part0012

JANUARY, 28, 1941. The distinct sound of a newborn cry resonated through the little house of Fred and Margaret. Freddy, now two years old, was anxious to meet his new little sister, Evelyn Rose.

“Rosie cryin’!” Freddy said, concerned.

“Yes, son. Babies do that. Momma will get her settled.”

Freddy ran to the bedroom door and listened, waiting for the crying to stop. The door opened, and Doris stepped out, almost running into Freddy.

“Goodness! Someone is wantin’ to see their sister!”

Freddy shook his head.

“Come with me.” Doris took him by the hand and led him inside the room. Fred followed behind.

“Isn’t she sweet?” Margaret asked .

“Beautiful,” said Fred.

“My baby,” said Freddy as he gently touched her face. “Rosie.”

Bert and Amos were at the hardware store getting supplies to build a treehouse. Amos, and his other five-year-old friends in the neighborhood, had decided they needed a clubhouse, and Bert was happy to oblige.

“We’ll need plenty of nails,” Bert told his son.

Amos ran down the aisle where the nails were located, and began looking for the ones he thought would work best.

“These, I think.”

“Hmmmm. Looks about right. We should’ve asked your uncle Fred,” Bert said with a chuckle.

“He said he’d help. We can do this part, though,” Amos said confidently, “here we go…” He grabbed a paper bag and began scooping nails out of the large bin.

Bert stood back and watched, impressed, as his son filled the bag and carried it to the scale to be weighed. So independent for a little boy, he thought.

“Can I help ya?” asked the clerk .

“Yes, I’m needing paint for my daughter’s bicycle. Had a little accident and it got banged up; so we’re gonna fix it. Right, sweetie?”

She smiled and nodded. The girl was about Amos’ age, and by the way she looked around with fascination, it was obvious this was her first time in a hardware store.

“Right this way,” the clerk said as he led them to the paints.

Bert turned his attention back to the nails in the scale and Amos. But, Amos’ eyes were on the cute little girl walking to the back of the store. Bert cleared his throat.

“How much we got there?”

Amos, a bit startled by his father’s voice, went back to weighing the nails. He was a bit embarrassed, having been caught staring at the girl; but her curly hair and freckles had overtaken him, and he couldn’t help it.

Bert helped Amos finish weighing the nails, and they carried all their supplies to the counter for purchase. As they were waiting, the girl and her father set their paint on the counter and waited behind them. A gumball machine sat on a stand near in the front of the store. Amos reached into his pocket and felt the penny his mother had given him. He eyed the tasty, bright colored treats. Then he glanced over at the pretty girl with curly hair, and she smiled at him. Without hesitation, he walked over to the candy machine and bought a gumball. But, instead of keeping it for himself, he went over to the girl and stretched out his hand, presenting the gumball to her as a grand gift. The girl looked up at her father, who nodded his approval, and she accepted the sweet treat and placed it in her mouth.

Feeling very proud of himself, Amos went and stood by his father who had just paid for their items. The store clerk reached over the counter and handed Amos a new cloth tool belt. It was khaki colored and had the store name, McClung Hardware, printed on it. Amos held it carefully, in disbelief that this was actually his. Bert cleared his throat, and Amos immediately said, “Thank you, Sir!” to the clerk.

Spring had arrived, and Amos and his friends were putting their treehouse to good use. In a large oak tree in the backyard, the treehouse consisted of a wooden floor with railings nestled in about eight feet high within the branches of the tree. One section of the treehouse had the benefit of a cloth canopy overhead, held in place by rope. A bucket tied to the end of a long rope hung off one rail and was used for hauling items up and down. A ladder of sorts, made from spare lumber, was attached to the base of the platform and reached down to the ground. Four boys ages five and six joined Amos in the treehouse for “club meetings” every Saturday morning.

“Hey, Amos!” Bert yelled out the back door. “It’s almost time to leave for our picnic with Uncle Fred and Aunt Mags!”

“Gotta go, guys,” Amos said with a sigh, and then he carefully climbed down the ladder. He was a little disappointed to be leaving his friends. Freddy was o.k., but he was only two and couldn’t always keep up with Amos. And Rosie, the baby, well…she was no fun at all.

They loaded up their car, and within minutes Fred and Margaret and their children pulled up in their truck. Their little caravan began the trek to Gatlinburg for a day of fun in the mountains.

The previous year, President Roosevelt himself had traveled through Knoxville on his way to dedicate the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Road winded around mountains and crossed paths with the Little Pigeon River that sometimes trickled and sometimes roared over rocks and along roadsides.

