Tags
Appalachia, Clay County, fiddle, fiddler, fiddling, history, Kim Johnson, music, photos, West Virginia, Wilson Douglas

Wilson Douglas, fiddler, Clay County, WV, 1930s. Courtesy of Kim Johnson.
12 Friday Apr 2013
Posted in Clay County, Music
Tags
Appalachia, Clay County, fiddle, fiddler, fiddling, history, Kim Johnson, music, photos, West Virginia, Wilson Douglas

Wilson Douglas, fiddler, Clay County, WV, 1930s. Courtesy of Kim Johnson.
11 Thursday Apr 2013
Posted in Ed Haley
Tags
California, Clyde Haley, Dingess, Ed Haley, Ella Haley, fiddler, Harts Creek, John Hartford, Lawrence Haley, Logan County, Mona Haley, music, Nashville, Ralph Haley, Stockton, Wayne County, West Virginia, writing
In January of 1994, Lawrence put me in touch with his brother Clyde Haley, an old bachelor who had spent most of his life roaming the country, working here and there and always managing to get into some kind of trouble. Lawrence called Clyde “the black sheep of the family,” while Mona laughingly dubbed him as a “rogue.” He was Ed Haley’s oldest son and some seven years older than Lawrence. Each time I went to Harts Creek, people had asked about Clyde. Apparently, he made quite an impression.
When I first called Clyde, he lived in a minimum-security nursing home in Stockton, California. Our conversation started like this:
“Hello, John!”
Hey, Clyde. How’re you doing?
“Well, I’m still in the hospital.”
Well, all right. I been wanting to talk to you for two years now.
“Who is this?”
This is John Hartford in Nashville.
“Well, I don’t know whether I know you personally, do I?”
Well, you may not. I’m a real good friend of Lawrence and Pat’s. And I play the fiddle myself and I’m on television. I wear a little derby hat and I dance while I play the fiddle.
Clyde laughed.
But the reason I want to talk to you is I think your father was the greatest old-time fiddler that ever lived.
“I do, too,” he said.
Apparently, Clyde spent a lot of time bragging on Ed’s music at the nursing home. I told him I would send him copies of his father’s music and he got really excited.
“Okay,” he said. “We do a lot of little dancing here in our recreation periods. I think I’ll be outta here in March. It’s not a jail or anything — it’s a hospital.”
I told him I would be touring California in June and he said, “Well, you’ve got my address. Drop by and see me. I’m in Stockton.”
In the meantime, there were a lot of things we could talk about over the telephone. I could tell early in our conversation that Clyde was sometimes right on with his stories, while at other times he was completely out to lunch. His memories were sporadic — in no particular order — like bits of broken glass in a huge pile of garbage that you have to sort through and put back together.
I knew Clyde was Lawrence’s oldest living brother, but wasn’t exactly sure of his age.
“I was born in 1921,” he said. “That’d make me about 73.”
Clyde said he went with his father on trips more than any of the other Haley children.
“When my dad wanted to leave Mom and get away from her for a change, he’d always take me as his crutch,” he said. “I was his favorite son outside of Ralph. He called me ‘Reecko’. That was his nickname for me. I used to carry the fiddle case for him. And I went with him when he’d go to Logan County and go up on Harts Creek and up in Dingess and up that way. And he’d go over around Wayne County. He knew people up there.”
I asked Clyde to describe his father and he said, “My dad, he was about 6’2″ and he had real small feet. He had feet like a dancer would have and he wore a size six shoe. I remember that because I used to wear his shoes. I never saw him with a suit on in my life.”
28 Thursday Mar 2013

Ward Jarvis, fiddler from Braxton County, WV.
18 Monday Mar 2013
Posted in Clay County, Ed Haley, Music
Tags
Appalachia, Clay County, culture, fiddler, French Carpenter, history, music, photos, West Virginia

French Carpenter, fiddler in Clay County, WV.
10 Sunday Mar 2013
Posted in Music
04 Monday Mar 2013
Posted in Big Harts Creek, Ed Haley, Music
04 Monday Mar 2013
Tags
Appalachia, banjo, Big Rock Candy Mountain, bowing, Calhoun County Blues, Carroll County Blues, Ed Haley, fiddler, fiddling, Ghost Riders in the Sky, Hell Among the Yearlings, history, John Hartford, Mona Haley, music, Pretty Polly, Soutwood Mountain, Sweet Betsy from Pike, Ugee Postalwait
Talking about Ed’s records caused me to ask Mona about his technique and tunes. She said her father was a long bower – that he used “one end of the bow to the other,” except on songs requiring short, quick strokes. Interestingly, she had no recollection of him ever “rocking” the fiddle while playing (as is so fondly remembered by some eyewitnesses) and said he patted his foot softly in half-time (never picking up his whole foot and stomping). He didn’t keep a chin rest on his fiddle because “it got in his way.”
Mona said Ed knew “millions” of pieces, including “Hell Among the Yearlings” (her favorite), “Big Rock Candy Mountain” and “Sourwood Mountain”. She recognized “Carroll County Blues” (what Ugee Postalwait called “Calhoun County Blues”) as a Haley tune when I played it for her. She said Ed played “Pretty Polly” and “Sweet Betsy from Pike” drop-thumb style on the banjo (no fingerpicks). He loved “Ghost Riders in the Sky” — which he never could learn — and would say of the tune, “Lord god almighty, would you listen to that?” When Ed thought about or heard a tune he liked, Mona said he would pat his hands together.
26 Tuesday Feb 2013
Posted in African American History, Big Harts Creek, Ed Haley, Hatfield-McCoy Feud, Logan, Music, Sports
Tags
Appalachia, Aracoma, Big Foot, blind, Blues, Clyde Haley, Come Take A Trip in My Airship, Coney Island, Devil Anse Hatfield, Done Got the 'Chines in My Mind, Ed Haley, Ella Haley, fiddler, Fox Cod Knob, Franklin Roosevelt, Harts Creek, Hester Mullins, Hiram Dempsey, history, Island Queen, Jack Dempsey, John Hartford, Lawrence Haley, Logan, Logan County, Mona Haley, music, mystery, Noah Haley, Nora Martin, Pink Mullins, steamboats, Trace Fork, Turkey in the Straw, West Virginia
Mona’s memories were really pouring out, about a variety of things. I asked her what Ed was like and she said, “Noah is a lot like Pop in a way. He always liked the outdoors, Pop did. He’d get out and sleep on the porch at night. He could peel an apple without breaking the skin. There was an old man up on Harts Creek and I’m almost sure that his name was Devil Anse Hatfield and Pop trimmed his fingernails out on his porch with his pocketknife. Aw, he could trim my nails or yours or anybody’s.”
Ed was good at predicting the future.
“Pop said machines was gonna take over man’s work and we was gonna go to the moon one day,” Mona said. She figured he wrote the song “Come Take A Trip in My Airship” because it sounded like his kind of foresight.
Mona said she remembered some of Ed’s stories but warned me that I wouldn’t want to hear them.
Of course, I did.
