Odenville, Ala.

odenville-1

Growing community‘A place to call home’

Story by Paul South
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.

There’s a story Joe Whitten likes to tell, a story that speaks far more loudly about Odenville than about himself.

In 1961, Whitten was a newly-recruited teacher to St. Clair County High School, a stranger in town. He’d been given a 10-month contract, paying $350 a month.  And he was scared.

“I’d been in town for about three weeks, and parents of the kids were calling me and inviting me for an evening meal. I don’t remember exactly what was served, except it was good home-cooked food. But what I remember is that these people invited me into their lives and into their community. I’ll never forget that acceptance.”

Whitten, now 78, would go on to teach in Odenville for more than 35 years and write histories of Odenville and St. Clair County High. He still lives in town, on some nights, he’s lulled to sleep by the gentle rumble of the CSX train as it rolls slowly through town.

“God put me here,” he said. “I love it here.  It’s wonderful.”

Stories like Whitten’s – of welcome and acceptance — are told over and over again by newcomers and lifelong residents to this town of less than 5,000, 3,585 according to the 2010 census. Even as the town has expanded out to Interstate 59, the heart of the town hasn’t changed.

 

Beginnings

Peter Hardin, a blacksmith and Presbyterian pastor, led the first band of settlers to what’s now Odenville in 1821, two years after Alabama was granted statehood. It was the first of several key historic milestones for the town once known as Hardin’s Shop. Odenville was incorporated in 1914, but no one is sure exactly how it got its name, Whitten said.

In 1903, the Seaboard Airline Railroad (now CSX) helped tie Odenville to Birmingham, Atlanta and the northeast. Not only that, but along with good-paying jobs and company-built homes, the railroad boosted local businesses. The Cahaba Hotel was one of them, offering room and board for travelers. The now-gone landmark once was a favorite of Odenville’s children, according to Odenville Library director Betty Corley.

“There was a candy store on the first floor of the hotel, “she said. “And kids used to love to go there to buy penny candy.”

Whitten recounted how townsfolk would gather near the tracks to wave at Miss Alabama each year, as she traveled northeast to Atlantic City, N.J., for the Miss America pageant.

Strictly freight rides the rails now through Odenville. But in its prime, the passenger line even provided transportation to school for rural St. Clair County schoolchildren to the St. Clair County High, which once housed grades 1-12 under one roof.

The high school and where it would be located sparked spirited debate between the editors of the newspapers of Odenville and Pell City. Whitten has written a history of the high school (Where the Saints Have Trod) and of Odenville (Odenville, Alabama: A History of Our Town,1821-1992).

“The editor of the Pell City paper (The Pell City Progress) wrote that he was afraid the state would regret “ ‘putting a $10,000 school in a thousand-dollar town.’ ” And the editor of the Odenville paper countered that Pell City was fine for a mill town, but not for a school. It was something,” Whitten said.

Odenville won the school, and St. Clair County High remains to this day. The original school opened in 1909. Today, a state-of-the-art high school has replaced it.

And while the trains no longer haul passengers, they carry a multitude of memories for Odenville residents like Jimmy Bailey, Odenville’s Mayor Pro Tempore and the manager of Odenville’s water system, the county’s largest water utility. Bailey’s father was a conductor on the Seaboard Airline train that ran through Odenville. Bailey often rode with his dad to Atlanta and back in a day.

Among his treasures are his Dad’s uniform, his briefcase and a timetable.

“I’ve always loved trains. What stood out to me was the Atlanta Terminal Station. They had a big model railroad set up there,” Bailey said.

But while the passenger trains are gone, more people – and businesses – would come to Odenville and St. Clair County.

 

An expanding footprint

If a key word could describe Odenville’s growth, annexation springs to mind. In 2007, the town of Branchville merged with Odenville after a landslide approval. A subsequent annexation has expanded Odenville’s footprint to the Springville/Odenville exit on Interstate 59. Four new businesses have already located there. The town is hopeful for more, city leaders say, and there is a daily drive to recruit new businesses. The city has developed a reputation that may lead to success.

“Odenville is the most business-friendly city in the county,” said longtime real estate executive and developer Lyman Lovejoy. “They are out recruiting every day.”

Evidence of Odenville’s growing footprint is Legacy Park, an approximately 250-acre mixed use development near I-59. Four businesses are already open at the site. A Foodland Plus grocery store is also on board for the multi-million-dollar project, according to Greg Bratcher, building inspector and revenue officer for the City of Odenville.

odenville-2On the residential side, an apartment complex with an estimated 242 units is planned for the site.

“As this site is developed, this will provide extra funds for the surrounding communities, employing hundreds of people, which will have a large impact for Odenville, Springville and St. Clair County, Bratcher said.

The anticipated economic bounce is also expected to provide more money for police and fire protection, Bratcher said. And the City of Odenville has purchased a 65-acre tract in the community to provide a multi-purpose park.

Like many of its neighboring communities, Odenville wrestles with managing growth, while preserving the history and character of the city. It’s a delicate waltz of preservation and progress.

Traffic is a problem, particularly during school hours. But on the other side of the coin, the town has invested in preserving historic buildings, like the old Odenville Bank building and city hall, where the “Sis” Fortson Museum and Archives now resides. The town also converted one of Odenville’s historic homes into the police station and is working on other preservation projects.

Pride is the driving force behind the preservation of the past in Odenville, Mayor Rodney “Buck” Christian said.  The city is “full of public servants,” committed to making their town better.

“They’re proud of their history and where they came from, and hopefully they’re encouraged about where we are headed in the future,” he said. “There are people in our community who would prefer no growth, I’m sure. But it’s coming our way, whether we like it or not. How you manage and accept that growth is critical.”

The reality of growth is evident in developments like Legacy Springs, where hundreds of homes have already been built. But there is hope for more restaurants, motels and other businesses, to meet the needs of the citizens. But Christian makes it clear, the heart of Odenville has to be preserved.

Asked his vision for the town moving forward, Christian said, “Obviously we want more economic development, a stronger revenue stream and an improved road system, but at the same time maintaining our identity as a small, close-knit, family-oriented, Christian community.”

Bailey agrees. He’s witnessed the demands of residential growth firsthand as manager of the water system. Now with 7,300 customers, the board also sells water to the Cook Springs Water Authority, the City of Margaret and the Northwest St. Clair Water Authority. In the early 21st century, he said, residential development took off. He points to 2006, where there were some 20 subdivisions under construction within the water system, a good bit of that construction within Odenville.

To put the growth of Odenville’s water system in perspective, when Bailey began as the system’s only full-time employee –aside from office staff—in 1979, the utility had 550 customers. Now with more than 7,000 customers, the system will begin selling water to Rainbow City in November of this year, Bailey said.

“Fortunately, we have always had a board composed of members that wanted to see the system grow and provide water service to those that needed it,” Bailey said. “Also, the growth (of the utility) enabled the creation and development of local jobs, which was a priority for me and the board.

As growth continues, Bailey believes “smart growth” is critical.

“That is a big part of it,” Bailey said. “Upgrading infrastructure is a constant thing. Most of the growth is residential. There’s a small amount of commercial growth that has come with it. One of the challenges that we face is that the residential growth outruns the commercial growth. People who move here expect services and amenities that are in larger towns, and we still don’t have the tax base to provide. We’re constantly encouraging new businesses and commercial development to increase our tax base.”

 

The heart of the city

But beyond tax bases and infrastructure, the heart of a city is its people. Talk to enough Odenville residents and their stories sound a lot like Joe Whitten’s. The people are in love with the town and deeply care about each other.

Trese Mashburn has lived in Odenville for 15 years after marrying her husband Marlin, an Odenville native whose family owned the Cahaba Hotel. She wears a lot of hats – Odenville columnist for the St. Clair County News-Aegis, account representative for a local radio station, 94.1-FM, The River, and she was the creator of the Odenville Area Business Association, a business networking group that on most Mondays, draws 50 business representatives.

She also directs the city’s Christmas parade and in the past has been involved in charitable efforts and two music festivals in Odenville.

