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Brandon Ray Kirk

~ This site is dedicated to the collection, preservation, and promotion of history and culture in my section of Appalachia.

Brandon Ray Kirk

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In Search of Ed Haley 140

06 Saturday Jul 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Days of Darkness, Ella Haley, genealogy, history, Jean Thomas, John Martin, Kentucky, Laura Belle Whitt, Lincoln County Crew, Martin-Tolliver Feud, Morehead, William Trumbo, writing

William M. Trumbo — Ella Haley’s father — was born in October of 1861 to Thomas Isaac and Celia Ann (Oxley) Trumbo of Morehead, Kentucky. Thomas Isaac was a son of John L. and Sarah (Manley) Trumbo of Bath or Fleming County, Kentucky, while Celia Ann was the daughter of Prior and Isabel (Neal) Oxley. She was born in Kentucky or Ohio or Indiana (it varies in each census record). Thomas and Celia lived in Morehead across Triplett Creek from Dr. Raine’s Cottage Hotel. In 1870, Thomas was listed in the Rowan County Census as the county jailor. There were six children living in his home, aged newborn to 13 years, including son, William, who was 11. Daughter Lucy was living at Pine Grove with her new husband, John Martin — later a key participant in the Martin-Tolliver feud. The Thomas Trumbo home survived until at least 1984, according to one local history. (“The Thomas Isaac Trumbo House stands across Triplett Creek from the Raine Hotel. Dr. Raine’s Cottage Hotel was the site of many feud incidents.”)

William Trumbo married Laura Belle Whitt around 1878. They were the parents of five children: Zora Trumbo, born March 1879; Texas Anna Trumbo, born January 1885; Martha Ella, born February 1888; Allie W. Trumbo, born May 1891; and Luther Trumbo, born March 1893.

The Trumbos made their home in Morehead, where William was listed in the 1880 census as twenty-one years old. In 1884, Laura Belle Trumbo — William’s wife (who became pregnant in the spring of that year) — inadvertently played a key role in initiating the Martin-Tolliver Feud while at a pre-election dance in Morehead.

“During the evening Mrs. William Trumbo got tired, excused herself, and went upstairs to what she thought was her room,” writes John Edd Pearce in Days of Darkness: The Feuds of Eastern Kentucky (1994). “It was not. By mistake she got into the room of H.G. Price, a wealthy timber dealer and owner of the steamboat Gerty. When Price returned to his room, he was pleased to find on his bed what seemed to be a bonus, and he attempted to make the most of the situation. Mrs. Trumbo screamed, fled, and told her husband of her horrible experience.”

Unfortunately for Price, Mrs. Trumbo was related by marriage to the Logan and Martin families, both of whom made dangerous enemies.

“On election day Trumbo sought out Price and demanded that he apologize publicly to his wife,” writes Pearce. “Price replied — not dishonestly — that he had done nothing wrong, had found Mrs. Trumbo on his bed, and had done what any man would have done under the circumstances. A fight broke out. Friends of the men joined in, to the cheers of drunken onlookers.”

John Martin, a brother-in-law to Mrs. Trumbo, jumped in on the Trumbo side and soon got into a shooting scrape with Floyd Tolliver — which effectively ended the brawl. But tensions remained throughout the fall.

“It was a bleak day in December, 1884, following the August election in Rowan County when John Martin and his wife Lucy Trumbo and two of their small children climbed into their jolt wagon out on Christy Creek and rode into town,” writes Jean Thomas in Blue Ridge Country (1942). In no time at all, Martin bumped into Tolliver, who he shot dead before turning himself in to authorities. Not long thereafter, a mob of men shot Martin to death on a train at Farmers, a settlement about five miles from Morehead.

“When the train bearing John Martin’s bullet-torn body reached Morehead, he was carried, still breathing, into the old Central Hotel where he died that night,” writes Thomas. “In the meantime his distracted wife had sent for their children and her mother who was staying with the family on the farm on Christy Creek. An old darky who had long lived at the county seat mounted his half-blind mule and rode out along the lonely creek that cold winter night to carry the sad tidings to the Martin household. He also rode ahead of them on the journey back with the corpse of John Martin later that same night.”

Along the way, Granny Trumbo — Ella’s grandmother — warned the children gathered in the back of the wagon, “Hush! No telling who’s hid in the brush to kill us.” Years later, the children remembered how she sat “bravely erect on the board seat of the wagon beside her widowed daughter, gripped the reins and urged the weary team onward along the frozen road, keeping close behind the silent horseman ahead.”

It was the first violent acts in a three-year row that would claim twenty lives, almost destroy a town and inspire the song, “The Rowan County Crew”, supposedly written by Blind Bill Day. Ironically, this tune had the same melody and lyrical rhythms as “The Lincoln County Crew”, a song partly composed about the murder of Ed Haley’s father.