I asked her if they were off-color and she said, “Well, not really, but he was kind of an off-color guy. I can’t really remember any of the tales about him. What was that one about him dreaming he was on Fox Cod Knob and dragging a big log chain and he fell over a big cliff and when he come to hisself he was standing on his head on a chicken coop with his legs locked around a clothes line?”
What?
“He told some weird stories sometimes — ghost stories and things that I can’t remember,” she continued. “He told that story about Big Foot up in the hills of Harts Creek. A wild banshee. Pop talked about it. Clyde said he saw a Big Foot.”
Lawrence said, “It was up in the head of the Trace Fork of Harts Creek somewhere. Pop was on the back of this horse behind somebody. They was coming down through there and all at once something jumped up on back of the horse behind him and it was just rattling chains all the way down through there and the more that chain rattled the faster that horse would go. They absolutely run that horse almost to death getting away from it.”
I asked about Ed’s travels. Mona said her parents walked and hitchhiked a lot. Along the way, Ella sang to occupy the kids. Lawrence remembered buses and trains, where Ed sometimes played the fiddle for a little extra money from passengers. I asked if he ever talked about playing on any boats and Mona said, “No, but I know they did because I was with them on the ISLAND QUEEN that was going back and forth to Coney Island. Up by the calliope on the top deck.”
Mona said Ed always set up in towns near a movie theatre so the kids could watch movies.
“Every time he played he drawed a crowd,” she said. “He was loud and he was good. I never seen him play any that he didn’t have a crowd around him — anywhere.”
Ed was “all business” but would talk to people if they came up to him.
“One time we went in a beer joint up in Logan, West Virginia, that sat by the railroad tracks,” she said. “They played over at the courthouse and we walked over there. Pop wanted to get a beer while I ate supper. It was back when Roosevelt was president I reckon and he got in an argument with some guy about President Roosevelt. That was his favorite fella, you know. This guy started a fight with him and he backed off and walked away. Pop just let the man walk the length of his cane, hooked it around his neck, brought him back and beat him nearly to death. He was strong. He was dangerous if he ever got a hold of you, if he was mad at you. He always carried a pocketknife and it was sharp as a razor. He whittled on that knife — I mean, sharpened it every day.”
“Everybody liked Pop — everybody that I ever knew,” Mona said. “He had some pretty high people as friends.”
In Logan County, Ed visited Pink and Hester Mullins on Mud Fork and Rosie Day’s daughter Nora Martin in Aracoma. Mona said Ed was also friends with a famous boxer in town whose father played the fiddle, but she couldn’t remember his name. I later learned from Lawrence that it was Jack Dempsey, the heavyweight champion of the world from 1919-1926. Dempsey wrote in his biography that his father had fiddled “Turkey in the Straw” so much that all the children thought it was the National Anthem.
Ed mixed freely with some of the colored folks in Logan, and sometimes even left Mona at a “bootleg joint” operated by a black lady named Tootsie. She and Lawrence both felt Ed absorbed a lot of the Blues from the blacks in the coalfields. Mona sang one of her father’s songs — which I had never heard — to make the point:
Done got the [ma]chines in my mind, Lord, Lord.
Done got the ‘chines in my mind.
‘Chines in my mind and I can’t make a dime.
Done got the ‘chines in my mind.
My old gal got mad at me.
I never did her any harm.
‘Chines in my mind and I can’t make a dime.
Done got the ‘chines in my mind.
24 Sunday Feb 2013
Posted in Ed Haley
Tags
blind, Clyde Haley, Ed Haley, Ella Haley, fiddle, fiddler, Great Depression, Green McCoy, Harts Creek, history, Imogene Haley, Lawrence Haley, Milt Haley, Mona Haley, music, Noah Haley, Peter Mullins, writing
We all met up with Mona later in the day. She acted surprised that I was even interested in seeing her again, joking, “I’m good for something, aren’t I?” She was extremely talkative and almost immediately took over the conversation in a way that gave me the impression she really knew a great deal about Ed and Ella’s music. It was quite a different presentation than my first meeting with her.
“See my brothers don’t know about music like I know about music,” she said right away. “They know the tunes and they know the keys and stuff, but I don’t think they listened like I did. I paid attention to Pop’s music because I love music. I always loved music.”
She told Lawrence, “You don’t have the ear for it like I do.”
It was the first time I had heard someone be so candid with Lawrence. He seemed a little put off by it, muttering, “Probably not.”
We told Mona about talking with Bob Adkins and she said, “Pop’s mother was supposed to had the whole side of her face blown away. Now whether she was killed or not, I don’t know. That happened on Harts Creek and that’s what made Milt Haley get in with Green McCoy ’cause one of the Hatfields shot my dad’s mother’s face away. Side of her face. Well now, that’s how I understood it. But I’ve heard it said about that sinkhole that fills up with blood where that Milt Haley and Green McCoy was beat to death — buried in the same grave — and every time it rains, the grave fills up with blood.”
Noah said of Milt, “Well, ain’t he the guy that shot the person that shot Pop’s mom in the face? I thought Pop’s dad shot and killed the guy that shot his mother in the face.”
Mona wasn’t sure about that but said, “I know that Pop said that if he could see, he would get the guy that hurt his mother. Shot her. Her name was Emma Jean.”
Mona was sure the measles had caused her father to go blind, not Milt or ice water.
“No,” she said emphatically, “Ice water wouldn’t make you go blind. He had the measles.”
She said Ed started playing the fiddle when he was small and never talked about learning from anyone.
“Did you know that he started out on a cornstalk homemade fiddle?” she asked me. “I heard that his uncle or somebody up in the hills made him a cornstalk fiddle. Musta been Uncle Peter, I don’t know. Uncle Peter was a crippled man. His foot was turned backwards.”
Noah said, “He was a mean one, too.”
Mona knew little else about Ed’s life on Harts Creek.
“I don’t know if I told you about him talking about… As a young boy he was sitting on one of those log fences that goes this way — zig-zag, I call it — and it was a bull pasture inside. And he always carried a pistol with him. For what, I don’t know. It was a bull pasture fence he was sitting on and he was playing his little cornstalk fiddle and somebody come back behind him and was playing a joke on him by acting like a bull — you know, making noises like a bull. So Pop pulled that pistol out and shot and missed him by about an inch.”
Mona was quick to mention Ella, pointing out that “she figures in a lot of this, too.” I agreed, of course, but hadn’t been able to find out much about her from Lawrence, who seemed to keep his memories of her to himself. Every time Pat brought her name up, he said things like, “John doesn’t want to hear about Mom — he wants to know about Pop.” He always said it in a straightforward way that I knew to basically avoid the subject, as did Pat.
Mona said her parents met when Ella came to one of Ed’s “concerts”.
“I remember a lot of things about Mom,” she said. “Me and Mom was close. She walked around to feel if there was dirt on the floor — to see if it was clean — and if it wasn’t heads would roll. And she could cook. I remember back, I guess, during the Depression, her making lard cans full of soup so she could feed the neighbors and she had big bread pans full of cornbread for the dogs. And she could type as good as any typist.”
Mona looked at Lawrence and said, “Remember that whistle she had for us? It was like a calliope whistle. It was plastic or tin or something. And every one of us had a different tune. Each one of us knew our tunes. Different note.”
