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In Search of Ed Haley 155

21 Wednesday Aug 2013

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Benjamin Wade Walker, the man who organized the Milt Haley burial party, was born in June of 1851 in southwest Virginia. He came to Harts when he was very young with his mother Marinda (Steele) Davis and a few siblings. The family settled near Green Shoal where Marinda soon married Baptist T. Fry. Baptist was the uncle of George Fry — at whose home the Haley-McCoy murders took place — as well as his closest neighbor in 1889. Walker, then, was a step-first cousin (and former neighbor) to George Fry, perhaps explaining why he was inclined to remove Milt Haley and Green McCoy’s battered corpses from his yard and bury them.

Around 1877, Walker married Juliantes Adkins, a daughter of Enos “Jake” and Leticia McKibbon (Toney) Adkins, large landowners at Douglas Branch. Julia was also a first cousin to Al Brumfield. Mr. and Mrs. Walker settled on Walker’s Branch at Low Gap near West Fork. About 1883, Hezekiah “Carr” Adkins sold them this property, 25 acres on Guyan River originally part of a 260-acre 1855 survey for Abner Vance. The Walkers raised nine daughters and a grandson.

In 1889, following Milt and Green’s murder, Walker risked harm by organizing a burial party for them. He reportedly buried the men on his property. A year later, in 1890, he was ordained a minister in the United Baptist Church. In 1898, he was a founding member of the Low Gap United Baptist Church, which met for over forty years in a school building that still stands near the site of the old Walker homestead. He was president of the district board of education in 1902, 1911, 1912, and 1914. He died in December 1917.

“Rev. B.W. Walker, one of the best known citizens of the county, died at his home at Ferrellsburg, on last Wednesday, after a lingering illness of dropsy,” according to a front page story in the Lincoln Republican dated Thursday, January 3, 1918. “Rev. Walker was a great worker in the Master’s vineyard and had been a consistent Christian for years. He is survived by his wife and eight daughters. Burial services were conducted at the Low Gap cemetery.”

At the funeral, Walker’s beard was full of snow.

Battle of Point Pleasant

20 Tuesday Aug 2013

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IMG_7243

Monument commemorating the Battle of Point Pleasant, which occurred between Native Americans and Virginians at the mouth of the Kanawha River on October 10, 1774. Considered the key event of Dunmore’s War, some regard it as the first battle of the American Revolution. Photo taken in the spring of 2013.

In Search of Ed Haley 154

20 Tuesday Aug 2013

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Not long after my call to Wilson, I received word from Bruce Nemerov that he’d finished dubbing about a third of Haley’s recordings. He sent me cassette copies, along with an audio log (which gave detailed information about the records). I listened extra close to the Nemerov copies and noticed how Ed’s playing gave the impression of being very notey, as I had originally interpreted it. This was, I determined, somewhat of an illusion.

“I don’t think your dad played as many notes as he sounds like he’s playing,” I said to Lawrence by telephone. “It sounds to me like he’s putting so much into some of those notes that they sound like they’re more than one note.”

Lawrence said, “He might be doing that, I really don’t know. The only thing I’ll go on is what it sounds to me like. I’ve seen and heard some fiddlers that it just seems like they draw a bow completely just to get one little note. Pop could get a dozen or two out of a draw of the bow. It seemed to me like that his fingers was all the time moving. He was probably touching the strings so lightly a lot of people might not have even heard some of the notes. That’s just my speculation. Pop knew how to use that bow to get force whenever he needed it and when to let up on it and to let a general sweet note come through.”

Lawrence continued, “I guess that’s what helped him in his technique that nobody else seemed to a been able to master. They might have been seeing him make the notes, but how he was pressuring the bow they might not have paid that much attention. You would have to have, I guess, a camera of some sort on it so you could go back and study what was done. You’d hear a note then you’d watch the finger and then you’d go back and hear the note and watch the bow. Maybe the little change in the muscles in his fingers or hand or wrist or something. You’d have to watch all of that and just keep going back and just keep going over it and going over it. But he got them in there, I know that. All of them wasn’t exactly crisp and clear. You could probably hear it in some of the records. I wish you’d been able to have met my dad. I think he’d a liked you and I think he’d a taught you all he could — all you was capable of or all he was capable of teaching you anyway.”

Lawrence said, “I don’t know how many fiddlers that I wouldn’t even have an idea of their names that used to come around to watch Pop play. They wasn’t there all the time, I don’t think, for the entertainment. They was there to learn some of the stuff, too. We used to go out on Route 5 about eight or ten miles. They was an old man out there that played and he said, ‘Ed, come see me whenever you can.’ He had a boy that had polio or something — had a short leg. It was a typical Kentucky hillside home. It had a big banistered front porch. And we used to go out there and maybe spend the weekend with these people. They’d just sit out there and play on the front porch. I can’t remember their name. I remember seeing the boy — he was quite a bit older than me at the time. He was almost a full-grown man. He’d walk with his hand on his knee a lot to keep that leg from giving way. That’s about all I can remember. Course I was probably eating better than I was if I had been home. People out in the country like that have usually got a cow and a good garden or good canned stuff anyway. These people were good people. They liked my dad, too.”