In Search of Ed Haley 138

30 Sunday Jun 2013

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Appalachia, Ashland, Bonaparte's Retreat, Ed Haley, fiddler, history, John Hartford, Kentucky, Lawrence Haley, Lost Indian, music, Napoleon Bonaparte, writing

Later that evening, back in Ashland, Lawrence and I talked about Haley’s tunes. Ed told him all about “Bonaparte’s Retreat”.

“When the French first went in, they was pushing the Russians pretty hard,” Lawrence said. “The high string going in. The Russians were retreating. When they got to a certain point, the cannons started booming and the Russians started turning the tide on them. Part of the highs, I guess, was the French Napoleon troops coming out in a hurry and the Russians right behind them and then they’d be a spell of like an old dirge or something, like they was coming out defeated. They was slacking off on ’em and letting them retreat back out of there. They knew they wasn’t gonna make it on account of the weather. Just gonna let them freeze to death. Then they’d boom the cannon and push them a little bit faster. Then the dirge come up again. That’s the way Pop kinda explained it to me. He’d say, ‘Now you listen to these cannons boom. The Russians are getting ready to turn the tide on Napoleon’s troops’.”

Lawrence had no idea where Ed heard that story.

“Same way with ‘Lost Indian’,” he said. “It seemed like, the way he explained it, this old Indian would look at something and see a far off peak that he recognized and he’d be happy and hooping and hollering and trying to get over to it and then whenever he’d get over there he would find out it wasn’t the place he thought it was. And he’d sit down and kind of reminisce, I guess, and feel bad towards his self because he wasn’t where he thought he was at so he could get home. He’d stand up and look around again and maybe see another peak or familiar point as being close to his tribe and he’d go to it with a little bit of enthusiasm and glee because he thought he’s getting home and it’d turn out the same way. He wasn’t getting no where. He was still a ‘lost Indian’.”

In Search of Ed Haley

29 Saturday Jun 2013

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fiddler, history, John Hartford, Kim Johnson, music, photos, West Virginia, Wilson Douglas

Wilson Douglas, Kim Johnson, and John Hartford, 1994

Wilson Douglas, Kim Johnson, and John Hartford, 1994

Sias men at Fourteen, WV

28 Friday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Culture of Honor, Fourteen, Wewanta

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Appalachia, culture, Fourteen, Fourteen Mile Creek, genealogy, Great Depression, history, life, Lincoln County, moonshine, photos, U.S. South, West Virginia, Wewanta

14 Mile Creek men pose with a rifle and jar of moonshine, 1930s

14 Mile Creek men pose with a rifle and jar of moonshine, 1930s

In Search of Ed Haley 136

28 Friday Jun 2013

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Ed Haley, fiddling, Grace Marcum, history, Josie Cline, Kermit, Lawrence Haley, Lucian Muncy, Mont Spaulding, Rush Muncy, Sammy Muncy, West Virginia, writing

The next day, Lawrence, Pat, and I drove up the Tug Fork to see 80-year-old Grace Marcum in Kermit, West Virginia. I was hoping for more information on the Muncy family, who may have been connected genealogically to Haley. It was a long drive through Wayne County up the Big Sandy Valley on Route 52. There was nothing. Then we came to Fort Gay, West Virginia, an interestingly-named town at the mouth of the Tug Fork. A little further south was some of the emptiest country I have ever seen — just the Tug and occasionally the old N&W Railroad. We finally reached the village of Crum, then crossed into Mingo County and to the old railroad town of Kermit. It was completely dead, with just a shell of a strip of old businesses. Across the river was Warfield, Kentucky.

Once we located Grace, I asked her if she had ever heard of Milt Haley.

“They called him ‘Milty,’ didn’t they?” she said. “Yeah, that’s what I heard him called.”

What about Ed Haley?

“He used to play the fiddle for us down there at the square dance,” Grace said. “Daddy built a big hotel and he’d have square dances downstairs in that big dining room. He used to play the fiddle for us down there. Him and Josie Cline and her brother Mont Spaulding was awful good friends. We’d give them twenty-five dollars a night, my daddy. They played at Warfield a lot. Across the river there. Some of her people lived there, some of Josie’s people. I don’t know who it was.”

At that point, Lawrence said, “We used to ride the N&W out of Kenova up the Tug Fork here up to Williamson and all through there. And he’d play music at some of the hotels and at the courthouse and places like that up at Williamson. Coming back, he’d usually stop here and see these Muncys and we’d stay, maybe, overnight with them.”

Grace seemed to know exactly who Lawrence was talking about.

“That was Rush and Loosh and Old Man Sammy. Yeah, I can remember. Dad sold the store out to Uncle Sammy, and he run the business there a long time. Dad got paint poison, and we liked to lost him. Rush lived in Kenova for years, but his wife died and he come up here and stayed with Loosh. Rush was the oldest one.”

Lawrence said, “Well, that’s what my dad used to do for a living was to go around and play during court days. He might stay in Williamson as long as they had a court session a going. And then come back through here and stop and see — I didn’t know that they’s his kinfolk — the Muncys was any kin to him. I’ve heard him talk about Mont Spaulding.”

