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HISTORY OF HERE,And This, Too, Is
History.
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Yes, you’ve heard often of the one, but seldom if ever of the other. Now I’m about to tell you about a “ghost town” which I forgot to include when we were “doing” ghost towns in a few issues of the Gazette, months and months ago. “Hillfolks’ Village?” you’re probably scratching your head and asking. “Where on earth was that, and what the heck was it? (Barrett, enter stage left, bow and begin your speech.) (But don’t forget to tell ‘em some of the long ago history of Shepherd of the Hills too!) (Intro music, house lights dim, stage lights up.) I, your friendly writer, Jim Barrett, came to this part of the Ozarks nearly forty years ago. My folks bought thirty-plus acres on Joe Bald Road and begged me to come join them and become a part of the area’s growth, which was sure to happen, they assured me over and over again. Finally, I and my little family sold our lovely home in Kansas City and moved into an unfinished basement that I built with my own two (then young and strong) hands in only 30 days. Talk about your pioneers! In Kansas City I had been an up and coming star estimator/engineer in charge of a major electrical construction firm. On Table Rock I was an unemployed, almost broke, but highly determined young entrepreneur/builder/developer type. Joe Bald Road was a one-lane, gravel path with more wheel snapping pits and ledge-stone drop-offs than you could count. As luck, fate or God decreed, I met, early on, two delightful men who would form the basis of my career for the next several decades and make me consider myself God’s gift to Table Rock Lake. The first was Cecil Johnson, a new but close friend of my father. Cecil had a huge old diesel dozer, built by Alice Chambers, which he naturally called Alice. I first met Cecil and Alice when they came to dig out the hole for my basement home. Somehow, some way, we hit it off, Cecil and I, sitting in the shade during break-time and chatting. We were from vastly different areas, backgrounds, families and education, but we were kindred souls for some mysterious reason. Then, living in my drab, unfinished basement, I came to meet and know John Ketchum, a gentleman of yet another vastly different background, family and so forth. Yet, once again, we two hit-it-off and became friends - again for some mysterious reason. Cecil Johnson was by far the most important and prosperous native in the Joe Bald area for three reasons. A: he owned the most property. B: he had the largest family. C: he was the hardest working and most clever. John, on the other hand, was a dreamer, a schemer and most intelligent fellow. He saw in Joe Bald a grand future for the area and for himself, but his wits would be stretched to the limit to produce those perceived glories. In me I believe he saw one of the tools he needed to build his plan to fruition. I now know that Cecil Johnson saw a similar future for Joe Bald, himself and his family. And he, too, saw in me a tool to accomplish that clever plan. Here I was, thinking I had won over two important friends by my keen wits, jolly personality and great communication skills - when all the time I was playing into their hands as a tool for their two respective, but eventually interdependent, futures. I soon became a growing young force, about to become an important builder/developer in the Kimberling area. Not because I was so swift and clever, but mainly because I had little or no competition in those pristine, budding days. There were only two other builders in the area at the time, John Short, from Ponce De Leon, and Earl Quick, from Reeds Spring. I became the third builder on Table Rock, with more youth, energy, city-smarts and brash gall than either of the others. As I prospered and grew I soon considered myself God’s gift to the lake region. I even made so bold as to suggest that John Short and Earl Quick join forces, form one building firm and call it “Short and Quick.” Neither of my friendly competitors thought my humor was at all funny. They were both rather tough, blunt, old-line natives. They didn’t accept me into their ranks, they merely tolerated me. But I came to know them both well over the years and I liked them a lot. They both built good solid homes and gave newcomers a fair deal. Cecil began selling me his farm and home land, piece by piece, just as he had planned to do all along. Meanwhile, he and John started the first, sort of tongue-in-cheek version of the Table Rock Lake Chamber of Commerce. (The full story of that oddball, very funny, venture is in my book, Down Joe Bald Road, at the K.C. Library.) John was also a developer (of sorts) working with Jack Justice to build a small development at the end of Joe Bald which I believe was called Indian Hills. John lived there in a converted chicken coupe, which gave him some empathy for me, living in an unfinished basement. Cecil lived at the top of Johnson Hill on Joe Bald Road, in the middle of his large spread of very desireable old-line-family land. Land which, one day, would become Stonebridge West. This was long, long before the high-falutin’ new Stonebridge was built by the powerful Arkansas Coopers out on 76 Highway. Cecil’s house wasn’t much better than John’s chicken coupe or my unfinished basement. There was no insulation nor floor in Cecil’s house. In fact, the living room floor consisted of