Tag: Other Stories

Spring in Springville

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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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New Direction

New owners bring changes to historic Springville house

Story by Tina Tidmore
Photos by Jerry Martin

A “For Sale” sign remained in the lawn of a 19th century Springville house for about six years. It has been known as the “Buchanan house” and the “Coupland-George house,” depending on who was living in it at the time. Due to a recent change in ownership, its future label may be the “Rayburn house.”

In January, Al and Lisa Rayburn purchased the light gray house that faces an empty lot next to Harrison Supply in Springville’s historic district. “I have always been a type that wanted new,” Lisa Rayburn said. “But it has so much character, like the hinges and doorknobs.”

The Rayburns searched six months for a new home while living in the tight quarters of a relative’s basement, a very different experience from the four-bedroom house they sold in July 2012. Over time, the list of required features for their next house became shorter because of their eagerness for more space.

Their desire to move grew from Al Rayburn reading Not a Fan: Becoming a Completely Committed Follower of Jesus, a book that contrasts being Jesus’ follower to being Jesus’ fan. “It was very convicting,” Lisa Rayburn said. “We felt like we had put a lot of identity into our things.” She said they had even lost the desire to foster children and they let their foster parent certification expire.

So they put the big house with the pool up for sale in a depressed housing market and waited to see what happened.

When an offer quickly came in close to what they were asking, they decided God was leading them to leave a materialistic life for another purpose, particularly fostering children again. With fewer expenses, they could do more for others, said Lisa Rayburn, a Springville Middle School counselor.

The Buchanan house had always intrigued Rayburn, who at one time lived on Bruce Street in Springville. “This is the house that we would drive by and be curious as to who lives there,” Rayburn said. She was attracted to the thought of walking on the sidewalks to local stores.

The house charmed Rayburn with its historical features, including 15-foot-high ceilings. Some of the rooms do not have modern flip light switches. They have two push-buttons: one to turn it on and the other to turn it off. Some of the rooms still have one old-fashioned bare light bulb hanging down from the ceiling for illumination.

Rayburn envisioned replacing the attic with bedrooms and a bathroom for when the children — both her own and the foster children — come for visits. The rooms downstairs could be modified into a greeting-computer room, living room, dining room, master bedroom, kitchen and two bathrooms.

After some figuring, the Rayburns determined that purchasing and renovating the old house were within their budget. Although, Rayburn said that along the way they have added some “while we’re at it” changes that have increased the cost.

The couple is doing much of the work themselves during the evenings and on the weekends. Al Rayburn is an occupational therapist at HealthSouth Lakeshore Rehabilitation Hospital, but he does have some construction experience from working on rental houses he owns. The rest of the work is being contracted, including the rewiring. They expect to be finished by the end of summer.

“We want this to be a home where people come and run around,” said Rayburn, “instead of full of antiques.” However, she said she can’t resist putting in a claw-foot bathtub.

House History Mystery

Investigating the historical mysteries of early 19th century Springville houses is like a newcomer traveling the two-lane roads of St. Clair County. Some roads lead to surprise discoveries; some roads lead to a dead end; and sometimes a long, windy road leads to the desired destination. Occasionally, following a road because it looks familiar leads to the wrong conclusion, and sometimes the chosen road leads to confusion.

From 1944 until January 2013, the George family owned the house. Recent owner Diane George Meade decided to move closer to her sister in Anniston and closer to her lake property. Although she grew up in Springville, she said she didn’t have anything to keep her there anymore.

While the George family owned the house, it experienced some damage from the well-known 1969 train derailment and resulting propane gas tank explosions in Springville. Meade said she remembers the windows were blown out in one room, and one of the chimneys was badly damaged. All external evidence of the second chimney disappeared when it was covered with a new roof.

Meade recalls being told her grandmother insisted on having the large extension on the back torn down and replaced with the smaller extension the house now has. She also said her grandfather put in the only bathroom soon after World War II.

A 1944 deed shows O.J. George, Meade’s grandfather, purchased the house from Leon “Lonnie” Vann Coupland’s heirs.

Along with his in-laws, Leon Coupland owned a dry goods store within two blocks of the Buchanan house. The book, Heritage of St. Clair County, Alabama, describes the Coupland family as “known for their civic leadership, faithful religious service and fair business dealings.”

Leon Coupland’s mother was Mary Josephine Buchanan Coupland, and his father was Confederate veteran James Douglas Coupland. The 1944 deed describes Leon Coupland as Mary Josephine Coupland’s sole heir.