So wait a minute. Ed played music with someone named Mont Spaulding and Josie Cline?

“Yeah, well, Ed come in ever once in a while, but Ed was getting pretty old,” Grace said. “And he stayed with Josie and them. Wherever they played, he went with ’em. Pretty nice old man. Well, him and Loosh Muncy and Rush Muncy was close. Now, they didn’t only play for Dad. They played for other people. Let’s see, Thursday night and Saturday night down here, and then they’d go to Borderland and play up there on Thursday and Friday nights. They made it good. Let’s see, Mont Spaulding, and a Haley and Josie Cline. Them three was the ones that… I paid them off myself. I know.”

In Search of Ed Haley

27 Thursday Jun 2013

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culture, Doc Holbrook, Ed Haley, fiddle, history, John Hartford, life, music, Paul Holbrook

Ed Haley fiddle, given to Doc Holbrook many years ago

Ed Haley fiddle, given to Doc Holbrook many years ago

In Search of Ed Haley

25 Tuesday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Appalachia, art, Ed Haley, fiddler, fiddling, history, Kentucky, music

Ed Haley bow hold, 1995

Ed Haley bow hold, 1995

In Search of Ed Haley 134

25 Tuesday Jun 2013

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Ashland, Ed Haley, Ella Haley, history, John Hartford, Kentucky, Lawrence Haley, life, Margaret Arms, music, Pat Haley, Ralph Haley, writing

Later that night, Lawrence, Pat and I looked through a box of family photographs. Most were “modern” pictures featuring side burns, bellbottoms, or trendy 80s sweaters, but there were a few treasures. Early in our dig, I came across an old postcard with Ed, Ella, and Ralph pictured on it. Toward the bottom of the box was a small, dark picture of Ed in between Ella and someone named Margaret Arms. Lawrence said Margaret was Ed’s cousin, originally from around Paintsville, Kentucky, “or somewhere,” who ran a barbershop on Court Street in Cincinnati. Mona later told me that Margaret used the last name of Thomas because she was married to or lived with a man by that name. Margaret used to give her jewelry.

At the bottom of the cardboard box, under the flaps, was a dark, faded picture of Ed and Ella sitting on the street with their instruments. The photo was small and blurred, but I could make out that Ed wore some kind of a billed cap and was getting ready to play a tune.

“Pop looks like he might have been getting ready to play a piece and was letting my mother know without coming right out and saying what piece of music he was gonna play,” Lawrence said of the picture. “He was maybe hitting a lick with the fiddle bow, sort of like a ‘tune-up lick’ or two.”

Lawrence pointed to his mother, who had her right arm behind the mandolin, and said, “They kept a cup on the street in front of them or some kind of place where people could put change and my mother would take that up and she would put it behind her mandolin and count the take for their piece of music. And that’s what she’s doing right there.”

In the photograph, Ed obviously had the fiddle placed against his chest, and it appeared as if he held the bow as far to the end of the frog as possible. I practiced the hold in front of the mirror in the living room, then showed it to Lawrence, who said, “That’s it. That looks right.” I could tell right away this bow hold allowed for greater leverage in playing close to the frog as well as for pulling an extremely long bow. It was very similar to a bow hold I’d learned as a boy from Gene Goforth and Benny Martin, but the emphasis was never as far back as Ed was holding it. In fact, when I first saw this picture I even thought Ed might be holding it by the “frog screw.”

In Search of Ed Haley 133

23 Sunday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Ashland, Clyde Haley, Ella Haley, history, Jack Haley, Lawrence Haley, life, Mona Haley, music, Noah Haley, Pat Haley, Peter Mullins, Ralph Haley

Later in the day, Pat told me more about the Haley family when we were away from Lawrence.

“I only knew Larry three months before we were married,” she said. “I knew he had a sister that he didn’t like to talk about. He talked mainly about his brother Ralph and Jack. I had no idea that Clyde was in San Quentin. And about a week before Beverly was born, I was ironing at 1040 Greenup and his face was looking at me through the window and I screamed bloody murder. Clyde’s got a funny laugh and he laughed. He didn’t know me. Larry was gone taking a class at the time. And Clyde came in and all of his luggage had EDWARDS on it. It was stolen and he was giving things away out of it. Then Larry told me about Clyde — that he was scitzofrenic. But he was a very intelligent man. I guess he did a lot of reading. He had a brain and he could work it, too, when he wanted to. He could always find a job when nobody else could. Then Noah came home from the service that Christmas. Beverly was about three weeks, four weeks old. And Noah came in his uniform and from the very beginning him and I disliked each other. I don’t know why. I irritated him and he irritated me. And then we moved right after that to 2144 Greenup Avenue.”

Pat said Ella — who she called “Mom” — was great, that she was very emotional with her children.