I asked Lawrence how things were going in his family and he seemed a little down about Mona and Noah.

“Mona passes our house just about every day — at the foot of the hill down here — and won’t even stop by,” he said. “Noah, whenever he’s in town, he’ll usually stop by. He’s back in Cleveland and got him an apartment and he likes it back up there. See, Noah gets in trouble every now and then; he has to move. I think he gets in gambling debts. He got down in Newport one year — it might have been eight or ten years after he got married — and got down there on a three or four day drinking and gambling spree and they liked to beat him to death down there, I think, ’cause he couldn’t come up with his tab on his gambling. So I think he gets in that condition every now and then and he has to take off somewhere else.”

I asked if Mona was a gambler and Lawrence said, “Now Mona, she goes over in Catlettsburg and she plays Soda Rum or something like that and gambles on that. I quit gambling of all sorts before I was married. Whenever Noah and Clyde and Jack would come around and want to play nickel-and-dime poker, I’d say, ‘Well, Pat will give you a blanket. You guys go right on outside, spread it out on the lawn, and play your nickel-and-dime poker out there.’ I wouldn’t let them play it in the house.”

A few days after speaking with Lawrence, I received word from Pat that he’d suffered a massive heart attack. It came as quite a shock, even though his health had been failing since my last trip to Ashland. Pat said the doctors didn’t give him long to live.

In Search of Ed Haley 153

19 Monday Aug 2013

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I called Wilson Douglas a few weeks later, still blown away by Ed’s incredibly fast fiddling on the Holbrook recordings. I raved about it to Wilson — how it was like a “rush of music” — who showed no surprise that he fiddled with so much of what he called “drive.”

“Now, they’s another tune I thought about that Haley played, he called it ‘Dance Around Molly’,” he said. “My god, Haley could play that. It’s a real good tune. Got a lot of drive about it. ‘They’s so many tunes,’ Ed said, ‘a man can’t learn them all, but I guess he can keep trying.'”

I played Ed’s recording of “Fifteen Days in Georgia” for Wilson and asked him if he played that fast at Laury Hicks’ house.

“About the same, John,” he said. “He was a great hand to play a tune in whatever time it was pitched in. He didn’t overplay his notes. And he played the solid driving note. He didn’t skip over it like skipping over with a motor boat.”

Wilson said one of the tunes that Ed played at Laury Hicks’ grave was “Arkansas Traveler”.

In Search of Ed Haley 152

17 Saturday Aug 2013

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I asked Lawrence about Ed’s friends — if he remembered any of the fiddlers who came to see his father.

“I may have met a bunch of them and seen more than what you’ve got named, but as far as knowing them by name I wouldn’t know them by name,” he said. “And I probably wouldn’t recognize 90-percent of them by sight, either. Well Ed Morrison, I know Pop knew him. I didn’t know he was a fiddler, though. I just knew he was somebody that’d come around Pop every now and then. It slowed down quite a bit in my teenage years when we moved down close to town. Now, I don’t know if that was because of his heart condition or what John, I really don’t know. I think Pop had got a little bit grouchy about some things. If it was somebody he appreciated and liked he might play with them, but a lot of times, ‘I just don’t feel like it.’ If they come, they come to get him to get him to go somewhere. It might be 50 miles away or it might be two houses away. That was usually the way it was.”

I wondered if there was a big difference in Ed’s fiddling as he got older.

“Well, not really too much in his fiddling,” Lawrence said. “You know he’d just get tired. He wouldn’t play quite as much a lot of times. I know the last time we took him anywhere my brother Noah wanted him to play for one of his friend’s wedding. I think it was just get-together afterwards — sort of like a reception — only these kids just had a bunch of friends and some beer and stuff. And Pop sat there and he played and played and played and finally — they was giving him beer, I think — and it must’ve worked on him and he just fell over asleep, almost in a semi-doze. You could talk to him and he’d answer you, but he couldn’t hold a bow up any longer. He just more or less sat there in a sleepy daze. And me and my wife took him home, and that was it. He’d play some, but he wouldn’t play much for anybody after that.”

I asked Lawrence if Ed ever just sat around the house and played by himself and he said, “Well, I’ve seen him do that. He’d sit out on the front porch… There at 17th Street, we had a great wide banister and he’d sit up on that banister and play. It was pretty wide. He’d sit on that banister where he could spit out off a the porch and chew his tobacco and play for his own satisfaction. He might’ve been listening to something on the radio and come out and try it a few times and maybe play something he thought he might’ve got rusty on or some of his own music that he thought he needed to practice up on. I’ve seen him do that maybe for two or three hours at a time. The last time I reckon I seen him out like that, he was playing the banjo, though. He wasn’t playing the fiddle.”

Lawrence reminded me that his father liked to chew tobacco.

“He usually carried a can around the house like a brown coffee can as a spittoon,” he said. “He’d go out to farmers he knew and get him a few leaves of tobacco and make him a few twists, you know. It was twisted up like a double roll and he’d cut him off a piece of that and it just dry as a bone and stick that in his jaw. He always carried a little plug of Brown Mule or something like that to kinda take the dryness out of that twist or put a little sweetening in it or something. He would cut him off a little bit of sweetener and use that dry twist he’d twisted up hisself. In fact, he had a little chest he kept most of his tobacco products in. He might have 50 or 75 twists of tobacco and, you know, other products of tobacco. He smoked a pipe too, so he would have crumbled tobacco in cans and things. And he would put slices of apple — certain types of apple — in with it to kinda flavor it and things, and he kept it all in this one chest he had.”