Meade also possesses an 1889 deed showing Mary Josephine Coupland buying out her nieces’ and nephews’ interest in the Buchanan house and lot. Mary Coupland’s mother, Eliza M. Buchanan, died in 1898 at age 82, although the obituary says “she had been feeble for a while.”

The Springville Preservation Society estimates the date of the house as 1885. “I think before the 1880s, the people were living on the northern end, around Forman Street,” said Millicent Yeager, society vice president.

However, Mary Josephine Coupland and her husband, Springville’s James Douglas Coupland, are shown in the 1880 census as living with Eliza M. Buchanan in Springville. Also in the household is their 7-year-old son, Leon. The McClendons, Formans and Hodges are their neighbors.

Between 1872 and her death, deeds show Eliza M. Buchanan selling hundreds of acres in Springville and Caldwell in St. Clair County. In the Springville area, the buyers include C.F. McClendon in 1895; H.R. Hearon in 1885; John McClendon in 1884 and E. Carpenter in 1876. But the Buchanan and Coupland family kept the house.

Sandra Tucker, also of the Springville Preservation Society, has a photo that shows the Buchanan house with a man, a child on his lap and a woman standing behind them. In The Heritage of St. Clair County, Alabama, the now-deceased Charlotte Claypool Duckett dates that photo to 1874 and said the man is James Douglas Coupland, and the child is Leon Vann Coupland. Records show Leon was born in 1873 and is the last child the couple had. The child in the photo appears to be no more than 2 years old, which would date the photo to 1875 at the latest if the child is Leon.

Another possible explanation that seems to fit the architecture of the house at the time of the photo, the child’s clothing and apparent hair bow and the apparent ages of the man and woman in the photo is that the child on James Coupland’s lap is either his granddaughter, Esther, or granddaughter, Helen, Leon’s daughters. If so, that would date the photo to about 1902 at the earliest.

Robert Gamble, senior architectural historian at the Alabama Historical Commission, says the roof line, the chimney style, porch style and other features make him think the house is from the mid-1880s.

“In all honesty, I have a difficult time dating this house much if at all earlier than 1880 — and actually later — as it appears even in the old photo,” Gamble said. “Perhaps an old house was radically altered, but I could not see photographic evidence of it.”

Adding to the possibility that the house was altered, though, is that Springville’s James Douglas Coupland, who was living in Eliza M. Buchanan’s home in 1880, is listed as a carpenter in the censuses.

Meade thinks the house is older than even 1870. The 1889 deeds Meade has in her possession say the house is “known as the E.M. Buchanan house and lot and being the same owned and occupied by H.R. Buchanan at the time of his death…”

Eliza M. Buchanan’s husband, Howell R. Buchanan, died in 1869, according to a headstone marker now leaning against a wall in the former smokehouse on the property. That date for his death is confirmed through an 1869 deed showing him granting right of way to the railroad, yet Eliza M. Buchanan is in the 1870 census without him. This would mean the house dates back to at least 1869, and another deed shows Howell R. Buchanan selling property in Springville as far back as 1862.

The exact year of the Buchanan house construction remains a mystery. But the future is certain with the Rayburns renovating it to become a lively family home.

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Buried Secret

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County’s oldest cemetery a little-known find

Story and photos by Jerry Smith

Most of Pell City’s departed are nicely memorialized in several spacious, well-known cemeteries; among them Oak Ridge, the largest; Valley Hill (which lies neither in a valley nor on a hill); New Hope (Truitt); and Mt. Zion. But the city’s original burial ground lies sequestered on an overgrown hillside at the edge of town, known only to a few family members and the historically inquisitive. It seems even the customary cemetery mockingbirds have deserted it.

Donated to the city around 1900 by Pell City’s co-founder, Lydia DeGaris Cogswell, this property provided final repose for a host of Pell Citians during its brief service before the city’s main cemetery was established at Oak Ridge in 1940.

First known as Pell City Cemetery, it was eventually called Avondale Mill Cemetery and the Company Cemetery because so many cotton mill workers were buried there. The Alabama Cemetery Preservation Alliance lists it as Avondale Cemetery aka Village Cemetery. The latest marked burial, William R. Green, was in 1935, although other unmarked graves may have been added since. Oddly, it’s once again called Pell City Cemetery in Mr. Green’s Pell City News obituary.

Over the last few decades the grounds have gradually slipped into a rather gloomy state of upkeep, and thus it remains today. Causey family member Donna Baker says, “… my Father told me the last burial was 1945. He said he used to go with my Grandmother and a lot of other relatives to clean the cemetery every year. He said the last time it was cleaned was in the 1970s.”