“Mom always regretted leaving the kids somewhere when she and Pop were off playing music together,” she said. “Larry’s told me that Noah didn’t like it at Harts and he would go down to the mouth of the hollow a ways from where Uncle Peter and Aunt Liza lived and he would sit and cry wanting his mother to come back. Where Larry and Jack could play — and half the time I would assume Clyde was in trouble — Noah would cry for his momma. It must have been very heart-wrenching for her. And I know she hated to leave Larry because even Mona will tell you: he was her favorite. She loved her boy Ralph more than anything and Larry came next.”

What about Ed? How did he treat the children?

“I’m sure Pop had genuine feelings for his kids but he didn’t know how to express it,” Pat said. “I remember Larry telling me about Pop rocking him because he had such terrible ear-aches and Pop took him to the doctor to get ear medicine and then when he took him home he rocked him. And that’s the only memory of his dad showing him any love. And Mona doesn’t have anything like that.”

How did Ed treat you?

“Pop was always very nice to me,” Pat said. “The only problem Pop and I had was his chewing tobacco and spitting it around toilets. And he was kinda dirty. The boys would have to make him bath. But my mother-in-law, she was always sad the way Mona behaved and the sad part is she never got to see Mona settle down. And Mona regrets that now, too. But Mom had three sons that had been good to her — that was Ralph, Jack, and Lawrence. Noah was never bad to Mom — he thought the world of his Mom — but Noah was much like Pop: he didn’t know how to express his feelings.”

Pat told me a little more about Clyde’s deviancies at the end of Ed’s life.

“Mom had this radio in her bedroom and this Electrolux sweeper and Clyde came through my bedroom, got that sweeper, and took Mom’s radio and was picked up on Greenup Avenue at 3 o’clock in the morning trying to sell those things,” she said. “That must have been the week before his daddy died because he was in jail when his daddy died and we could not get him out of jail to attend his daddy’s funeral.”

Later when Ella was sick in bed Clyde stole money from beneath her pillow.

“He was in prison in Michigan when his mother died,” Pat said. “And Larry tried to get him home for that but he would’ve had to’ve paid the way for two guards to bring him home and he just couldn’t afford it. And he was in Michigan for quite some time.”

In Search of Ed Haley 131

17 Monday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Appalachia, culture, Ed Haley, fiddler, French Carpenter, history, John Hartford, Kim Johnson, music, Steve Haley, West Virginia, Wilson Douglas, writing

That evening, we all gathered in Wilson’s kitchen and played music. It was clear in watching Wilson play that his style was different from Ed’s, but he knew all kinds of great tunes: “Abe’s Retreat”, “Coo Coo’s Nest”, “Fourteen Days in Georgia”, “Walkin’ in the Parlor”, “Boatin’ Up Sandy”, and “Brushy Run”. He had a real sense of humor. When I played “Stony Point”, he just kinda looked at me laughing, then said, “John, that ain’t ‘Stony Point’. Can I kid you a little? Now, Ed Haley wouldn’t like that.”

Every now and then, between tunes, Wilson told me more little things about Ed. He said Ed wouldn’t change his style for anyone and hated when someone asked him to play fast. He said Ed used to tell him to sometimes play it “lazy” and slow a piece down for different effects, such as at the end of “Birdie”. Wilson remembered that he played “Billy in the Lowground” with a double wind-up.

Wilson really bragged on Ed’s version of “Forked Deer”.

“Anybody that tried to play ‘Forked Deer’ with Ed Haley had to be crazy,” he said. “Oh god, he’d put that B-flat in there and he’d have a little grin on his face. He didn’t laugh very much. I’d watch that fiddle like a hawk. I’d watch them notes but god they were fast. And he;d play that ‘Sweet Sixteen’…”

Now, what was “Sweet Sixteen”?

“Well now, that’s got three titles,” Wilson said. “‘Too Young to Marry’, ‘Chinky Pin’, and all that. Ed said most people just smothered it to death on the bass, but he didn’t. Him and Clark Kessinger both played it about the same. Now John, he just used two notes on that bass.”

Wilson said Ed played “Callahan” in the key of A, then said, “And he played ‘Charleston Number One’ but he called it ‘Goin’ to Charleston’. I tell you where he got it from. He borrowed it from them old Possum Hunters in Nashville way back in ’37 and ’38.”

Wilson said Ed also got a lot of tunes from French Carpenter, the last of the old-time Carpenter fiddlers (and Wilson’s distant cousin) in central West Virginia. Ed used to spend a week or two at a time with French listening to him play cross-key tunes, like “Camp Chase”.

“There was one thing about Carpenter,” Wilson said. “Now Ed Haley was a better fiddler all around, but what Carpenter played he was good. He didn’t have no inferiority complex. He done a good job playing in front of Ed Haley. He’d say, ‘Well, now Ed, if you want to hear me, fine. I’ll give you what I’ve got.'”

I asked Wilson if Ed played “Shelvin’ Rock” and he said, “He liked it, but he never did play it. He liked to get French to play it. He’d sit, you know, and grin. He’d say, ‘By god, you got the bow, Carpenter, to play that tune.'”

