Daddy Talks Turkey

I don’t know about your house, but with my family, as we sit around the Thanksgiving table, stories begin to flow.  My daddy always has a good supply of them.  As this holiday wraps up, I wanted to share some of his thoughts on turkey and Thanksgiving.

He doesn’t remember eating turkey very many times, while growing up on the mountain, and I wondered why There weren’t many wild turkeys around for many years – or maybe decades. Today, we have several of them around, probably due to the efforts of the Tennesse Wildlife Resource Agency.

Daddy does remember one turkey-hunting story.  Around 1930, Uncle Menzo Atkinson and Menzo’s sons, planned to meet some of their family and hunt on the north end of the county. Somehow, they missed the meet-up, but didn’t waste the opportunity to hung. They killed a wild turkey. As they wrapped-up their day, they happened upon the rest of their hunting party. That other group held up a mess of squirrel and Uncle Menzo silently reached into the wagon and came out with the turkey. They enjoyed telling the story as Aunt Medie skinned and cooked it.

Of course, you can have a feast without turkey. One year all of Daddys aunts and uncles gathered at Grandma Keys for a holiday meal and Berris Stepp, Hollis Henry and Vernon Roberts slipped of coon hunting. They were successful and came in with a big kill. Then they wondered what to do with it. Grandpa Berris quietly said, “Grandma will cook that if you ask her to.” Grandma Ida Key heard them and agreed to cook the coon if they would clean it good. The next day, the table was spread with plenty, including the coon. The Aunts were none too happy about that addition to their carefully  planned menu.

I would like to know who decided that the proper Thanksgiving meal was turkey. Aunt Cecil Hall was at Grandma’s talking about folks eating turkey and the girls all decided they ought to serve that as well. So they pooled their money, bought a turkey, and that was the first time Daddy remembered having turkey on Thanksgiving.

Whatever you ate, and I hope you had plenty, please count your blessings today. We have a fair share of trouble in this country, but we are also immensely blessed.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Grandpa's Stove

I’ve mentioned here before how I like a cozy warm fire when the temperatures start dipping low. Well they have certainly taken a plunge this week! While being able to see a flame seems to mentally warm me, even a wood fire in an enclosed stove is welcome. I want to tell you about my stove.

An article about a stove may seem extremely boring, so please bear with me.  This stove is a little special to me, you see, my grandfather built it.

Grandpa Berris Stepp wore a myriad of hats in his life. Like most mountain men, he did whatever came to his hand in order to keep food on the table and a roof over his family’s head. He farmed, of course. I think that was always his passion. He mined for coal from Tennessee to Virginia to Pennsylvannia. And   then he learned a trade – welding.

As I understand the story, he and his brother, Leelon, had moved to Virginia to mine coal. Grandpa told me about the tiny shafts they had to work in – he said he had to lie on his back to drink water. It must have been a particularly hard day when Leelon sat down beside him and said, “We’re gonna’ starve to death if we don’t we get out of here.” That’s all Grandpa needed and they were on their way home to the mountain.  Leelon knew that Tennessee Polytechnic Institute (later known as Tennessee Technological University) was training technical skills and these two young men enrolled there. Grandpa would learn welding and his brother studied machining. When their courses were finished, they were prepared for more than chipping coal out of the mountain side – although Grandpa would return to the mines when needed.

Grandpa used his welding skills at Oak Ridge during World War II, then another 20 years at Martin Marietta.  He also welded for farmers all over the community, repairing machinery and fabricating solutions to everyday problems. That’s how he came to build my stove.

Daddy envisioned a cleaner and more efficient means of heating our home by placing the wood and the stove out in the garage. Using forced air, heat would be pushed throughout the house – this sounds so common-place to us today as we are accustomed to central heat and air. But in 1977, there weren’t very many systems like that on this mountain.  Certainly, one could have been purchased but that was scarcely an option. So they got some good steel and Grandpa worked out a design.

Now, I’ve inherited this little stove and Grandpa’s design and handiwork are still working wonderfully.  I wish he could see that a whole other generation of his family is enjoying it.

At some point, Mama and Daddy got ahead enough that they thought they should have a factory-built furnace and they replaced Grandpa’s homemade stove with an Ashley Furnace. We nearly froze that winter. I can’t explain to you the technicalities, but after several trips from Ashley factory representatives and their engineers, the factory-built model could not be made to heat our home. That spring Grandpa’s little stove was re-installed and hasn’t been displaced again.