Gatlinburg, a town just outside the national park, was becoming a popular vacation spot. Originally called White Oak Flats, it was settled in 1807 by the Ogle family who still had homes and businesses in the area. In 1854, a controversial man by the name of Ratford Gatlin settled in White Oak, and built the town’s second store. Mr. Gatlin was also flamboyant preacher who pastored his own “Gatlinite” Baptist church, of sorts. When the post office came to town in 1856, the town was named Gatlinburg. For reasons that no one seems to know (at least not for sure), Mr. Gatlin was eventually ran-out of town by the townsfolk. The name Gatlinburg, however, stuck around.

The families reached a vacant picnic spot at a roadside scenic overlook at what was referred to as Newfound Gap.

“This is right perty,” Fred observed.

“Just beautiful!” Margaret exclaimed.

“Speaking of beautiful, look at this fried chicken. Mmm mmm.” Bert smiled at Doris as he unloaded food baskets.

The boys found rocks and chased squirrels; the adults ate and chatted; and little Rosie slept.

“We need to come out here one day when the children can stay with grandmothers. I hear there’s a place called Abram’s Falls, about a two-hour hike into the woods. You can swim and dive off the top of the falls.”

Bert shared the information in hopes someone would want to join him in the near future.

“That sounds like fun. We should do it!” Fred replied.

“Not me,” added Doris. “I’ll watch the kids.”

“I’ll stay with Doris,” said Margaret, “the swimming might be fine, but I’m not sure about a two-hour hike in the woods. ”

“It’s settled then. Fred and I will go, and maybe take Amos.”

“He’s too young, Bert. Next year maybe.”

Just then, the boys walked up with Freddy leaning on Amos and hopping on one foot; tears rolling down his cheeks.

“He tripped and fell. Skinned his knee up good,” Amos explained.

Fred grabbed him and sat him on his lap to check out his knee.

“Good job, buddyroe. You looked after him just fine,” Bert complimented.

Amos stood there beaming, and gladly accepted the cookie his mother handed him.

Later that evening, they all drove to see the popular hotel in Gatlinburg called the Riverside. It was a large two story grey stone building with a red roof and tall stone columns in the front. Beautiful gardens surrounded the hotel, set against a backdrop of the Smoky Mountains. The women admired the property, while the men discussed the high cost of the rooms, and Amos and Freddy skipped the rocks they had collected across the water nearby.

On the way home, Bert’s thoughts wandered through the events of the day and he considered himself blessed. Once again, he silently offered a prayer of thanksgiving for his family and friends.

Bert sat at his desk at the newspaper and noticed how quiet it was. In years past, the newsroom buzzed with activity from a dozen or more reporters, photographers and secretaries. These days, the staff at the newspaper had shrunk in size, and the bustling office lacked the energy it once held. Radio had become a fierce competitor. Knoxville now had its own radio station, WBIR; forming its call letters from its founder, Jesse W. “Jay” Birdwell. The Knoxville News Sentinel had seen a decline in sales, and, after surviving the worst of the depression, Bert was worrisome over his job.

Adding to the gloom in the office, the headline for the next day, April 12, 1941, was the Nazis occupiers in the Netherlands confiscating all Jewish assets. Each move the Nazis made was more radical than the last, and Bert felt outrage over their treatment of the Jewish people. No one should be oppressed for their race or their religion. Bert thought of the families, the children, and the fear and heartache they all endured. He shook his head to wake himself from such wretched thoughts. It was raining and the whole day seemed dreary. He could feel the distress taking hold of his heart. Before one more bit of despair could fill his thoughts, he bowed his head, right there at his desk, and asked God for help.

“Just a little light, a little joy…” he whispered, “something to remind me of Your love.”

“I thought I saw Doc Sutton driving away. Is Amos sick?”

“You did see the doctor, but no, Amos is not sick. Everyone is fine.”

“A check-up then?”

“Sit down, Dear,” Doris suggested. Bert loosened his tie, and threw his coat over the back of the couch. Doris sat down beside him.

“Remember how I hadn’t been feeling well the past few days?”

Bert just stared in her in bewilderment.

“Well,” she continued, “I haven’t been feeling well so I called Doc Sutton and told him about my symptoms. He came by today, and…” she paused. “I think Amos will make an excellent big brother!”

Bert grabbed her and hugged her tight, and laughed and cried simultaneously.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d take this,” Doris admitted.

“I asked God for a little joy today,” he explained. “He came through better than I imagined.”

They sat there, embracing each other, and savored the moment.

Summer…and baseball was in full swing. Thanks to Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak, the nation was enamored with the sport. A few complained that more people were interested in baseball than they were in foreign wars. It seemed that everyone had a sense that in the coming year, the world would be drastically different. Many recognized that America’s participation in the war was inevitable, and in effort to relish life as they knew it, welcomed baseball as an entertaining distraction from the realities of a growing conflict.

