Hamilton Bush is on the trail of local lore and heretofore hushed up history. Now, dear readers, your friendly scribe has borne witness to many a deed, great and small, during his lifetime in the east of Tennessee. But a recent controversy and the outcome of it in the state Legislature, coupled with the actions of some local governments, very nearly defies logic. Old Hamilton is talking about the nonsense of allowing gun-toting folks into establishments that serve adult beverages and even onto the campgrounds, boat ramps and forests within Tennessee’s state parks.
All this reminds yours truly of one of those All in the Family episodes from the 1970s. You may remember the moment when Archie Bunker, our hero or anti-hero as the individual sees fit, was invited to deliver an editorial on the wave of airline hijackings that were occurring at the time. Why, Archie employed simple logic and stated boldly that the way to prevent future hijackings was to “arm all the passengers.”
Think about it - it makes sense. If enough bar-goers take Messrs. Smith and Wesson along for the ride, then that should settle things down. No more problems with rowdy imbibers, right? This theory holds up even if those with the pistols, revolvers, deer rifles or whatever aren’t allowed to take a drink. Further on up the road, those who take a hankerin’ to squeeze off a round at a nearby duck will be in hog heaven next time they stop in at Harrison Bay, Booker T. Washington, Fall Creek Falls or any of the other beautiful state parks across Tennessee. Of course, the need for personal protection is always with us. But wait … don’t we have professionals in uniform whose job it is to protect and to serve?
Hats off to Gov. Phil Bredesen, who vetoed the nonsense about guns in bars in the first place. A big thank you to Sen. Andy Berke, who supported the governor’s action. A loud raspberry to Sen. Doug Jackson, who sponsored the bill, and those who voted with him to override the veto.
Now, dear readers, let us be clear on a couple of points before the letters from gun supporters come pouring in. Old Hamilton has nothing against the proper carrying of permitted handguns. Your scribe is espousing neither the line of the elephant nor the donkey party. Friends, it is a dangerous world, and it is the right of every citizen to keep and bear arms. However, alcohol and guns do not need to be in close proximity. Neither do guns and family picnics, fishing trips or camping excursions.
By the way, laws against the carrying of a concealed knife that opens automatically or has a blade over a certain length are still on the books. Next time Old Hamilton hits the local watering hole or heads out to enjoy the scenery at a state park on a Sunday afternoon, then it must be OK to carry the trusty old .44 – but leave the brass knuckles and the baseball bat at home.
Dear Hamilton Bush,
Well, I suppose I have seen it all. Several months ago, I was driving along Missionary Ridge and spied one of the kudzu-chomping goats that Mayor Littlefield had employed to control the weed. Nearby, standing guard, was one of the early-warning llamas that accompanied them. The experience was one of those not easily forgotten, and it set me to wondering how all this kudzu got here in the first place. What do know about kudzu and how it got to the United States?
Sincerely,
Whither The Weed
Dear Weed,
One simply cannot be a resident of our area without some knowledge of the “Vine That Ate the South.” Why, Old Hamilton remembers his little dog, Bucky, who slept outdoors one night and the next morning had to be cut free from encroaching kudzu, which had wrapped him up like a package in just a few hours. There are also fond memories of the local Kudzu Ball, which celebrated the virtues of the vine a few years ago.
Kudzu, which is a lot speedier than its distant cousin, Virginia Creeper, races rapidly around the trunks of trees, up the sides of hills and over stone walls. It is thought to have originated in southern Japan and southeast China, and its name actually comes from the Japanese word for the plant, Kuzu.
Like a few other things that were transplanted to the South, the kudzu vine was first presented to Americans as an ornamental plant and crop for livestock forage at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition in 1876. By the 1930s, the government was encouraging the planting of kudzu in the South as the Soil Conservation Service said it was the perfect antidote to soil erosion.
True enough, with kudzu wrapped tightly around it, there isn’t much that can go anywhere. It is widely rumored, in fact, that Snidely Whiplash did use kudzu to lash the beautiful Nell Fenwick, the love interest of Canadian Mountie Dudley Do-Right, to the railroad track.
