Tourism, As She Usta Was, Part I.

 by James F "Jim" Barrett
© 1995/96/97/98/99/00/01/02/03

     "The Coming of Table Rock Lake." This subject has so many colors and facets that it should be a "Never Ending Story," - and it certainly is. It is, because the tales involved started back in the 1920's and 30's, when thoughts of damming the White River and creating a major lake first began to cross the minds of local entrepreneurs and creative people. It is, because the tales of the people involved, those who came here and keep coming here because of the lake, will always be fresh and interesting. It is a never-ending story because there is no ending to the complexities of the social change, the furor, the intrigue, sadness, loss, gain and joy involved in the overall picture of this gigantic change.

     This huge social, economic and geographical picture is made up of countless small, but fascinating parts. YOUR story is one of them, MINE is yet another. Since I don't as yet know YOUR story, I'll tell you some of MINE. I call the beginning of it, "Tourism, As She Usta Was." I'll just bet that a lot of you older folk, you who started out as tourists in the Ozarks, before becoming permanent settler/residents, will recognize much of the story and will certainly relate to many parts of it. It's a fun, sometimes silly, story - a bit too long for one article, so I'll tell it to you in at least two parts; starting this week, and then two weeks from now. Incidentally, this might also be entitled: "Whatever Became of the Chenille Bedspreads and Snake Shops?" (Bet that starts your old memories going, doesn't it?)

     My folks and I used to tour the Ozarks, back in prehistory, the late 1940's. From the Cedar-Tree-Line south, things were much more orderly, predictable and unique than they are these days. There was none of this silliness of huge, Krypton lighted billboards crowding one another mile after mile. There were no quick-stop service stations, blindingly-fluorescent night-illuminated, with all of life's needs and with giant signs in the sky. No giant prices either; gas was 35 cents, tops. There were no gourmet-hamburger bistros featuring Quiche, espresso and costly bottled water. No unbelievably glitzy places where one could, for $1, buy any one of over 1,000,000 unneeded and unwanted items. No raft of amazingly well known entertainers who, for about $30 a pop, would whack away on-stage to bring back your gut-churning memories of that first absolutely and totally serious date, with your first sexual encounter, and thereby, your first total, fumbling humiliation and rejection.

     Ah, how times have changed - and perhaps for the best - or perhaps not. You'll just have to hear me out and be the judge of that. Bear with me, dear reader friends, you're in for the most roaming, unlikely, nostalgia racked tourism piece you have ever had the misfortune to have paid good money to read. When I get rollin' on history, travel or nostalgia - well - Katie bar the door! So, fasten your seat belts, here we go:

     Perhaps you first toured the Ozarks in a very costly executive van or s.u.v. that Behlman Vans custom prepared for you. And you thought the confines of the thing would simply drive you crazy before the day was finished. The darkly tinted windows reduced the outdoors to a bland tapestry that unrolled endlessly past the massive sized openings. The quadraphonic sound system was not quite up to theater quality. The television had quit getting your afternoon soap-operas somewhere east of Rolla. The specially built captain's-chairs wrinkled your Gucci clothing. The pitiful refreshment cabinet was poorly refrigerated and one had to obtain ice from a grungy plastic container. The last service station operator was obviously a hick, as he had thoughtfully turned your platinum credit card over several times before putting it in his ratty old machine. And - he had no super-premium fuel for your high-dollar van. That was tough modern-day tourism, wasn't it?

     Whereas, I and the people of my generation toured the Ozark Mountains with the old-folks (parents) in a 1936, 2-door, mostly blue, Ford sedan. It had one vacuum operated wind-shield wiper, a/c that involved rolling down whatever windows still worked, a trunk that was only one laugh short of totally humorous, tires that made the guys at the rudimentary service stations jump back in fright, headlights that only pointed the same way between bumps, music that consisted of my father's tuneless whistling and a fuel system that often vapor-locked and quit whenever the temperature went above 90.

     Our tour-guide (my mother) insisted on describing and ruminating over the complete history of every ramshackle home, weed-grown farm, tumble-down building, ugly-old town, disreputable antique shop, unlikely restaurant and completely-bananas knick-knack shop we passed -- whether we were going rather rapidly downhill at a full, thrilling coast, or very very very slowly up steep Ozark hills under full 1936 Ford, flat-head V8, 80 HP, single-barrel power.