Mona’s pride in Ed and Ella seemed a little more on-the-surface than what I had detected with Lawrence.
“If there was a movie made, then there should’ve been one made about that — two blind people raising kids,” she said. “I’m just in awe of them and how they took care of all of us kids. They kept food and they kept shelter for us and we never went hungry. And they kept clothes on us. And I just don’t know how they done it. We always had a stable home. They always kept us occupied. We’d sit around in the wintertime and they’d give us soda crackers and apples and tell us to take a bite of one of them and then try to say a tongue twister.”
Mona said, “And we’re all reasonably intelligent,” although she jokingly pointed out that there were “some rogues in the family.”
Noah smiled and said, “I don’t know but one rogue.”
Mona knew exactly who he meant, so she told me, “That’s my other brother Clyde he’s talking about. He’s a rogue, but he’s all right.”
She said she was probably the real rogue of the family.
“Mom was real strict with me, but I was pretty head-strong,” she said. “I was rougher than all the boys put together, I reckon. At least that’s what they told me.”
23 Saturday Feb 2013
Posted in Ed Haley
Tags
Ashland, Ella Haley, fiddler, Harts Creek, history, Joe Mullins, John Hartford, Kentucky, Lawrence Haley, Milt Haley, music, Noah Haley, Ralph Haley, West Virginia, writing
The next day, Lawrence and I dropped in on Noah and told him about our intentions to find Milt Haley’s grave on Harts Creek. He said he had gone to Harts some time ago only to find that everyone who ever knew his father had passed away. Lawrence said Joe Mullins was still around so far as he knew. Joe was a first cousin to Ed and the son of Uncle Peter Mullins…as well as Lawrence’s major source of information about his father’s early life.
“Well, he should know quite a bit about Pop,” Noah said. “He sure defended him.”
He looked at me and said, “Pop would get drunk — drunker’n dickens. He’d start on Mom and us kids would take up for Mom. Then Joe would jump all over us. Joe and Noah both would.”
Noah, Lawrence explained, was referring here to Noah Mullins, a first cousin to his dad and a brother to Joe. Noah Haley was named after him, although it seemed apparent to me he thought more of his mother’s people than his father’s on Harts Creek.
“Joe should know a lot about those things,” Noah continued. “He knows when we used to get moonshine out of them hills.”
Well, that was an interesting subject to open with — very different from my talks with Lawrence. I could sense that Noah had brought up a touchy subject with Lawrence — domestic problems and alcohol — but I wanted to know a little more. I asked Noah if Ed drank a lot in his early days and he said, “Well, if somebody’d give it to him, he’d drink, yeah. He’d get stone drunk. But he didn’t drink unless somebody’d give it to him. He was meaner than hell when he was drinking.”
Unlike Lawrence and Mona, Noah seemed to have no musical inclination whatsoever.
“Well, the only thing I can show you, he never held the fiddle under his neck. He held it right here,” he said, motioning toward his arm. “That’s about all I can tell you about him holding the fiddle. Of course, when he’d come across this way with the bow, he’d make two chords instead of one with one streak across the bow.”
Make two notes in other words?
“Yeah, two chords or notes or whatever you call them.”
Lawrence said, “I was telling John that Pop could play the banjo real good, too.”
Noah quickly agreed, “Yeah, he could play the banjo, he could play guitar, he could play a mandolin — any kind of a stringed instrument, just about.”
Noah remembered Ed living at several different places around Ashland.
“I was born on Horse Branch,” he said. “We lived in three different places on Keyes Creek — maybe four. Then we lived at Ward Hollow. Then we lived on 17thStreet. We lived in two places on Greenup.”
Noah told me about Ed and Ella going downtown to play on the streets.
“Soon as they could get a ride downtown, that’s when they’d go. It would be kinda early, before two o’clock. Sometimes the’d have quite a few people standing around listening to them. And of course, they played for just change that people’d give them. Sometimes they’d have ten, fifteen people standing around wanting them to play a piece of music. He’d never play the same song unless somebody would, you know, give him a quarter or a dime or a nickel or something to suggest a song for him to play, then he might play the same one he just played. Sometimes they would play a couple three hours and then they’d go eat or go to the restroom or whatever. And then they’d come back and play another two or three hours.”
Lawrence said his oldest brother Ralph was a part of the act during the First World War.
“There’s a picture of Ralph in a little jumpsuit type of thing and they said he’d be up on a stage,” he said. “Pop and Mom might be playing and he would dance around up here on that stage with them and then when he’d get ready to come off of it he’d stand on the edge and do a flip and come off on his feet.”
Noah said, “Yeah, Ralph always was acrobatic.”
I said, “Well that’s what got him, wasn’t it?” and Noah said, “Yeah, hanging by his toes from a tree about two feet from the ground. He slipped and broke his neck. But he always was acrobatic. He could run and make a complete turnover. His whole body.”
Noah said Ed never played on the street at night, allotting that time for square dances. I asked him how much he made per dance and he said, “I don’t know, maybe he’d go play at a dance, he’d get, sometimes, maybe five dollars. He wouldn’t get a whole lot. Hell, a dollar a day then did what ten does today. I remember Ralph, our brother, going out and working for a dollar a day. If they made a dollar a day — or two dollars a day — they was doing good enough to keep us surviving.”
I said, “So, by today’s standards, it would’ve been like making twenty dollars a day?” and Noah agreed, “I would guess so, yeah.”
Lawrence added, “It was according to economic times.”
Noah didn’t hesitate to brag on his father.
“I think they come there one time from the Grand Ole Opry and wanted him to come play on it and he wouldn’t go,” he said. “I went with them a lot of times when they was playing at the courthouses. They worked all over West Virginia — Beckley. Well, they went downtown here in Ironton. You know we’d take a bus everywhere we’d go. We didn’t have no car. We’d generally stay with friends there up around Logan or Harts Creek.”
Speaking of Harts Creek, I wondered if Ed had ever talked about learning to play the fiddle from anyone around there. Noah said no — “he just took it up hisself when he was a kid.” He and Lawrence both agreed that Ed never talked about his early life and only seldom mentioned his parents.
“The only thing I know about my grandfather on my father’s side is about him shooting this guy and they killed him,” Noah said. “Shot his wife through the mouth, I think it was. I think Pop said it was. And then his dad went after this guy with a pistol, killed him, and somebody killed his dad, is the way I heard it. But he never did confide much in anything like that with us.”
Well, that sure was a different version of things from what Lawrence had initially heard from his dad — and it was much closer to the truth.
21 Thursday Feb 2013
Posted in Ed Haley
Tags
Appalachia, Ashland, banjo, Bonaparte's Retreat, Ed Haley, fiddler, history, John Hartford, Kentucky, Lawrence Haley, music, Pat Haley, Red Apple Rag, U.S. South, writing
That night, I played some of Ed’s tunes for Lawrence in his kitchen. In spite of the great story opening up about Milt Haley, I didn’t lose sight of the music and my quest to understand it. As I played, Lawrence was brutally honest.
“Notice how you’re using a fourth of the bow?” he said. “Pop played all over it.”
“Did you hear a few real strong driving notes in that and then some really weak ones that didn’t hardly get out?” he asked.
