Herbert Lee ‘Hub’ Hyde

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Herbert Lee ‘Hub’ Hyde in an undated photo.

Although he lived in Asheville most of his adult life, Herbert Hyde always considered himself a son of his birthplace, the Smokies. Known as “Hub” to family and friends, he revered his roots and showed this with sparkling clarity countless times over the course of his illustrious career.

Perhaps the finest example came in a 1973 speech to the North Carolina House of Representatives. That body, in what Hyde deemed an unseemly attempt to legislate morality, was considering a bill outlawing public cursing. Hyde, a persuasive speaker known as “the last of the great orators,” rose to the occasion and attacked the “cussing bill” in eloquent fashion. He later entitled his speech “There Oughta Be Somewhere a Person Can Cuss Without Breaking the Law.”

The catalyst for his diatribe lay in a Republican-led effort to change an existing law exempting citizens of two counties—Pitt in the east and Swain in the west—from a statewide law which making it a misdemeanor to curse in public. Hyde inveighed against the bill in telling fashion, partly because he was a yellow dog Democrat but also because he believed in his cause.

He referred to the heritage of his beloved mountains, ruminated on traditional speech patterns of the Cherokees, alluded to Israel’s lost tribes, quoted Biblical verses, and, warming to his subject, worked through some of Shakespeare’s writings while discussing the traits of mules. All the while he plead eloquently for a refuge where one might curse with impunity.

“This is an iniquitous bill,” Hyde opined. “If you pass this you are going to put people in jeopardy.” He proposed an amendment “that this act shall not apply to any person who drives a steer, rides a mule, or runs for public office,” noting “if you’ve ever tried to work a mule, you know what I’m talking about.” While inveighing against the bill, Hyde cited experiences of his great-uncle “Fide” Hyde as a case in point. According to that erstwhile mountain man, anyone “who had to work around a mule ought not to try to be a preacher ‘cause he was bound to cuss. That’s true. I’ve seen a lot of mules and tried to work ‘em. A mule, he didn’t come from nowhere and he ain’t going anywhere. He’s without pride of ancestry or hope of posterity. It’s no wonder, Mr. Speaker, they’re cantankerous. Almost but not quite as cantankerous as a back row legislator with a resolution in his hand.” Now at full steam, Hyde continued: “There ought to be somewhere a man can curse when the circumstances demand it.” 

“Swain County is a poor little county,” he concluded. “It’s got very little left (after losing land to federal entities). Nothing except its liberty. If you should take that away, and if you should filch her good name, she would be poor indeed. Mr. Speaker, I say to this General Assembly, don’t heap this indignity upon her fair head. Let her stand and lift her head in pride. Let her go forth—even as an innocent woman, in virtue—unsullied, unharmed, and undamned by this iniquitous bill. That’s all I want—a sanctuary where a man can go and cuss. A man needs a refuge somewhere, a place where he can go when he is really provoked and say something with impunity.”

Spellbound, the House voted overwhelmingly to carry Hyde’s amendment. His impassioned plea provides a splendid example of why Sam Ragan, appointed North Carolina’s Poet Laureate for life, once said to Hub’s youngest sister, Sue: “You do know that your brother is the quintessential mountain storyteller.”

Born in 1925, Hyde grew up in a large family carefully nurtured by their mother, Alice, a hard-working woman devoted to her children and their future. Sharp as honey locust thorns and inspired by their matriarch, all became successes in life. A product of Swain County schools, Hub saw active duty in World War II’s Pacific theater. After that conflict’s conclusion, he enrolled briefly in the University of Tennessee before transferring to Western Carolina Teachers College.

At Cullowhee Hyde served as student body president and editor of the college newspaper. These were harbingers of his career embracing politics, law, and late-life flowering as a writer. Following his 1951 graduation, he received a law school scholarship at New York University. In 1954, as a newly minted doctor of jurisprudence, Hyde launched his legal career with the Asheville firm of Harkins, Van Winkle, Walton, Starnes and Hyde, where he was a partner for 25 years before becoming a sole practitioner, a capacity in which he continued until his death in 2006.

