MOUNTAIN DEATH

MOUNTAIN DEATH

The Fraser Firs were among the most beautiful trees in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park. Now, the adult firs are dead. Walking among their remains is like walking through an old cemetery with tall headstones and monuments. The killing of the firs happened some time during the 1980’s. While the cause is unknown, some suggest natural causes and others manmade. It was probably a combination of the two. I suspect that it was a single catastrophic manmade episode, like an extraordinarily large emission of some toxic substance. This opinion is based on two totally unscientific observations. The first observation is that one year in the mid to late 80’s, all the foliage in the park appeared to be affected by something. Everything seemed to be a washed-out dull green rather than bright, deep, and dark. The second observation is that there are now thousands of seedling firs which appear to be thriving, indicating that the trees which are now dead dropped viable seeds before their demise and that the new trees have not been subject, at least so far, to the cause or causes which devastated their parents. But the mystery remains and the quality of the forests is severely impaired. Mental images of the beauty of the mountains in 1980 came to mind as I hiked the Appalachian trail in 1997.

Our hike on the last weekend in May, Memorial Day, began from the Cosby Campground and ended at Newfound Gap, with an overnight stay on Mt. Le Conte, a distance of about thirty-five miles. The Snake Den trail climbs steeply out of Cosby Campground for five miles up to the Appalachian Trail which traverses the entire crest of the Great Smoky Mountains from Davenport Gap on the Northeast to Fontana Dam on the Southeast, a distance of 67.8 miles. Since, as hikers know, repeating a hike on the same trail is never the same experience. Each hike is new. This was our third hike over the same route. The first had been on Labor Day weekend in 1980. Our “group” has always been Ray Johnson, Paul Beecham, and myself, with various and sundry friends joining us from time to time. Ray and I had been friends in high school but had not seen each other for thirty years, reuniting at our thirtieth class reunion in 1980. We discovered our mutual interest in backpacking and have been hiking together ever since. The Great Smoky Mountain National Park is about equal distance from Atlanta and Nashville and has been our first choice for hiking.

We started up Snake Den trail at 8:00 a.m. in a light mist, not heavy enough for ponchos but enough to dampen everything, except our spirits. We paused at the small cemetery on the right and read the headstones before starting the climb. The towering Poplar, Buckeye, Locust, and Hemlocks filtered the light so that it was neither daylight nor dark, but an indirect low light which, with the mist, created a beautiful but eerie forest. The trail became steep very quickly, the best indication of which was audible breathing from everyone. The heavy breathing could even be heard above the rushing waters of Inadu (Cherokee) Creek. The altitude gain up Snake Den trail is 3400 feet, from 2400 feet at Cosby to 5800 feet at the crest. The character of the forest changed with gains in altitude. Rhododendron and mountain Laurel soon became abundant, creating tunnels of green over the trail. The forest became more Canadian-like with Spruce and Fir as we neared the top and came onto the Appalachian Trail just below Inadu Knob. The Appalachian Trail was relatively level and a welcome relief after the climb up Snake Den. We soon came to Deer Creek Gap, about which the Trail Guide book states: “Enter virgin spruce and fir forest.” There was only one problem. All the Fraser Firs were dead. All the way from Deer Creek Gap, over Mt. Guyot, Tri Corner Knob, Mt. Chapman, Mt. Sequoyah, to Porters Gap, a distance of thirteen miles, the fir trees were dead. This walk among the dead trees was somber. The remains stood erect and white, like mountains with toothpick trees. Ten years ago I would see an occasional tree which had died in its prime and wonder, “Does it matter that one tree in the forest dies?” Now I asked, “Does it matter that an entire forest dies?”

By the time we reached our shelter for the night at Tri Corner Knob, I was very depressed. Thinking of what we had seen, I sat on the ground beside a tree and wrote of mountain death:

Fraser Firs

The firs. once resplendent with rusty flaky bark

And English racing-green needles,

Stand now as bleached-bone sentinels

Reminiscent of

Military graveyard crosses –

To some unknown (disputed) cause

Natural or manmade,

Aphid or acid rain?