“Pretty good — but never just like my dad,” he stated flatly.
The closest I came to gaining his approval was when I played “Bonaparte’s Retreat”.
“You got a pretty good version of that,” he said. “Nothing too wrong with that.”
“Your cannons sounded very good,” Pat added politely.
When I played Ed’s “Red Apple Rag”, Lawrence said there was one part — what I call the “House of David Blues” part — that didn’t belong in the song, even though I knew Ed had played it there in the home recordings. He remembered his father playing “House of David Blues” as a separate tune and singing:
Bring it on down to my house honey,
Ain’t nobody home but me.
Bring it on down to my house honey,
I need the company.
Now a nickel is a nickel
And a dime’s a dime.
You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.
Bring it on down to my house honey,
Ain’t nobody home but me.
I asked again about Haley’s banjo and Pat said she remembered that it was still around when she first came to Ashland in the late 1940s. She thought it belonged to Ella, but Lawrence said, “No, Mom played what they call a banjo-mandolin. It wasn’t too many years that I remember her playing one. Pop probably had a banjo. He’d just as soon sit down and play the banjo a lot of times. Or he’d play the guitar a lot. He played it like he did the fiddle. He’d make runs and everything else. He could sit down and play a organ or piano if he wanted to. I’ve seen him sit down on that old pump organ we had and he’d start pumping and he’d just play it for a while.”
I wondered if Ed’s talent as, or even fondness for, being a multi-instrumentalist had been somewhat overstated. It seemed a little odd that, among the hundreds of home recordings, there was not one single sample of him playing anything but the fiddle. Of course, I didn’t bring this up to Lawrence because I totally believed him. Besides, he seemed a little cranky.
Pat said she remembered Ed playing something about “going down the Mississippi” and Lawrence said it was the “Battle of New Orleans”.
“Pop used to play that a long time ago,” he said. “That and ‘Soldier’s Joy’ and all those old pieces like that. ‘Arkansas Traveler’ and ‘Mississippi Sawyer’.”
19 Tuesday Feb 2013
Posted in Civil War, Clay County, Music
Tags
Appalachia, civil war, Clay County, fiddle, fiddler, fiddling, genealogy, history, Kim Johnson, Marshall Cottrell, music, photos, West Virginia

Marshall Cottrell, Fiddle Player and Confederate Veteran from Clay County, WV. Photo courtesy of Kim Johnson.
13 Wednesday Feb 2013
Posted in Ed Haley
Tags
Appalachia, Ashland, blind, Ed Haley, Ed Morrison, fiddler, history, John Hartford, Kentucky, Lawrence Haley, life, music, U.S. South, writers, writing
About an hour later, Lawrence and I headed back to his house where we spent the evening talking at his kitchen table. I hung onto his every word hoping for some little detail about Ed.
“Pop smoked a pipe,” he said. “He’d fill it up with tobacco and then he might take a cut apple and put apples in it to flavor it. He enjoyed his tobacco. He would go to a lot of places to people he knew and they’d give him maybe a hand of tobacco and he’d make his own twists out of it. Mom never could stop him from chewing. He was fairly clean with it around the house. He usually kept a good size vegetable can for a spittoon. If he was setting in a chair, he’d put it down in the chair and he’d pick it up and hold it up close to his mouth and spit in it.”
Lawrence spoke more about the extent of his father’s travels.
“Pop’s range was northeastern Kentucky mostly,” he said. “West Virginia and southeastern Ohio. In West Virginia, he might’ve took it all in except maybe the far panhandle up in there. I think he’d been as far as Morgantown. I can remember being up the Big Sandy River with them on the West Virginia side and at Louisa.”
Lawrence didn’t think Ed made it to Hazard and Harlan.
I asked if there was much money to be made in the coalfields and he said, “They had money, I guess, when mines were running good. And I guess during the timber business when them guys grabbed logs down out of the Sandy at Catlettsburg.”
I really wanted to get at the source of Ed’s music, but Lawrence said his father never discussed his early life or musical influences with any of the kids. Lawrence never heard him talk about those things with buddies either because most of them stopped coming around by the time he was a teenager.
I jarred his memory a little bit when I mentioned the name Ed Morrison, whose father (Christopher Columbus Morrison) had learned “Blackberry Blossom” from General Garfield during the War Between the States.
“Ed Morrison, as far as I know, lived right out here on Belmont Street for a while,” he said. “He was a buddy of Pop’s.”
Thinking back to Ed’s experience on Harts Creek, I wondered if a lot of his music came from pain.
“No, I don’t think Pop was…,” Lawrence said. “He mighta been…”
“Anger?” I asked.
“Anger, yeah, maybe.”
That made sense to me. He sure had a lot to be angry about.
12 Tuesday Feb 2013
Posted in Ashland, Big Sandy Valley, Ed Haley, Music
Tags
Ashland, Big Sandy River, Blackberry Blossom, Blaze Starr, Bluegrass Meadows, Boyd County, Clark Kessinger, Dave Peyton, Delbarton, Duke Williamson, Ed Haley, fiddle, fiddler, fiddlers, fiddling, Georgia Slim Rutland, Grand Ole Opry, Hank Williams, Herald-Dispatch, history, Huntington, Jennies Creek, John Fleming, John Hartford, Kentucky, Lawrence Haley, Lynn Davis, McVeigh, Mingo County, Minnie Pearl, Molly O Day, Molly O'Day, music, Parkersburg Landing, Pike County, Pond Creek, Short Tail Fork, Shove That Hog's Foot, Skeets Williamson, Snake Chapman, Texas, West Virginia, Williamson
Early that summer, I was back at Lawrence Haley’s in Ashland with plans to visit Lynn Davis in Huntington, West Virginia. Lynn had been mentioned in the Parkersburg Landing liner notes as a source for Haley’s biographical sketch and was the widower of Molly O’Day, the famous country singer. Snake Chapman had told me that Molly and her family were close friends to Haley, who visited their home regularly in Pike County, Kentucky. I was sure Lynn would have a lot of great stories to tell about Ed. At our arrival, he was incredibly friendly — almost overwhelming us with the “welcome mat.” All we had to do was mention Ed’s name and he started telling us how he and Molly used to pick him up in Ashland and drive him up the Big Sandy Valley to see Molly’s father in southeastern Kentucky.
“That was back in the early forties,” he said. “We’d come to Ashland and get him at his home up on Winchester about 37th Street. They was a market there or something you turned up by and we’d go there and pick him up and take him up to Molly’s dad and mother up in Pond Creek, Kentucky — above Williamson. There’s an old log house up there — it’s been boarded up and sort of a thing built around it so people couldn’t get in and tear it up or something — but it’s falling down. He’d stay up there with Molly’s dad and mother for several days. They’d take him to Delbarton, a coal town over there from Williamson, and they’d just drive him around, buddy. Now Molly’s brother, he really loved Ed’s fiddling.”
Lynn was referencing Skeets Williamson, Molly’s older brother and a good fiddler by all accounts. Lynn showed me an album titled Fiddlin’ Skeets Williamson (c.1977), which referenced him as “one of country music’s more skilled fiddlers during the 1940’s — one of the best in his day.”