linoleum spread over hard packed dirt. Rather bumpy, lumpy, tilted and odd to me, a city boy. The “kids” bedroom had nothing on the oak two by four walls, and no insulation other than the oak sheathing and imitation brick tar paper exterior. But Cecil and his good wife managed to raise a large family of boys and girls who, in God’s good time, all turned out well and became very solid citizens of the Ozarks. Cecil and his wife were very proud of their children. One of Cecil’s proudest possessions was a spanking new, white brick fireplace in his living room. His sons, along with an up and coming Blevins boy, had built it for him as they were launching their careers as the first quality masonry firm in this part of the Ozarks, Blevins and Johnson. All three of us, Cecil, John and I, had our “eye” fixed on future plans held close to our hearts. Cecil wanted to acquire the lovely old white farm house out on 13 highway, along with the rolling farm lands which went with it. (It’s the one still standing across from the road down to Branson Hills, etc. Which used to be called, popularly, Dump Road because of the landfill.) He wanted an easier life for his wife and family, rather than the scrabble-scratch of the back woods. He saw in the lovely white farm house a better future, more pride, a fine home for his family and a far easier access to the on-coming civilization than the one lane of Joe Bald Road. In me he saw the possibility of the oncoming cash to bring his dreams to reality. Cecil was a very clever, deep thinking old native! John, on the other hand, saw the one lane road as a path to his future. He planned to develop his dreams along Joe Bald, see the road widened and paved, and other amenities common to the world brought in and established. Amenities such as telephones, mail service, electricity that worked all the time, pavement, and so on. None of which Joe Bald had at that time. That’s right, dear reader, no mail, no phones, no paving, electricity only when it wasn’t storming, and only one wavering, green and white television station. Which you could only see if you lived near a hill top and it wasn’t storming so that the electricity was on. If you were old and you had health problems, Joe Bald wasn’t a good place to be. There was no fire department, no ambulances, no paramedics, no - well - not much of anything but woods, lake, sky and Nature’s peace and quiet. If you became ill, had a stroke, a heart attack or some other medical emergency - then God help you, for no one else could. The nearest serious medical help was in Branson, at Skaggs, a tiny, Ozarks, understaffed, under equipped hospital. But, folks, it was all we had and we were glad to have that much. The only way there was sitting up in someone’s car, the better part of an hour’s drive, no traffic lights and no police escort. I believe Stone County had a total of two police cars in those days. And top speed on Joe Bald was ten miles per hour, one lane wide, horn blowing for clearance, over the pot holes and rock ledge drop offs. So there we were, Cecil the native king, John the Entrepreneur, and me, God’s gift to Table Rock Lake, all living down Joe Bald Road, planning our plans, dreaming our dreams and scheming our schemes. And all three of us were quietly and carefully depending upon one another as important parts of those imaginations. I wanted to develop all of Cecil’s land and become a millionaire doing it. Cecil wanted to sell me all of his land, bit by bit, and move out to a really fine home on a paved highway. While neither of us could imagine John’s ultimate dream, we were soon to learn of it and become deeply and wildly involved in its meshes. For John wanted to build a TOWN down on Joe Bald Road, a Hillfolks’ Village. Well,
for ever more! I’ve been reminiscing and
telling you dear readers about a bit of Joe
Bald/Kimberling history and I rambled on to the end
of my allotted space and time. But the story’s
worth the telling, and the tale’s worth the
hearing. God willing, I’ll continue next month
in The Message Tree. John
Ketchum’s Hillfolks’ Village, here
in Stone County, was a thing to behold, tied to the
Tremble’s Shepherd spread over in Taney
County. The “Two Queen Marys” who ruled
76 Highway, the up and coming young (anointed
princeling) sons, the tragic deaths, the twists and
turns, the growing powers - my! - it’s a grand
story and deserves some serious thought and space
to tell it. So, I’ll see you next month for
another of our paper chats. ©2002 James F. (Jim) Barrett. This article may not be used or reproduced with out the permission of James Barrett All Rights Reserved |
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© 2003-2004, All rights Reserved |
You
will, of course, recall in the November issue of
the Message Tree, how we discussed the
closely bound-together histories of the two
counties, Stone and Taney. Long years ago it was
the Bald Knobbers, the Civil War, the Bush
Whackers, the Wilderness Road, the steamboat
landing at Forsyth and the interdependent survival
of the two. More recently it has been the vastly
important economics of the smashing growth of the
Branson Music Industry (in caps) and the
contributions made by the Swiss Villa Amphitheater
during the early boom. Both of which we covered in
that issue of the Gazette. Now we will
discuss yet another most interesting tie between
the two. Namely, The Shepherd of the Hills Farm and
Theater vs. Stone County’s very own
Hillfolks’ Village.