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Back in the Dark Ages, 1971 to be exact, I was writing a column for the Cherokee Scout similar to this one.
My brother, Jim, is the artist in the family, and I requested that he draw a heading for me, which he did. I called the weekly piece “The Ridgerunner.” The artwork showed a rider on a horse, hand raised in the air, supposedly come down from the mountain with a message for the people.
Only it looked suspiciously like he was giving “the finger” to all viewers. I regretted that but not enough to make any changes.
I remember turning 30 that year and writing about it. A newspaper friend near Charlotte wrote about me in his column, called me a departing “member of the Pepsi Generation.”
So no longer could I consider myself young. The hippies were saying, “Don’t trust anyone over 30,” and there I was, called out as an old-timer.
Then I turned 40, then 50 and 60 and so on. None burned like 30 because as I got older I saw more things happen, served as a pallbearer too many times, watched presidents come and go, saw some folks learn from life, others not so much.
Buried my Dad when I was 36 but remembered what he told us: “You can learn a hard lesson by reading or listening, or you will learn it from experience and feeling the pain …”
Winston Churchill may have had that in mind when he said, “You can always count on America to do the right thing … after they’ve tried everything else …”
Newspapering taught me a lot about human nature, met all kinds of people, heard (and continue to hear) some great stories.
Wrote a few books but find my greatest satisfaction as a country storyteller with this twice-a-month platform.
Could write pages and pages on the changes I’ve seen right here in Murphy.
We had only one stoplight in town, right on the square. No bypass, the courthouse half the size it is now, no fast food, big L-shaped, brick three-story hotel on the square.
Four-lane U.S. 64 had just been paved from here into Tennessee, where copper mining was the area’s largest employer but its outmoded smelting process had completely deforested the land, making it look like an American desert.
A profitable byproduct of the copper company was acid, hauled by tanker trucks right through the middle of downtown Murphy and Andrews.
Motels and service stations were abundant in both towns, to serve both local and tourist trade.
As a brash young editor, fresh from the big daily newspaper at Asheville, I reported on county commissioners and school board meetings, with focus that was new to them.
Also covered the Democrats and Republican county political conventions, held in the courthouse. Just like a televised national convention, the party delegates had assigned seatings amid their local precinct signs.
My all-time favorite name was Burnt Meeting House because I know there was a good historical reason for it. But it has vanished, merged into another precinct.
I’ve lost most of my hair, few of my teeth and have plastic implants in my eyes. Weigh 50 pounds more than I did at 30. But I exercise, watch what I eat and hope to be around for a long time.
Used to think that people who are 80 are old. But now I think only those 95 or 100 are really old, I’m just on the high side of being middle-aged.
Wally Avett first wrote for the Cherokee Scout as editor in 1969. His books are available as signed copies at the Scout office in Murphy. Call him at 837-5531 or email wallyavett@gmail.com.