Hyde served a term in the North Carolina House and two in the Senate. In both bodies he became famous for rollicking speeches. Whenever members knew he was scheduled to speak they packed the chamber. In a fashion reminiscent of Mark Twain or Will Rogers, both of whom he frequently quoted, Hub Hyde covered amazing amounts of ground in his orations. One moment he would deliver withering criticism then abruptly reverse course in cajoling fashion worthy of carnival barkers. Sometimes Hyde reduced hardened lawmakers to tears and often left them laughing uncontrollably.

Hyde quoted the Bible with ease, readily called up passages from British and American authors, and exhibited intimate familiarity with Greek philosophers. Yet the essence of his wit and wisdom was homespun common sense he absorbed like a giant intellectual sponge while growing up in the high country.

A sampling of what fellow politicians called “Hydeisms” offer insight. They come from his first book, Genuine Hyde (1979). On lost opportunities: “I could have been a great politician if only I had started right. Unfortunately, my mother taught me to tell the truth.” On work: “My great uncle, Fide Hyde, was not exactly what you would call a working man. He always needed to be, but he never was.” On environmental matters: “Man is the only creature I know, except the buzzard, who deliberately fouls his own nest. In defense of the buzzard, he does it for his own protection and for no other reason.” On the independence and regionalism characteristic of mountain people: “Most mountain politicians are misunderstood in the Piedmont and East. But that doesn’t amount to much. They have an even rougher time back home in the mountains.”

Obviously, with his quick mind and quicker wit, Hyde was a formidable courtroom force. He could sway juries masterfully and destroy witnesses who played loose with the truth. Hyde skewered legal adversaries like a piece of meat impaled on a stick and cooked over a campfire. Or, in lighter moments he belted out verses of “The Cold, Icy Waters of Swain,” which he wrote, with great gusto.

His career garnered Hyde numerous honors. His name appeared in biographical directories including Who’s Who in America. The Asheville Citizen-Times named him as one of the 50 most influential western North Carolinians of the 20th century, he was recognized by his undergraduate alma mater for outstanding service and was inducted into the state bar association’s Hall of Fame. He served the Democratic Party as precinct chairman, Buncombe County chairman, Eleventh Congressional district chairman, and state chair. The crowning honor of his political career was a Lifetime Achievement Award presented at a dinner the evening before his death. 

For all of his work as a public servant and stellar legal career, in time Hyde likely will be best remembered for his books. They constitute a grand gift to posterity and merit close examination. The logical beginning point, since politics was Hub’s lifeblood, is the politically oriented Genuine Hyde. It contains his famous defense of cursing; a vintage Hyde chapter entitled, “A Lot of Candidates Don’t Know an Issue from a Punkin;” and “I Ain’t Pretty or Rich,” the text of a speech given when running unsuccessfully for lieutenant governor, The book’s wit is irresistible. “I have always been poor—and proud, too. But I never was proud of being poor.” Or take his assessment of mayhem his son could produce: “My oldest son has never been deliberately destructive. But when he was four years old, he could tear up more by accident than two grown men could by design. He was the only small boy I ever knew who could tear up an anvil with his bare hands.”

Hyde’s remaining literary productivity belongs to his life’s final decade. Beginning with his endearing My Home Is in the Smoky Mountains (1998), he wrote four books in five years. My Home offers 90 vignettes of highland life, and anyone familiar with the Smokies soon realizes they ring true as Sunday morning church bells echoing off mountainsides. That authenticity is also a key attribute of Just Natural. These are volumes to be cherished for their insight on mountain days and ways we have largely lost. 

Hyde’s intense love of place, a common characteristic of those who grew up in the region, highlights all his books. Certainly his literary legacy deserves wider recognition, for his writings warm the heart’s cockles, guarantee grins, and provide a seductive mirror on the mountain world. Like the man who wrote them, they represent mountain wit and wisdom at their finest.