Wow — I’d never heard or thought about Ed having a chest (or really anything else) before. I asked Lawrence if Ed had many possessions and he said, “Not a great deal, John. Just his clothes and just his violin and just his dinner table and I guess a bed to sleep in. What really would a blind man want other than that? Pop carried a good sharp knife. Did his own honing of his knife and things like that. He would whet it on a concrete banister if he couldn’t find a regular rock. He might’ve had a rock in that chest, I don’t know.”

Back to Ed’s chest — how big was it?

“Ah, it was about the size of an Army footlocker,” Lawrence said. “Just a little bit smaller than that, only it was just made out of wood. It wasn’t made out of plywood. It was made out of tongue-and-groove board. It’s long gone.”

I asked Lawrence how many fiddles his father owned in his life and he said, “I really don’t know. I imagine he had four or five dozen somebody had give him, or he’d bought or ordered. The fancy fiddles with all the inlay and all that stuff, I don’t think he’d a cared for that at all. It wouldn’t a made a bit of sense to him to have that. If he could just get the mellow sound or the sound that he liked out of it… Now, I don’t know whether it was mellow he liked or what. It was kind of a harsh music he played, I guess. I know he could get mellow music whenever he wanted it and he could make a fiddle slur or do whatever he wanted to with it.”

Lawrence paused and said, “I’m trying to tell you: a lot of stuff I don’t know about my dad. About the only thing that I really know, they was no fiddler around this area that could come any ways close to him that I ever heard. Other than that, he got out amongst his friends I guess and he came home with stories to tell and stuff, and I guess he told Mom if she wanted to hear them and if he didn’t want to tell her anything he didn’t tell her anything. Sometimes he’d come home with money, sometimes he might not come home with any money in his pockets.”

In Search of Ed Haley 150

13 Tuesday Aug 2013

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After speaking with Maxine, I called Wilson Douglas to ask him about Edden Hammons, regarded by many as a top old-time fiddler in the early part of the century.

“Well now, I’m gonna tell you about Edden Hammons, John,” he said. “Now I heard him fiddle one time in Webster Springs, I believe it was, about ’48 or ’49. And something happened. They broke the concert up and he went home. Now that’s the only time I ever heard him in person, but by god he was one of the best old-time fiddlers in the state. And Burl Hammons, his nephew, I don’t think anybody coulda beat him on the old tunes. And Sherman — they could all play to tell you the truth.”

I asked if Ed knew Hammons.

“Well, I’d say distantly he did,” he said. “He had a lot of Ed Haley’s bow in a way, but he didn’t know the tunes that Ed Haley knew. But now Edden Hammons had a lot of bow power.”

What about Uncle Jack McElwain?

“Yeah, I knew about him, John,” he said. “But now I never heard the man play, but my father said he was a powerful fiddle player. My dad was around him a lot. However, he said he was in no comparison with Edden Hammons.”

I asked Wilson if Ed ever played for dances without any second, and he said, “Well, I seen him play about an hour one time over at Hicks’ and he didn’t need no second. You know, playing the fiddle for a square dance, Haley taught me something there I’ve never forgot: you’ve got to get the fiddle with the rhythm and the fiddle with the caller. You’ve got to get them all in coordination, and Haley done just that.”

In those days, did the caller dance while he called or did he call from the side?

“Well now, they was an old gentlemen — he was a hell of a banjo player — by the name of old man Tom McCune. Now brother, he could call and dance right along with it. He was the best I ever heard. That banjo player that played with Ed Haley, I believe it was Tom Cheneth. Lived down Walker. Him and that Tom McCune I guess, was two of the best in the state that was clawhammer, you know. He lived at what’s called the mouth of Walnut. Then he turned over, I think maybe he lived over in what they call that Nicut country. You know, Ed Haley didn’t have no bad musicians with him.”

Wilson said, “I’ll tell you what, John. Ed Haley would not play a lick if they was somebody else a fiddling. He’d sit there and work his fingers and listen like a fox a listening for a bunch of chickens, you know. By god, he had an ‘awful’ ear. He’d just sit there, and he’d command them sometimes. Sometimes he wouldn’t say nothing. It depended on how he felt, you know?”

In Search of Ed Haley 149

12 Monday Aug 2013

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During the time I was in touch with Lawrence Haley, I received a letter in the mail from Maxine McClain of Newton, West Virginia.

“When I was 12 yrs. old there was a blind Ed Haley and blind wife Ella, would travel from Ashland, Ky. to our region in Roane Co. and spend a lot of time with my family,” she wrote. “They were wonderful people and we loved them dearly. They had a son Ralph who traveled with them. I am 76 years old now so that has been a long time ago but I remember them very well.”

I gave Maxine a call and she said, “I always loved music and I do still. My daddy, Lindsay Morris, was a musician and he used to travel in Clay County and he fiddled at what they called fiddlers’ contest.”