Skeets was born in 1920 at McVeigh, Kentucky, meaning he was approximately 35 years younger than Haley. As a child, he played music with Molly and his older brother Duke Williamson, as well as Snake Chapman. “During these years, the famous fiddler of Eastern Kentucky, Blind Ed Haley, became a tremendous influence on him,” the album liner notes proclaimed. “Skeets (along with Clark Kessinger) still contend that Haley was the greatest fiddler who ever played.” During a brief stint on Texas radio, Skeets met Georgia Slim Rutland, the famous radio fiddler who spent a year listening to Haley in Ashland.
I asked Lynn more about his trips to Haley’s home on 37th Street.
“We used to go down to his house and Molly’d say, ‘Uncle Ed, I’d just love to hear you play me a tune.’ Well he’d be sitting on the couch and he’d just reach over behind the couch — that’s where he kept his fiddle. He always had it in hand reach. So he would get it out of there, man, and fiddle.”
Sometimes Lynn and Molly would join in, but they mostly just sat back in awe.
“You’ve seen people get under the anointing of the Holy Ghost, John,” Lynn said. “Well now, that’s the way he played. I mean, I’ve seen him be playing a tune and man just shake, you know. It was hitting him. I mean, it was vibrating right in his very spirit. Molly always said, ‘I believe that fiddlers get anointed to the fiddle just like a preacher gets anointed to preach.’ They feel it. Man, he’d rock that fiddle. He’d get with rocking it what a lot of people get with bowing. It was something else. But he got into it man. He moved all over.”
Lynn said Ed was a “great artist” but had no specific memories of his technique. He didn’t comment on Ed’s bowing, fingering or even his fiddle positioning but did say that he mostly played in standard tuning. Only occasionally did Ed “play some weird stuff” in other tunings.
Lynn’s memories of Haley’s tunes seemed limited.
“Well, he played one called ‘Bluegrass Meadows’,” he said. “He had some great names for them. Of course one of his specials was ‘Blackberry Blossoms’. He liked that real good, and he’d tell real stories. He would be a sawing his fiddle a little while he was telling the story, and everybody naturally was just quiet as a mouse. You know, they didn’t want to miss nothing.”
What kind of stories?
“Well, I know about the hog’s foot thing. He said they went someplace to play and they didn’t have anything to eat and those boys went out and stole a hog and said they brought it in and butchered it and heard somebody coming. It was the law. They run in and put that hog in the bed and covered it up like it was somebody sleeping. And Ed was sitting there fiddling and somebody whispered to him, said, ‘Ed, that hog’s foot’s stickin’ out from under the cover there.’ So he started fiddling and singing, ‘Shove that hog’s foot further under the cover…’ He made it up as he went.”
The next thing I knew, Lynn was telling me about his musical career. He’d been acquainted with everybody from country great Hank Williams to Opry star Minnie Pearl. We knew a lot of the same people — a source of “bonding” — and it wasn’t long until he started handing me tapes and records of Molly O’Day and Georgia Slim Rutland. He said he had a wire recording of Ed and Ella somewhere, but couldn’t find it. He promised me though, “When I find this wire — and I will find it — it’s yours.”
Sometime later, he called Dave Peyton, a reporter-friend from the Huntington Herald-Dispatch, to come over for an interview. With Peyton’s arrival, Lynn (ever the showman) spun some big tales.
“Now, Molly’s grandfather on her mother’s side was the king of the moonshiners in West Virginia and he was known as ‘Twelve-Toed John Fleming’,” Lynn said. “He had six toes on each foot. Man, he was a rounder. Little short fella, little handlebar mustache — barefooted. He was from the Short Tail Fork of Jenny’s Creek. And the reason they called it that, those boys didn’t have any britches and they wore those big long night shirts till they was twelve or fourteen years old.”
Lynn was on a roll.
“I preached Molly’s uncle’s funeral. Her uncle is the father of Blaze Starr — the stripper. That’s Molly’s first cousin. In her book, she said she would walk seven miles through the woods to somebody that had a radio so she could hear her pretty cousin Molly sing. She was here in town about three or four months ago. We had breakfast a couple times together. She’s not stripping anymore. She makes jewelry and sells it. She’s about 60 right now.”
11 Monday Feb 2013
Posted in Ed Haley
Tags
Bonaparte's Retreat, Brooks Hardway, Clark Kessinger, Dusty Miller, Ed Haley, Emery Bailey, fiddler, fiddling, French Carpenter, Gerry Milnes, history, Jimmy Johnson Bring Your Jug Around the Hill, John Cottrell, John Hartford, Laury Hicks, Lost Indian, Mississippi Sawyer, music, Old Sledge, Sally Ann Johnson, Sally Goodin, Sol Carpenter, Spencer, Stackolee, Ward Jarvis, West Virginia, writing
After listening to Gerry’s tape, I gave Brooks a call. His voice was extremely weak compared to the 1988 interview, indicating that his health had taken a turn for the worse. As I introduced myself and tried to explain the reason for my call he told me to speak up because his hearing wasn’t very good. Just when I figured he hadn’t heard a word I said, he remarked, “I’ve got a lot of tapes of you, John. I’ve been listening to you for twenty years.” He also had Ed’s record, which he said was a good representation of his fiddling.
“It had his zip on the bow,” Brooks said. “The record that I’ve got was made off of some old discs that his wife had saved. They was a record man visited him and talked with him and wanted him to make records but at that time they just paid you for it and that was it. And Ed said, ‘I won’t make a record unless you give me royalty on it. You’ll have to give me a percentage of what you make on it.’ So he never made no records.”
I wanted to know more about the “zip” in Ed’s bowing, but Brooks didn’t remember any specifics.
“No, at the time I met Ed Haley I was just a big young boy entering into manhood,” he said. “But I’ll never forget Ed Haley and his fiddle as long as I live. My my, he fiddled fast. He had the smoothest bow hand I ever heard. Soft as silk — soft as a woman’s voice. And he had fingers like a baby. You see, he never did work any. I think he went blind at about nine years old.”
I asked where Ed positioned the fiddle when playing and he said, “He held the fiddle high on his shoulder. Not on his arm nor not up under his chin.”
As for Ed’s tunes, Brooks said, “He played these old Clay County-Braxton-Calhoun-Gilmer tunes. These old John Cottrell tunes — ‘Mississippi Sawyer’. The old-time ‘Sally Goodin’ — mercy mercy he could play ‘Sally Goodin’. And ‘Sally Ann Johnson’.”
I asked Brooks where he used to see Ed and he basically repeated what he had told Gerry Milnes about him playing at the courthouse in Spencer, West Virginia. I wondered if there was a crowd around him.
“You betcha there was a crowd,” Brook said. “Generally, they was ten or fifteen men standing around up as close to old Ed as they could get. He was sitting on a chair and had that tin cup on the arm of that chair. Them nickels and dimes was just cracking in that tin cup. I even put a quarter in his tin cup. Course he’d empty it every little bit. That was back in the late 20s, early 30s. You take a tin cup half full of nickels and dimes and you could buy a pretty good sack of groceries with it. It wasn’t like it is today.”