The Birmingham native calls her adopted hometown, “a little slice of heaven.”

“It doesn’t have a big bang as far as big business, but we have what we need,” she said. “It’s close-knit and wonderful.”

What makes Odenville special?

“To me what makes it unique and special are the people. Everybody there, even if you’re a transplant like myself, once you’re part of the community, you’re part of the community,” Mashburn said. Everyone there is so helpful and thoughtful and looking out for each other. Anytime there’s a person in need, we pull together and help those people.”

Lifelong St.  Clair resident Joanie Mardis knows personally how the town pulls together. She and her husband Bruce operate Seasons of Adventure Travel, a full-service travel agency they operate in a home passed down from her grandparents.

While to folks in big cities, a travel agency in a town of less than 5,000 may fly in the face of conventional wisdom, Seasons of Adventure has flourished since opening in 2010, with customers in St. Clair County, throughout Alabama and in other states.

“The house that was in the front yard was probably 75-80 years old, but it burned when my dad was a little boy,” Joanie Mardis said “They had an old-fashioned barn raising and everybody came and built my grandparents’ house. They were without anything. Everyone worked together to help everyone else.”

The same has happened for Seasons of Adventure. Odenville and surrounding communities have supported the Mardis’ efforts.

“People might think that people in small towns don’t travel,” Joanie Mardis said. “But let me tell you, they travel.”

Dr. Mike Hobbs had never traveled more than 30 miles from his home in the rough-and-tumble Ensley neighborhood on Birmingham’s west side. Burglar bars on the windows and doors were common. While a student at Jefferson State Community College, he befriended an Odenville native, Shain (cq) Wilson. The two became fast friends and encouraged each other through school and remain friends to this day.

Hobbs remembers the first time he visited Wilson’s home.

“I was like, ’Wow, this is almost to Atlanta,’” he said with a laugh. There were no burglar bars. In fact, Wilson told him, there were some nights folks didn’t lock their doors.

Fast forward a few years. While a student at UAB, Hobbs met a St. Clair County girl. The two dated and eventually married. Bachelor’s, masters and doctoral degrees later, and the Hobbs family has settled in Odenville, where there are no burglar bars. In fact, the only additions to the doors and windows are Christmas lights in December. Hobbs may be Odenville’s Clark Griswold of Christmas Vacation movie fame.

Hobbs, dean of enrollment at Jeff State for the past 18 years, loves Odenville.

“I knew this was the place for us,” Hobbs said. “Everybody just welcomed us here like we’d been here our whole lives.”

 

‘A Place to Call Home’

In Odenville, there’s a Hall of Heroes, honoring all of the city’s men and women who served in our nation’s military. There is a fragile, 1652 volume of John Milton in Latin in the library. The family of comedian Pat Buttram lived here, as did the Western writer Ralph Compton. Football stars Dee Ford of Auburn and the Kansas City Chiefs and former Jacksonville State standout and NFL player James Shaw call Odenville home.

But what you hear about most in Odenville is love and kindness and family. And you hear about memories, of bluegrass being played years ago at an old blacksmith shop, or students and parents leading a new teacher around town, schooling him on the history of his new community.

Historian and retired educator Joe Whitten – the new teacher back in 1961 — probably described Odenville best.

“It’s a place to call home.”

Workforce Development

workforce-development

Programs changing lives, building business

Story by Graham Hadley
Photos by Michael Callahan and Graham Hadley

A decade ago, if you were a high school student in Alabama, chances are, all eyes were on what was touted as the ultimate prize – a four-year college degree.

But about that same time, employers across the state and the country started noticing how lean the labor pool was for skilled workers, whether it was a metal fabricator, carpenter, certified nursing assistant, pharmacy tech or paralegal.

We were literally “running out of skilled labor,” said Garrison Steel owner John Garrison.

An immediate response was needed, particularly in Alabama, if we were going to remain economically competitive.

“As we were getting graduating seniors, we could not get students who needed to do what we needed them to do. They were worried about graduating students who were going to college and not about students who needed a job,” said Jason Goodgame, vice president at Goodgame Company. “Some students don’t need to go straight to college. They need to work.”

St. Clair County and Pell City were particularly in a prime position to address the problem — all the pieces were already in place. Goodgame, Garrison and other businesses like Ford Meter Box, working with the Economic Development Council, the Pell City School System and Jefferson State Community College, began to develop a plan, actually a series of initiatives, to help identify and train students starting in high school or immediately after graduation to fill the ever-growing gaps in the workforce.

“We need brick masons, electricians, plumbers, and really, for us, people who can be a jack-of-all-trades: put down a foundation, frame out a door, a bit of everything,” Goodgame said.

“So we passed a measure to tax ourselves, the businesses that needed the employees, to educate these students that we need.”

The initial results, spurred on by the growing demand for workers as the economy recovered, were varied. From training schools in Birmingham to the iCademy next to Jefferson State Community College in Pell City to new initiatives and classes in the school system — often involving spending part of the school day doing on-the-job training.

“We want students who are coming out of high school to have entry-level skills,” Garrison said. “… Beyond high school, we want them to come into our companies and continue training with post-secondary schools and with on-site training at our facility by skilled instructors.”

As business owners from all areas of the Pell City economy — heavy manufacturing to medical, food, legal and other professional services — stepped up to the plate to help with training and hiring the students, the Pell City School System responded in kind.

“We just have students who are being matched up with specific career interests. The program gives them the opportunity to try out career fields before committing to study through two- and four-year schools,” said Kim Williams, curriculum coordinator for Pell City schools.

“And we are getting the students partnered with people who are passionate about what they are teaching – places like Garrsion Steel, Goodgame, Ford Meter Box,” Superintendent Michael Barber added. “… It is one generation of workers training the next. Whether it is health care, business, construction, kids are getting excited. It’s very meaningful.”

The original varied workforce-training programs are starting to work together under a more unified structure, with coordination coming from both the state and local levels.

“Where we are headed is merging these programs back together,” Goodgame said.

That means better coordination between the school system and the business community and better job placement for students and recent graduates. Williams even serves on the Industrial Development Board, a sign of the close partnership between schools and the business community.

According to all involved, it is a win-win proposition: The businesses get job-ready workers, and students have the ability to go right into the workforce, earn a real living wage, receive training with room for upward mobility and, if they want, continue their education, often without incurring the heavy debt loads students going straight to college do.

Good Job, Good Life

 

Blake

Blake White, a member of the 2015 graduating class at Pell City High School, is in his second year at Ford Meter Box. The first year he worked there was during his senior year of high school.

And according to Blake, things could not be going better. He has a good job that he likes, he is training and has already moved up the ladder, he is still attending college, and he is earning more money than he dreamed possible right out of high school.

“If I work here full time, they will pay for college — tuition, books, the whole nine yards.”

He already had a scholarship to Jeff State, but that does not cover everything, especially living expenses. Blake always knew he would have to work after graduation to pay those expenses, but before doing co-op at Ford Meter Box, he expected to go to school full time and work fast food or some similar job like many of his friends.

Instead, he works full time and goes to school part time, opening multiple options for his future.

“It was an easy choice, college for two years and have all those expenses, or work, earn money and have someone pay for school,” Blake said.

“I really like working with my hands. I started at the bottom as a flange washer, but now I am in maintenance — I fix things,” he said.

Along the way, he is learning a wide range of skills. Already a natural mechanic, he is picking up electrical skills along the way, something he says may help if he pursues a degree in electrical engineering or similar field.

And starting as the low man on the totem pole was no problem for Blake — it means he gets to train under people who know the business and to work with people he likes.

“Never settle for where you are at. Do whatever needs doing. You can make it to the top, but you have got to pay your dues,” he said. He is working on his core classes for his two-year degree, and the jury is still out on where he goes from there, whether he stays in the business or starts on some kind of engineering degree.

“In a place like this, you can go as far as you want to go if you are willing to put in the time and work hard for it,” he said.

 

C.C.

From his first day on the job at Garrison Steel, Charles Clellon “C.C.” Watson was getting training from one of the best. Now he helps estimate the cost for putting up the buildings. He has only been there two and a half years.