I asked her if Ed ever played with her father and she said, “Yes, he would play with him there at home. Ed would have me to sit down by him and he’d want to feel my fingers and he always told me I had fiddling fingers, but I don’t believe I did for I never could fiddle very much. They’d stay for days you know and my dad and mom would take them around. Back then, people would gather at the old country store at a place called Elana. People would come for miles to hear them because it was just sort of unusual to have someone that way in the neighborhood. They wasn’t room in the store to dance. I remember Ella singing ‘Are You From Dixie’? We was kinda raised up with music.”

In Search of Ed Haley 148

11 Sunday Aug 2013

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Ella provided most of the family entertainment.

“Pop never tried to sing any songs to us,” Lawrence said. “Mom sang songs. She had one she called ‘The Coo Coo’s Nest’. A lot of religious songs, little nonsense songs and rhymes, like ‘The Watermelon’. She had a principal, I guess, or the headmaster of the school — Dr. Huntington, or something like that — he’d come into the class and he’d have a reading session with them. Read them a story and he would read all the parts in different voices. And my Mom kinda got to using inflections a lot more than any of us would. Like, she used to read us Robin Hood from her Braille magazine.”

I wondered if Ed ever entertained the kids with stories.

“Ah, maybe a ghost story or two,” Lawrence said. “He’s telling one time about somebody a riding a… I guess it was a story he heard when he was a kid, too. Somebody was coming down Trace Fork from somewhere riding a horse way up above where Aunt Liza and them lived. Said they began to hear this rattling kind of sound, this guy did. And they said he began to speed up his horse a little bit, and this rattling kept getting louder and louder and he’s a going faster and faster. Said all at once this thing jumped right up on the horse behind him and locked its arms up around him and just stayed with him forever it seemed like. And just all at once got off. Pop could tell stories like that, now. Those stories kinda filled our lonely days, too. That was the thing that they did back in them days, I guess, was tell stories, but Aunt Liza never told any stories like that, or Uncle Peter didn’t.”

I asked Lawrence if Ed “worked on” tunes at home and he said, “Well, yeah, he’d kinda play the general outline and then maybe start working on some of the real, I guess, it would be the depth of a piece of music that he wanted to put in there. Depth or body to it. He’d add to it. But mostly he might just hear a piece of music and maybe just hit every fifth or sixth note or something just to get an outline of how he wanted to play it.”

I don’t think Lawrence realized what an important and sophisticated piece of musical insight that was. What he meant by saying that Ed hit “every fifth or six note” was that he was coming down on the big accent notes that made up the “spine” of the tune. I later wondered if Lawrence’s statement was based on observations or genetic memory or both.

I asked him about Ed playing for dances, but he said those memories had left his mind years ago.

“I was walking from Clay over to Clay Junction there that one night and there was nothing but the moon — it was a full moon — but it was a hazy… It had a big ring around the moon. It was the first time I ever noticed that. Now I can’t remember where we came from, but I know that they had their instruments with them. I guess we’s a gonna go back up on Stinson up there to Aunt Minnie’s. I think this was after the time of Laury’s death, so I guess we’s heading back that way. And if we could get to Clay Junction there, we’s supposed to get a ride or something, I think. Like I say, I can’t remember what kind of function we’d come from, and what we did after that. My recollection of that was walking down this highway — a dark night, except for a hazy, ringed moon. Now that hazy ringed moon kept that in my mind all these years. The rest of it I don’t know. So there’s a lot of stuff that you forget and you never remember.”

Whirlwind Post Office

11 Sunday Aug 2013

Posted by in Big Harts Creek, Whirlwind

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Between 1909 and 1952, Whirlwind Post Office served the postal needs for residents of Upper Hart. What follows is an attempt to reconstruct a history of its postmasters and its locations. All information is based on official post office records located in Washington, DC.

In 1908, Lawrence W. Riddle petitioned the Postmaster General for the creation of a post office called “Zama” in the Upper Hart section of Logan County, West Virginia. This proposed post office would be situated twenty feet west of Harts Creek, three miles west of the Norfolk & Southern Railway, six miles northwest of McCloud Post Office, seven miles south of the town of Dingess in Mingo County, and eight miles east of the Guyandotte River. The total population to be supplied with mail would be 200 persons. In January 1909, the First Assistant Postmaster General responded in a letter that marked out the proposed name of this post office, “Zama,” and replaced it with “Whirlwind.”

Early postmasters at Whirlwind included: Lawrence W. Riddle (March 31, 1910, appointed; April 25, 1910, commissioned; May 16, 1910, took possession), Moses Tomblin (February 13, 1911, appointed), Sol Riddle (May 7, 1913, order; May 25, 1911, appointed; June 12, 1911, commissioned; June 30, 1911, took possession), and James Mullins (April 30, 1914, confirmed; May 19, 1914, commission signed and mailed; May 23, 1914, assumed charge). On June 26, 1925, Mr. Mullins requested to change the site of the post office to a spot 600 feet southwest of its current location.

Lindsey Blair next served as postmaster (April 28, 1938, confirmed; May 6, 1938, commission signed and mailed; May 11, 1938, assumed charge; resigned without prejudice). On July 15, 1938, Mr. Blair requested to relocate the post office to a spot 1652 feet east of its present location.