     The title of this story might be, "What Ever Happened to the Chenille Bedspreads and Snake Shops." Let me ask you, in all candor; while doing your touring in your magnificent vehicle, did you pass any buildings with "Captain Sam's Snake Shop" painted garishly on the building's entire walls, with a portrait of "Captain Sam," in a pith helmet with WW-I trench-knife, manfully battling a glaring-eyed Python that had encircled and almost completely obscured his entire body? Back in the 40's there were lots of these strange and very smelly places. It cost two-bits a whack to look at a pit full of listless local snakes and maybe one old bedraggled Python. Most depressing, but the kids liked it.

     Did you, perhaps, see endless rows of crude little hand-painted signs tacked to trees and fence posts that announced "Captain Sam's" place as being "Just Ahead?" Or, maybe, the signs told you of other "coming attractions," such as home grown fruit stands, yard sales, cattle auctions and the like. Were some of them a bright orange series with black lettering, with two or three words each of a clever poem that ended in "Burma-Shave?" Weren't they great good fun?

     Did you see farmhouses where the wife and daughters sat in the front yard by the driveway, a cotton clothesline stretched from tree to tree with a half dozen hand-made gosh-awful, garish, chenille bedspreads on display for sale? Ladies who, if you stopped, were delighted to pass the time of day and chat, for they seldom had the opportunity to meet "outsiders." Did you see shops with flag-draped, commemorative hand-embroidered pillows and whittled weird-whistle things? No? Perhaps, traveling at speed in your fancy vehicle, you saw none of the above or the foregoing? Gosh, I'm sorry -- Wow! -- You folks and your kids completely missed the REAL, genuine, old-timey Ozarks tour!

     You see, up until Table Rock Lake came into being and the attractions began to grow out on 76 Highway, things in this part of the Ozarks were radically different. The little hand made signs and other things I've mentioned were scattered along every narrow "highway" and byway. They were informative, sometimes amusing, and often interesting. But, like the beloved "Burma Shave" signs, the little hand-lettered, carefully tacked-up signs are all gone. Traffic moves far too fast nowadays to see or read them. Also, usually, the nearest trees are a hundred feet from the pavement. Gosh! I can easily remember when trees often overhung most of the highways and tall trucks swished the lower branches. That was very common in those halcyon travel days.

     I also remember seeing rows of rickety wooden fence posts, each with a bright red tomato sitting on its top! There might be twenty or thirty posts in a row with tomatoes on each. It was a primitive, easily understood, "sign language" that said, "Slow down! They's a 'mater stand jest ahead!" And sure enough, at the end of the red-topped gray wood posts would be a rickety board building with an open front. There'd be a little wide spot on the highway shoulder, or maybe a side road turn-off where you could pull up in the shade to shop.

     Now comes the unbelievable part. Quite often the little sales shed would be completely unattended. There'd be small baskets or paper sacks of fresh, ripe, glowing red tomatoes stacked on the rickety counter and on the ground all around. Also on the counter would be the inevitable worn cigar-box with a sign hand lettered on the lid. "Tak what u need. They's 25 cents a tote." The cigar-box would have a few wrinkled one-dollar bills and a fistful of change. You took as many tomatoes as you wished, put your money in the box, took your proper change, and drove happily away gloating over the rich, farm smell from the sun-hot sacks of juicy big tomatoes you were going to slice for lunch and supper. In those far less sophisticated days nobody would have dreamed of ripping off the tomato family's cigar-box cash!

     Back in the 40's, when the folks and I first came down here in our ancient car, looking for retirement paradise - well - thanks to tour-guide Mom, we stopped at all of those places; tomato stands, snake farms, chenille bedspread lawns and all. The old man griped and grumbled as usual, but it gave him an opportunity to pour cool water on the 36 Ford's fuel pump so it wouldn't quit in a bad place, and to kick all the tires to see if they were ready to go out on him. I often wondered what he would have done if one had blown out just as he kicked it. Huh? I'd have sure paid to see THAT happen!

     Well, the THE MESSAGE TREE is free so read on. Together, you and I, let's discover some interesting stuff. Old time tourism and the ongoing history of the Ozarks, before and during "The Coming of Table Rock Lake," is SO interesting. You can't believe all the curious, wild and colorful tales involved, so read on! We'll be back in a month to tell you how tourism started in our part of the Ozarks, what powers caused it to burst into many new businesses, and how it affected the people residing here in those days. Oh, my yes, dear reader friends, there's been more than one "boom time" here in our Ozarks.