of Golden Retrievers, but the result was nothing short of an absolute cuteness guaranteed to evoke a smile from all who see them. “They came out real pretty,” said Clarke, who had his hands full trying to get nine scurrying puppies to pause a moment to look in the direction of a camera.

Rebel, the Paulys’ 9-year-old, and Sky from Florida are true field dogs, and they are the parents of the 4-puppy litter. “They are true working dogs,” Clarke said. But at this moment, they’re just plain puppies, exploring everything around them.

At 5 and 6 weeks, he had them out touring the property, getting them used to all types of topography. “That way, nothing really scares them. They’re used to all terrains,” Dyxie noted.

While the puppies have been an enjoyable diversion at Kelly Run Farm, it’s the business of boarding dogs and training Golden Retrievers that keeps the Paulys the busiest.

When they moved to St. Clair County in December of 1999, it was to have just the right place to train dogs. Clarke began training after Dyxie’s Golden Retriever went jogging with him back in Birmingham. “She would stay to my left and I thought, ‘That’s cool.’ ” He began to do more and more and then started training dogs in city parks but soon found they weren’t ideal for his newfound hobby. “When the police were called on us, I knew it wasn’t working,” he said.

They began a search for just the right property and just as visitors do today, they rounded the bend and came face to face with their dream home.

“We always wanted a log home,” Dyxie recalled. One Labor Day, they saw an ad that said: “Log home with 20 acres.”

“It had to be just so,” Clarke said, remembering a mental checklist he had made for the perfect place before their arrival. “We couldn’t see it from the road.” But when they turned in, “both of us looked at each other and said, ‘Wow!’ It had a swamp. Every criteria was met. It was like the list. We built the ponds the way we wanted. It was just our dream house,” Clarke said.

“It was meant to be,” Dyxie said, echoing the sentiment.

And it has been. The Paulys have been partnering with Jackie Mertens of Topbrass Retrievers in Madison, Fla., on the training side of the business virtually ever since. “We raise. She markets. If you want field Goldens, Jackie’s the woman to see,” Clarke said.

On the boarding side, it was a business that eventually evolved. “We had enough runs for our dogs, but friends kept asking, ‘Can you keep my dog?’ We thought it was a good idea. In 2003, we started boarding,” Dyxie said.

Today, they can board up to 52 dogs at one time, and more than 1,000 clients have entrusted their dogs’ care at Kelly Run Farm, almost a doggie day camp with room to roam, exercise, play and swim. Among their more famous guests was a Golden Retriever who played “Duke” on the Bush’s Beans commercials three years running. In the commercials, Duke is the talking dog who tries to sell the secret family recipe for the highly successful line of beans.

No fear, he didn’t sell the recipe on any of his trips to Kelly Run, but his owners did thank Clarke and Dyxie for hosting their star with a special, framed photograph sequence of their boarder of notoriety in some of the advertisements in which he appeared.

Others may not be as famous, but they are no less loved. It is evident from the moment you step onto the property. And that love carries over to the discipline of training dogs.

Clarke agrees to demonstrate years worth of work in training Taz and Rebel, whose playful personalities come out as they jump and run, circling Clarke and making them look like any other dog who loves the attention of their master. But when it’s time to go to ‘work,’ their keen focus is all on Clarke and the job at hand.

On this particular afternoon, Clarke demonstrates the hunt for a downed bird. A gunshot sounds. Taz is more than ready to take off, but she doesn’t. She is at complete attention — like a statue at Clarke’s side. He sounds a short whistle, and she is off and running like a strong gust of wind. Another whistle sounds, and the abruptness of the stop is amazing. She turns, faces Clarke and sits. With a hand motion to the left from Clarke, the gust catches hold again, and she speedily heads directly toward her prey. She can’t see it, but the whistles and the motions from Clarke telegraph the exact location to her.

She runs into the woods and in a moment or so, she heads back with the prize from the woods and the praise awaiting her from Clarke a hundred yards away.

It’s just another day at Kelly Run Farm, where a dog’s life truly is the good life. And in return, the Paulys enjoy the good life, too. Nothing tells that story quite as well their own words in “About Us” on their website.

Here’s a hint, the title reads: “About Us (and the dogs that own us).”

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Flying High

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St. Clair residents revel in the thrill of hang gliding

Story by Loyd McIntosh
Photos by Jerry Martin

Since the time the first human being turned his eyes upward and saw a strange-featured creature flapping its wings in the air, mankind has dreamed of flying. For thousands upon thousands of years, fulfillment of that dream remained elusive, even as Homo sapiens conquered practically everything else. But a millennia of frustration, experimentation and spectacular failure was erased when a couple of bicycle builders from North Carolina named Orville and Wilbur became the first humans to achieve flight a little more than 109 years ago.

Since then, flying has become, for the most part, ho-hum. Routine. Another day at the office for millions of people traveling from meeting to meeting, airport to airport every single day; security checks in shoeless feet with unfamiliar hands getting a little too familiar.

If this experience makes you want to jump off the nearest cliff, rest assured, you’re not alone. But, before you leap, be sure to strap a giant kite to your back and get ready to really experience the miracle of flight. Some people might consider this method of flight, known as hang gliding, to be a little dangerous and a whole lot of crazy, but to a handful of St. Clair County residents, hang gliding is one heck of a thrill.

“It’s awesome,” said Bill Turner, a Springville resident and a dentist in Center Point. Turner at first glance may appear rather conservative and measured for the risky sport of hang gliding. But this self-described extreme sports enthusiast was introduced to hang gliding back in 1999 and almost 13 years later, hasn’t yet become bored with the feeling and excitement he gets from flying.

