A few days ago, I took a walk back up Tobacco Road to a time over 75 years past.
I grew up in Clemmons, a village near Winston-Salem. Clemmons School served the community from 1924 until 1956 when the high school consolidated with two other schools. The school building was later converted to modern office suites. The Class of 1956 has commissioned a display case for memorabilia and a list of all the graduates.
Each day, I think about those times. I suppose it is part of the maturing process (not aging, maturing.) At a dedication ceremony, I shared memories of life in Clemmons.
Clemmons was founded in 1802[i] and became a stagecoach stop on a line from Salem to Asheville.[ii] In 1947 it was a village of about 200 people. My parents built a house there, a pine paneled long cabin - the first home built in the community since 1939. Clemmons had two groceries, a hardware store, a barber shop, and a doctor. It had no restaurants, no drugstore, no bank, and no dentist. It had one telephone – in the school principal’s office, available to the public in an emergency. Community life revolved around the school and its three churches – Baptist, Methodist, and Moravian. I never met a Catholic there in my youth.
I cherish my memories about the sports teams. A baseball pitcher and a football player from 1954 were at the dedication. I also recalled the great athletes who in 1948-51 won a county basketball, a county football, and two state baseball championships.[iii].
But my strongest memories are of the faculty who helped shape my life. I was fortunate to have Mrs. Flossie Cook as a teacher in both the third and fifth grades. Mrs. Cook, by example and gentility, commanded respect; I considered her saintly.
And there was the principal, Frank Morgan. His bomber had been blown up over Germany in March 1945, and he spent three months in a prison camp. He was not a man to challenge, and everyone respected him. A few years ago, we had breakfast together. I called him “Mr. Morgan.” He said, “Call me Frank.” I thought, “I would sooner address God by his first name than call you ‘Frank’.” My respect had not diminished in sixty years. Everyone should have had a teacher and a principal like these two.
But besides a walk down memory lane, what did we take away from this day in Clemmons? Most important, time and distance have helped us appreciate how our world has changed and how we have changed. Clemmons is now a city of about 23,000. There are six churches, one Catholic serving 2,300 families. And an Interstate 40 exit has brought perhaps 30 fast food restaurants of every imaginable name.
And with a nod toward tobacco, I noted that much of our economic progress could be traced back to the Camel cigarette. For decades we all had a better life because of R. J. Reynolds. Few places the size of Forsyth County enjoyed a local business that was so profitable for everyone.
My daughter commented on how small her grandparents’ home and the school looked, contrasted with her memory. And we realized that the buildings had not shrunk, rather we had grown in adulthood through seeing a broader world.
And my perspective on old age has changed too. A Halloween carnival was a school tradition. When I was 16, one person was in costume as an old man, but when the ‘old man’ removed his mask, it was a lovely lady, Mrs. B. I thought, “How great that this ‘old lady’ would party with us kids!” (At 16, everybody looks old.) Mrs. B. was 34. And at the commemoration, Mrs. B. was sitting in the front row, still a beauty. She will 100 in December. Now I see her as young and an inspiration. She remarkably looks no older than I do. My perception of what ‘old’ means has changed considerably in 66 years.
Hopefully, all of us who come from villages like Clemmons find our horizons expanded. We must cherish and preserve our heritage. But we must appreciate changes for the better and ask how we can improve our future. Though we live in a time of disagreement, it has always been thus even if we don’t think so, and I believe we will find solutions just as we have in the past.
[i] Edwin Clemmons, the Stagecoach Man
[iii] And the 1955-56 team won the Western North Carolina championship in six-man football, but was defeated 56-0 by Southern Pines, the Eastern champion on Thanksgiving night. I was in Southern Pines with the legendary sportswriter, Mary Garber. She said, “Southern Pines should have been playing in a much higher division.” The next year they were. but there would be no “next year’ for Clemmons.
Hello Gene, I also enjoyed your reflections of growing up in Clemmons and reading your Going Down Tobacco Road. Great memories of growing up in Clemmons during the 40s and 50s and growing tobacco. I recently ask my sister Jeanne if she remembered you? Her reply was "O yes, he was the smart one". George Hair
Gene, I enjoyed this so very much! As I did your earlier book. I wish I could have been there and hope to get to Winston some time this fall. I live in Mechanicsville, VA now and my health has not been good this year. I'm sure I will enjoy reading your thoughts. Wilma Snyder