Ed and French played “Devil in Georgia”, although Haley called it “Deer Walk”.

Over the next few hours, Wilson played me a lot of tunes, many of which he’d heard Ed play. The tunes had strange names, some familiar but most not: “Elzic’s Farewell”, “Little Rose”, “Mouth of Old Stinson”, “Old Aunt Jenny With Her Nightcap On”, “Run Here Granny”, and “What Are We Gonna Do With the Baby-O” (in the key of E).

There were other tunes that he only remembered Ed playing, like “Bostony”, “Brickyard Joe”, “Dusty Miller”, “Jimmy in the Swamp”, “Katy Hill”, “Lost Indian”, “Old Joe”, “Pumpkin Ridge”, “Snowbird on the Ashbank”, “Sweet Georgia Brown”, “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, and “Waynesboro Reel”.

Wilson thought Ed fiddled “Red-Haired Boy” in the key of A, “Mississippi Sawyer” in G, and “Coo Coo’s Nest” in A or G, and said he played “Running Up the Stairs” so well “it’d make a person cry.”

Wilson remembered that Ed had some strange titles for his tunes. He said he used to call some tune with a common name “Dance Around Molly”, then added, “And he played another tune, I never could get it in my mind. Ed called it ‘Raccoon in a Pine Top’. I’ll be danged if he wouldn’t break that bass out — it’d sound like ‘Over the Waves’ or something.”

Wilson said, “You know, John, if I had a lot of time, like a week, I could tell you a lot of things about Ed Haley. When you get old, all that stuff comes to you, then you forget it.”

Hoping to pull something from his memory, I played tunes I knew from long ago and asked, “Did Ed play anything like this?”

He came up with something almost every time.

Ed also played “Fine Times at Our House” but called it “George Booker”, which is interesting in that the old-time Texas fiddlers also call it that.

I told Wilson what Lawrence Haley had said about Ed loving Scott Joplin and ragtime. He thought for a moment, then said, “Well, he may’ve done it, but now, he stayed with hoedowns all the time I heard him. Course he’s afraid to play anything else: them old people didn’t know what that kind of music was.”

In other words, he played what they wanted to hear.

“Absolutely. And he made money by it. And he played straight. He didn’t fancy it up no way. He didn’t want you to change a tune one note. He wanted it like it was. He said, ‘Cut it off at the stump like it is.'”

I said, “He didn’t take tunes and add stuff to it?” and Wilson said, “If he thought it was appropriate he would. The man had enough skill, he could play anything he wanted to.”

Steve and I hung around with Wilson until late that night, talking more about Ed’s music and playing tunes. We eventually pried ourselves away and headed back to Lawrence’s in Ashland.

In Search of Ed Haley

16 Sunday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Appalachia, Ed Haley, history, Lawrence Haley, life, Minnie Hicks, photos, West Virginia

Jack Haley and Lawrence Haley at the bedside of Minnie Hicks

Lawrence Haley (right) at the bedside of Minnie Hicks, about 1980

In Search of Ed Haley 129

15 Saturday Jun 2013

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A.P. Carter, Appalachia, Arthur Smith, Chubby Wise, Earl Scruggs, Ed Haley, fiddler, Georgia Slim Rutland, history, John Hartford, music, Wilson Douglas, writing

Wilson’s memories seemed to be flowing, so I tried not to interrupt him with questions.

“You know, Ed would talk to me after he figured out I was gonna try to play the fiddle,” he said. “He’d say, ‘Now, play your fiddle with some soul about it. Don’t start these trembling notes. That’s for some violinist in Germany.’ And another thing he would do, you can’t fiddle with the other man’s tricks. There’d be some little old chicken fiddlers around and come over and play about like I do. They’d rear back. Ed would listen at it and never criticize them and then when he started to play he would drop them to the floor. The man would come down on the fingerboard, playing half way down on that neck. It was so clear I couldn’t get over it. But the bow was as smooth. It must have been an imported bow. That danged bow was six inches longer than any bow I ever saw. But I didn’t want to ask him about it. You couldn’t interrogate him no way. And don’t ask him to show you how to play a tune. He didn’t show nobody nothing.”

I asked Wilson if Ed ever heard Bill Monroe and he said, “He talked about all them guys. Now John don’t get me wrong. He said Monroe was a pretty good singer. He said pretty good. Well I’d say Monroe was a A-1 singer, but I wasn’t gonna disagree with Ed. He liked the Carter family. And he said, ‘That old A.P. Carter and Mother Maybelle and them they got the soul about it.’ And he said, ‘Wilson, you know I don’t trust none of them Nashville people. I don’t wanna get involved with them.’ He said, ‘They’ll knife you. They’ll play your tunes, then walk somewhere and make a lot of money out of it.'”

What about banjo-pickers, like Earl Scruggs?

