Dad's Old Trapper

To most people this is just an old worn-out pocketknife. To the collector it’s a 1970’s model, Western 691 Trapper. But to me, it is a treasured memory of my dad and childhood.

My mind goes back to the many times I watched dad with this knife in his hand. He carried it everywhere he went. He cleaned fish, skinned rabbits, squirrels, and deer with it. He peeled apples, cut twine, cleaned out his fingernails, and whittled sticks with it. 

But my fondest memory is the time our family went on a trip to Nashville to visit my Aunt Mary. On the way back home, dad stopped at a gas station to put oil in the car. Back then oil only came in round cardboard cans with metal lids. Dad cut two holes in the top of the can and poured oil into the engine. He laid the knife down on top of the radiator and used an old rag to wipe the dipstick to check the oil level. He then slammed the hood down and we continued down the interstate to Knoxville. 

When we got home, we pulled in the driveway and dad got out of the car and reached into his front right pocket for his knife. It wasn’t there! He started patting down all his pants pockets and shirt pockets, but the knife was nowhere to be found. Panic ensued as we desperately looked through the car seats and all over the car. Finally, it dawned on dad that he must have left it under the hood of the car when he added the oil. He turned pale and had a sick look on his face while uttering out a few “dadgummits,” and a “of all the dadgum stupid...” Nevertheless, he raised the hood of the car expecting to see an empty spot where the knife once was, but lo and behold, there it was, right where he left it! 

Dad didn't smile a whole lot but at that moment in time he was grinning from ear to ear like he’d found a million dollars. He grabbed the knife, looked it over a few times, stuck it back in his pocket, turned to me and said, “let that be a lesson to you boy!”

Nowadays dad’s old knife just sits in a wooden box along with a few other trinkets and treasures but every now and then I get it out, hold it, and let my mind drift back to a happier time.

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Bessie Mae Hayes Chesney

This is my paternal grandmother, Bessie Mae Hayes Chesney.

Bessie grew up in a poor family in Lea Springs in Grainger County, TN. Her father was a farmer and she had five brothers and three sisters. When she was 12-years old, her oldest brother, Alfred, who was eighteen at the time, tragically died when the car he was driving plunged off the side of McBee Ferry into the Holston River. I wrote about him the other day. Then when she was 16-years old, Bessies's father, Britt, died from Cirrhosis of the liver, he was only 47. With Bessie being the oldest daughter of the house, it was up to her to help her mother with the other children.

At 22-years old, Bessie met Lorn James Chesney and in June of 1939 married him. Ten months later on May 4, 1940, my dad, James Carroll Chesney whom they called "Carroll" was born. They had two other children, both girls; Barbara Jewell and Brenda Lucille.

Bessie and Lorn moved around to several different places. They started out living on Old Andersonville Pike. Afterwards they lived on Grayson Rd. which used to be in East Knoxville off Millertown Pike where Lowes now sits. Eventually they moved to Rt. 12 Maloneyville Rd. in Knoxville which was redistricted to Corryton in the 70's. They bought a farm with a large house with several acres of land from Lorn's brother, Jesse Lee Chesney.

Although they were my grandparents, they insisted my sisters and I call them by their first names of Bessie and Lorn. I always felt a little robbed because of it. My family lived just through the cow pasture from their house. When Bessie was still living, we visited them very frequently but after she died and Lorn remarried, we only went at Christmas time.

I always felt that Bessie loved me. She was always so kind and gentle. I would spend the night upstairs in their big scary house, and she would tuck me into bed and rub my head and talk to me in a low sweet voice until I fell asleep. I remember that she wore wigs and there was a room just off the living room where there were three or four Styrofoam heads with wigs on them. I was forbidden to go into that room. I guess she didn't want me messing with her wigs.

Bessie cooked and canned a lot and her kitchen always smelled like pickled beets. I never could stand the taste of them but loved to smell them when I walked into the house. Lorn always had to have beans and cornbread with every meal so there was always a pot of beans going as well.

