About the Steve Batson Series . . .
 
 

I feel that some words of explanation and thanks are needed at this point. Jack Harris, Kathie Frazier, and the members of the Dixieland Ring are to be thanked for their work in the preservation of the history of the South. For generations time stood still here. Most of what occurred during that time was positive and it deserves to be preserved. These ladies and gentlemen are doing that. In the South individual liberty and freedom were paramount, if not universal, ideals. Preservation of these ideas is central to both the Southern and the American

dreams. Freedom of expression was extremely important and both the right to be wrong and stupid were considered more important than telling your neighbor what to do or how to believe.
 

The South was and is much more than a series of petty hatred tied together in a package of ignorance and sealed with mob justice. For those of you who have read and do read firsthand accounts of our turbulent and wonderful history, you know this is so. I hope that someday soon we may all recognize the importance of remembering this.
 

I would also like to provide information to the reader about the authenticity and development of the material used in these stories. In the first series, those involving Ebiot, The Fox, and Bad Eye, each story follows the early patterns of storytelling that developed in the South. These stories were one of the few attempts made to preserve the traditions and history of the poor white community in the South. The parallels between the methods of preserving history in both

the poor white community and the black or slave community were many. Indeed, many of these stories have parallels not only in the black community but throughout the South in both white and black communities. They are frequently morality stories that warn against a series of actions, but each develops the theme of the egalitarian nature of man. This was a widely used theme in the stories of the South prior to the War between the States. This theme became increasing more complex as Americans were forced to realize that the issue of human rights was more complex than ever imagined by our founding fathers. For many people of the South, William Faulkner was and is the holy grail when it comes to showing just how complex people always are. Blacks and poor whites may appear foolish or uneducated but frequently those very conditions provide the means by which both wisdom and intelligence come into full flower.
 

I have attempted in the second set of stories, those involving Tol Brookshire to show that for everyone in the South, both white and black, rich and poor, our story is more complex and layered than anyone can imagine. This is true even for those of us born within and of that web. Each of us that is a produce of that web feels it and senses it even if we have difficulty understanding what to do with it or how to articulate these feelings. In doing this, I would hope to show that the people of the south are all the same in substance but not in form. Our form comes from our personal experience and that is determined by many factors. In the South our form of expression does separate us from others, if the substance of our souls does not. I am no Faulkner, but I do presume to have a story. I also presume that every other man has a story and in the South there are few lines between black and white stories, it was a common experience. I do not believe that to be the case for the Northeast, although the migration of men and women from the south to the west following the War between the States would seem to make it true in that region.
 

A word is also in order about the accuracy of these stories. For reasons that I cannot explain and do not fully understand myself, I have chosen not to choose a place or time that is entirely fictional. I have deliberately confused the geography. Although much involved in these stories is pure fiction, there is a thread of truth that runs through them. Again I do not fully understand why, but I feel it is to the advantage of the reader to know as much as I do about my source material, so I will review it for the benefit of those who have endured to this point.
 

First, the geography, most of the places are real, they just do not exist exactly in the places I have put them. The Dark Corner is and always will be somewhere around Glassy Mountain, however the conditions of the corner are the conditions of the mountains so anywhere one finds the highlander mentality one might call it a Dark Corner. If you can find my Dark Corner, that is the one in Greenville County, you will have done better than most of mankind who has sought it. It is widely known and appears in the fiction of Louie Lamour and others. Slater is a real place and is not in the Dark Corner although it probably should be. Brevard, Tigerville, and Merritsville were also real places. The Outliars Cove is a real place in my mind. (You figure it out.) The more common name for an outliar is bushwhacker and I have taken liberty with the

common spelling of outliar. The name bushwhacker needs no additional explanation.
 

The Ebiot or Ebbiott, Bad Eye, and Fox stories are all real stories that I have heard many times as a child while listening to my father, Hal Mayfield, and many others. We made a journey to Mr. Mayfields house (A place you will hear about again if I continue these stories) at least once a week in my fathers pride, a 1952 Ford two-door sedan. I can remember lying in warm weather on the cool concrete that formed the step to Mr. Mayfields house with no sound but whippoorwill calls and the voices that told the stories and no roof but the stars. Since this was in a world prior to or when television was very new, the telling of these stories was a primary source of both entertainment and enlightenment in the community where I grew up. We have lost all of this and I am not sure anything can ever replace it.
 

Bad Eye is a real man although his last name was not Bullouch. The Fox you know to be real, as is Ebbiott. I am related to each of them, but I could not tell you exactly how without doing some serious figuring. They were related to each other as was almost everyone in the mountains.
 

The second round of stories is more complex. Tol Brookshire is not real, he is a compilation of two men . . . my grandmothers father and his father. Both were master whiskey men and master mechanics. "There is nothing a Brookshire cannot build or design or paint or play" is something that is often said in the mountains that I come from. This is still true to this day.
 

Nancy Brookshire is not a real person in that the name cannot be found in the history books. She is my grandmother as a young woman. Ma Brookshire is my grandmother as I remember her.
 

The Happy Kingdom was a real place in the mountains above Greenville. It was founded by a group of slaves that walked from Mississippi or Alabama to the Kingdom in 1865-67. Much of the real story of the Happy Kingdom is forgotten, but it was a wonderful and magical place. The most recent documentation concerning it was presented in an edition of Echoes, a historical journal assembled by the students of Northwest Middle School in Greenville County.
 
