CROSSVILLE CHRONICLE. April 14, 1909.
PINING FOR OWL HOLLER. “Eli Perkins’ Writes of Some Tendencies of the Age. Forty-five years ago I helped to make history for Chattanooga, and for all these years I have been wanting to come back and look at the growth of the city and try to find my place on the memorable battlefields near here.
So a few days ago I bought a ticket from Owl Holler to Chattanooga, and took shipping on the next train.
In due time, without accident or incident, I rolled into the depot at 10 o’clock at night. They didn’t have any band to meet me, as they didn’t know I was coming, though nearly everybody in town was there when I got off. Everybody was in a rush and hurry, and everybody seemed to know where they were going but me. It took several minutes to get my addled brains in working order. You take a plain country man and put him down in such a hoorah as that, and it nearly upsets his thinker.
I picked up my grips, and pulled out on the street, and the first thing I saw was something come tearing down the street, making a strange noise, and had two great big red eyes in front. I lit out for a place of safety, when a policeman asked me what was the matter, and I said, “Don’t you see the devil is after us?”
And he shook his big sides and said, “That’s an ‘orterinobeel.’ You will have to get used to them, if you stay in this town.”
I asked him to show me a hotel and he took me to the Patten, 12 stories high, built out of rock and iron and absolutely fireproof; rates reasonable.
The door was a great big glass concern with hinges in the middle. I got in one of those notches, and followed it around like a blind horse in a bark mill for about 15 minutes. Sometimes I was in and sometimes out, but didn’t know how to turn the darn thing loose, till a waiter saw I was keeping others out and stopped me on the inside. There were about 100 men looking on and seemed to enjoy it more than I did. I went up to the clerk and asked the price of a room and breakfast, and it liked to have took my breath away when he said $5.
I told him I would give him a good feather bed and a square meal down at Owl Holler for 50 cents and he couldn’t pull me for a sucker that way. As I started out I saw a fellow in a little cage and stepped in to see what it was. He pulled a string and the thing shot up like lightning.
I hollered “Put on the brakes,” as I didn’t want to go to heaven with him.
He said, “Don’t be uneasy, this isn’t anything but an ‘alligater.’ It’ll take you back down in a minute.” After pyrootin around for some time I got a place to rest my weary head, but I was so torn up I couldn’t sleep for thinking.
In the morning I started out to take in the town. I thought everybody would be glad to see me, but I passed 1,000 men on Market Street and didn’t a single one speak to me. What do you think of that for manners? They didn’t seem to realize in whose august presence they were walking.
I went into a big store and thought I saw my brother from Texas coming to meet me, but when I got ready to shake, I ran up against a big looking glass and found I was meeting myself, while them 40 gals took a big laugh. I backed out and felt just like some kind friend had poured a jug of ’lasses down my back.
We’ll get Eli Perkins back to Owl Holler next week.
• • •
Old Uncle Gib is a weekly historical feature published each week. Old Uncle Gib is a pseudonym that was used by S.C. Bishop, who founded the Chronicle in 1886. Bishop actively published the Chronicle until 1948.