One time I had gotten in trouble and my dad was beating me with a belt outside our house. I was screaming to the top of my lungs and Bessie came running through the cow pasture, crossed the barbed wire fence and into our yard and said, "Now Carroll, you stop whipping him, you're going to beat him to death!"

Sadly, in May of 1979, at the young age of sixty-one, Bessie passed away from pancreatic cancer. I was only 11-years old at the time. I remember when my parents went to her funeral service, and they left me and Pam at Bessie and Lorn's house. On their way out the door they said they would be back "dreckly." I asked Pam what that meant, and she said "dreckly means never." I cried myself to sleep and didn't wake up until dad was getting me in the car to go back home.

I always wondered how different life would have turned out if Bessie had lived longer. I've always felt the family made a monumental shift in the wrong direction after she died.

Below are pictures that I have of Bessie.

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The Tragic Ending of Alfred Hayes

 The Tragic Ending of Alfred Hayes 

 This is the tragic story of my paternal granduncle, Claud "Alfred" Hayes. 

 Alfred was born on August 3, 1911, which coincidentally, I was born exactly 55-years after him on August 3, 1966. Alfred was the first-born son of Colonel Brittain "Britt" Hayes and Olive Penelope "Nellie" Evans Hayes of Grainger County, TN. He had four brothers and four sisters, one of whom was my grandmother, Bessie Mae Hayes Chesney. 

 The Hayes family lived in Lea Springs near Brice's Bridge in Grainger County (Blaine). Although Alfred's father, Britt, was a farmer by trade, he also sold lumber to a sawmill in Trentville (Straw Plains area) to earn extra money for his family. Eighteen-year-old Alfred worked alongside his father and was looking forward to Christmas which was coming up in just four days. The extra money they would get from the sawmill would come in handy. 

 On Saturday morning, December 21, 1929, the weather had dropped to 30 degrees. There was freezing rain and snow flurries falling. Alfred and his father got up early to drive to work at the sawmill. They drove from their home in Lea Springs to McBee's ferry at the Holston River. This is where things get interesting. Upon arrival, Britt got out of the car and Alfred drove onto the ferry. The Knoxville Journal reported that the Hayes Ford had stalled, and Britt had gotten out to push the car while Alfred started it and drove. For reasons still unknown to this day, the large Ford suddenly began speeding out of control down the full length of the ferry and crashed through the retaining chains at the edge of the boat. The car plunged over the edge and quickly disappeared into the icy cold Holston River. Alfred's father, Britt, who witnessed the whole ordeal from the ferry landing, began running toward the edge where the car had gone over. Other ferry passengers had to restrain him as he tried jumping off the boat into the nineteen-foot-deep water in hopes of saving his son. Witnesses said they saw Alfred appear to the surface at one point but then was suddenly sucked back under by the swift undercurrent. 

 Sheriff's deputies and searchers were immediately dispatched to try and retrieve Alfred's body. The search continued the rest of the day and into the night. Outside temperatures continued dropping into the mid-teens, then blizzard-like conditions set in bringing with it nearly a half foot of blinding snow making it impossible for the searchers to see. The search had to be called off until the weather improved. 

 Even though it was Christmas, for the next six days family and friends continued searching to no avail. Some friends of the Hayes family that lived in Mascot, pitched in together and raised $50 to offer as a reward for anyone who could locate Alfred's body. Finally, around noon on Friday December 27, seven days from when he had drowned, Alfred's body was found. Mack Zachary reported he had found him on the bottom of the river covered in sand about 300 yards downstream from where he was last seen. 

We may never know the true reason it happened. It was a tragic ending to a life that was just getting started. Alfred's death left a large hole in the lives of his family and his story continues to be passed down from generation to generation.

Written by Byron S. Chesney on October 23, 2022

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Great Grandparents, Daniel and Cordie Chesney

These are my Paternal Great Grandparents, Daniel "Dan" Stuart Chesney, and Cordelia "Cordie" Hubbs Chesney. Dan was born in Union County, TN in 1873 and Cordie in Union County, Tn in 1878. They got married on March 3, 1895, Dan was 22 and Cordie was 17-years old. In their 53-years of marriage they had 7 children, 19 great grandchildren and 13 great grandchildren. Dan was a farmer by trade and in 1948 he came down with Pneumonia and died at the age of 75. Cordie went on to live another 23-years and died in August of 1971 at the old age of 93. She was a member of Highland Baptist Church. My grandfather, Edd Spencer, and my granduncle, Adral Hall both officiated her funeral and my dad was a pallbearer. Dan and Cordie are buried in the Union Cemetery on Washington Pike.