C.C. graduated with a degree in communication from Mississippi State in 2013 — a time when the communication industry was lean on jobs.

At first “I wanted to do physical therapy school. My father-in-law was a project manager here and said they were looking for another erector estimator. John Garrison hired me on a 60-to-90-day trial to see if I was the right person for the job, plus training for about a year.

“My family has always been in the construction industry, but not the steel industry. I came in here pretty much blind and had to learn from scratch,” he said.

“All the training was on the site. From the first day, John opened up a set of drawings. He taught me what everything was, from what each piece of steel costs to sizing construction cranes. And then I went out into the field to do more training there.”

Quick to point out he is making much more money than he probably would have with his communication degree, C.C. says despite the change in professional direction, he is very happy with where he has landed.

“After I got out of college, this was the last thing I thought I would be doing, but I love what I am doing. I have always been really good at math, so this is right up my alley. This is a very competitive industry, so your numbers have to be spot-on to get the contract.

“This has opened up a ton of new doors to new successes for me. Garrison is a great place to work. It has given me options for new jobs here — or anywhere — in the future in the construction industry.”

And though he could go elsewhere with his new training, C.C. is happy where he is now.

“I will stay here as long as they let me. I live in Oxford. It’s an easy drive. John is a great boss. Everyone here is great, and the company is moving in a great direction.”

 

Cody

Like many of his co-workers at Garrison, Ragland graduate Cody Poe first heard about a job through a friend who already worked there.

“A buddy of mine who was a welder called and told me they were looking for a burn-table operator — it’s a CNC plasma machine that burns parts out of plates. That takes training and skill to operate,” he said.

He had originally wanted to be a State Trooper, but things have worked out well at Garrison.

“When I started out, Mr. Garrison was impressed with my work ethic. He pulled me off the floor and is training me to do steel purchasing for the company.

“I came in and proved myself, and doors opened for me. They are talking about sending me to class, but there is also lots of hands-on training from the guy who has been doing it all his life. He took me under his wing, showing me the ins and outs.

That training is an essential part of what has made the whole process such a success.

“Garrison believes in training. When you are first hired, they stick you with an experienced person. You stick with that person until they say you have enough experience to be working by yourself,” he said.

For Cody, that has helped lay the foundation for the rest of his life.

“It has given me financial security. I moved out on my own. I got to buy a vehicle on my own. It’s a jump start on my future. I live about 5 miles from here. It is really great. I don’t ever plan on leaving. I plan on staying here as long as I can.

“You have got to come in and prove yourself, come in and want to work. Give it all you have got to get the job done.

“I came in, gave it my all, and it paid off,” he said.

 

Lauren

Pre-med Auburn student Lauren Luker already had a good idea what she wanted to do with her life when she graduated from Pell City High School in 2015, thanks in part to workforce training at Pell City Internal and Family Medicine her senior year and during the summers after graduation.

“I heard about it from other students who had jobs or who were interning for things like physical therapy. I asked the teacher. I had to fill out a lot of forms and get permission,” she said.

The initial work fit nicely with her senior schedule, leaving plenty of time for school, extracurricular activities and a social life.

“Dr. (Rick) Jotani was the one who gave me the chance and let me do this. I left every day about 2 and stayed until around 4 p.m. It was really good because it started during school,” Lauren said.

The initial school training program was unpaid, but that soon changed.

“I was not paid during the first internship. Then in May, right before I stopped, they asked if I was interested in continuing over the summer. That was paid. So was this summer.

“It’s been really nice. They have been so good to me. They really want me to learn. They have taken a chance on me, always asking if I want to learn to do new things. I have been in the business office, checking people in,” she said, pointing out those are sides of a medical practice usually not covered in medical school.

“This lets me see how a practice works, lets me see that side of things. This reinforced what I wanted to do. When you are in college, everything is so hard, it is difficult to see the big picture. When you get back here, you see what the end goal is.”

 

Good workers, Good business

Jim Ford, human resources manager for Ford Meter Box in Pell City, believes everything they are doing in workforce development is an investment, not only in his business, but in the local economy as well.

“We are doing anything we can to help get the idea out that education is important – not just four-year, but technical training, too — something that gets them a good-paying job,” he said. “We pay 100 percent if our people will commit their time to school as long as they pass. It grows our workforce and our community.

“That is a tenet of Ford Meter Box as a whole.

“It means a sustainable workforce for us in the long run. We think it makes our community better. It brings in jobs and keeps jobs here,” he said.

And an educated and skilled workforce helps people like St. Clair Economic Development Council Executive Director Don Smith bring in better-paying jobs.

“It’s a cooperative effort. We are glad to do it and hope it continues,” Ford said.

Smith agreed, pointing out the beginnings of workforce development go back years, first with the iCademy, now with new classes at Jeff State and Pell City High School and on-the-job training at businesses across the area.

“At the end of the day, companies are going to come where the people have the skillsets they need. Whether it is high school, a two-year or four-year college, if you are producing students, giving them the opportunities to learn those skillsets, then those companies are going to come,” he said.

In fact, that is one of the first questions a prospective business asks about when considering locating somewhere. Having a skilled and trained workforce and a training program in place is essential.

“It’s a great recruitment tool,” said Jason Roberts, assistant director with the St. Clair EDC and someone Smith credits with much of the success of the workforce training program.

The workforce development effort could not have come soon enough for Roberts.

“In the recent past, schools did their own thing, and their objective was usually four-year college or bust. But the reality is, in our community, we have many jobs and fields where the skilled working population is retiring, getting older, and there is no one ready to backfill those positions,” he said.

Some fields, like truck driving, are so in demand that employees willing to put in the time can earn six figures a year.

“You can get those truck driving jobs all day long. The same is true for welders, plumbers and electricians,” he said.

Now, with everyone working together, the workforce development program is helping the EDC take St. Clair County business recruitment to the next level.

“Now everyone is trying to connect. We have let education know companies and businesses are buyers of their products — educated students – and there is a big push to get people trained to fill these gaps in the workforce,” Roberts said.

“It’s essential to business recruiting, especially here, because we have proof of product — students in place at businesses here. It’s the No. 1 driving force when companies are looking at an area,” he said.

“They know their employees are going to make their company successful.”

Ragland

ragland

A good-hearted town

Story and photos by Jerry C. Smith
Submitted Photos

Tucked unobtrusively between Shoal Creek Mountain and the Coosa River, the St. Clair County town of Ragland does little to pique the attention of passers-through. It’s like the town is taking a well-earned furlough from the generic commerce and sprawl that makes other cities seem so impersonal.

Save for a small dollar store, there’s not a single franchised big-box in sight; no Walmart, Winn Dixie, not even a chain restaurant. Many local folks see this as an asset and willingly drive to nearby cities for their major purchases.

Lifelong resident Joan (Davis) Ford says, “I have a loving heart for Ragland. It still has a lot of country to offer. How great it is to come home and enjoy the peace and satisfaction of owning a home and property here.”

She really understands the concept of coming home, having visited 40 American states and 20 other countries, including Russia.

Wendy Dickinson says of Ragland’s small-town motif, “We have one caution light, one one-way street, one alley, one school, and one red light.”

Mrs. Ford emphasizes that the city is actively seeking new industry, but of a nature that will not seriously alter the community’s idyllic lifestyle. As a former mayor, she’s always been active in education and civic affairs and participated in the formation of the St. Clair Economic Development Council.

The football field at Ragland’s Municipal Complex is named after her, to honor decades of service to the community. She sees the field as an example of how Ragland citizens and businesses have always pulled together to get things done.

Although she was the driving force behind its construction, she quickly shifts credit to others; “The community built that field. We had high school football players and volunteers from the cement plant who came after-hours to work there, and all I had to do was call National Cement and let them know what we needed, like a load of cement or rock or whatever, and they were right there with it. They also gave us a check for $10,000 to help cover expenses.”

Some of the hard labor was done by prisoners from St. Clair Correctional Facility, who were always eager to work because the town ladies fed them so well at lunchtime. “The guards said they would almost have fights at the bus every morning to see who got to go to Ragland,” she said.