“Oh, no. By god, you’d push the wrong button. He didn’t like Scruggs. No, he liked the clawhammer banjo. He said they could get in and they could get out where it belongs. But I didn’t say nothing. I claimed the Fifth Amendment. I liked both of them, but I wasn’t gonna tell him nothing. I learned Ed Haley. I knowed when to talk and when not to talk. Now he’d cuss you out, don’t you think he wouldn’t.”

Wilson said he only heard Ed compliment a few Nashville musicians over the years. He said Georgia Slim Rutland, who stayed a lot with him in Ashland during the winter of 1937-38, was great on “Southern tunes” and couldn’t be beaten on “Billy in the Lowground”. He felt that Arthur Smith was “hell on them Blues,” complemented his versions of “Bonaparte’s Retreat” and “Katy Hill”, and even played his “Blackberry Blossom”.

“And now he did say a little something about Chubby Wise,” Wilson said. “He liked a few of Wise’s tunes, but he didn’t go in excess about it. But now that was it. Them Possum Hunters and them Fruit Jar Drinkers, he couldn’t stand them.”

In Search of Ed Haley

13 Thursday Jun 2013

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Appalachia, culture, Doc White, Ed Haley, fiddle, fiddler, history, life, music, photos, West Virginia

Doc White, West Virginia fiddler

Doc White, West Virginia fiddler

In Search of Ed Haley 128

13 Thursday Jun 2013

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Bernard Postalwait, Calhoun County, Ed Haley, fiddler, history, Laury Hicks, Logan, music, Natchee the Indian, Roane County, West Virginia, Wilson Douglas, writing

Wilson said Ed hung out with his buddies for a month or so, then made plans to head back down to Ashland or to Logan County.

“About a week before he’d get ready to go to Logan, we’d say, ‘Now Ed, stay another week. They is some big farmers coming out of Roane County, and you can make a little money there’,” Wilson said. “And that Postalwait, a week or two before he knew about when Ed was gonna leave, he’d [give Ed] some homebrew — and ah God it’d knock your hat off. Bernard would say, ‘Now Ed, hang on a few days, now. We’ll help you get some more money.’ Aw, he’d cuss around, ‘Well, I’ll stay another week, and that’s it.’ When that homebrew’d work off, Postalwait would bring him just a little bit about noon that day before the session. By God, he’d just lick his lips, you know, and he’d say, ‘That’s fine,’ but he’d never let him get none before the session. Well he’d stay that week and we’d tell all the aristocrats that had money. Some of them old retired ladies, they liked to hear him and they would bring a little money.”

“Well, he’d leave over there maybe with sixty or seventy dollars,” Wilson said. “Then he’d head for Logan and the coalfields, and they would begin to make money, stay up there two or three weeks. Back to Ashland, and then in the fall, he’d come back to Calhoun County. Let everybody build up a little, you know? And if they was nobody down there to meet him, he’d catch that what we call the ‘mail hack’ — a man that carried the mail with a little buggy and a team of horses. Everybody hollered, ‘Well where’re you gonna be?’ ‘I’m over at Hicks’, boys!’ That danged house was full. The yard was full. Minnie Hicks’d have a big pot of beans and three gallon of coffee. And it was just about every night.”

Wilson had really specific memories of Ed playing at Laury Hicks’ house.

“He’d sit there in an old split-backed chair, by god, and never miss a note,” he said. “And his endurance never slowed up. He patted his feet a little bit, but not in excess. Any time Haley was just sitting around, his fingers constantly moved all the time just like he was playing the fiddle. And there was no fine tuners. The man didn’t have a chin rest — he didn’t have no use for a chin rest.”

What kind of strings did he use?

“John, in them days, there were no super sensitive strings,” Wilson said. “It was the old Bird, and the old Gibson, and them Black Diamonds. They cost twenty-five cents. And he played them strings and them white bone keys and that old fiddle. And I tried to remember what kind of fiddle he had but it didn’t matter much whether it was any good or not. He could make it play. Now John, another thing I want to mention to ya. Now, Ed Haley’s bridge was almost flat. He didn’t have much roll in his bridge.”

Wilson said Ed didn’t have a lot of rosin on his fiddle because he didn’t use much on his bow.

What was he like?

“You couldn’t punch the wrong button,” Wilson said. “He didn’t want you to ask him about any ‘Orange Blossom Special’ or ‘Boil the Cabbage Down’. You had to be real careful. We didn’t talk a lot, but he took a liking to me. I picked up enough nerve to ask him why he didn’t go onto WSM way back there in ’37 and ’38. ‘Well,’ he said,’‘I don’t like them people. I don’t trust them. And another thing, they’ve got no soul about their music.’ And if you mentioned Natchee the Indian, you punched the wrong button. Ah, there’s so much stuff about him — I don’t want to leave nothing out. I remember this one night in particular it was about 3:30 in the morning. Some lady come in there. She was about half-stooped on that homebrew. Said, ‘Ed, I wanna hear the ‘Old Spinning Wheel in the Parlor’.” He said, ‘Damn the ‘Old Spinning Wheel in the Parlor’. I’m tired. I’m quitting.’ That’s the way he was.”

