Returning to the Old Camp Co. 411 - Smokemont

I was setting at my computer writing for a future book when the phone rang. I picked it up and a voice that I didn’t recognize said, 

   “Charles, this is Clarence  Allison.  I am planning to visit the old 411 CCC camp site this week end. Want to meet me at the gate where the road to the camp leaves the main road?”

   “I could meet you on Saturday about 10 AM. You know, it’s been sixty eight years since I left  the CCCs. I would guess that the camp is full of ghosts by now. Could be spooks hanging around just waiting for someone like you and me to come back.” I said.

   “I don’t think so. I stopped by for a few minutes about a year ago. Didn’t stay long. The foundations are still there and the rock wall in front of the barracks is still standing. I’ll meet you at the gate at 10:00 next Saturday morning. Bring a couple of sandwiches and something to drink and we will stay all day. Between the two of us we should remember where all the buildings were. I’m sure it will bring back a lot of memories along with some stories of what happened nearly seventy years ago.  Good bye, see you Saturday morning.”

   CCC  Camp 411 at Smokemont  was located near the Cherokee Indian Reservation in the Smokey Mountain National Park  in North Carolina. 

   Clarence was one of the cooks at this camp. He was only sixteen years old when he reported for duty. They would ask how old you were.  Whatever you told them, was your age. Your age was never checked . Most of the young men didn’t have a birth certificate. They were born at home with a midwife acting as the doctor. Their birth was recorded in the family Bible.  

   When I arrived at the gate across the road leading to the abandon CCC camp Clarence was waiting for me. I parked off Highway 411 beside Clarence.  

   “Do you think we can walk the half mile to where the camp was?” I said to Clarence.  “We are not as young now as we were seventy years ago.  We are  old men now, you being eighty one and me eighty seven. May have to rest a couple of times along the way.”

   The first foundation we came to was where the mess hall was located. This was Clarence's work place.

   “Ate many a good meal in the building that was on that foundation.” I said to Clarence, “Brings back lots of memories.”

   “Sure does,” Clarence said, “I learned to drive a truck behind the mess hall. One of the truck drivers really loved milk. He would drink all he could get and want more. I would sneak bottles of milk out of the refrigerator for him and in return he would leave his truck behind the mess hall for me to practice my driving.”

   “Do you remember the time that John Forgy caught the bear in back of the mess hall?” I asked Clarence.  

  “Sure do, John was always doing crazy things. I don’t know how he caught that bear.”

   I piped up and said, “I do.  You remember that John was the night watchman and he slept most of the day. He would come to the mess hall when he woke in the evening and you would feed him. You remember how the bears were always in the garbage cans searching for food. Well---this one evening when John came to the mess hall he noticed a big cub bear all the way in one of the garbage cans. John sneaked up behind the can with the cub inside, picked up a lid, slammed it on the can, turned it up and sat on the top. He had caught himself a bear.  John was hollering—Go get the Captain—Go get the Captain!”

   Someone got word to the Captain and he came to where John was setting on the garbage can.

   “What do you want?” the Captain asked. 

   “Captain—I’ve got a bear in this can. You shoot him with your pistol, kill him and we’ll have a

bear dinner.”

   “You get your butt off that can and let that bear go. If I killed that bear we would both be sent to prison.” responded the Captain.

We did other things trying to keep the bear out of the garbage but nothing worked. They kept coming back. 

A little ways up the road from the mess hall on our left was the rock wall that was in front of our barracks. This was where we set in the evenings to rest after a hard days work.

“That second foundation is where my barracks was,” I said to Clarence.

“I was in the first one, guess they wanted me close to the mess hall?” Clarence said. 

“I remember when a boomer got in our barracks. Not may people know what a boomer is. They belong to the squirrel family. Not as large as a gray squirrel and  larger than a ground squirrel.  A boomer is the fastest  animal in all the mountains. When we threw something at him he would be in the other end of the barracks before it left your hand.  After throwing shoes and anything we could get our hands on we gave up and opened the doors in the barracks and he left.  Also got my bed tied up in the ceiling one time when I went to Bryson City one Saturday night to the square dance. I didn’t complain and it never happened again. 

Over there was where Forgy had the generator that he started every night.  That building next to the generator house was the training building where you could learn a trade if you wanted to.

The other building on our right was the canteen and recreation hall. We didn’t have much money to spend at the canteen. We were paid thirty dollars a month. Five for us and the other twenty five was given to our family. We were glad for the twenty five dollars to go to our family. This helped send the younger children to school and support our family in many ways.