Who can know,

Except for one indisputable fact:

DEATH.

I MADE MY BED THIS MORNING

I MADE MY BED by Mack Lipsey

I made my bed this morning,

I did not make it right,

I did not smooth the sheets,

I did not pull them tight.

I made my bed this morning,

Haphazard though it be,

It would not please my mother,

But its good enough for me.

I made my bed this morning,

The sheet is hanging down

Beneath the crooked bedspread

Like an unstrapped evening gown.

I made my bed this morning,

The pillows have no fluff.

Though Martha S may chastise me

For me its good enough.

I made my bed this morning,

Close scrutiny it could not bear

But in my current state of mind

I simply do not care.

Much like my bed I’ve made my life

It is not wrinkle free,

But in spite of all the ups and downs

Its been very good for me.

WHAT DID TEACHERS DO?

WHAT DID TEACHERS DO?

I have been thinking a lot about teachers lately. How could one not given all the news lately about Republican governors and legislators passing laws to strip teachers and other public employees of their ability to organize and negotiate issues related to their employment.

Some things going on now simply do not make sense to me. One is the apparent hostility toward teachers. The most common, universal, and unifying experiences we have all had as Americans has been going to school – getting an education. And I bet right now each of us could identify the teacher who had a profound influence in our life. I have been asking people if they had a favorite teacher in elementary or high school and without hesitation they could tell me who that teacher was. I also asked if they could identify the “worst” teacher they had and usually they could not come up with one. So, I ask myself, why the hostility toward teachers?

The second thing that does not make sense to me is the money issue. Yes, we are in the midst of a recession. But, I ask myself, is it the salaries and benefits of public employees that broke the bank. Are the salaries of public employees so exorbitant that they caused our economic house of cards to come crashing down? If our expenditures for public services were the culprit the Republican hostility toward them would make sense. As we now know, however, our current economic woes was caused by deregulation, lack of oversight, predatory lenders, unscrupulous Wall Street manipulators, and tax loopholes that allow corporations to evade paying their fair share of taxes. Where is the hostility toward these people?

I think I know part of the answer. If I am wrong I am open to being corrected. It has to do with the philosophy and ideology of the two major political parties. Historically, the Republican party, with the exception of Teddy Roosevelt, has represented the economic interests of owners and managers and the Democratic party has represented the economic interests of workers. As a result of these alignments, labor unions have traditionally supported and contributed to Democratic candidates while owners and corporations have supported and contributed to Republican candidates. If this is accurate, it now makes sense that Republicans now vilify teachers. It is a political tactic. In those states, including Tennessee, where Republicans have gained control of the governorship and legislature, they can now pass laws to restrict or eliminate a major economic source for their opponents. Teachers and other public employees have, thus, become scapegoats for Republican strategists who seek to enhance their opportunities for election and reelection in future years.

In case it is not clear, let me come right out and admit my bias. I am pro-teacher and pro-union. Pro-union because my grandfather and father were members of the railroad union. I am pro-teacher because I was married to a first grade teacher for fifty-seven years. Her first job, in 1952, was in Macon, Ga. She had forty-two students and had a salary of $2400. Her last year, in 1990, before she retired was in Nashville at Eakin school. She had twenty-four students and had a salary of $36,000. She was a member of the MNEA, the TEA, and the NEA. She was not a “thug.” She was not even a rabid union member. But she did recognize and appreciate that the unions did represent her interests and could negotiate on her behalf in ways she could not as an individual. She was a dedicated wonderful teacher who loved her students, just as were the colleagues she knew during her forty year teaching career.

I do not believe Republicans dislike teachers, state employees, firemen, or policemen. They just do not like for them to be organized.

Daniel "Cool Breeze" Breese
"Cool Breeze" and "Blue" Breese Inspect Mast

THE MARY ANN

A sculpture worthy of the name of M00RE or CALDER stands a lonely vigil on the beach at the southern tip of Jekyll Island, Georgia. IT emergeS from the sand at a haughty angle and slowly, through the years, has acquired a red-orange finish the color of iron oxide.

