Tales From the Hills

From the heart of Appalachia come three books of such varied and colorful subjects that at least one of them should appeal to readers, especially those who enjoy delving into the history and literature of our region.

First up is Trevor McKenzie’s Otto Wood, the Bandit: The Freighthopping Thief, Bootlegger, and Convicted Murderer behind the Appalachian Ballads.

Otto Wood (1893-1930) of Wilkes County saw the inside of many jails, stole many cars, escaped 11 times from state penitentiaries, was once convicted of murder, and became a sort of folk hero to some before he lost favor and was killed during a shootout with police. Bluegrass fans know of Wood because of ballads written and sung about him, including one made popular by Doc Watson.

McKenzie’s biography of Wood is impressive both for its many details and for its examination of the reality of Wood’s life and death when compared to the ballads written about him. He also demonstrates the role Wood played in creating his own legend, writing letters to the press and even self-publishing an autobiography. As McKenzie tells us, Wood “held up a mirror to the face of society and further pleaded his case as a victim of a corrupt prison system.” Though he did win some sympathy from the public as a sort of modern-day Robin Hood, others, including North Carolina Governor Angus McLean, regarded Wood as nothing more than a common criminal: “The fact that Wood succeeded in getting away without getting killed does not prove that he is a hero.”

In fact, Wolfe’s escape record should bring some derision. Yes, yes, he made many successful escapes from jails and prisons, but those break-outs also mean that he was arrested many times. He was clearly terrible about staying on the lam. Part of his failure in this regard can be attributed to his club foot and his missing left hand, the result of an accident either by working on a freight car or with a shotgun. In short, Wood was easy to identify.

In the last two chapters of Otto Wood, McKenzie focuses on the ballads written about him and concludes, “Wood’s death removed him as a perceived threat to society and allowed him, through hindsight, to attain the status of a folk hero.”

Next up is Lydia R. Hamessley’s Unlikely Angel: The Songs of Dolly Parton.

Here is no ordinary biography of the woman who has won the hearts of her listeners, who has appeared in numerous Hollywood films, and who even built an amusement park, Dollywood. No—Hamessley instead gives us Dolly Parton the singer-songwriter. She thoughtfully and thoroughly examines the autobiographical elements in Parton’s music, the influences ranging from Nashville to church hymns, and the love she expresses in her songs for the place in which she was born and raised.

As Hamessley reports of this native of Tennessee, “Dolly writes about mountain life in many ways: idealistic, nostalgic songs of close family, unspoiled nature, religious faith, and simpler times—as well as songs of stark realism that portray violence, ruptured families, alcohol, and poverty … Dolly often includes an ‘Appalachian set’ in her concerts. With the stage lights lowered, she sits down with her banjo, dulcimer, or autoharp, as though inviting the audience onto her front porch.”

Earlier in this study, Hamessley notes that, “Dolly’s Appalachian heritage is the foundation of much of her music. She often says mountain music ‘is the music I sing the best and enjoy the most.’ Her songs that reflect her mountain heritage distinguish her body of work from that of many country music artists of her generation.”

One fun fact: From the time she was a preschooler, Dolly Parton has composed music, originally singing from the front porch of her parent’s cabin in Tennessee to anyone who would listen to her, including pets and farm animals. As Hamessley tells us, “Her grandfather Rev. Jake Owens once said about her, ‘That thing come here a singin’.’”

For any fan of Dolly Parton, Unlikely Angel is a must-read.

Last on this list of notable books is Steven Tingle’s novel, Graveyard Fields.

Davis Reed is a troubled man. A former police officer turned private detective, he’s left Charleston, South Carolina, and some problems there for Cruso, North Carolina, where he hopes to remake his life while writing a book on a B-25 bomber that crashed on Cold Mountain at the end of World War II.

The landlord of Davis’s cabin is Dale Johnson, a massive man who’s a deputy in the sheriff’s department and who becomes Davis’s sidekick and friend. As Davis tells us from his first meeting with the deputy, “Dale and I seemed to have a few things in common. We were both in our mid-forties, we both loved good beer, and we both suffered from early-onset grumpiness.”

Rather than working on his book, Davis instead spends his days downing anti-anxiety pills, drinking too much beer, and trying to chase down the owner of some keys he’s found while walking in the mountains. This quest brings him into contact with a number of locals, including Dale’s cousin Floppy, a mechanic with a penchant for conspiracy theories and a thief who will steal anything not nailed down.

As the plot thickens, as drugs and possibly gold taken from the plane crash site drive various men and women into Davis’ path, the past he thought he’d left behind in Charleston also comes back to haunt him, and he soon finds himself in the epicenter of a major investigation while battling his own vices and fears.

There are many reasons to grab a copy of Graveyard Fields, kick back in your favorite chair, and start reading. The book is a page-turner—two people I know who have read it stayed up into the wee hours of the night, unable to put the novel down—and Tingle has a good eye for the people and communities of Haywood County, North Carolina.

He also brings wit and humor to Graveyard Fields. One of my favorite scenes involves Floppy, who up to then is a figure of fun. He babbles away about whatever pops to mind—as Davis says at one point, “There was a long moment of silence, which, with Floppy present, was a near miracle.”

Floppy has also claimed he’s an expert in the martial arts, which no one—not Dale, not Davis, not the reader—believes until Floppy rescues Dale and Davis from two armed men who intend to kill them. One of those armed men holds a gun to Floppy’s head.

“What happened next was a blur. In one fluid motion Floppy spun around on his good leg and raised his elbow as if it were a battering ram. The force knocked the gun out of Greg’s hand, and it scurried across the floor into a dark corner of the basement. Floppy then spun back in the opposite direction, striking Greg in the throat with the edge of his open hand.”

After dispatching both of the bad guys, “Floppy handed Perry’s gun to Dale, then casually hopped over to me. ‘Who are those guys?’ he said.”

Watching Floppy save the day made me laugh out loud.

So there you have them: a bandit’s biography, a songwriter’s journey, and as fine a suspense novel as you’ll ever want to read, all of them set right here in our own backyard.

Enjoy!