Since its introduction to the United States, kudzu has spread far and wide: northward to New Jersey, southward to Key West, Florida, and throughout the Southeast. The “mile-a-minute vine” has even managed to leap the Mississippi River to Texas and Arkansas. Not long ago, it was discovered growing in Oregon, and nobody actually knows how it got to the Pacific Coast.
Before we come across as completely trashing the vine that is rumored to have cost American farmers up to $500 million annually in lost crop production and the expense of keeping it from taking over completely, we should note that livestock do enjoy its taste – hence the noble goat experiment – and there is no denying that it will hold the soil in place.
Even more interesting, Harvard University is supposedly conducting an in-depth study of kudzu as an herbal medicine that can combat the craving for alcohol. It may also have medicinal qualities that can control migraine and cluster headaches and treat hypertension and type 2 diabetes, allergies and possibly even cancer.
Stay tuned. Should these potential medicinal uses prove valid, kudzu may become something of a hero, rather than a “goat.”
Dear Hamilton Bush,
Not long ago, I read a newspaper article that said Orchard Knob Reservation was in need of improvements and that the residents of the neighborhood surrounding the Civil War site were getting involved in the process. I visited Orchard Knob years ago and remember the numerous monuments and cannon. However, I know very little of the significance of the place during that turbulent period in our history. Can you give me a quick rundown of the significance of Orchard Knob?
Regards,
To Know The Knob
Dear Know,
That small round hill called Orchard Knob, which doubtless was home to a cluster of fruit trees sometime in the distant past, did indeed play an important role in the fighting between North and South that occurred in our area on November 23-25, 1863. During the Union effort to raise the siege of Chattanooga, Gen. Ulysses S. Grant ordered that the hill be taken from the Confederates on the 23rd.
That day, Union soldiers marched out of their fortifications in the city as if on parade. When a signal cannon fired, they wheeled and charged toward the 100-foot high prominence. The top of the hill, or knob, was taken without much difficulty, but fighting nearby resulted in more than 1,000 killed or wounded for both sides.
Two days later, Grant, his staff and a number of other high-ranking officers took up positions on Orchard Knob to observe the progress of attacks at either end of Missionary Ridge, which were expected to dislodge the last Confederate troops from the heights surrounding Chattanooga. Incidentally, Lookout Mountain had been captured the day before.
Well, the best-laid plans of Grant went awry. Gen. Joseph Hooker, whose troops from the Army of the Potomac had transferred from Virginia as reinforcements, found the going rough in the Chattanooga Valley and Rossville area. At the other end of the ridge, Gen. William T. Sherman’s troops from the Army of the Tennessee captured Billy Goat Hill thinking it was the end of the ridge. Whoops! Sherman and company made no progress against the Confederates well-entrenched at what is now known as Sherman Reservation in east Chattanooga. Now, one must appreciate the circumstances of the boys from the Army of the Cumberland. They had been roughly handled at nearby Chickamauga back in September and were sitting on the sidelines – mainly due to the fact that Grant considered them somewhat unreliable. In a bit of a pinch, however, he ordered elements of the Army of the Cumberland to assault the base of Missionary Ridge and capture the first of three Confederate defensive lines in the center of the slope.
Well, when the word was passed to head for the center, the Cumberland troops got their dander up. They were under heavy fire and could not retreat, so they decided, on their own, to keep going. Yep, you guessed it. They reached the crest of the ridge and routed the Rebels, who were forced to withdraw. All, that is, except for those under Gen. Patrick Cleburne, who were facing Sherman. They held out all day long and only pulled out after dark.
One point to ponder is the responsibility for the charge. Heads would have most certainly rolled if it had failed. Matter of fact, when Grant saw what was happening, he turned to Gen. George H. Thomas, commander of the Army of the Cumberland, and asked, “Thomas, who ordered those men up that ridge?” Thomas responded, “I don’t know. I did not.”
Then Grant asked Gen. Gordon Granger, a corps commander, “Did you order them up, Granger?” The response was fitting for a Hollywood movie script. “No, they started up without orders,” said Granger. “When those fellows get started, all hell can’t stop them.”
Grant was said to have muttered that if the assault failed, some would pay. Of course, the rest is history!