It is, if fact, not a sculpture at all. At least not an intended one.

For several years now, on our way from Jekyll Island to Little Cumberland Island across St. Andrew’s Sound we have seen the top of the mast of a sunken shrimp boat. For a few years the mast was in the water, several yards off shore. But gradually the shifting sands have extended the beach further into the sound so that now the sand has embedded the sunken craft and the mast emerges from the beach. The only thing we knew about the wreck was that it was a shrimp boat.

During the first week of my January stay on Jekyll Island I decided to take a closer look at the mast. I parked at the St. Andrew’s Picnic Area and walked down the beach to the point. As I came around a sand dune I spotted the mast, standing silently on the beach like a lonely sentinel. The late afternoon sun intensified the rust-colored remains.

As I photographed the mast from all sides I began to think that there must be a story here. What were the circumstances of the sinking of the boat? Whose boat was it? Did the boat have a name? I knew that the starting place to find answers to these questions was at the Jekyll Island Marina.

The following day I went to lunch at Sea Jay’s, a restaurant at the marina. After lunch I went to the marina store and asked the man behind the counter if he knew anything about the sunken boat. He said that he used to know something but could not remember now. He turned to another man in the store and asked him if he knew anything. The second man, like the first, said he had known but had forgotten. Then he said, “I believe the boat owner’s daughter is a waitress at Sea Jay’s. She has blond hair.” I said I had just had lunch there and my waitress had blond hair. I restrained myself from running but went as quickly as I could back to the restaurant. There were no customers in the restaurant and the waitress was standing behind the bar. I asked her name and she said “Breeze.” I asked, “Do you know anything about the shrimp boat that sank at the south end of the island?” She smiled and said, “Yes. That was my daddy’s boat.” My jaw dropped and my heart raced. The information that no one seemed to have any knowledge of was right here all the time.

I told her that I had been seeing the mast for several years and wondered about the circumstances of its sinking. I asked her father’s name and where he lived. I asked if she thought he would talk to me. Her eyes lit up and her face beamed. It was as though this thing that had happened in their lives and ignored all these years was of interest to someone. She said her father’s name was Daniel Breese and he lived in Waynesville. She gave me his telephone number. I told her I was going through Waynesville the next day and would call him. She said she would give him a “head’s up.”

The following morning I called the number “Breeze” had given me and a man answered. I told him who I was and he said his daughter had mentioned me. I asked if I could come by and meet him. He told me to come by but he had to pick up grandkids at 2:00 o’clock. I asked if one o’clock would work. He said fine. I left Jekyll a little after noon and made my way on U.S. 82 to Waynesville. When I drove into Mr. Breese’s yard he came out to meet me and invited me to come in. We sat at the dining room table and began to talk. The first thing he told me was that everyone knew him by his nickname, “Cool Breeze.” I asked him some basic questions and found out that the name of the boat was The Mary Ann. He had bought the boat in 1993 for $1000 and put $5000 in improvements in her and later spent $3500 for a hydrolic system. I asked if he had a picture of the Mary Ann. He said he did somewhere, but he would have to find it. Before we could get into the circumstances of the accident, it was time for him to pick up his grandchildren. I told him I would call him for another meeting and maybe we could go see the mast of his boat.

The next time we met was Sunday, January 16, at Sea Jay’s Restaurant at the Jekyll Island Marina. We had agreed to meet at 3:00 o’clock. When I got to the restaurant Daniel was already there and had brought his son “Blue” who had worked with him on the Mary Ann. “Breeze” was our waitress.

Instead of getting right into the details of the accident I started asking questions about shrimp boats and shrimping in general. Blue told me the Mary Ann was different from most boats. Most shrimp boats, he said, have the pilot house in the middle of the boat with the outriggers in the back. The Mary Ann, he said, was a “push boat.” That is, the pilot house was at the back, the mast in the middle, and the outriggers in the front. He said, “We had that boat fixed up really nice. We had a porch on the back and had a grill back there and after work we would sit back there and really enjoy ourselves.” I asked him to draw the boat for me. He said he couldn’t draw but he did make a rough sketch.