Shirley Smith replaced Mr. Blair (October 22 or 23, 1940, assumed charge; October 26, 1940, appointed acting postmaster). In a letter dated October 1940, Smith requested a relocation of the post office. The new post office location would be 5/10th of a mile southeast from the old location, 100 feet west of Harts Creek, nine miles southwest of Dingess, ten miles north of Harts, twelve miles southeast of Verdunville, and fourteen miles from Logan. Ms. Smith asked that the post office be relocated “so I can take care of it at my own home.” Twenty-eight patrons resided within a one-mile radius. Postmasters in this era include: Shirley Smith (December 5, 1940, confirmed; December 27, 1940, commission signed and mailed; December 31, 1940, took possession; January 1, 1941, assumed charge; resigned without prejudice) and Pearl Lowe (July 11 or 12, 1941, assumed charge).

In a letter dated August 19, 1941, Pearl Lowe wrote the Postmaster General requesting that Whirlwind Post Office relocate to a new site. The proposed location would be one mile north of its present location, about forty feet west of Harts Creek, two miles southwest of a county line, nine miles southwest from Dingess, nine miles south of Verdunville, ten miles from the Guyandotte River, and ten miles from Chapmanville. This location was approved and became effective as of September 18, 1941.

Pearl Lowe served as the only postmaster at this location: (September 19, 1941, appointed acting postmaster; November 5, 1941, appointed postmaster; January 2, 1942, commission signed and mailed; January 22 or 23, 1942, assumed charge). On April 14, 1942, Mrs. Lowe requested that the post office be relocated to a new site 1500 feet east of the present location. Shortly thereafter, on July 6, she requested that it be relocated to a site 1/8 mile away. This new spot would be 300 feet east of Harts Creek, nine miles southwest of Dingess, eleven miles northeast of Harts, and twelve miles southeast of Verdunville. On April 8, 1944, Ms. Lowe requested the site be moved 1/2 mile to the east. This latter site became effective May 1, 1944.

On July 15, 1944, someone (the paperwork does not specify who) requested that the post office be relocated 1/4 mile south of the old post office, about forty feet east of Harts Creek, two miles from Mingo County, nine miles southwest of Dingess, ten miles north of Harts, eleven miles south of Verdunville, thirteen miles east of the Guyandotte River, and thirteen miles northeast of Chapmanville.

Tema Workman took possession of the Whirlwind Post Office on February 28, 1947 and was “appointed” on March 12, 1947. On April 22, 1947, Ms. Workman requested that the post office be relocated to a site one mile north of the old location. The new post office would be 1/2 miles from Mingo County, 7 1/2 miles south of Dingess, 8 1/10 miles northeast of Shively, 9 1/2 miles north of Harts, and 10 8/10 miles southeast of Verdunville. This letter cites another name which the community was then known: Bulwark.

Subsequent postmasters included: Tema Workman (June 16, 1947, confirmed; July 11, 1947, commission signed and mailed; September 30, 1947, took possession; October 1, 1947, assumed charge; removed) and Verlie Smith (November 5, 1947, assumed charge; November 5, 1949, took possession; November 15, 1949, appointed).

On November 16, 1949, W.J. Carle, Post Office Inspector, wrote a letter requesting the post office be moved to a site one mile southeast. The new location would be situated two miles from Mingo County, 6 1/2 miles east of Shively, 8 1/2 miles north of Harts, ten miles south of Dingess, and fourteen miles west of Kirk.

Ernestine Tomblin served as the final postmaster at Whirlwind (March 31, 1951, assumed charge; April 17, 1951, appointed).

Whirlwind Post Office was discontinued on January 5, 1952, effective January 31, 1952, “mail to Harts.” Documents cite the post office as “unnecessary.” An investigation determined “reestablishment unnecessary” on May 1, 1953.

In Search of Ed Haley 147

09 Friday Aug 2013

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Throughout the summer of 1994, Lawrence Haley and I spoke frequently on the telephone. I was excited about some of the information I’d been getting in the mail from Brandon Kirk, the Harts genealogist. Lawrence seemed curious about it too, since Ed’s family background was something he’d never known a lot about.

“I don’t know that much about it, because you know how ignorant I was about the whole affair when I first went up there with you,” he said. “I didn’t know a heck of a lot about my dad’s people or anything. I seen their faces and heard them talked about, but I wouldn’t know them if I’d walk nose to nose with some of them. We never probably asked a lot of the questions we should have asked of Mom and Pop while they were still alive. I know my mother would have told me a heck of a lot more. They wasn’t no reason why I shouldn’t have asked her questions. It was just one of those things you accept, I guess, and don’t question.”

Lawrence paused, then said, “So we didn’t find out a lot about the history of our families. I really didn’t know that much about my mother’s people, either. I know she had some people out in Wrigley, Kentucky. We used to go up there every now and then. Go to a little self-contained train — back in them days, it was just a one-car thing; they called it the ‘Blue Goose’ — and it run on a little ol’ track up into Elliott County, and up through there. And that’s about all I knew. That’s the place where I found the ‘milk well.’ I thought this gal was bringing that milk right up out of the milk well in the yard. And I told Mom about it and she said, ‘Well, that’s the way they keep the milk cool. They stick it in a bucket or something — a lard bucket — and put the lid on it, stick it down in the well, and let it cool like that.’ Anyway, that’s the reason that I guess we just accepted things as children mostly, because they weren’t like that. We accepted it as, ‘That’s life.'”