In gratitude, the prisoners built a memorial barbecue pit next to the field, keeping it hidden under a tarp as a surprise for her when the project was done.

At age 81, she remembers a much more vibrant Ragland. “This place was hopping in the 40s and 50s. The streets were lined with businesses of all kinds, and people crowded the streets and sidewalks on weekends.” She also recalls when all the roads were unpaved and full of horses, wagons and carriages.

Mrs. Ford reminisces about town life during her childhood: “There were all kinds of businesses downtown, with several restaurants, one of which even allowed dancing. There was a movie theater called the BoJa (pronounced Bo Jay).

When the Walt Disney movie Bambi came to town in the late 40s, school let out and the kids got to walk across town to see it. Mr. Haynes sold bagged peanuts and popcorn balls in front of the theater.”

Ragland is home to two major companies that have been in operation more than a hundred years each — Ragland Brick Company and National Cement Company. Besides these plants, Ragland was once heavily committed to the coal and lumber industries, providing products and minerals of high quality that were distributed worldwide.

Truckloads of lumber regularly left the Dickinsons’ sawmill for Birmingham and beyond, while Ragland’s superb low-sulfur coal was much in demand for blacksmithing and the iron industry, even during the Civil War.

When Mrs. Ford’s father worked at the cement plant, the Davises lived in a community of some 15 company houses called Frog Town, so-named for the abundance of croaking frogs at night. Company officials lived in another neighborhood of swankier homes, called Society Knob.

Mrs. Ford remembers catching fishing worms along the banks of a little branch, and her horror when she caught some baby water snakes by mistake. She’s presently working with Ragland officials to obtain a historical marker for the Frog Town area.

She also tells of Elmer “Paw Pa” Davis driving a wagon that hauled mail sacks from the train depot to the post office, a simple but important daily event for many small towns.

A big black man called Patches sat beside Paw Pa on an old wood bench seat. Sometimes she joined them there, but would ride with her legs hanging off the tailgate if she was with friends. The wagon was drawn by a retired army mule named Maude, who had the letters US branded onto its side.

Mrs. Ford sees Ragland as a place with real heart, where people have always pulled together during times of need, a sentiment echoed by others. “If there was anything that happened, deaths or disaster or whatever, it didn’t matter who you were or what you believed in, you got help,” she said.

She’s especially proud of her church, Hardin’s Chapel Bible Church (non-denominational), whose facilities saw heavy usage during the months following the tornado that wracked Shoal Creek Valley.

“The whole community responded with volunteer work, food, supplies and clothing. Seven ladies and I fed hundreds of people from our kitchen. We came in at 5:30 in the morning, and rotated 12-hour shifts. I told them to be ready for a long haul, because this thing would not be over in a few days, more like several months. And bless their hearts, they stuck by us the whole time.”

She also recalls when the tornado of 1974 came through, tearing things up so badly you could not get to Ragland on any road, and how people had pulled together then, like they always do.

It seems Ragland has been blessed over the years with folks whose love of community and their fellow man inspired them to empathize and share what they had with their neighbors. Such a man was Pop Dickinson, for whom Alabama Highway 144 was re-named shortly before his death in 1982.

 

POP DICKINSON

Leon Ullman Dickinson, always known as Pop, came to Ragland from Lincoln in the late 1930s as the Depression was winding down and quickly became legendary for the way he treated (and trusted) people.

He freely gave credit to customers at his sawmill and lumber operation in Ragland, which he and his brother Hal had begun while still in Lincoln. Pop was also known for financing mortgages for those whom the banks had refused. Pop ran these business interests with help from son Lowell Leon “Buck” Dickinson and his grandson, Robert Leon “Bob” Dickinson (all three men had Leon in their names).

ragland-frogtownAccording to granddaughter Wendy Dickinson, when Bob wanted to foreclose on a woman, recently widowed, who could no longer make payments, Pop told Bob that if he needed that house more than the widow needed it, he would buy Bob’s part of the company and absorb all the loss himself. Bob relented and simply gave up his share.

Meanwhile, Buck went on to other ventures, which included starting the first telephone exchange in Ragland with nine old magneto crank phones, like the ones seen on vintage TV shows where you crank a handle and ask an operator to connect you.

This company later expanded into the present-day Ragland Telephone Company, operated by Bob after Buck’s death in 1959, thence by Bob’s widow, Peggy Alexander Dickinson, after his death in 1982. It has always been a privately held utility, with no connections to the big comms like AT&T.

The Dickinsons were well-involved in local politics. Buck and Bob both served as mayors. Bob was a Democratic Party delegate in the 1960s and also started Ragland’s first TV cable company.

Bob’s wife, Judith (Mitchell), formerly of Leeds, was Ragland’s first female mayor and also served two terms on the Board of Education. She was highly praised in her 2007 obituary by current BOE Superintendent Jenny Seals. Judith’s brother-in-law, Ed Goodson, was a mayor of Leeds.

Birmingham News writer Thomas Spencer describes Judith, “Judy … loved to wear outlandish hats to church; a red felt one with netting on the front and a big feather sticking out of a bow in back, and a pink one with sequins and a ponytail holder.

“At Christmas she wore one festooned with colored lights. She was flamboyant and fearless about what other people thought. She just wanted them to smile. … At her request, they played the bombastic, cannon-firing 1812 Overture at her memorial service.”

Wendy tells of Pop’s personality, “He was a very good man, who never touched liquor or missed church, although one time he fell asleep in church because of the time change, and everybody thought he was dead.”

Wendy says Pop loved to fox hunt, but never killed a fox because he just wanted to hear the dogs run. “He beat the heck out of one of his dogs once for killing a fox, but later found out the poor dog hadn’t done it, and he felt bad for weeks afterward, cuddling that dog and telling him how sorry he was for the beating.”

She adds that Pop made his own dog food from scratch and openly carried a gun while patrolling their neighborhood at night.

Several vintage Raglanders spoke of Pop’s total lack of driving skill, often weaving all over the road at breakneck speed, running traffic signs and never giving turn signals.

Wendy says Pop once bought a pickup truck with an automatic transmission, hoping it would allow him to concentrate less on shifting and more on driving, but quickly tore the transmission up trying to shift gears anyway.

A Mr. Barnhill, with whom your writer chatted at Ragland Civic Center, tells that he once rode in a carload of kids along with Pop. They were on their way to a ball game, and Pop made the owner of the car pull over and let him drive because he felt they weren’t going fast enough. Barnhill still recalls how quickly that ride turned fearsome once Pop took the wheel.

Pop passed away in 1982, just days from his grandson Bob’s demise, and is buried in Birmingham’s Elmwood Cemetery.

The Pop Dickinson Highway sign is long- gone, but most anyone in town will affirm the real name of Alabama 144.

 

WATT T. BROWN, GODFATHER OF RAGLAND

Some refer to Watt Brown as the Sumter Cogswell of Ragland. He was there in the town’s earlier years and was largely responsible for its coal industry as well as active interests in virtually every other major endeavor in the area.

In her book, From Trout Creek To Ragland, historian Rubye Hall Edge Sisson says of Brown, “His influence would color Ragland more than any other individual.”

It’s said that at one time he owned so much land that one could walk all the way from Ragland to Odenville and never set foot off his property. Indeed, he contributed greatly to the development of Odenville and Coal City as well.

Born at the closing of the Civil War in the Talladega County settlement of Kymulga near Childersburg, Watt grew up in Ohatchee. At age 18, he partnered with the Green mercantile firm, then joined his brother James as a stockholder in Ragland Coal Company, soon to be joined by another brother, Adolphus.

Always a mover, by 1893 Watt had become president of the company, and the brothers started buying up mineral-rich lands all over St. Clair County, reaching as far as Coal City and Odenville.

He succeeded in getting a major portion of Coal City incorporated as Wattsville. The town’s name was also given to a major seam of fine coal that underlies a large part of St. Clair.