It’s hardly recognizable as sacred ground anymore unless one accidentally stumbles over one of the few formal tombstones still standing there. The plot was partly a potter’s field, hosting the remains of an estimated 50 or more local decedents, most of whose survivors could not afford more than a simple fieldstone or diminutive fragment of plain marble to mark their final rests

Unlike other local cemeteries, there’s only a few simple, early-20th-century tombstones with badly eroded lettering and a couple of crude stone surrounds. The only visually imposing grave marker belongs to Dock Causey, placed by Woodmen of the World in 1928.

Sunken graves appear randomly throughout the property. Those who visit here must be careful of tripping over small fieldstone markers hidden under inches of fallen leaves, which leads us to wonder how many others are interred here with no markers at all.

In Pell City’s early days, diseases unfamiliar to most people today took many young lives. In fact, three of the 10 scripted gravestones are for infants of less than one year of age. This is true of most other urban cemeteries of that era, but here we could probably assume that, for every marked infant’s grave, there’s likely to be many more whose parents could not afford a proper stone.

In a St. Clair Times story by Rob Strickland, local historian Kate DeGaris said, “It’s very old and, as I understand it, both black and white people are buried there. The relatively large number of childrens’ graves … can be attributed to health conditions of the early 1900s”.

Mrs. DeGaris continues, “It is known that, periodically, epidemics would come through the area, such as diphtheria, smallpox and typhoid, so I’m not surprised that a lot of children are buried there. …” The sadness deepens as one reads their bittersweet epitaphs, such as: Our Darling Has Gone To Be An Angel or Budded On Earth To Bloom In Heaven.

Indeed, even Nature seems to contribute to the mournful ambience by littering the grounds with fallen cedars and oak limbs whose fibrous cores have eroded over several decades to resemble gaunt, bleached bones.

If ever a local site deserved restoration, this one surely does. Long tree trunks lie across stone walls, some having barely missed tombstones as they fell. Other jagged logs have been pulverized into coarse sawdust and chips by insects, birds and decay. Briers, saplings, even young trees encroach upon almost every marker.

Although a state-required access path has been cleared on the western side of the property, visitors quickly encounter a hazardous maze of prickly Southern foliage and sunken pits. Boots and a walking stick are a must, especially during warmer months when snakes are an assumed peril in such terrain.

To access the site, drive southward from Cogswell on 19th Street to 10th Avenue South. Turn right, then an immediate left onto 18th Place South. Drive to the end of the road and look for a wide path into the woods on your left.

There are “No Trespassing” signs which you should respect unless you have a valid reason for going there. Once onsite, be very careful of rocks, concealed sinks and clinging foliage. Please disturb nothing, take only photos and notes, and leave behind nothing but footprints.

Treat this place as you would the final repose of your own kin. Who knows? Perhaps they are.

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Seddon Cemetery

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A modern tale of historic survival

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Jerry Martin

It would be more than a decade before the young, upstart town known as Pell City would be incorporated to its west. Riverside lay to its east. In the middle, thrived the timber town of Seddon. Population: 500.
The year was 1880 when Seddon Community was established — Georgia Pacific Railroad System to its north and the Coosa River on its southern side.
Named for Thomas Seddon, the first Secretary of War for the Confederate States under President Jefferson Davis, its place in Alabama history is well-rooted.
But the Seddon of today is little more than a shoreline on Logan Martin Lake, its most prominent remnant, the Seddon Cemetery that stands above it on a hillside.

Jimmie Nell Miller calls Seddon Cemetery, “A Survivor of the Flood Waters,” and she probably knows its history more intimately than most. She should. She has invested months into research and gathering supporting evidence to have the Pell City cemetery listed on the Alabama Register of Historic Cemeteries.

In October, her quest was successful. It joined only one other cemetery in St. Clair County, referred to as the old Pell City Cemetery, on the prestigious list of only 548 across Alabama.

“It has gotten me into a lot of history of the area I never would have gotten into, that’s for sure,” she said, noting that six generations of her own family are buried there. Her husband, Ray, serves as chairman of the board of trustees for the cemetery, and the couple along with others, are working to preserve it — and its history — for the future.

As you enter the cemetery, a nondescript black-and-white sign proclaims, “Seddon Cemetery — Established 1800.” The earliest legible marker is from 1840, some 40 years before the town of Seddon was founded.

In the narrative supporting Seddon Cemetery’s inclusion on the historic list, Mrs. Miller talks of the town’s history. “There were two churches built in the booming Seddon community. One was Fishing Creek Methodist Church, which was located on a hill and beside it was a graveyard.”