Lawrence and I got on the subject of Ed’s mother, which led us into a whole variety of topics. I asked if he knew what year she was supposed to’ve been killed and he said, “I really couldn’t tell you that, John. If it happened that way, I imagine they’d been something in The Logan Banner or The Huntington Herald-Dispatch.”

Lawrence said he wasn’t even sure where he got the story of her death.

“No, I never heard Pop talk about it,” he said. “I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know who told who and how it got started. Between me and Mona and Jack and Patsy and Noah, I guess. Noah didn’t seem like he showed as much interest in things like that as… I know whenever he’d go up there he’d get homesick. He didn’t like it up there too much. I remember there used to be a paw paw patch we’d all go down to where Trace and Harts join there. We’d go down there and cut slips of that paw paw — eat the paw paws when they’s in season — and make whistles out of them, you know. They had a slick bark. You could skin off a chunk of bark at the right time of the year and then you’d take and plug each end of that bark and make you a nice little whistle out of it. Then take the bark and plaid it into whips and things. Just something to occupy a kid’s time that didn’t have a heck of a lot to do. We invented a lot of things like that. I guess Joe showed us a lot of that stuff.”

In Search of Ed Haley 146

08 Thursday Aug 2013

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In 1855 Green Shoal became the first post office in the Harts area, with Burbus C. Toney acting as postmaster. At that time, the Kiah’s Creek United Baptist Church in nearby Wayne County served the religious needs of the community. Politically, the area was overwhelmingly Democratic and aligned itself with the South during the War Between the States. One study of veterans places the percentage of Harts-area Confederate veterans at 90 percent. Locals were more concerned with states’ rights than slavery; there were fewer than thirty slaves in the entire area just prior to the war. Likewise, in 1890, there were only seven Union veterans living in Harts; most had arrived after the war.

In the late 1860s, Harts residents continued their efforts to improve educational opportunities for young people by constructing a school on the West Fork of Harts Creek.

“The school started in 1865 in an old hunter’s cabin,” said Kile Topping. “The teacher had to take guns with him to school because there were wild animals in the woods. All the students studied out loud and listened to the squirrels jump off of trees on to the top of the cabin. There was no floor in the school and students would stump their toes on briers.”

In 1867 Lincoln County was formed from Cabell County and, within two years, had pulled the lower section of Harts Creek within its boundaries from Logan County and Wayne County. The formation of this new county bisected the community of Harts into halves: those who lived on the upper part of the creek — such as Jackson Mullins — were in the Chapmanville District of Logan County and those who lived along the lower portion of the creek — such as Al Brumfield — were in the Harts Creek District of Lincoln County.

Within a short time, the people of Harts were caught in the industrial wave overtaking the nation. The arrival of the timber industry changed the community forever from a stereotypical mountain agricultural-oriented place to one of small-scale commerce. Settlements with impressive store buildings and homes formed along the riverbank and at the mouth of local creeks. New people moved into the area from eastern Kentucky looking for work in timber, helping to change the genealogical make-up of the community. Flatboats, pushboats, small steamboats, ferry boats, and rafting were all themes from this era.

Things were looking up in terms of education as well. “Harts Creek Township has never had a fair opportunity to place her schools in good condition,” wrote county superintendent James Alford in 1871. “A portion of this township formerly belonged to Logan county, and a portion to Wayne county, and school affairs became considerably confused in making this township. But the citizens are manifesting great interest in their schools, and will no doubt, at no distant day, have their schools in full operation; and, with the assistance of competent teachers, make great improvement in the youth of the township.” It was worse in Logan County: “Chapmansville Township, in which I reside, has had no schools taught in it until the last year,” wrote county superintendent C.S. Stone. “The opposers of the free schools fought the thing back until last year, when the cause of education gained the ascendancy.”

In 1871, Harts area teachers were Canaan Adkins, Stephen Lambert, and William T. Fowler, and (likely) Elisha W. Vance and J.W. Gartin. All had No. 5 Certificates (the lowest) except for Lambert, who had a 4. Teachers listed in educational directories for the following year were: Caleb Headlee, Thomas P. Moore, Isaac Nelson, Henry Spears, V.B. Prince and (possibly) Elias Adkins, Philip Hager and J.B. Pullen. Moore, Prince and Spears had a No. 4 Certificate, while Nelson had a 5 and Headlee had “no grade on certificate.”

The county superintendent was full of compliments for the Harts area in his 1872 report. “Hart’s creek has also built two school houses this year,” wrote Superintendent J.W. Holt. “The buildings are of logs, but are really neatly and substantially gotten up, and reflect credit upon the contractors and the township. This township is exhibiting a very commendable spirit upon the subject of education, and in the course of another year will have her school affairs in good working order.” Attendance was low in the region. In 1872, Superintendent C.S. Stone of Logan County wrote: “It appears that the mass of the people do not take hold of the thing right; they do not appreciate properly the great benefit of a general education. They generally admit that schools are the thing they want, and that public schools are the only means that will diffuse a general education, but there is something in its operative influences not altogether right.”