Ragland had originally been known as Trout Creek, after the stream that still flows through the heart of town and once caused a major flood with great damage. In 1899, Brown and others petitioned for Ragland’s incorporation, naming it after the family who owned Ragland Coal Company. Watt presumably served as its first mayor.

A few years later, he married Ashville Judge Inzer’s daughter, Lila, gaining both connections and a stepson in the process. He also formed Brown Construction Company to take advantage of the economic boom he was helping to create.

Over the next two decades, Watt served in the State House of Representatives, as chairman of the St. Clair County Executive Committee, as alderman for Ragland, and as a state senator. With others, he formed the Ragland Water Power Company, hoping to build a hydroelectric plant at Lock Four, but was pre-empted by another project proposed by Alabama Power Company.

Sisson lists more of his accomplishments: “The Progress, a newspaper published in Pell City, endorsed Watt Brown … in his first run for Senate (saying that) during Watt’s term in the State House he had helped the Pell City cotton mill, brought the brick plant to Ragland, and had been a moving force in securing the cement plant.

“Other newspapers … proclaimed him a captain of industry who had made millions. He was president of Odenville Bank, a director of Anniston National Bank and Alabama Life Insurance Company, and trustee of the Jacksonville State Normal School.”

Sisson also credits Watt Brown with building a St. Clair High School in Odenville in 1908 that served students from the whole county. He spearheaded a drive to get a high school for Ragland, offering huge tracts of his own land to sweeten the deal.

But not every project started by Brown came to fruition. He’d wanted an industrial school in Ragland, but the powers chose to build it in Gadsden instead. Likewise, his bid for a tuberculosis sanitarium was rejected, as well as a cotton mill using local resources and labor to make shipping bags for the cement plant.

Brown never tired of promoting Ragland. Sisson continues: “When the Alabama State Land Company proposed to publish information on … the natural resources, climate etc. of Alabama, Watt described Ragland in glowing terms. … Alabama State Land encouraged him to print his own brochure. This brochure was sent all over the country.”

Jenna Whitehead, in a 1974 story in St. Clair News Aegis, quotes (another writer) as saying, “During the Depression, Brown wrote down a 10-point plan that would pull the country out of the Depression,” remarking that it was almost identical to the plan later tendered by President Franklin Roosevelt.

Yet, for all his forward-looking ideas and tireless promotion of the towns he loved, not everyone approved of Watt T. Brown. In a recent interview, your writer encountered a lady who claims that her mother would never use the name Wattsville, always clinging to its previous name, Coal City, even to the point of getting a post office box in another town so her mail would never bear his name. It’s also said that a man had rented some retail space in Odenville’s Cahaba Hotel, which Brown built and owned outright. While the tenant was moving in, Brown approached him and asked how he intended for customers to enter his business.

The man told him they would enter the front door — how else? Brown then informed him that he owned the sidewalk and the tenant would have to pay a usage fee.

In 1930, Brown ran for governor, with a brilliantly conceived platform that was way ahead of the times. He put everything he had on the line, and lost.

Apparently, he had overestimated the admiration of his constituency. Watt T. Brown quickly sank into destitution and obscurity, dying in poverty some 10 years later. The man who had practically fathered at least three towns and made a huge fortune for his family was so poor he was buried in a borrowed spot until his family finally moved him to their own plot at the Methodist Cemetery.

Today, only a few eastern St. Clair old-timers (and a historian or two) even recall his name.

 

MEET RAGLAND

From US 231 at Coal City, it’s only a few pleasant miles’ drive to Ragland. Along the way, you’re treated to numerous pastoral scenes, some with long, white wooden fences.

There are several historic churches, among them Harkey’s Chapel Methodist and the aforementioned Hardin’s Chapel. Watch for interesting road names, such as No Business Creek, Memory Lane, Homebrew Knob and Center Star Road as you drive.

Near Ragland, a wooded bend in the road suddenly opens to expose one of the town’s main industries, National Cement Company, alongside the remnants of an old football stadium, barely visible through the overgrowth.

Alabama 144, aka Pop Dickinson Highway, becomes Church Street, Ragland’s main crossroad, thence to Main Street. The historic, picturesque Champion Drug building, originally the Lee Hotel, dominates this intersection. Now awaiting repurposing, this fine old structure played various roles in the town’s early history.

Trout Creek crosses Church Street next to the railroad tracks, the Methodist Church and the old depot. Ragland Brick is just west of the church.

Before leaving town to the east, consider taking a few side roads to see dwellings more than a hundred years old, many of them company houses.

As you exit the downtown area, there’s a fine library and the town’s main supermarket, the Food Barn, reminiscent of an earlier, less gaudy era. Shopping there is almost like stepping into a time machine.

A mile or two farther eastward on Alabama 144 lies Neely Henry Dam, thence onward to Ohatchee at Alabama 77. Just a few blocks northward on Alabama 77 is the Spring Street turnoff for Janney Furnace and Museum, a great site to visit at GPS coordinates 33 47.712N 86 1.164W

 

LOOKING TO THE FUTURE

While Ragland is typical of many aging Alabama towns with a more vibrant past, it’s currently primed for new ideas and energy. As Mrs. Ford said in our opening paragraphs, it would be a great place to call home and start a new business that doesn’t depend on heavy road-frontage traffic.

The municipal complex, tucked quietly away on landscaped grounds just west of downtown, is totally adequate for official, recreational, senior citizen, and athletic functions.

Among its amenities are a splash pad, a walking track designed by Judith Dickinson and Rufus Bunt, the Dustin Lane Ford baseball and softball complex, a very active Senior Citizen Center, and a playground.

Everything one really needs for a simple, front-porch life is right there. Best of all, a century-old tradition of togetherness and mutual aid still thrives in Ragland.

In a word, it’s home. 

House of Treasures

Frank-Phillips-collectionInside a collector’s collection

Story by Leigh Pritchett
Photos by Michael Callahan
and Wallace Bromberg Jr.

It has long been said that a man’s home is his castle.

While that surely is true for Frank Phillips of Pell City, his dwelling is also a cache of artistic, literary and photographic treasures.

Surrounding him everyday are hundreds of volumes and artwork in various media, as well as photographs of historical figures and moments in life.

“I don’t just collect this stuff,” Phillips said. “I live with it. … I look at it everyday. You might see something new in it.”

Much of the artwork is considered “outsider art,” having been produced by individuals with no formal training. Mose Tolliver, known as Mose T, was one of those.

In fact, Phillips’ collection started in 1986 with a Mose T watermelon painting he purchased directly from the artist.

“I gave him every dime I had in my pocket that day,” Phillips said.

Phillips’ art collection now boasts about 20 names. Among them are Dr. Art Bacon, Charles Lucas, Lonnie B. Holley, Fred Nall Hollis, David Driskell, Bernice Sims and Jimmy Lee Sudduth.

A few acquisitions in the Phillips coffer were rare, thrift-store finds. A sculpture by Frank Fleming was one of those, as was a pottery piece by Bill Gordy.

Phillips added to his pottery collection numerous “jug faces” by Burlon B. Craig and items from the Meaders family of artisans. One of Phillips’ favorite pieces is a 1938 Gordy bowl adorned with the state flower.

The expansive inventory of books Phillips has amassed includes many first editions signed by such noted authors as Truman Capote, James Dickey and Harper Lee.

Phillips’ assemblage also features a handmade quilt from Gee’s Bend and memorabilia marking historical and special events. One piece of memorabilia is a paper fan autographed by Phillip Alford and Mary Badham, the child actors who played “Jem” and “Scout” in the 1962 movie, To Kill a Mockingbird.

Phillips said several pieces in his trove are rather valuable.

Yet, that is not why he acquired them.

“I’d like it even if it didn’t have value,” he said. “… You don’t have to have a reason to collect.”

Selected pieces from his collection have been on display in the past at Gadsden Museum of Art, Heritage Hall Museum in Talladega and, most recently, Pell City Library.

The exhibit at the library generated much interest and conversation among visitors, said Susan Mann, assistant library director.

