Fragments From Floyd

"It was along 1932 before there was any school buses in Meadows of Dan. Somebody got a Ford chassis and put some planks up on the back of it, made a kind of a flatbed truck. And that 'uz how the kids got to school in those days. No siderails or nothing, them kids back there in the cold."

I had stopped at the tractor dealership because their back lot afforded a different angle of view of the Concord Primitive Baptist Church--one of my photographic objectives for the day. On an early Saturday morning, the doors of the business were open but they weren't busy yet inside, so I went in to ask permission to shoot pictures from their property. While I was there, I thought why not ask to see if there was maybe somebody around that could clear up some questions I had, having just come from the Caney-Richardson Cemetery where Ed and Lizzie Mabry are buried.

The young man out front directed me and my question to Carol in the business office. In the middle of her busy morning, she stopped and made a dozen calls.

"Now where would Ben be. Let's see. It's almost ten o'clock. He'd have left the restaurant by now, probably headed over to that house that's burning. Or he might be out to a yard sale by now. Let me see if I can find him". No body home at the first place. "Let's see. Who'd know where Ben might be now? Roger'd know."

She called to the up-front man. "Go look and see if the white truck or the black truck is in front of Roger's house." The man stepped through the doors into the front lot, shaded his eyes against the morning sun, and reported back to Carol.

"Okay, he's already gone. I'd say maybe just check back with me from time to time and we'll see if we can turn him up" she advised.

After a half hour of loitering awkwardly in and out front of the showroom, Carol's phone rang. "Yes, he's still here. Thanks, that will be great." She came out to tell me "Ben is on his way here. He'll be here in about ten minutes."

After a few minutes of our howdja-do's, Ben hoisted himself up from the naugahyde chair. "Wait here just a minute, I'll be right back." This trip to his car and back was no small investment considering his bad knees and breathing troubles. In a few minutes, he came hobbling back carrying a large, black three-ring binder with the pages spilling out of it in a trail behind him. Ben had come prepared, but reserved the "good stuff" until he found out I was worthy.

Old bills of sale from the 1830s and 40s; old newspaper clippings: "Winter Storm paralyzes Mountain Town" from the 1960's. "And here's something come in the mail a while back". He handed me an envelope with the address "Ben Harris, Mayor of Meadows of Dan". It was honorary, of course. And there actually is no town there--only an unofficial community that looks a little like a town with several tourist-related business end to end. But Ben couldn't have been prouder to be honorary governor of the state. Or, to use one of his phrases, "I wouldn'ta traded it for a farm in Georgia."

It turns out I made the very best contact for my purposes that morning. Ben's family--especially his uncle Newton Hylton--was active in the life of this Patrick County community during the days of the Mabrys and the early mill. Out of his bulging folder he handed me a glossy 8 x 10 of Newt, and recollected all his cherished memories of this favorite from a seeming dozen uncles he told me about. More to come, perhaps, on Uncle Newt.

And so, it was quite a pleasant and successful day, this due to the kindness of strangers and friends. Many thanks to the nice folks at the tractor dealership, and to Ben for helping me with the story I was after. I had help, too, with the images I needed in large file format, thanks to the incredible generosity by Doug Thompson who loaned me his Nikon D100 (in the lamentable absence of my D70 still on a slow boat from Bangkok.) Stories and pictures are in the mail. Now we will wait and see.