I’m going to shamelessly admit that I share this story in part to brag on my grandpa. But I also offer it as testimony of the skill, determination and ingenuity of our mountain people.

One Heroe's Story: Amos Key

Each year in November, America pauses to recognize the brave men and women who have marched under our flag to preserve freedom around the world. Sometimes, we can get really focused on a handful of heroes and forget that everyone who honorably serves one day deserves our gratitude.

Today, I want to share one story that has been handed down in my family.

Amos Key was born in Martha Washington to James Elbert and Ruth Gracie (Todd) Key on August 25, 1921. On February 16, 1942, Amos registered for the draft in Alcoa, Tennessee. At that time, he was living in Alcoa and working at the Aluminum Company of America.

When he was called up, he trained as a pilot and eventually flew a B-24 bomber. He was stationed near Cerignola, Italy from June 27, 1945 to September 29, 1945.  Returning from a bombing run in Austria, Amos’ plane was hit by shrapnel which punctured one of the fuel tanks. His crew used the fuel transfer system to keep all four engines running but soon realized they would not have enough fuel to return home. Amos made the decision to cross the Adriatic Sea from the coastline of Yugoslavia. Shortly after spotting the coastline of Italy which was occupied by both Germans and British the group of 11 men had to bail out of the B-24. Amos directed his men to stand over the Bombay doors. Once in position, he opened the doors so the men could jump clear of the plane. Each man was told they needed to wait until they reached a certain altitude before pulling their rip cord. One of the men pulled it prematurely and fell into the ocean but was picked up by a fishing boat.  The others landed South of Ancona, near the coastline between enemy lines where they were rescued by a British armored group. All eleven made it back safely to their base in Italy.

On Easter Sunday, April 1, 1945, Amos and his crew were on another bombing run to Adolf Hitler’s home town of Vienna, Austria. During this flight, the plane was struck by shrapnel from artillery stationed on railroad box cars. Amos’ 2nd starboard engine was hit but the wing was left intact. The propeller on that engine began to “windmill” (spin) which created a great amount of drag and loss in altitude. It was decided once again that the crew would have to abandon their plan. They turned south trying to get away from enemy territory. This time they were not going to make it back to Italy; they would have to bail out over Yugoslavia. As the plane lost altitude, Amos strongly encouraged the men to get out quickly - Amos was always the last one out. The crew estimated that they landed somewhere between the cities of Jubljana and Zabok. Each one of them landing safely, but were instructed to split up and go their separate ways. Amos recounts hiding in some hills overlooking a small village. He hid as people walked past him on their way to church. He hid in logs and covered himself with leaves at night - anything he could do to stay out of sight. Cold and hungry, Amos found himself at the doorstep of a cottage looking for help. Airmen were instructed to always go to an isolated home to improve their chances if they needed to run. Fortunately, he had chosen a home that welcomed him in. Later, through the Tito partisans, a Yugoslavian soldier came for him. Amos remembered that he was a little hesitant to hand over his sidearm. The two traveled for 8 days sometimes by the road the other times through the woods. Soon, he was reunited with some of his men. After a few days rest and nourishment about 15 airmen from different fighter groups were taken to a farm field. A farmer with a single piston farm tractor came out and began to cut down his wheat field in long strips. Not long after that, an Army jeep came out and placed radar airs at each end of the cut field. A group of P-51 Mustangs were soon sighted overhead so that a C-47 rescue plane could come in and take them out. Two weeks later, Amos Key’s men were all back together.

Amos and his crew continued to fly, but philosophy of bombing was changing, according to Amos. US airmen were beginning to receive orders to bomb non-military targets. They felt that the German people needed to know that there was a war going on and it was decided that the spirit of the German people needed to be broken. The crew was given orders to begin bombing runs on Cologne & Dresden in Germany. It lasted for two weeks. It was difficult for the men of to do this, but they were given their orders. Amos recounted how he often asked God what he must think of his people and the things they do to one another.

As the war was closing, Amos and his crew were sent home. Amos had lost many friends during the war, but he particularly remembered a friend with whom he had gone through boot camp and training school. He was the Captain of another B-24 which was shot down over the Adriatic. Amos recalled only seeing three parachutes deploying from his friend’s plane before disappearing out of sight. He never heard from his friend again and often thought if he did make it out of the plane with his crew that they would have perished in the ocean.

Amos returned home safely on June 27,1945.