“Frank’s collection was very well received at the library,” Mrs. Mann said. “… It was a great opportunity for people to see Southern folk art at its best. Frank graciously shared a pleasing mix of paintings, pottery, photographs and a primitive, handcrafted stringed instrument from his extensive and diverse collection. Most patrons were fascinated by the exhibit and were drawn to it, opting for an ‘up close’ view.”

Early influences

Phillips grew up in St. Clair County in a family of nine children. When he earned his English degree from Jacksonville State University, he became the first in his family to graduate from college.

He is drawn to magnolia paintings and Southern cuisine and says that putting sugar in cornbread “is a sin.” He prefers to read the works of authors Rick Bragg, Eudora Welty and Robert Penn Warren, who all have Southern roots.

Frank-Phillips-pottery-collectionHe listens to the blues, likes to travel, and serves on the executive committee of St. Clair Democratic Party.

Nonetheless, he feels an attraction to New York, Chicago, London and Paris.

“I rode a Greyhound to New York just to see a (Picasso) painting,” Phillips said.

As a young man, he went to Paris to view the gravesite of poet Gertrude Stein. “I was 20 years old in Paris by myself,” Phillips said.

Once, he saw artist Andy Warhol in Manhattan at the Museum of Modern Art. Warhol asked to autograph Phillips’ shirt, and Phillips said, “Sure!”

Even so, Phillips does not own a piece of Warhol’s art. “Who could afford that?” questions Phillips.

His recounting of that meeting with Warhol is one representation of the final piece in Phillips’ treasury. That piece is not tangible, however. It consists of details and memories about places, events and encounters with noted figures.

His conversation flows easily from one recollection to another and is peppered with observations about talents and personality traits.

With the certainty that comes from first-hand knowledge, Phillips speaks of Capote’s flamboyance and gives an account of Watergate figure G. Gordon Liddy. Phillips tells of attending JSU at the same time as Jim Folsom, Jr., who would later become Alabama’s governor; seeing Gov. Lurleen Wallace in Ragland, where she was accompanied by Hank Williams Jr. before he was a famous singer; meeting President Jimmy Carter; attending the funerals of author Kathryn Tucker Windham and civil rights leader Fred Shuttlesworth, and getting an autograph from actress Butterfly McQueen.

“I’m writing my memoirs now,” Phillips said.

If the opportunity arises, Phillips wants to add to his collection of memories – seeing the Hope Diamond and the painting, Whistler’s Mother, and attending a snake-handling service at a church. “Not to handle (a snake),” he said with a chuckle. “Just to observe. My faith is not that strong.”

D-Day Veteran

veteran-dulaneyMemories of the War

Story and photos by Jim Smothers
Submitted Photos

For a half century, Howell Dulaney would not talk about World War II. He tried to shut it out. He didn’t want to think about the horrors he experienced in the war, and he wanted the nightmares to stop.

“It just gets so real. It leaves you with an uncomfortable feeling,” he said.

“It was 50 years after the war before I thought about talking about it,” he said.

That happened after he joined the George S. Patton, Jr., Chapter of the Battle of the Bulge in Birmingham, an exclusive group of veterans of that battle.

Besides their monthly meetings, there was an annual Christmas party. At one of those events, the chapter president went to each veteran and asked him to tell an experience he had during the war.

“When he got around to me, I was about the last one, and I didn’t know what I was going to say. But when it was my turn, I asked, ‘Do you know about Bear Bryant, that they claim he could walk on water?’ He said, ‘Yeah, I’ve heard that.’ I said, ‘Well, I walked on water.’ ”

Then he told how he almost drowned, but was saved by a German soldier.

Part of his engineering group was assigned to ferry infantry soldiers across the Moselle River to prepare for an assault on a German division. The other engineers were to replace a span in the bridge for the rest of the army to cross, but that couldn’t be accomplished if the Germans were there to stop them. So, an attack was planned.

His battalion was split into three parts, two to get the infantry across the river to attack, and one to fix the bridge. Two engineers would be in each boat to ferry six infantry soldiers at a time across the river on a dark, moonless night. The soldiers were instructed to paddle without raising the paddles from the water to maintain silence during the crossing.

“We gave them wooden pegs and told them to use those to plug holes in the boats in case we were fired upon,” he said. “That really got their attention.”

On one of the crossings, they found the infantry had taken some German POWs, and the engineers were tasked with taking them back to the other side.

“On that crossing, our boat capsized. We learned later that we had tipped over on an old ferry cable,” he said. “I had all my uniform on, my helmet and my rifle, and I was not a good swimmer.”

He dog paddled, trying to stay afloat, growing more desperate by the second until, just at the point of giving up, a hand reached down and lifted him up.

“When that happened, my feet hit bottom, and I realized I was only in about four feet of water. We were almost at the bank, but it was so dark I didn’t know that. I looked up and it was one of the POWs we had just brought across. He was taken away with the others, and I never even found out his name.”

Dulaney hasn’t liked the water ever since.

But after telling his story to his fellow veterans, he decided it was OK to talk about the war. He developed an outline for sharing his memories, and gave speeches to a number of schools and church youth groups.

He shared many of his memories with them, but tended to leave out some details—like the bloody water at Utah Beach. He didn’t tell them about young soldiers, his age, who were injured and crying for their mothers, or the horrible injuries some of them suffered.

But he did begin sharing his story with other people.

veteran-building-bridgeDulaney grew up in Eastaboga as one of 15 children in the family. He never finished grammar school because farm life was so demanding. They raised cotton and row crops on an 80-acre farm, as well as animals for slaughter. His mother made dresses for the girls from flour sacks, and shirts for the boys from fertilizer bags. Shoes were a luxury and mostly worn about six months out of the year.

“It was hard work, but it was a good life,” he said.

He joined the Army at 17 and trained at Fort McCain in Mississippi, where he and his fellow engineers practiced bridge-making methods on the Yazoo River. He made bus trips home to see his family, and on one fateful trip he sat next to telephone company operator Robbie Reynolds from Columbus, Mississippi. They wrote to each other during the rest of his training and throughout the war.

After completing training in Mississippi, his group went by train to Boston where they boarded a ship for Great Britain. They sailed around Ireland, up the River Clyde into Glasgow, Scotland, and then traveled by train to Dorchester near the English Channel. About a week later, they loaded their supplies and themselves into a Higgins Boat (made in Mobile, Ala.) and spent the night crossing the Channel for the invasion.

“In Dorchester, we received our combat equipment and began to attend classes, learning what to do if wounded or captured and what information to give the enemy if captured,” he said.

“Once aboard the landing craft, we were told we would be crossing the English Channel into enemy territory within hours, and our destination would be Utah Beach…we knew this was D-Day. Some thought it might be their last day. As the boat was moving out everybody was real nervous. Some of us were trigger happy and ready to fight. Some were praying. And some were crying.”

They landed less than half an hour after the infantry and Marines first landed.

“As we approached the beach, as soon as our craft landed we began to leave any way we could, out the front or over the sides. It was really frightening with all the noise from big guns, rifle fire and mortars exploding all around. The water was waist deep, and it was bloody. There were dead bodies floating everywhere and wounded soldiers crying for help. The only thing we could do was help them out of the water and help them get to a medic.”

Shortly after Dulaney’s battalion arrived in Europe, Eisenhower brought in Patton to be the “fighting general” the Third Army needed, and Dulaney’s battalion was part of that army.

“Patton was an amazing general. He was a great leader, always in the battlefield with his men. He had proved he was a leader on the battlefield in World War I,” he said. “Patton’s theory was once you the get enemy running, don’t give them time to stop and fire back, and it worked.”

Patton moved so quickly Eisenhower told Patton’s commander, General Bradley, to slow him down before he got so deep into enemy territory he would be surrounded and cut off from the other armies. Bradley started rationing Patton’s gasoline to limit how far he could go.

Patton responded by taking his supply trucks to find a gasoline storage depot. “Now, when a four star general pulls up in his Jeep with his supply trucks and says ‘fill ‘em up boys,’ do you think he’s getting his gasoline?”