Fishing Creek, the Millers explain, was the name of a nearby tributary on the Coosa River. Close by was Ferryville, named for the ferry that crossed the Coosa from there en route to Talladega. Eventually, it would be known as Truss Ferry, its name coming from Maj. J.D. Truss, a Confederate officer who built the ferry and for whose family Trussville was named.

He had been a captain of the 10th Alabama Infantry. “He and his men mustered under an apple tree in Cropwell, Alabama, then marched to Montevallo (75 miles), where they took a train to join Gen. Robert E. Lee in Virginia,” Mrs. Miller wrote. A Confederate flag marks his grave in Seddon today.

The Trusses were a prominent family in St. Clair, many of their ancestors buried in Seddon Cemetery. They were among 92 whose remains were moved to Seddon when the Truss Family Cemetery and other gravesites were to be covered by water during the creation of Logan Martin Lake in 1964.

In all, some 1,400 gravesites had to be moved to other Pell City and Cropwell cemeteries to survive Logan Martin’s flood waters, just like Seddon. Homes and buildings were taken down to their foundation to make way for the lake as well.

As she tells the story, Mrs. Miller pores over documents provided by Alabama Power Co., which built the lake, noting how gravesites — marked and unmarked — were moved to neighboring cemeteries to be spared by the flood. Coosa Valley Cemetery, located in the Easonville area, experienced a similar fate with graves moved from an old part to a new one. But some of those buried at Coosa Valley were moved to Seddon as well.

Detailed reports from an Aiken, S.C., mortician note the number of graves moved on a single day, the grave number and name, if available, new number and location of the grave and even the weather that day — fair or cloudy. Many of the graves are unmarked, and older citizens tell stories of playing in the cemetery as children and remembering gravesites marked only with a rock or brick, Mrs. Miller said. Their stories are lost, but an effort to preserve the cemetery is aimed at protecting the rest.

Walking among the markers today is like turning the pages of a history book. Buried at Seddon are veterans of the Civil War, World War I, World War II, Korean and Vietnam wars.

The late Alabama Supreme Court Justice Eric Embry is buried there as is his father, Judge Frank Embry, who served in the Alabama House of Representatives. They are the only father and son to sit on the same Supreme Court panel — Eric as justice and Frank in a supernumerary post. Eric’s niece, Isabella Trussell, is one of those on the board of trustees seeking to preserve the cemetery so the memories of those buried there can truly be eternal.

As a lawyer in the 1960s specializing in civil law, Eric Embry was retained by the Saturday Evening Post, CBS and New York Times. The Times case led to the historic Sullivan Decision, still a key precedent in arguing Constitutional law for Freedom of the Press. Frank Embry not only served in the Legislature, he was a two-term mayor of Pell City and a councilman. As a circuit judge for Blount and St. Clair, he was appointed along with two other judges to intervene in the Phenix City racketeering scandal of 1954, where hearings struck down local elections.

The old monuments hint at when the plagues came through Alabama. One family lost a child every year for seven years. Seven little monuments in a row mark the tragedies.

Preserving the past for future

The Millers and other volunteer trustees of the cemetery don’t want to see this precious history lost. There were no provisions for perpetual care, and they are working toward charity status to receive tax-free donations.

The only sources of income are lot owner donations and fund drives. Land has been added to the original cemetery, and plans call for future expansion if funds become available.

An application has been made for an historic marker to be erected at the cemetery, which will say:

SEDDON CEMETERY
Established — early 1800s
Seddon Cemetery is recognized
as having historical
significance in this area
and is added to the
Alabama Historic Cemetery
Register by the
Alabama Historical Commission
October 17, 2012

“Seventy years ago, there was still a lot of interest in Seddon Cemetery with memorial days and ‘dinner-on-the-ground’ events, all centered around the cemetery,” Mrs. Miller said. “Since then, there has been a slow and steady decline of interest due to the old families dying off and their younger generations either moving away or having no interest in keeping up old traditions.

“I could foresee the humble little cemetery and its 200 years of local history becoming grown up and forgotten,” she said.

Her husband agrees, and that’s why he is working to save it for the future. “Many members of St. Clair County’s prominent pioneer families are buried in Seddon Cemetery. These people were instrumental in helping make St. Clair County the vibrant, successful county it is today.” They deserve a final resting place that is “dignified and well maintained.”

Calling it a “huge first step,” Mrs. Miller noted that the cemetery’s inclusion on the Historical Cemetery Register should help in gaining interest and funding “to preserve this site for generations to come.”