In Search of Ed Haley

13 Thursday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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culture, fiddler, history, John Hartford, life, music, photos, Steve Haley, Wilson Douglas

John Hartford, Wilson Douglas, Steve Haley, Clendenin, West Virginia, 1994

John Hartford, Wilson Douglas, Steve Haley, Clendenin, West Virginia, 1994

In Search of Ed Haley 126

10 Monday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Abe Glenn, Bob Glenn, Bob Kessinger, Clark Kessinger, Ed Haley, fiddler, Georgia Slim Rutland, history, Logan County, music, Sam Virus, West Virginia, writing

At some point, no doubt at a festival, I bumped into Bob Kessinger, a mandolin-playing nephew of Clark Kessinger and a Church of Christ preacher. Bob looked a great deal like Clark and was a very jovial guy, eager to plug the family musicians. I told him about my interest in Ed Haley and he said he first heard of him about 1944 from Smokey Harless, a smooth fiddler out of Boone County, West Virginia.

“When I was about seventeen or eighteen, I was at his house one time and he asked me if I ever heard Ed Haley play,” Bob said. “I said, ‘No,’ and he said, ‘Well, your uncle says he’s the best he ever heard.’ And I went home and the first thing I asked, I said, ‘Dad, can Ed Haley play a fiddle?’ He just stopped everything and he said, ‘Can he play a fiddle? Your uncle Clark says he’s the best he’s ever heard.’ And he told me about it and then after that I never heard Clark sit down to play if he played very long that he didn’t mention Ed Haley. Well, I’ve heard Clark say, ‘I betcha Ed Haley knew more tunes than anybody I ever heard in my life.”

Bob said Clark first heard Haley play in Logan County in the 1930s.

“Did you ever hear of Abe and Bob Glenn?” he asked.

I mistakenly said no, forgetting what I had heard from Roger Cooper and others.

“They were two brothers and they were from Kentucky,” he said. “Clark was influenced a whole lot by them. They musta been good, too. And then there was a Sam Virus, a blind man that used to play in Charleston down on the levee. It was a whole lot like Ed Haley’s case: his wife played with him. Now, Clark said he was in the class of Ed Haley. Said he didn’t know as many tunes. But he musta been good because I heard Clark mention him several times.”

I told Bob I had read that Georgia Slim Rutland knew Haley.

“I first met him when I was living in Kentucky in ’63, ’64,” Bob said of Rutland, catching me a little by surprise. “I found out he’d moved back to Valdosta and I was staying with this Richard Black — he lives in Valdosta — and I asked if he knew him and he said yes. I said, ‘Well, would you introduce me to him?’ He took me over. He had two or three taxis and he started with just a little hole in the wall music store. And Richard introduced us. He said, ‘Robert, I want you to meet Robert Kessinger.’ He said, ‘Kessinger, Kessinger. Are you from West Virginia?’ I said, ‘Well, originally. I’m a nephew to Clark.’ He turned around to Richard Black and he said, ‘One of the greatest old-time fiddlers I ever heard in my life.’ But every time I’d go in that section, he’d go to church with me. The last time I was there, I was in a meeting at Jasper, Florida, and I stopped on the way down there and we played together for about an hour. He died unexpectedly. He just had a massive heart attack and he’d been dead about six months before I knew it and his wife apologized. She said she didn’t know how to get in touch with me.”

I told Bob how Mrs. Rutland had recently told me that Slim had never known Haley, which he discounted.

“Yeah, he stayed at Ed Haley’s house for a while,” Bob said. “He did. In fact, I was talking to him one day about good fiddlers that Clark didn’t like and I mentioned Ed Haley. He said, ‘He didn’t tell you that Ed Haley couldn’t play, did he?’ I said, ‘No, he thought he was the best.’ He didn’t tell me that he was there, but I’ve got it from someone. See Ed lived in Logan County, West Virginia, part of the time. That’s where Clark heard him. I think that’s where Slim spent time with him ’cause he spent some time in West Virginia back in the early thirties.”

In Search of Ed Haley 125

09 Sunday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Ashland, Clifford Brickey, Columbus, Ed Haley, Emily Dickerson, Emory Brickey, fiddling, history, Kentucky, Lake Brickey, music, Ohio, Preston Brickey

Around the time of my call to Wilson Douglas, Lawrence Haley reminded me that his brother Clyde had sold his share of Ed’s records to Emory Brickey, a storekeeper in Ashland. I made an effort to track the records down, even though Lawrence didn’t think I had any chance of success. I couldn’t locate any of Emory’s immediate family but I did get in touch with a distant relative, Clifford Brickey. Clifford said he thought Emory had been a fiddler, then referred me to a relative, Emily Dickerson, who also happened to be an old-time fiddler-turned-guitarist. I called her up, told her who I was and what I was doing and asked if she’d ever met Ed.