Patton’s speed helped rescue the 101st Airborne Division when they were surrounded early in the Battle of the Bulge. Eisenhower called Patton to see how long it would take him to get his army to Bastogne, Belgium, to help, and Patton told him 24 hours. He then moved his army without a break, except for refueling, pushing through Germany and Luxembourg to get there.

Dulaney earned his Purple Heart during the Battle of the Bulge when he was hit by a piece of shrapnel from a “Screaming Mimi” artillery round. It was a minor wound, treated by a medic on site, and he returned to duty without being sent away for additional treatment.

His battalion’s last action under fire came at Regensburg, Germany, where a bridge was needed across the Danube. It was built under fire, but not without the loss of four men killed and seven wounded.

After that, Patton moved toward Prague, but was called back to Regensburg when the war ended. Their new orders were to build barracks for a prison camp.

While in Regensburg, Dulaney’s older brother “Doc” from the 7th Army, stationed in Munich, paid him a surprise visit on a three-day pass.

“What a happy three days that was,” he said. “We received a big write-up in the Stars and Stripes magazine. After World War II, my younger brother was in the Korean War. Thank God we all came home safe and whole.”

He said the Germans had superior equipment, but the Americans were better fighters

“I’m proud I was a soldier in Patton’s army, and I thank God every day for sparing my life. I think Gen. Patton was the greatest general ever. He also had the ‘Greatest Generation’ fighting with him and for him…his 3rd Army fought across France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Austria and into Czechoslovakia. His army crossed 24 major rivers, liberated more than 82,000 square miles of territory, more than 1,800 cities and villages and captured 956,000 enemy soldiers. His army destroyed 3,000 tanks, 500 artillery pieces, 15,000 miscellaneous vehicles and 2,000 German aircraft.

“I’m not proud of the things I had to do in the war, but war is war. It’s kill or be killed, and we must win all our wars, at all costs, in order to continue to keep and enjoy our freedoms.”

He is a contributor to the National WWII museum in New Orleans, and he encourages everyone to go see it to gain a better appreciation of what it was about.

“I want people to understand what war really means,” he said. “I just want the young people to know what our freedoms mean to us, and we are slowly losing our freedoms.”

Upon his return home from the war, his first destination was to see his family in Eastaboga. But Robbie was on his mind, too, and it wasn’t long before he traveled to Columbus, Mississippi, to see her.

They married within weeks and built a life together. After a 40-year career with Alabama Power, he retired as a district superintendent. They built their “dream home” at Rock Mountain Lake below Bessemer and lived there for 10 years before moving to Memphis to be near their daughter, Eugenia Bostic and her husband, Gary. They were in real estate, and after the real estate crash, they relocated to Florida, and the Dulaneys moved to Pell City, splitting the distance between family in the Eastaboga area and friends in the Bessemer area.

Robbie passed away six years later. Then Eugenia developed inoperable cancer and moved in with her dad to live out the rest of her life. Dulaney was 90 when she died, and decided to sell his home and move to the Robert L. Howard State Veterans Home in Pell City, where he lives today.

Light Flight

ultralight-flight-1Daring men and their flying machines

Story and photos by Jerry C. Smith

A stand-up comic once joked, “If God had meant for people to fly, He would have given them a lot more money.” He got pained laughs from several private pilots in his audience who knew what it costs to get a license, buy a plane, fly it, hangar it and keep it in safe condition.

Whether you’re rich or poor, the sky shamelessly seduces those who envy the freedom of birds. Prior to the late 1970s, aviation was well out of reach to most folks who did not fly for a living, but a few entrepreneurs found a way to bring powered flight to practically anyone with the courage to try it.

Imagine a huge kite made of ripstop Dacron sailcloth, a frame and pilot seat resembling an elaborate lawn chair, a couple of lawn-mower wheels and a tiny engine scrounged from a snowmobile. Lace it all together with a maze of steel cables and, voila, you have an ultralight airplane – a true bird of ‘pray.’

Ultralights quickly became a poor man’s magic flying carpet, a dream come true for those without the means or desire to own a “regular” airplane. If you could afford a decent fishing boat and were fairly adept with hand tools, you could build your own plane in a few dozen hours from a mail-order kit, then fly it from a nearby pasture.

Best of all, you didn’t need a license to fly one, and still don’t even to this day, as long as the plane meets certain federal guidelines of construction and operation. Flight training, if any, was given in two-seater variants by licensed local dealers, but many were flown entirely on guts alone.

Since a true ultralight has only one seat, that first test flight was also the pilot’s first solo in that type of plane, which can intimidate even a trained private pilot.

Odenville resident Hoke Graham was one of the first to fly and sell such machines in the area. He tells of trying to foot-launch his Easy Riser, one of the first ultralights, which originally had no wheels. It was actually an Icarus biplane hang glider which had been fitted with a tiny, 10 horsepower, two-cycle motor made by Chrysler.

Hoke relates, “When we test-ran the engine in my motorcycle shop, the propeller blast blew papers all over the place and slung oil everywhere before we could get it shut off. We like to have never got it all cleaned up.”

Ultralights became so popular so fast that the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) created a whole new category for them, outlined in Part 103 of Federal Aviation Regulations. In essence, ultralights were designed for a single pilot, flown locally for daytime recreational use only, and according to some stringent rules.

The plane could weigh no more than 254 pounds empty, carry a maximum of 5 gallons of fuel, and fly no faster than 55 knots at full power. It is illegal to fly an ultralight over an assemblage of people or settled area, after dark, or within controlled airspace where the big boys fly.

Because of weight and performance restrictions, ultralights have few if any spare parts. They’re shy on horsepower, creature comforts and redundant safety features found on more conventional aircraft.

It’s as minimalist as powered flight can possibly be, but for many, including your writer, they were the fulfillment of a boyhood dream. The Wright brothers would have loved them; indeed, their first Flyer would have qualified had it been made of lighter materials.

While there are still a few single-seaters around, sport aviation has shifted in more recent years to a two-seated variety, many of which look and handle almost identically to the standard version but aren’t true ultralights. You need a private pilot or light sport pilot license to fly one.

Besides all the various quasi-ultralight designs, the relatively-new light sport category includes home-builts, most experimentals and other small aircraft, such as Taylorcraft, Piper Cub and Breezy, which fall within a fully-loaded weight limit of 1,320 pounds.

Many two-seated derivatives use engines of as much as 100 hp, more than triple the power of older single-seaters, and can easily fly 90 mph. Because of a higher weight allowance, they can be outfitted with all kinds of instruments, safety equipment, redundant controls, etc that a Part 103 machine could never carry.

ultralight-flight-2Pell City’s Joe West owns such a plane. It’s a larger version of a Challenger ultralight, made in Moline, Ill., by Quad City Aircraft Ultralight Aircraft Corp. It has a much more powerful engine, two seats, larger fuel tank and is about double the weight of its ultralight sisters.

Joe spent more than two years building it and holds one of the first light sport licenses issued in the area. His superbly crafted plane sports a dazzling green and white paint job and mounts a 52-hp engine designed especially for light aircraft by an Austrian firm, Rotax, which also builds snow machine engines for Bombardier of Canada. It allows him to cruise smoothly at 60 to 70 mph.

Joe is a real craftsman who is not averse to improvisation. In fact, the sheet metal for his instrument panel was salvaged from an old octagonal city stop sign. Everything on his plane is neat, precise and by-the-book, including an emergency parachute that can be instantly activated from both seats.

The plane’s nose art reads TINKER TOY, a moniker inspired by a fellow firefighter in Birmingham who liked to tease him about all the small airplane parts he fiddled with while not on duty, saying the intricate components looked like Tinker Toys.

He’s a frequent flyer around Pell City and has flown his Challenger for about 15 years. But Joe doesn’t limit his range of operations to local “patch-flying.” He and several other Challenger owners once flew from Pell City to a sponsored aviation meet in the Great Lakes region, near the Quad City factory.

Another local light-flyer, Cropwell contractor Tommy Thompson, is also a highly skilled artisan, both on the job and as an experimental aircraft hobbyist. He has built and flown four kit planes over the years, each a finely crafted work of flying art.