Over there was where the army officers had their offices and bedrooms. We had a Captain and a Lieutenant. Everyone in camp liked the Captain but the Lieutenant was fresh out of officers training and liked to show his authority. He didn’t have too many friends.”

“Clarence, do you remember that someone had to make the officer’s beds and they had to be sacked?” “And, do you remember when someone put a live five foot black snake in the Lieutenant’s bed and after he

recovered from the shock he called a meeting in the recreation  hall  trying to find out who the snake handler was. The rumor was that from that day on he would never get in bed without removing the sheets and blankets.”

A little farther up the road we came to where the park office was, “This was where I worked.” I said,  “Let me tell you how I got this job.”

“The first week in camp I was assigned to the rock cutting crew. For some reason I was not issued work clothes, May have been because I was so skinny or they wanted to see if I was staying.

The crew leader would have a large stone placed on a table. I was given a big hammer and a chisel and told to make the bolder a certain size by chipping it. When Friday finally came I was cut all over my arms and face from flying chips from the stone. I had a plan. Come Saturday I was leaving this place.

Early Saturday morning I slipped out of the barracks. Walked down the road to 411 highway going to Cherokee. I was walking as fast as I could go. I was scared because there was lots of wild animals in these mountains.

Out of nowhere the lights from a car came up behind me. After  passing me, it stopped. When I was closer I could see that it was a green park truck. A voice from inside the truck asked.  “What are you doing in these mountains at this time of the day?”

  I was really scared but managed to answer. “I was in that CCC camp, but I am going home and not coming back.”

  “Where is your home?” he asked.

  “Canton,” I said. 

  “Get in. I’m going to Waynesville, that’s pretty close.”

   I got in the truck and we were on our way to Waynesville when the driver asked, “Why are you leaving the CCC camp?”

   “I’ve been cutting rocks all this week and I have cuts all over my body. I can’t do this kind of work.”

   “My name is Rosser, I am the Park Superintendent here, if you will come back by Monday I will promise  that you will not have to work in the rock quarry again.”

 “I’ll think about it,” I said.

Things were kind of boring around home on Saturday and Sunday morning. I was missing some of the boys I had become friends with and most of all the good food that we had every meal and plenty of it. I decided to go back.

I walked to town, bought a ticket and was on the Trailway bus going back to camp.

On Monday morning I went to the park office where all the work was assigned for that day. Every one was given a job and had left, I was still waiting when one of the park employees  told me that I was to help out in the park office, issue tools and put gas in the park ranger’s trucks when they came for gas.  I was to keep a record of who checked out tools and have the drivers sign for the gasoline they got.

The park office clerk was a boy from some where in Tennessee. He answered to the name of Rod. He explained his work duties to me and how to recognize the different rings on the phone. This was the first time I had ever talked on a phone. It was a little spooky to talk with someone that was miles away.

Another good thing happened. I moved into the park office from the barracks. Someone had to be near the phone around the clock in case there was a call for help from an accident or a fire report.  Rod and I had a bed room in the back of the office.

Everything good was going my way. Rod had a small radio and with the help of several hundred feet of wire strung through the trees we could hear the baseball games from St. Louis and the Grand Old Opera from Nashville, Tennessee on Saturday night.

   I am glad that I came back to Camp 411.

   “Clarence, did you look at the old fish hatchery place when you were here?” I asked.

   “Yes, the building is gone but several of the fish ponds are still there”.

   “Do you remember when some of the boys would slip in the building and steal some of the big trout that were kept for spawning?”

   “Yes, They would get them cooked by someone in the mess hall. I never did cook any for them.”

   It’s a pretty long walk up there and we are many years older so we will skip the hatchery,” I said.

   As we were walking back to our car on the exit road that was back of where the barracks were Clarence pointed to a big hole in the ground.

   “Do you know what that is?” he asked.

   “I believe that is where the septic tank was for our sewage system,” I said.

   “Your are right,” Clarence said. The man that was a crew leader and the dynamite man at the rock quarry designed and supervised building the tank.

   As we approached the place where we had left our cars I said to Clarence, “I’m glad that you called me and invited me to visit the old 411 CCC camp. Sure, brought back memories of the good old days.  I didn’t realize when I enlisted in the CCC that what I learned  would help make me a better citizen, soldier, employee and father. The money that we received was not the important part of our growing up from a poor young boy out of the mountains to a young man with responsibilities and the desire to help our fellow man. I am proud to tell others that I was a part of President Roosevelt’s “Tree Army”, the CCC’s.

 “Goodbye Clarence”, thanks for the invitation to visit  411 with you.