While the boys were glued to their radios, listening to baseball games; teenage girls clamored for Frank Sinatra. He and Tommy Dorsey had a hit with “Dolores,” that had young women everywhere wishing to change their name. Bert tried, unsuccessfully, to sing the song using “Doris,” but was met with laughter rather than romantic kisses.

“Glad you didn’t laugh when I sang to propose,” he said with a chuckle.

“Sorry, darling. My name just doesn’t work with that tune!”

The summer months found everyone looking for some way to enjoy their leisure time: movies, music, and sports seemed the popular choices. It was as if the population knew what lie ahead. Fred took little Freddy and Amos fishing at the lake. Doris took sewing lessons from Margaret in return for teaching her some basic nurse skills. Bert helped fix his neighbors’ mowers and car engines on weekends. Life seemed to move along at a steady and comfortable pace. But, there was that little sense of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Fred and Margaret and the children had just arrived at Cas Walker’s Groceries to shop. It was early Saturday morning, and people were lined up outside with their heads tilted back, staring at the roof of the store.

“Must be about chicken time,” Fred commented.

Every Saturday morning, Cas Walker, owner of the store, would drop frying hens from the roof; free to whomever caught one. The crowd would generally stay afterwards and do their grocery shopping. It was a well-accepted marketing ploy that also helped a lot of needy families.

Mr. Walker recognized that his clientele was mostly the less fortunate, and he worked within the community to provide both assistance and jobs. Newly elected to the city council of Knoxville, Cas Walker hoped to use his status to make life better for his constituents. Being November, he was planning something big to help families with Thanksgiving. The windows of his store bore large posters promising a give-away of prizes to shoppers over the next few weeks .

“Let’s get inside before the chickens fall,” Fred suggested as he ushered his family through the doors.

Rosie was nine months old, and her big brother Freddy was almost three years old. He looked after her as a child looks after a prized possession. He referred to her as “my Rosie,” and strived to protect her against unwanted attention from strangers.

“Look at the darling,” a lady in the store commented as she reached out to touch Rosie’s face.

“My Rosie!” Freddy yelled as he stepped in front of her.

“Son! She’s paying Rosie a compliment. You apologize,” his father commanded.

“Sorry,” he said with a beat-red face that gave-away his inner aggravation.

The family finished their shopping and began to load the sacks into the truck.

“Excuse me, Sir,” a young boy, about ten years of age, sought Fred’s attention. “Did they drop the chickens yet?”

“Yes, Son, they did,” Fred replied.

He noticed the boy was wearing overalls that were too big with the legs rolled up multiple times, and shoes with holes in the top revealing his toes. He reminded Fred of himself as a boy, before he had been blessed with a carpentry job, and then the position of foreman. The boy turned away looking defeated .

“Son, come ‘ere.” Fred had the boy follow him back into the store, and he bought a chicken and a bag of vegetables for him to take home. He offered the boy a ride in the back of the truck, but he assured him he could walk home just fine.

“That was the kindest thing you just did,” said Margaret, and she gave him a kiss.

“Blessed to be a blessing,” was his reply.

The newspaper had picked up steam thanks to an exciting World Series. People who didn’t have access to a radio or who missed the chance to listen to a game, grabbed up newspapers to read all about it.

The Yankees and the Dodgers were cheered and jeered by high-spirited crowds that included everyone from the President to Frank Costello, debutantes and gangsters, the “average Joe” and the New York Mayor Fiorello Laguardia. The Yanks won 3-2, bringing to an end a never-to-be-seen-again thrill in baseball competition.

But, alas, that was months ago, so now Bert found himself writing articles of a more serious nature. The conflict overseas had intensified. Americans now demonstrated a keen interest in progress of the war in Europe. They were shocked by photos of Paris after it was so easily defeated by Germany. It was unsettling to think of something of that magnitude happening in the United States .

It was two thirty in the afternoon, December 7. The phones in the newspaper office began to ring. Not just one phone. All the phones.

“News Sentinel. This is…”

“Bert, this is John in New York. We just got reports of an attack on Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.”

“Attack? What kind…”

“Bombs. Jap planes overhead dropping bombs, destroying the Navy ships…”

People began yelling, hanging up phones when lines were disconnected, and picking up to dial again. Everyone was grabbing a pencil and paper to jot down information, struggling to hear the person on the other line, and struggling to wrap their head around an actual air assault on an American military base.

Somehow he knew that this was a moment that would define an entire generation of Americans. Before answering another call or typing the first words of an article, Bert paused and prayed.