“Never did meet him, but I’ve heard a lot of talk about him,” she said. “He was quite older than I… I’ve heard of him since I was a young kid, you know. But my uncle, Preston Brickey — he was a banjo-picker — he knew him. Well, of course, he’s deceased now, but now he had a son, Lake, lives in Columbus, Ohio, and he is a fine fiddler and he knew him personally. See, he lived in Portsmouth, Lake did, then moved to Columbus. Lake is in his late sixties, I’d say. He would’ve been a young boy when Haley was in his prime.”

I got Lake Brickey’s telephone number and called him up in Columbus, Ohio. It seemed like he would be able to open all kinds of new doors but as it turned out his memories of Ed were vague.

“I don’t know any history on him or anything, but when I was learning to play fiddle myself — when I was a kid — Dad took me up there — I think it was Labor Day or 4th of July or something like that — and he, as well as other musicians used to set around the courthouse and play. And I listened to him play two or three tunes and talked with him a little bit and he wanted to hear me play a tune. And I played that and that’s about all I can tell you. I started fiddling pretty young and the first thing you know I was fiddling every Friday and Saturday for square dances and I kept so busy I never got to hear that many other fiddlers.”

In Search of Ed Haley

05 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Appalachia, culture, fiddle, fiddler, history, life, music, photos, U.S. South, West Virginia, Wilson Douglas

Wilson Douglas, West Virginia fiddler

Wilson Douglas, West Virginia fiddler

In Search of Ed Haley 124

05 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Appalachia, Bobby Taylor, Ed Haley, fiddle, fiddler, Forked Deer, history, John Hartford, music, Webster County, West Virginia, Wilson Douglas, writing

I told Wilson about working on Ed’s long bow and the Scotch snap — about the little stops between notes — and he said, “Right, right. That’s hesitation in the notes. That is correct. He talked about ‘chopped notes.’ That’s a quick note. But you know, what I liked about Haley, whenever he would settle down and fiddle… I like to hear a fiddle drive a straight, hard, flat note. A clear note. This skipping over the notes, I don’t go for that. And Haley didn’t do that. Every note he got was clear, or he would make a ‘chopped note,’ he called it, and the hesitation was with the — well the hand was quicker’n the eye. He could make a quick hesitation with the bow.”

I was very impressed with Wilson’s memory of such details, which improved with each passing minute. Apparently, Bobby Taylor was right: after he thought about something for a while his memories became sharp as a knife.

Wilson said, “But now I didn’t tell you about the kind of strings he played, did I? He played the old Blue Bird. They quit making them back in ’42 or ’43. They was a steel string, something like a Black Diamond. I believe they’s a little better toned. They wasn’t so sharp. And they cost one quarter in them days, for I bought one as a kid. Now that was the string that Ed Haley played. He liked these solid bone keys in his fiddle, white bone keys. And I always thought about where he got that dang fiddle bow, but it must’ve been four-and-a-half foot long. I never will forget it: that’s the longest fiddle bow I ever saw. I’ve thought about that many a times. It looked to me like it was six inches longer than any other kind of bow, and he played it from one end to the other.”

I said, “You don’t reckon it was just the way he was pulling it that made it look long, do you?”

“No, it was long,” Wilson answered. “You know, a boy sixteen years old don’t miss nothing for he’s eager to learn, you see? I know a fiddler over here in Webster County, and he’s good, too. He’s a top fiddler. And me and him talked about that, and he said, ‘Ed Haley pulled the longest fiddle bow I ever saw.’ And he said his notes was plain. I said, ‘Absolutely.’ Now the frog on that bow was some kind of a bone, if that means anything. White bone.”

Wilson really bragged on Ed’s repertoire.

“Now the man, John, what amazed me, he would play all night and maybe not play the same tune twice,” he said. “And he told me, said, ‘I know over a thousand fiddle tunes.’ Old Ed played ‘Callahan’ out of this world. I can’t remember the key. I wasn’t far enough along. But now, Ed sometimes would put that B-flat in the ‘Forked Deer’ and sometimes he wouldn’t. He would run that B-flat in there if he was showing off, you know. He played the ‘Paddy on the Pike’ in standard tuning. ‘Paddy on the Handcar’, Ed played that cross-key. Two different tunes. And he played ‘Poplar Bluff’ and the ‘Hole in the Poplar’ and all that kind of stuff.”

In Search of Ed Haley

03 Monday Jun 2013

Posted by Brandon Ray Kirk in Ed Haley

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Appalachia, Bertha Mullins, culture, Ewell Mullins, genealogy, Harts Creek, history, life, Logan County, photos, West Virginia

Bertha (Adams) Mullins family, Harts Creek, Logan County, West Virginia, 1925-1940

Bertha (Adams) Mullins and siblings, Harts Creek, Logan County, West Virginia, 1920s

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If you had lived in the Harts Creek community during the 1880s, to which faction of feudists might you have given your loyalty?

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