“My best description is if you can remember the dreams you had when you were a young child where you were just flying. You know, arms out flying around over things,” he said. “If you take that and put a small fan in front of your face to blow air on you, that’s what it’s like.”

Turner is part of a group of local gliders who are members of the Alabama Hang Gliding Association, a group started by another St. Clair County resident and avid glider, Phillip Dabney, back in 1980. The group has seen some ups and downs among its membership ranks over the years, but throughout the winter and spring, dozens of hang gliders from around the state make their way to launch sites dotting ridges and cliffs along Chandler Mountain.

Peaking at an elevation of 1,529 feet and overlooking Springville on one side and Oneonta in Blount County on the other, the mountain is a popular spot for hang gliders hungry for a place close to home to pursue their passion, even if it means having to pack up their gear with little advanced planning. “I started my own landscaping company in order to have more flexible hours and to be able to go hang gliding at a moment’s notice,” said Dabney, who lives close to his favorite launch point on Chandler Mountain near Springville. He and Turner say the challenge is the unpredictable nature of the weather patterns on the mountain.

“Everything is sort of determined by the wind and the weather,” Turner explained. “That ridge happens to face southeast, which means in the winter time, when we have those unseasonably warm days — 65 degrees, when normally it’s been 40 all week long — you get the wind blowing out of the southeast that takes that Florida air and warms the area around here and makes it delightful for us to fly.

“You want the wind to blow into the ridge and be deflected upward so when you launch, you’ll get up in that airlift that’s running along the ridge and then from that you can run into thermals and get up much higher,” he added.

Turner caught the hang gliding bug a dozen years ago after agreeing to accompany his brother, Jim, to Lookout Mountain near Chattanooga, home of some spectacular flying and where one of the nation’s best hang gliding schools happens to be located. Turner said his brother asked him to come along and take some photos during a tandem flight with an instructor. Initially believing his brother had gone a little loco in the dome, Turner agreed to go and brought his youngest son, Grant, along. Before he knew it, his son was wanting to fly. Turner suddenly realized he had a decision to make.

“So, we get up there and I sign him up and I’m thinking, ‘I’m going to have to come back here next Saturday and fly if the world finds out that my youngest son and my brother flew and I didn’t,” Turner recalled. “So, I plopped down another $125 and signed up for it.”

Before Turner could fly that morning, a warm weather storm came through, and his turn was postponed until the afternoon. By then, the choppy winds from the early morning were long gone. The conditions couldn’t have been more perfect. “My first flight was in air that had been calmed by the rain and was perfectly smooth, and I mean it just hooked me right in. It was so smooth, so nice and so much fun,” he said. That was in October 1999. “I’ve loved it ever since.”

Before long, Turner graduated from tandem flights to solo hang gliding and is now a tandem instructor himself. He said the thrill he received from hang gliding was so intense that it may have affected his judgment once in a while as a new pilot. However, even the most experienced pilots can have a close call or two — jumping off a cliff always comes with a certain amount of risk. Turner said he’s learned to dial back the adrenaline-junkie side of his personality over time.

“I probably let my love for it interfere with my common sense,” he said with a laugh. “I think I’m a little wiser now than I was then, but it gets in your system, and you love it so much that you just have to go every weekend.

“I’ve had a few close calls, more than I’d like to admit. Every pilot that has flown has had some close calls,” he noted. “There is a saying in aviation, ‘There are old pilots, there are bold pilots, but there are no old, bold pilots.’”

St. Clair County really is a sportsman’s paradise with plenty of lakes and acres upon acres of undisturbed land to take in and experience nature. But, Turner said, there is simply nothing like experiencing the surrounding area from the air silently and without so much as a windshield between the pilot and the world.

“We have lots of interaction with birds of prey up there. Not necessarily intentionally,” he said. “One of the things we look for when we try to find rising air is a bird, usually it’s a turkey vulture, but sometimes there are eagles or falcons, all sorts of birds like that, that will be circling, and we head into that air and try to get with them.

“Many times I have launched from Springville, and I have been on the wingtip of an eagle, and we’re circling each other. It is absolutely amazing. Sometimes we come up on birds that will be doing the ridge lift and really you’re just a few feet from them. Literally, I’ve been within 3 feet of a big bird, wings all the way out, and I could have reached out and touched it if I had wanted to,” Turner said. “The beauty up in the sky, particularly if you’re flying late at night and the sun is setting, is just amazing. And when the air smooths out, there are times when you can really fly with just two fingers on that control bar. It really is wonderful.”

For Dabney, who has been flying for almost 35 years, one of his favorite memories involved experiencing a certain weather phenomenon most people only hear about from meteorologists.

“I was flying with a friend over Blount Mountain. We were about 2,000 feet over the top of the mountain and flew out over the Big Oak Girls Ranch, and it started snowing. As we got lower, it turned to sleet then light rain,” Dabney said. “By the time we landed in the Washington Valley it was sunny, and none of the precipitation had made it to the ground. It had all evaporated in a drier layer of air near the ground. This phenomenon is called ‘virga.’ You may have heard (TV meteorologist) James Spann mention it.”

Regardless of the reasons for flying, which mountain you launch from, or whether it’s a tandem flight or solo, Turner said the idea of flying thousands of feet above the earth with only a helmet for protection is a buzz that never gets old. “There’s something incredibly exciting about having that big kite on your back, rolling down a hill, and realizing that you’re the only one controlling that thing.

“It’s so simple. It’s just pure flight.”

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