“Well, what happened the night of the accident?” I asked.

Daniel related the following:

We had been shrimping that day with Whitney Purvis who was captain of the “Capn’ SAM.” (In an aside he said “SAM” stood for “Secret Agent Man” because they had suspected the previous owner worked for the CIA. ) We anchored on the back side of Jekyll beach so that a crew member of the Capn SAM could get ashore and go to a graduation. He was supposed to come back that night but never did. Our two boats were tied together bow to bow. We knew we shouldn’t have stayed there because it was a sandy bottom and the anchors would probably drag. But we did stay and we went to bed. I woke up with a green light from the marker flashing in my window and I knew we were in trouble. I got up and turned on the depth meter and discovered I was in only seven feet of water. The anchors did not hold and we were near shore over the hump (a sand bar). I went to the other boat and woke up Whitney. I told him what had happened and that we needed to move. I went back to my boat but before I could do anything the Capn’ SAM swung around the Mary Ann and broke my outrigger and tangled his nets in our rigging. We sat there the rest of the night all tangled up. The Mary Ann began to list because the other outrigger was pulling her over so I got on the Capn’ SAM. The tide was going out and the Mary Ann was touching bottom and listing more and more. When the tide came in about 5:00 a.m. it filled the Mary Ann. When daylight came, the Capn’ SAM was floating but the Mary Ann was sunk. We were able to go back on the Mary Ann and get as much gear as we could. We then moved the tangled cables and untangled the nets to get the Capn’ SAM free. After we were loose I called the Coast Guard and reported the accident. We then headed back to the Brunswick dock. Looking back I made two mistakes. The first was staying there when I found out the water was only seven feet deep. The second was staying tied to the Capn’ SAM. Everybody knows when you start getting in trouble like that you cut yourself free. Fortunately I didn’t owe anything on the boat. I always paid cash. And no, I did not have insurance.

I asked what he did after the accident. He got another boat, he said, refurbished it and kept on shrimping.

When we finished eating and talking, we parked at the soccer field and walked down to the mast, approximately one mile. When we got there “Cool Breeze” touched the rusting iron and shook his head. I don’t know if he shed a tear, but there was definitely some emotion there.

Blue stood on the mast and said when they were working he would climb up “this far” and look down about thirty feet. I realized at that moment that the entire sixty foot boat was thirty to forty feet below the sand. That was a remarkable realization.

We stayed there for quite a while. Father and son would look and touch and explain how things had been. The cable, he said, went from the mast to the bow. The part that looks like a rake, I learned, was part of the outrigger. I said, “So if the cable is connected to the bow that means she is pointing out to sea.” “Cool Breeze” confirmed this and moved to show me where the stern would be.

They talked about the Mary Ann as one would talk about an old friend. As they touched the mast and the cable and the outrigging it was as though they were transported to another place, another time. Perhaps they were. No doubt coming here evoked many memories of working hard at sea on a ship that was reliable and worthy of their trust and, yes, affection. The loss of the Mary Ann had affected them deeply but to come here now, after fifteen years, seemed to close a circle, to put things in perspective. At one point, Mr. Breese said, “I’m glad somebody finally cares about what happened.”

On the way back to the car he told me about his army days during the Vietnam era, of being able to do twentyfive pushups with each arm, of being a tough as nails drill sergeant. I believe it all because he is still the most solidly built man I have ever known. He is like a rock, but with a great sense of humor. I said to him that I was thinking of having one of my Nashville song writer friends write “The Ballad of the Mary Ann,” at which point he broke into an impromptu ballad which wasn’t too bad. Wish I had recorded it.

Today, “Cool Breeze” lives quietly with his wife Kathy in Waynesville, giving most of his time and attention to his grandchildren who come every morning to his house for breakfast before going off to school. And who picks them up in the afternoon? Granddad, of course.

The next time I am crossing St. Andrew’s Sound and look over and see that mast sticking up out of the sand I will know the story. And I will remember fondly standing there with “Cool Breeze” and “Blue.”