His Loehle P5151 Mustang was a 3/4 scale replica of one of the world’s finest warplanes. Tommy painted it blue, white and orange; named it Miss War Eagle; and was granted a tail number ending in WE. It was always a hit at air shows and fly-in events held by the Experimental Aircraft Association, of which Tommy was president of local Chapter 1320 until its dissolution in recent years.

So what’s it like to fly an ultralight or experimental? Depends on the design. Back in the 1980’s, your writer owned an American Aerolights Eagle. It had a smaller wing, called a canard, mounted in front of the main airfoil. This made it nearly stall proof and very easy to fly, even for a novice pilot. The Eagle took off, flew, climbed, descended and landed at about the same speed, 25-30 mph. We joked that, like a Piper Cub, it flew just fast enough to kill you.

I flew mine while suspended in a child’s swing seat which hung by a slender strap from a main body tube. Below this seat was nothing but open sky, all the way to the ground. Needless to say, that strap was rigorously inspected before every flight, as were all other vital parts which, in reality, included EVERY part of the plane.

Other models look and handle more like conventional aircraft, with true three-axis controls and the familiar T-shaped fuselage. Most ultralight aircraft can virtually leap off a runway in 200 feet or less and land in almost any clearing. Indeed, on occasion, these pilots would take off across the old bomber runway at Talladega.

But there is a penalty for this feather-like agility. You should not fly unless the air is mostly calm. Flights are usually made in early morning or near sunset. Planes stayed in the hangar if treetops were spotted moving.

I’ve encountered sudden gusts in advance of unseen weather fronts that actually left me flying backwards, despite running full throttle. My only recourse was to drop behind a treeline at almost ground level and quickly land before the wind shifted.

An unwritten rule was observed by practically everyone: Never fly over anything you can’t land on. With no redundant parts and an engine that could fail at any time without notice, keeping a landing spot underneath was mandatory.

But all such hazards aside, the flight itself was exhilarating, possibly the most fun a dauntless bird-man could have in public. We usually flew lower than 500 feet, enjoying the sights, even the smells, as rural Alabama drifted leisurely beneath our dangling rumps.

Our flying grounds included the environs of Talladega Speedway in our earlier days and Washington Valley and Chandler Mountain after we moved to Cool Springs near Ashville. It’s one of the most scenic parts of St. Clair — even more so from the air.

The good people of Cool Springs and Caldwell gracefully tolerated our weekend noise, so we always invited them to our airfield cookouts and watermelon cuttings. Livestock in Washington Valley became so accustomed to our presence that they no longer stampeded or looked up in fear of a giant, raucous hawk passing overhead.

The group I flew with in the early 1980s was known as Four Seasons Aviation, a three-man corporation operated by Hoke Graham, Jack Porter and Mike Pair. They sold Eagle ultralights and provided flight training, first at Talladega Airport, later at the Cool Springs site.

Cool Springs Airdrome was laid out on an old horse farm on CR 31, between Ashville and Springville, near Canoe Creek at AL 23. A former stable was modified to serve as a hangar and business office. The airstrip was simply 1,500 feet of closely-mown pasture.

Because of the Eagle’s unique configuration, we were able to store all five resident planes in a hangar that would have barely contained one “regular” plane. We simply tilted them upright and stood them on their tail feathers.

Four Seasons was a beehive of activity on nice weekends, often hosting fly-in visitors and curious kibitzers. Because of the capricious nature of these aircraft, we had a map mounted on a steel panel, with little colored magnets for each pilot to indicate where he intended to fly. We often flew in pairs, for the same reason.

On one such junket, a friend and I were flying over Washington Valley when he spotted some lovely young women lounging beside their swimming pool. He landed in a nearby field, but I decided it was no place for a married man and flew back to the airport.

Apparently he had chosen wisely, as we didn’t see him again until a bit after sunset. In a scenario reminiscent of an old flying movie, we lit the runway with car headlights to allow our resident Romeo to land safely.

A couple of areas were off-limits. One of our flyers was a deputy sheriff who warned us to avoid flying anywhere near the new St. Clair Correctional Facility as well as a certain area called Sodom and Gomorrah because of various activities that the law preferred to contain in that one place rather than having to pursue them all over the county.

Were there accidents among our ultralight community? Yes, even a few fatalities. But like real flyers everywhere, we studied and discussed each case, resolving to never become an object lesson ourselves.

For many, the incident rate became too high for comfort, so they moved on to earn a private pilot license and bought “real” airplanes. No doubt some wives added input to these decisions. However, many have since admitted that they became much better pilots as a result of things they’d learned from light flight.

Joe and I recently flew his Challenger on a photo shoot around the Pell City locality. We flitted along at a leisurely 65 mph, snapping photos of Logan Martin, downtown Pell City and certain areas north of town.

While a pure ultralight must not fly over settled areas, a rated experimental like Joe’s can be operated under more lenient standards. The visibility is spectacular to say the least, making them an ideal photo platform equaled only by glass-pod styled helicopters, and they’re exponentially cheaper to own and operate.

Another endearing quality is its real feel for flight, like you are actually involved in a natural process rather than riding an armchair in a giant flying bus. You sense every rising thermal, every wind shift and “air bump,” and enjoy a fast-acting, sensitive control response that makes you feel like part of the plane itself – a true mechanical bird-man connection. There’s no autopilot. You fly them every second from takeoff through landing.

Joe quipped that his plane is so well-balanced and control-sensitive that he can actually make it turn by sticking his hand out one side, like giving a turn signal. To a true light flight enthusiast, a 20-minute ride is often more satisfying, and physically tiring, than a couple of hours in a “real” airplane.

Born in Haleyville and a long-time resident of Birmingham, Joe once advised folks to never allow a hobby to dictate where you live, but reneged on his own tenet while flying and hangaring his craft at Pell City Airport.

“After hanging out around the airport, I found out what a nice place Pell City was, and decided to live here,” he said. Indeed, his home is within easy walking distance of the main entrance at KPLR.

At age 67, Joe has seen a lot of light aircraft makers come and go. Dozens of companies jumped into the market when the category was first created, but most are long since expired, usually with good reason.

Those early years were fraught with accidents, mostly due to design faults and pilot error. He advises those interested in light sport aviation to research FAA files and thoroughly check out the accident records of any aircraft they plan to purchase or build from a kit.

“Look for companies like Quad City that have been in business the longest, preferably under original ownership,” he says. He also advises to seek skilled, licensed training before attempting any solo flight in any aircraft, whether ultralight or otherwise. Even though they fly relatively slowly, irreversible things can happen very quickly.

He remarked that the handling characteristics of his Challenger makes him feel connected to early pioneers such as the Wright brothers. Having flown several such machines myself, I heartily agree. It’s the real thing – a natural high.

Though he’s a quiet, unassuming man to casual acquaintances, Joe’s sincere enthusiasm for this genre of aviation becomes obvious once you get to know him, fly with him, and check out the workmanship and safety record of his plane. Retired from the Birmingham Fire Department, he now works part-time at a local hardware big-box to, in his words, “make some flying and eating-out money.”

Joe says, “Sport aviation is sort of winding down as a hobby because the ones who started it are getting old, and nobody is replacing them. We need for more kids to get involved with groups like Civil Air Patrol and the EAA.”

He adds a sentimental note: “If someone ever gets a chance to go flying, especially someone who has never gone up, I strongly urge them to go up and see the sights that are restricted to a fortunate few people and to be mesmerized by the wonders that they have missed all their life.”

The late Glenn Messer, world’s oldest living pilot, who passed away just days short of his 100th birthday in 1995, expressed to me that one of his biggest regrets was that he never flew an ultralight. He had been blinded by a failed eye surgery a few years before these aircraft became popular.

Mr. Messer used to sit in the lobby at Birmingham’s Southern Museum of Flight and chat with visitors about his long, colorful flying career, which included giving Charles Lindberg a check ride in his new Curtiss Jenny back in the 1920s.

He should know of what he spoke. The pilot license he proudly showed to visitors was signed by Orville Wright.