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Lovejoy Slingshot Hunt

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Creating a most unusual tradition

Photos by Jerry Martin

The T-shirt peeking out from the opening of the camouflage jacket read: “Alabama: So Many Squirrels. So Few Recipes.”

If you’re making such a fashion statement and others are envious of your attire, chances are that you are participating in the annual Lovejoy Slingshot Hunt.

This most unusual family reunion/good ole’ boy gathering features men and women, adults and children hunting squirrels with nothing more than slingshots. Participants from across Alabama and the South come to Lyman Lovejoy’s farm in Ashville each year to witness the decades-old family tradition firsthand.

The annual event has been celebrated for 38 consecutive years, and it continues to grow in popularity thanks to nationwide publicity in major outdoors magazines like Outdoor Life and Southern Outdoors. The annual hunt has been featured on outdoor television shows across the Southeast as well as on the ESPN and Mossy Oak websites. The news of the Lovejoy family being so deadly with their slingshots has appeared in hunting blogs as far away as England.

“It can all be traced back to my dad, Sim Lovejoy,” Lyman Lovejoy explained. “He was one of 16 children in a family that couldn’t afford a shotgun when he was a young boy. They hunted with slingshots to put food on the table in those days.”

Sim Lovejoy, who passed away in 2006 at the age of 92, was known for both his expertise with a slingshot and his handshake that would crush bones. Folks who had the opportunity to hunt squirrels with the patriarch of the family knew better than to refer to their weapons as slingshots.

“Don’t be telling nobody that this is a slingshot,” Sim Lovejoy was quoted saying in a 2001 Birmingham News article. “A slingshot is what David used to slay Goliath. This is a flip. Everybody calls them slingshots, but they are really called flips.”

Webster’s Dictionary doesn’t really agree, but what does it know about hunting squirrels in St. Clair County with such a crude weapon? Webster defines a slingshot as a “forked stick with an elastic band attached for shooting small stones, etc.” Under “flip” in the dictionary, nowhere does it mention a flip being a weapon. When that was explained to Sim Lovejoy once, he just scoffed.

“If you don’t flip it forward at the end of a shot and you let one of those steel ball bearings hit your finger or your thumb you’ll understand why it is called a flip,” Sim Lovejoy said with a laugh.

Most of the Lovejoy kinfolk are excellent marksmen with their slingshots, but none have ever reached the iconic status of Sim Lovejoy.

“He was a legend by age 7,” Lyman Lovejoy said. “By that age he was already shooting running rabbits and squirrels running in trees.”

Sim Lovejoy continued to hunt with his slingshot until 2005, a year before his death. At age 91 he was still mowing down targets from 35 feet away and knocking holes in soft drink cans tossed into the air.

Sim Lovejoy was responsible for getting thousands involved in the hobby he so enjoyed. His family estimates that he made as many as 10,000 slingshots for others in his lifetime.

Among the crowd at this year’s hunt was Donald Hulsey of Odenville, a student of Sim Lovejoy’s in the art of making slingshots. Hulsey continues to find the forked sticks in the woods and whittle them to hand size to make them for anyone interested in having one. It’s yet another way of carrying on the tradition.

Sim Lovejoy was just a local legend most of his life until 2000 when a Birmingham News story featuring him went world-wide via the Associated Press.

“TV news crews and newspaper and magazine writers came out of the woodwork,” Lyman Lovejoy said. “He got calls from Alaska and Missouri and everywhere else from people who wanted a handmade Sim Lovejoy slingshot. He made a slingshot for every one of them and never charged a penny.”

Sim Lovejoy was buried in his trademark overalls with one of his slingshots in his bib pocket. Never once did the family consider ending the annual event following his death. They now use the event as a tribute to the man who started it all. “We wouldn’t have dared ending the hunt when he died,” Lyman Lovejoy said. “It definitely isn’t the same without him, but Dad would have wanted us to carry on.”

The annual hunt draws as many as 100 participants and features breakfast and lunch cooked over an open pit. It draws all walks of life, including judges, lawyers, bankers and just the plain curious. Many bring their kids or grandkids to give them a glimpse into how hunting was once done in Alabama.

The Lovejoys supply the slingshots and the ammunition, which consists of ½-inch ball bearings which they specially order. The ball bearings come in 50-pound boxes, and the hunters typically go through 150 pounds of the steel balls each hunt.

It is not unusual for the hunters to kill nine to 11 squirrels on a hunt.

“It’s not as tough as it sounds,” Lyman Lovejoy said. “We have dogs that tree the squirrels, and when you have 70 or so people on the ground firing away at them somebody is going to nail one.”

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In the beginning … Ashville

[Show as slideshow]

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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