In spite of Ed’s popularity, no one in the crowd danced.
“Them old farmers wouldn’t hit a lick with their feet,” Brooks said.
Brooks said he never heard Ed play the banjo but got really excited when I asked him about his singing.
“Oh, I’m glad you mentioned it,” he said. “The first time I heard ‘Stackolee’, Ed Haley played it and sung it sitting in the courthouse yard at Spencer. Now I’m telling you, he could make you hump up when he’d sing that song. And he knew it the old original way. That’s the first time I ever heard a man sing with a fiddle. Back in that day, it was seldom you heard a man do that. French Carpenter, he was a good singer with the fiddle. He was a good old-time fiddler. His daddy was named Solly Carpenter. Old Sol Carpenter’s favorite was Emery Bailey. He was fifty years ahead of his time.”
I asked if Emery Bailey was as good as Ed Haley and Brooks said, “He wasn’t as good as Ed Haley by no means. Ed Haley was far ahead of everybody at that day and time. But Emery Bailey was one among the best of the fiddlers in Calhoun-Braxton-Clay-Gilmer Counties. Now, there’s a contemporary of Ed Haley — have you heard of Clark Kessinger? He could fiddle just about… Well, not as good — there was nobody could fiddle as good as Ed Haley could, but I’ll tell you, Clark Kessinger could come close to him.”
Brooks pointed out that being a fiddler in those days wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“No, at that time the fiddle was looked down upon. People wouldn’t fool with a fiddler,” he said. “The fiddle seemed to be a disgrace. You take a man going along the road with a fiddle and he was looked down upon and talked about.”
Things got kind of quiet, then I asked him if Ed played a tune called “Jimmy Johnson Bring Your Jug Around the Hill”.
“Oh, you betcha,” Brooks said. “Ward Jarvis learned to play that just about as good as Ed played it, too. Ward Jarvis was among the best fiddlers in the country.”
Brooks said Ed also played “Dusty Miller” and “Lost Indian”. He played everything in the standard key.
“Now you take a lot of tunes that some of our country fiddlers — Laury Hicks and Ward Jarvis and others… French Carpenter. They would tune their fiddle and put it up in A — they called it the high key. Ed never changed his fiddle that I seen.”
Brooks didn’t remember Ed playing some of his most famous cross-key pieces, like “Old Sledge” or “Bonaparte’s Retreat”.
“Now them’s Sol Carpenter tunes that you’re talking about,” he said. “That’s back a generation behind Ed Haley.”
06 Wednesday Feb 2013
Tags
Brooks Hardway, Calhoun County, Chicken Reel, Clark Kessinger, Ed Haley, Emery Bailey, fiddler, fiddling, Frank Santy, Gerry Milnes, history, Homer Bailey, John McCune, Laury Hicks, music, Parkersburg Landing, Roane County, Senate Cottrell, Spencer, Stinson, Ward Jarvis, West Virginia, writing
At that point, Gerry asked Brooks about Ed Haley, and it was clear from his remarks that he thought he was an incredible fiddler.
“I’ve saw Ed Haley and stood and listened to him and sat in houses and listened to Ed Haley play,” he said. “Ed Haley is the best fiddler I ever listened to and I’ve heard a lot of them. And I’m a pretty good judge of what good fiddling is. And Ed Haley was the slickest, hottest… He bluegrassed it — he’s another fellow that was 50 years ahead of his time, like I mentioned about Emery Bailey. Ed Haley could lay the leather on that fiddle bow and so smooth it was out of this world.”
Brooks told Gerry about seeing Ed at the Roane County Courthouse in West Virginia before the Depression.
I walked up in the courthouse at Spencer one time back in the 20s and there was a crowd in the courthouse yard and there sat Ed Haley fiddling. He had a tin cup sitting there on a little stand. Ed Haley wouldn’t play unless that tin cup kept rattling with nickels and dimes. A dollar bill was out of this world in them days. I listened to Ed Haley play and Homer Bailey, Emery’s brother, was at the stock pen. The stock pen was just across the stream from the courthouse and I hurried to tell Homer. I wanted Homer to hear Ed Haley. I said, “Homer, Ed Haley’s over here at the courthouse yard playing the fiddle. Let’s go over and hear him play a tune or two.” And as we was crossing the bridge going back over the courthouse Homer said, “Plum honor, Brook. I wonder if he can fiddle ‘Chicken Reel’ as good as Emery can?” I said, “I don’t know but we’ll find out pretty soon now and you be the judge.”
And we walked up close to Ed. Ed wasn’t playing — there wasn’t no nickels going in the cup. I put a big Bull Moose nickel in the cup and rattled it and I said, “Ed, I’d like to hear you play ‘Chicken Reel’.” And he reared back and leveled off on that fiddle and you never heard such a ‘Chicken Reel’ in all my life. Homer turned sideways and bent over and held his head right forward towards Ed Haley and took that tune in. Shortly, when Ed quit playing, Homer looked at me with a big gold-toothed smile and said, “Plum honor, Emery can’t play it can he, Brook?” So he really took a spell over Ed Haley. But Emery was good on it but that was what Ed Haley would do for a fiddler. When you heard Ed play, that was it.
Brooks said to Gerry, “Now Emery Bailey never did see Ed Haley but Clark Kessinger copied Ed Haley fiddling. Ed Haley made a statement before he died. He said he hoped that his type of fiddling had rubbed off on somebody that could carry the thing along and keep it going. Well now, Clark Kessinger was the man. He could imitate Ed Haley’s stroke. But I had the privilege of seeing and hearing Ed Haley play. Nobody could fiddle as good as Ed Haley could, but Clark Kessinger could come close to him.”
Gerry asked Brooks what brought Ed into the Calhoun County area of West Virginia.
“I would say it was Laury Hicks,” Brooks said. “Laury Hicks was another fiddler. Laury Hicks had his own stroke. He never copied nobody. Laury Hicks was rough as a cob but my my he could put stuff on a fiddle that was out of this world. They lived on Stinson, over in that Nebo country. And he would go down to Charleston and bring Ed Haley up and keep him a week — maybe two. Ed enjoyed that. That was free board for Ed, you see. That day and time, it was nippity tuck to make a living if a man didn’t live on a patch of land somewhere. And Laury picked up a lot of his stuff, too.”
Brooks told about a time when Ed was staying with Hicks and visited John McCune, an old fiddler who lived “in that Nebo country” a half-mile below Hicks.
Now, Frank Santy told me this and Ward Jarvis and Senate Cottrell. They fiddled till midnight and Laury thought of old John McCune. He couldn’t play much but he had one tune that they said he was out of this world on. Laury thought of that and he said, “Ed, if you ain’t too tired I’d like to go down to John McCune’s and have him fiddle a tune for you.” Ed was going home the next morning and he said, “We may not have time to do that tomorrow.” And they went down to old John McCune’s John got out of the bed and fiddled that tune. And Ed Haley sat there and listened to it. When John got through, Ed Haley said, “Mr. McCune, you never need to hesitate to play that tune for anybody. There’s nobody living that can beat you playing that tune.” So that was an honor to John McCune on his number.