 

Hez Batson and Ellis Hall were real men who died together at the Battle of Franklin. Their bodies were buried together and later removed to the private cemetery for Confederate dead. I go to visit them both often. If you have never been to The Carter House or had the pleasure of meeting the curator of that establishment, Tom Cartwright, you have not fully experienced the War Between the States. Usually on the anniversary of the battle special events are held by Mr. Cartwright to help enlighten and illuminate a battle that is truly forgotten. This is extremely sad as it was one of the fiercest fights ever waged by Americans. For those of you who know Shiloh, the Wilderness, and Gettysburg and scoff at this, I would direct you to the Confederate Casualty statistics and to Mr. Wiley Swords wonderful publications about the last breath of life of The Army of Tennessee. If ever there was a fission of all human emotion, if ever there was a complete joining of all that was great and all that was petty in man, it occurred during the last campaign of The Army of Tennessee. It was the most heroic and final stand of the Southern cavalier and his loyal yeomen. Among the generals who died that day was States Rights Gist the beloved commander of Hez Batson and Ellis Hall. The story of his final journey home is a tribute to the relationship of black and white in that most different time.
 

The stories presented in the coming of the Magi and the return of the Magi may be questioned by some who favor both the Northern and Southern positions. I would direct your attention to Sword of Honor by Lt. H.A. Johnson if you doubt that a scenario like this could have taken place. Johnson is one of the Magi. I will not tell you which one.
 

Greenville and the mountains that surround it were fortunate in that some of the best documented accounts written by Northern officers were by men stationed either in the town or nearby.
 

For additional information concerning early reconstruction in Greenville see also A Union Officer in the Reconstruction by John William Deforest, recently released by L.S.U. Press. The editing, introduction, and notes by James H. Croushore and David Morris Porter are exceptionally well done and avoid much of the current bias found in the academic community. There is little I could add to their work except I find it regrettable that they were unable to contact local sources of information for additional clarification. For those of you who choose to read this book, I will add that the Adjutant Johnson, referred to by the Mountain Loyalist (Union man) from Pickens named Looper, is undoubtedly the same Lt. H.A. Johnson, who is one of my Magi.
 

It should also be noted that Peter Cauble, the blacksmith in Greenville, who is mentioned frequently in Deforest book is a legend of some note in the mountains. When the mountain people came to Greenville, they had nowhere to camp and Mr. Cauble always encouraged them to stay around his shop. He was more to them than can be imagined at this late date. To express what my family felt about Mr. Cauble I will have to tell you no more than the fact that my fathers anvil was purchased by his Grandfather Brookshire from the shop of Peter Cauble. It is one of the same anvils De Forest heard ringing in 1867. (You may also learn more about that should I continue to write.) De Forest certainly depicts him accurately, but enough cannot be said about his love of mankind and his charity and kindness to the entire community. Peter Cauble drew no lines. There was no low-down mountain trash to him, nor any black trash, nor confeds or unionist. There were only men . . . who could be cold and hungry just as he had been. Who could only need tools just as he had once needed them. He amassed much wealth in

his time, lost it and built it again and never turned any man away hungry, or without work, or without tools. Can any greater tribute be made to a man than that?
 

One of the most difficult parts in preserving the stories you have read is how to express things as the people of the time did without using terms that are hurtful to others today. If that occurs, I apologize for the hurt but would ask that you study the time before you choose to be critical of the expression. I have chosen not to be exact in expression in many places and to insert modern

grammar and expression at my discretion. When I view the stories of William Faulkner, Joel Chandler Harris, Mark Twain and other southern writers, I cannot help but feel that it is bad to be so limited by something that is as passing as political correctness but I cannot judge the time I live in, I must only live in it.
 

Concerning the power of words, I make several indirect observations in my text. The African words used by the men to name themselves and others were powerful symbols to those who used and heard them. They are meaningless to other except for the recognition of powerful influences. This is intended. They are to mean nothing to anyone but the speaker and the listener. Words are like that and the most powerful are limited in use. I choose to use certain expressions and

words only sparingly. This applies to common profanity and the most difficult word I had to work with. This was the word, "nigger". This word is used for several reasons. First to evoke strong emotion in today's reader much as those words with no meaning did for the men who spoke and heard them. It give you a common benchmark. The word is common today and used often in the black community and by black comedians to express many feelings. This seems to be the only acceptable use in today's world. I reject that, it is a powerful word and should be used as such. In these stories I have chosen to use it once to express outrage at the treatment of blacks by the Union army as it moved across the South. It is used to underline the fact that the world was not always as it is today, and to express the contempt that was held by most Northern soldiers and officers for blacks both as individuals and as a community. This was common,

particularly in Sherman's army, where the blacks served to hinder progress to the point that General Jefferson Davis (USA) did allow a large number to drown during Sherman's march to the sea.
 

I feel that this points out a larger problem that is still with us. In the South because of the nature of our communities and our paramount respect for the rights of the individuals, on many occasions the prejudice directed toward blacks was blunted by close contact in everyday life. I feel that was particularly common during Reconstruction, and it traveled in both directions.

Black expression toward white was also blunted by the profound love of individuals for each other. This is an often overlooked but very important part of understanding the South. In the North, where little day to day contact took place between the races, prejudicial expression was much more likely to do grave harm because of the lack of personal contact. I would stress that this is my opinion and not one I am likely to change or to argue (So don't E-mail me about it).
 

My final question and statement is this: so what is it that you would have me do? Dishonor the life of my father by pulling down his symbols, breaking up his monuments, plowing under his grave? I think not, for his service in any cause separates him from those who served no cause. I will elevate his symbols and his service so that it can be remembered for what it was . . . a moment that defined what we are today.
 

I hope you enjoy my stories, I certainly enjoyed writing them. Again my thanks to the Dixieland Ring and Jack Harris for providing a forum for them. This is only the surface of what is my backyard and what lies in yours. Preserve your past, no matter who you are, but if you are black or white or red and Southern, preserve it well . . . for we are the last train to that destination that was the New South. When we die no man will be able to see or understand it.
 

Steve Batson
 
 

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