In the late 1870s, an agitated superintendent Marion Vickers wrote of the educational situation: “There is a great irregularity in the attendance of our children. Is not this non-attendance too large for an enlightenend community? How can the children of our country receive the many benefits of our school system, unless they are sent to school. Should not parents consider that they are depriving their children of that which will be of more benefit to them than anything else within their power to give? While passing around and seeing so many naturally intelligent youths growing up in ignorance, with almost every possible opportunity offered for improvement, I am almost ready to say: ‘Give us a compulsory system of education.'” In that time frame, 1877-1878, the Harts teachers were: John Gore, T.H. Buckley and Canaan Adkins and (maybe) Henry Shelton. Buckley and Adkins had No. 2 Certificates.”

In Search of Ed Haley 145

30 Tuesday Jul 2013

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Within a few years, by 1827, there were more settlers: Elias Adkins at Fowler Branch on the Guyandotte River, Moses Brown at Brown’s Branch of Guyan River and Marvel Elkins on Piney Creek of West Fork. Within three years, Isaac Adkins was at Harts and John Brumfield (father of Paris) was at the mouth of Ugly Creek. The Adkins brothers — Isaac and Elias — were the only slave owners in the section. They bought land at the mouth of Harts Creek in 1833.

In the early 1830s, Joseph Fry, John Lucas, and John Fry moved to the Harts area. Joseph Fry lived at Ugly Creek; John Fry, a War of 1812 veteran, lived at the mouth of Green Shoal; and John Lucas, a Baptist preacher, lived near Big Creek. With the arrival of these and other men, a school was organized to meet the educational needs of local children. “The first school was taught in a log cabin one mile above the mouth of Big Harts creek about the year 1832,” writes Hardesty. “The first house for educational purposes was built near the mouth of Big Harts creek in 1834. It was a five-cornered building, one side being occupied by the ever-present huge fire place.”

In the mid-1830s, Joseph Adams and Peter Mullins — both great-grandfathers to Ed Haley — arrived in the headwaters of Harts Creek. In 1838, Adams was granted 100 acres between the Forks of Harts Creek and the Rockhouse Branch. He became the patriarch of most Adamses in Harts, including Anthony and Ben Adams — key players in the Haley-McCoy trouble. In the early 1840s, Mullins was granted land on Hoover Fork and Trace Fork. He was a grandfather to Emma Haley.

At that time, in 1840, there were roughly 23 families in Harts. In the head of Harts Creek were Stephen Lambert, Moses Workman, Alexander Tomblin, and James Tomblin. Henry Conley and William Thompson were somewhere on the creek. Richard Elkins was at Thompson Branch and Isaac Adkins, Jr. was at Big Branch. Abner Vance was on West Fork. Isaac Adkins, Sr. and James Toney were at Harts. Moses Brown and Archibald Elkins were just below there. Harvey Elkins and Price Lucas were on or near Little Harts Creek. Above Harts was Elias Adkins and Squire Toney. At Ugly Creek were John Brumfield, Joseph Fry, and John Rowe. Charles Lucas and John Fry were at Green Shoal. John Dolen was somewhere in the area.

At that early date, folks were beginning to explore timber as a means of industry. “Isaac Elkins built the first saw mill in 1847 or 1848,” Hardesty writes. “It was constructed on the old sash-saw plan, and had a capacity for cutting from 800 to 1,000 feet per day.” To assist in the transport of timber and coal from the valley, locks and dams were constructed in the lower section of the Guyan and steamboats made a brief appearance in the valley during the 1850s, although they did not travel so far upriver as to reach Harts. There was some excitement, too, when Thomas Dunn English — a famous Northeastern writer — arrived in nearby Logan (then called Aracoma) and became mayor.

In Search of Ed Haley 144

29 Monday Jul 2013

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As far as can be ascertained, Harts — the place of Ed Haley’s birth — first appeared in written history as “Heart Creek” on a John Wood map sketched some time between 1809 and 1824. Reportedly, the creek was named for Stephen Hart — an early settler — or perhaps for his father, who was reportedly scalped by Indians at the mouth of Little Harts Creek. Stephen Hart first appeared in Logan County records in the late 1830s, settling on Crawley Creek, near Harts. Some claim that he lived at the mouth of Harts Creek on a hill in a rock cave, while others say he lived in Dock Bottom near the mouth of Smoke House Fork. More than likely, he had shanties constructed along various creeks at different times used for hunting camps. All historians agree that the Smoke House Fork of Harts Creek was so named because it contained Hart’s smoke house.

“At the forks of Hart’s Creek, where Henderson Dingess now lives, Stephen Hart had a cabin,” writes Henry Clay Ragland in his 1896 Logan County history. “He cared nothing for the soil, but put in his time hunting the deer which were so abundant on the creek. On the left-hand fork, a short distance from his cabin, he built a house in which to cure his venison, in order to take it to the settlement whenever an opportunity would offer itself.”