Brooks knew a little about Ed playing over Laury’s grave, which I had first read about on the Parkersburg Landing liner notes.
“When Laury Hicks was on his dying bed, he said, ‘I would like to have Ed Haley play a few tunes over my grave when I’m dead and gone.’ And Ed Haley made a special trip up to Stinson and fiddled over Laury Hicks’ grave. They said he played some of the sweetest tunes they ever listened to. He took a little group with him and he played the fiddle over Laury’s grave. That’s a true story.”
30 Wednesday Jan 2013
Posted in Big Sandy Valley, Ed Haley, Huntington, Music, Pikeville, Williamson
Tags
Appalachia, Beaver Creek, Big Sandy River, Bill Necessary, Carter Caves State Park, Curly Wellman, Ed Haley, Ella Haley, fiddler, fiddling, Floyd County, Fraley Family Festival, Grayson, history, Huntington, J P Fraley, John Hartford, Kentucky, Lawrence Haley, Levisa Fork, Lynn Davis, Mingo County, Molly O Day, Molly O'Day, Mona Hager, music, Nashville, Paintsville, Prestonsburg, Snake Chapman, Tug Fork, U.S. South, Ugee Postalwait, West Virginia, Williamson, writers, writing
A few months later, I met Lawrence Haley at the Fraley Family Festival at Carter Caves State Park near Grayson, Kentucky. Lawrence and I spoke with Bill Necessary, a musician who saw Ed and Ella all over the Big Sandy Valley when he was about twenty years old. He said they rode a train up Levisa Fork to Paintsville, the seat of government for Johnson County, where they spent the day playing music at the courthouse. From there, they continued by train to Prestonsburg, county seat of Floyd County. At times, they went into the nearby coal camps of Beaver Creek and played at theatres. From Prestonsburg, they took the train to Pikeville, the county seat of Pike County, and then continued over to the Tug River around Williamson, county seat of Mingo County, West Virginia.
“Aw, they took in the whole dern country up through there,” Bill said. “By the time they made that circuit, why it’d be time for them to come again. I guess they’d tour a couple of weeks. By God, I just followed them around, son.”
Lawrence didn’t remember going to all of those places with Ed but did remember staying with Molly O’Day’s family around Williamson. Bill said Molly’s widow Lynn Davis was still living around Huntington, West Virginia.
Bill said Ed always wore a long overcoat — “rain or shine” — and even played in it. He never sang or entered contests.
“He was pretty up to date on music at that time,” Bill said. “His notes were real clear, boy.”
Back in Nashville, I worked really hard trying to figure out Ed’s bowing. There was a lot of contradictory information to consider. Snake Chapman said he bowed short strokes, indicating a lot of sawstrokes and pronounced note separation. J.P. Fraley, Slim Clere, Lawrence and Mona said that he favored the long bow approach and only used short strokes when necessary, like for hoedowns. Preacher Gore, Ugee Postalwait and Curly Wellman spoke about how smooth his fiddling was, which kind of hinted at him being a long bow fiddler. All were probably accurate in some respect. It seemed plain to me that one reason why there were so many contrasting and sometimes completely opposite accounts of how or even what Ed played was that everyone I’d talked to witnessed him playing at different times and places during his musical evolution. All along the way, he was experimenting, looking for that “right combination” or playing the style needed to create the sounds popular in a certain area. Even what I could actually hear on his home recordings was really just a glimpse into the world of his fiddling as it existed at that moment toward the end of his lifetime.
27 Sunday Jan 2013
Tags
Appalachia, Ashland, blind, Clark Kessinger, Doc Holbrook, Ed Haley, Ella Haley, fiddle, fiddler, fiddlers, fiddling, Georgia Slim Rutland, history, John Hartford, Kentucky, mandolin, music, Slim Clere
The cassette player was giving Slim fits. I used the opportunity to ask him more about Ed. His answers came swift and sure, leaving little room for doubt.
Me: What kind of strings did Ed Haley use?
Slim: Believe it or not — gut. He used an aluminum-wound A, an aluminum-wound gut D and a silver-wound G. Professional stuff.
Me: Did Ed use a flat bridge or a round bridge?
Slim: I would say a round bridge.
Me: Did he ever talk about who he learned from or any of that?
Slim: No, but I think Clark Kessinger stole some of his stuff.
Me: When Ed played, was it loud?
Slim: He played very soft. He wasn’t rough.
I could hear Slim’s wife talking — she was helping him with the cassette player. Slim told her I was on the other end of the line and she got on the telephone and said, “Are you the one that does the riverboat things? I have seen you on Ralph Emery’s show. I have enjoyed you tremendously because you’re different.” That flattered me, of course, but I had more questions for Slim, who was still battling the tape player.
Me: Did you ever hear Ed sing?
Slim: No, but I’ve heard people say that he could play a guitar well.
Me: Was he easy to get to know?
Slim: He was a very congenial guy. You’d go around where he was playing, he’d hand you his fiddle. “Here,” he’d say. In other words, he was a very cordial guy.
Me: Did you ever see him play away from his wife?
Slim: He always had that woman with him. And when she played with him it seemed like she was straining to keep her eyes closed. She did not have a happy look on her, I remember that. But she played a Taterbug mandolin; they had a good tone.
I asked Slim where he first met Ed and he said, “I knew him a long, long time – maybe 25 years. Down in Ashland, Kentucky. Well, I know exactly where he used to live down there. He lived in a little old four-room house that had a bunch of steps going up on the porch there. And he used to sit out there on the porch and rock and fiddle. I think it was a kind of open rocker. I don’t think the chair had those high handrails on them. It didn’t matter to him. He relaxed that way, see.”
I asked Slim to describe how Ed looked.
“His hair was a kind of a dark brown, I believe,” he said. “He was fair complected and his hands were as soft as a rag. He had a little hand — and his fingers were pointed. It seems to me like his eyes were pretty well blanked out. He didn’t wear glasses, like most blind men do. And his wife didn’t either. He didn’t have too much action. Being blind, he didn’t have any personality or anything like that. You almost had to close your eyes to appreciate the guy. He always had that woman with him. She kept good time. Of course, she didn’t make any runs or nothing. And he had a son that was a good guitar player but he was ashamed to play with Ed and his mother because they were blind.”
Slim remembered Doc Holbrook, although he didn’t necessarily equate him as Ed’s good friend.
“Doc Holbrook is the one that loaned Clark Kessinger a fiddle to play on. See, there was years and years that Clark never did own a fiddle. And when Doc Holbrook wanted his fiddle back, Clark got mad at him for taking his fiddle away from him. Doc said, ‘You’ve had it all this time. Had a chance to buy it and never would.'” I wondered if this was the same fiddle that Ed had given Doc but Slim didn’t know about any of that.
Slim confirmed that Ed was acquainted with Georgia Slim Rutland, the popular radio fiddler. “Yeah, I bumped into Georgia Slim in Macon, Georgia in a contest in 1937 and I was telling him what a great country this was up here and when I came back up here, here he was.” I had heard that Georgia Slim moved to Ashland just to hear Ed Haley and Slim sort of agreed. “Well, he was down there a while. I remember I told him about Ed Haley myself.”
26 Saturday Jan 2013
Posted in Ed Haley
Tags
Appalachia, Ashland, blind, Clayton McMichen, Ed Haley, fiddler, history, John Hartford, Kentucky, life, music, Riley Puckett, Slim Clere, U.S. South, writing
Curly Wellman had also recommended that I talk with Slim Clere, an Ashland-born fiddler whose telephone number I secured from a friend, Curly Fox. As I told him about my interest in Ed Haley, he was very rigid and formal; he kept referring to me as “sir.” Things loosened up once I mentioned the name Curly Wellman and asked if he had learned anything from watching Ed play.
“Well, I would say yes that I did,” he said. “He had a style of his own. Now I picked up my backward bowing from him. What he would do, he noted out a lot of stuff. Like he was playing ‘Devil’s Dream’, he bowed it out with a straight slur all the way down. And you didn’t hear him return his bow from one end to the other. Ed was the smoothest violin player. Mostly always long bow, but you never would know it. He never made a bobble and he wasn’t a double-noter. Now, he was not a waltz man. He could play a waltz, though.”
Slim said Ed had a unique bow hold.
“What he did when he bowed his violin… You know when you put your finger under the frog on the stick? He gripped the whole thing with his thumb under the whole frog, like you’d do a butcher knife.” As for Ed’s fiddle placement: “He played it right on top of his collar bone there. He let it sit on his wrist.”
“He was hot stuff,” Slim said. “He didn’t know what a different position was — he just reached up and got it — but he knew where it was. His favorite tune was ‘Blackberry Blossom’ and ‘Cacklin’ Hen’. And there was nobody in the world that could beat him playing ‘Dill Pickle Rag’.”
Slim remembered playing against Ed in a contest one time at the Paramount Theatre in Ashland during the Depression.
“Every contest Ed ever got into, he won. They had a contest down there at the Paramount Theatre at Ashland one time — that’s our home. He and I was both born in the same place. There was four or five fiddle players in the contest and they drew numbers: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5… They didn’t allow anybody else to play the same tune the guy played before and his heart was set on playing ‘Cacklin’ Hen’. A guy got up and he said, ‘I’m gonna play ‘Cacklin’ Hen’.’ Ed smiled. I told the guy that was playing with me, I said, ‘He’s got a trick up his sleeve.’ He said, ‘Why?’ and I said, ‘This guy played his tune. When he looks like that, you know that he’s thinking and he’s gonna win.’ And they came around to Ed and said, ‘What’re you gonna play Mr. Haley?’ and he said, ‘I’m gonna play ‘The Speckled Pullet’ and she cackles, too.’ And he played ‘Cacklin’ Hen’ and cackled himself into first place. I thought that was the cutest thing I ever heard in my life.”
Slim’s memories of Ed were broken up with stories about his own musical career. We knew a lot of the same people. I asked him again about Ed playing in contests — something no one seemed to remember in great detail.
“Oh yea, he played in contests all the time,” Slim said. “He liked the money. They had them a bunch of theatres in Ashland. They had the Paramount and the Grand and the Capital and they would have contests in county fairs. Then he used to do a lot of barnstorming on courthouse steps. See, by being blind he didn’t have to get permits or anything like that.”
Slim said he bumped into Ed all over West Virginia.
“I’ve seen him in Logan, I’ve seen him in Williamson, in Grantsville, seen him in Spencer, in Charleston, Huntington. And he could always smell me when I was around him. He’d say, ‘I smell Slim Clere.’ Everybody had a smell to him and all you had to do was say, ‘How’re you doing, Ed?’ and he knew you by name just right now, see. He was an old trooper. He knew what it was all about. He wasn’t a dummy. He used to come down there to Central Park and I’d go down there and sometimes I’d play his fiddle. He liked to hear other people play because he got his ideas that way.”
Slim said he wanted to play me some music by Ernie Hodges, an old fiddling teacher who he felt was as good as Ed. I could hear him over the telephone trying to get a tape working in the cassette player — buttons popping, an occasional “dad-burn-it,” etc. As he struggled with the tape, he talked more about some of the people he’d worked with back in his radio days. “Curly Fox, he was with the old school that I was with. McMichen and John Carson and Gid Tanner — all of them. I worked with them down in Georgia. I worked with Bert Layne and Riley Puckett in Gary, Indiana, till they sent for me to come to Atlanta. Ed reminded me so much of Riley.”
21 Monday Jan 2013
Posted in Ed Haley
Tags
culture, Doc Holbrook, Ed Haley, fiddler, history, Ironton, John Hartford, Lawrence Haley, life, Mona Haley, music, Ohio, U.S. South, writing
I asked Mona and Lawrence how they passed the day when they were young and traveling with Ed.
“Oh, I’d probably go to a movie,” Mona said. “Mom would give me money and send me to a walk-in movie. Just go get something to eat. Or sit around and watch them. All the people was standing around and most of them was dancing.”
She and Lawrence said Ella kept a cup attached to the head of her mandolin to catch the money; Pop only put a hat out when playing by himself. He was very serious about his work, Mona said.
“Most of the time he worked hard,” she said. “When he was working he wouldn’t drink.”
Lawrence agreed, “He didn’t get much to drink, you know, when he was sitting out on the courthouse square — they wouldn’t have stood for that, for one thing. Maybe at a fair or something he might take a drink or two. Or out on the streets.”
“Or unless he was at a square dance and somebody would bring him a beer and that’d get him started,” Mona added.
Mona remembered Pop getting in “a lot” of fiddlers’ contests but didn’t recall any specifically. She said he paid Doc Holbrook for her delivery with 25 dollars and a silver cup he’d won in a contest.
“We never could get that silver cup back,” she said.
Lawrence figured Doc’s son had the cup.
“He’s got a fiddle of Pop’s, too,” he said. “He’s right in Ashland.”
I wanted to know more about Ed being in contests but everyone kind of drew a blank about it. Mona joked with Lawrence about a time they were in a contest as children.
“Mom made up a song for me,” she said. “Had me a dress made.”
I got her to sing it for me.
See my pretty ruffled dress.
See my pretty pocket.
See my pretty handkerchief.
See my pretty locket.
Lawrence said Mona won first prize in the contest and I was very quick to tell her that to be Ed’s daughter she probably had a lot of musical talent. She wasn’t willing to admit that but said, “I think I got more than any of the boys had.”
I asked if she ever tried playing the fiddle and she said, “Yeah, I could play ‘Over the Waves’ on a fiddle and that’s it.”
Okay — I was very curious.
I asked if she could show me how Ed held the bow and she said sure — that he held it like she holds a pool stick, “real loose with straight fingers.”
I reached my fiddle and bow to her and she showed me how Pop held the bow (little finger on top of the stick), then started playing “Over the Waves”. Her hands had an incredible economy of motion — almost as if they were “miniaturizing” the music. In watching her, I got a real feel for Ed’s technique and it was hard not to imagine Ed playing in a way similar to Vassar Clements. Mona clapped when I played for her but said I only played “a little bit” like Pop.
Writings from my travels and experiences. High and fine literature is wine, and mine is only water; but everybody likes water. Mark Twain
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Genealogy and History in North Carolina and Beyond
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