According to written record, the first settler of present-day Harts was Richard Elkins, a hunter, farmer and ginseng digger. Elkins migrated to the mouth of the creek from “The Islands of Guyandotte” (Logan) in 1809 or 1815, some fifteen years after the last Indian had roamed the valley. At that time, Harts Creek was in Cabell County, Virginia. Jacob Stollings, who was granted 185 acres in the lower section of the creek by the State of Virginia in 1812, soon joined Elkins. Other neighbors along the Guyan River were William W. Brumfield, who lived at the mouth of Ugly Creek, and Squire Toney, who lived in the bottoms above Douglas Branch. Brumfield was the grandfather of Paris Brumfield.

“At the coming of white men, this region was a wilderness inhabited only by wild animals,” wrote Fred B. Lambert, an early local historian. “There was a buffalo trail extending in the general direction from the Guyan Valley to Mud River and buffalo passed up the valleys in the summer. Wild game was plentiful — deer, turkey, bear and also such animals as panthers, wild cats, and wolves. The otter and beaver were found on Guyan River at an early day. Wild hogs roamed the woods. At times in the early morning the air would be darkened by pigeons. There were elk in this region, but they were exterminated as early as 1815.”

During the later teens, Peter Dingess, Garland Conley, Charles Spurlock, Abner Vance, and Richard Vance settled in the vicinity of Harts Creek. These men were the ancestors of many persons involved in the Milt Haley story.

“The first settlers to find homes in Hart’s District were from the counties of northern Virginia,” according to Kile Topping, an early historian. “Many of these settlers belonged to the hardy class of hunters and ginseng diggers, who later gave up this occupation to become timbermen. They came here from Virginia through the mountains on foot, or down the Kanawha Valley in covered wagons. Some came in push boats from nearby counties and Ohio. Most of the traveling was done on horseback. There was no salt here and the old settlers dug their ‘seng’ and carried it on horses to the Salt Licks of the great Kanawha River, where they exchanged it for salt and other merchandise.”

During the early 1820s, there were minor improvements locally. James White built the first grist mill around 1821. “It was a small tub-wheel mill, water being the propelling power,” according to Hardesty’s History of Lincoln County, West Virginia (c.1884). In 1823, a Methodist minister named William West preached the first sermon in Harts (and became the namesake for West Fork). In 1824, Harts was incorporated into the new county of Logan. By that time, William Thompson lived in the head of West Fork, Isham Tomblin lived on Harts Creek, Joseph Gore (Ed Haley’s great-great-grandfather) lived on West Fork and Isaac Brown lived across the Guyandotte River from Green Shoal. Moses Workman and John Abbott were perhaps in the area as well, the latter located near Isaac Brown.

In Search of Ed Haley 143

16 Tuesday Jul 2013

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After talking with Ugee, I called Lawrence Haley, who’d been “laid up” since my trip to Ashland. He and I talked more about finding the photograph of Ed and Ella getting ready to play music on the street. In no time at all, he was revealing new details about his father’s “street life,” first telling how he’d get a crowd together.

“He might just bow the fiddle a little bit and get a few sweet notes out of it. Stop. And if it looked too dead to him, he’d just get up and leave. ‘There’s no use of staying here.’ Pop wouldn’t play if it wasn’t something that he knew he could make money at. He wouldn’t get out and work for nickel and dime stuff all day long. Maybe ten, twelve cents an hour, just sitting there playing music, and taking requests or something and sitting on the street. But my mother did. She’d get out… I’ve seen her go in times so cold she’d cut the fingers out of gloves so she could play the mandolin, and have a harp and I know that thing’d almost freeze to her lips in weather like that. But Pop, he wouldn’t do that. Of course, I don’t guess a violin player could do too well outside. His fingers’d get stiff as they could be.”

When Ed wasn’t playing on the street in the winter, he would go inside public buildings.

“Well, I’ve seen them inside the courthouse main lobby some,” Lawrence said of his parents. “They played in theaters. Concourses of train stations, and places like that. Anywhere where they’s a lobby big enough to they didn’t interfere… You know, they could get over out of the way of main traffic flow, of pedestrian traffic. Sometimes they’d let them play and sometimes they wouldn’t. He was pretty well known in some places, and they tolerated him — if they didn’t outright appreciate it. They tolerated it anyway, because they knew that that’s how they had to make their living.”

Lawrence gave me more information on Bake and Lula Lee, the “other” blind husband-wife team working on the streets of Ashland.

“Lula Lee was blind and Bake Lee was blind,” he said. “They lived in Catlettsburg, Lula and Bake did, as long as I can remember. They raised two or three kids. Bake Lee was the flower huckster that Pop got accused of being when he died. ‘The Flower Huckster of Winchester Avenue.’ Lula Lee went to school with my mother at the School for the Blind. She played the mandolin and the harp. She had a harmonica rack. My mother played one like that, too. She did a lot of street work like that on her own, too. Pop might be in Logan, she might be in Gallipolis, Ohio, or Ironton or Portsmouth. And Pop might be off somewhere with a bunch of his cronies learning new music up in West Virginia or Kentucky. If the need for money come up, somebody had to bring it in. We didn’t eat quite as good for a day or two or something, but none of us would ever starve.”