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Rev. James Edward Spencer

This is my maternal Grandfather, James Edward Spencer, also known as Preacher Spencer, J.E. Spencer, Edd Spencer, and Paw by his grandkids.

Paw was a tall, lanky man, filled with the Spirit of God. He accepted the call to preach in the early 1940's. He was Pastor at Highland Baptist Church from 1943-1948, then called to House Mountain Baptist Church from 1948-1950, then back to Highland from 1950-1953, then in 1954, he founded North Acres Baptist Church, where he preached for 18 years, right up until his death in 1972.

Paw preached hellfire and damnation sermons, but he also preached of God’s love and forgiveness. One thing that made his sermons great was his unforgettable active illustrations. For example, when he preached of the Prodigal Son, he would open the side door of the church and call out as if the long lost son was out there somewhere; he also got down on his hands and knees and ate from an imaginary hog’s trough. To demonstrate Zacchaeus climbing up in a tree to see Jesus, he would climb in the window seal of the church or scale a revival tent pole. There are still people today that come up to me and tell me about their memories of his preaching.

Paw and my Granny Spencer raised eight children over their 43-years of marriage. They never had a lot in this world but what they lacked in material possessions they made up for with love for the family and the Lord.

A few of my fondest memories of Paw are: Going with him to Mitchell’s barbershop. The way he gave all us kids birthday whippings with a flyswatter. The time he flipped backwards out of his hammock with a big dip of snuff in his mouth. How he would serve us all vanilla ice cream with RC Cola on top of it. How he used to call my baby sister, “Butterball.” When he used to take me to Scottie’s hamburgers over on Rutledge Pike. This list would have been a lot longer, but sadly, in 1972, when I was 6 years old, Paw was suddenly stricken with Lymphoma and died at the young age of sixty-two. The impact he made on my life in just six short years is remarkable.

You can listen to a radio broadcast message from Preacher Spencer here: https://archive.org/details/NeglectSoGreatSalvation

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Rev. Adral Glenn (A.G.) Hall Sr

This is my Grand Uncle, Adral Glenn (A.G.) Hall Sr. He was born in 1909 and at age 29 accepted the call to go into the Gospel Ministry full-time. For the next 50-years he pastored at least 10 different churches including: Ball Camp Baptist, Northside Baptist, Belmont Heights Baptist, Linden Avenue Baptist, Beaumont Avenue Baptist, and Elm Street Baptist (where I received Christ as my Savior under his preaching in 1972) and Reunion Baptist. Uncle Adral and his wife (my Aunt Parlie) were married for 69-years until she passed away. Uncle Adral died on January 10, 1999 at the age of 89. Below is a photo of Pastor Hall when he was in his mid 30's. Also a newspaper article from 1945 announcing his call to pastor Northside Baptist Church.

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Rev. Monroe Jackson "Jack" Spencer

This is my Granduncle on my mother's side, Monroe Jackson "Jack" Spencer. Below are a few newspaper articles announcing his calling at various churches, including John Sevier Baptist, Crichton Memorial Baptist, First Baptist Concord, Stuart Park Baptist, West Haven Baptist, Monte Vista Baptist. Also, an article about his car barely escaping a fallen tree during high winds.

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Pvt. Oliver Chesney

This is my 3rd great-granduncle, Pvt. Oliver Chesney who fought in the Civil War in Company D of Ashby's 2nd Tennessee Cavalry for the Confederate States of America. He is buried in the Sharp-Chesney Cemetery in Union County, TN.

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Pvt. John Sterling Chesney

This is the gravesite and service record of my great, great, great grandfather, Pvt. John Sterling Chesney, who fought in the Cherokee Indian War of 1839 in Co. Morrow's, 1st Tennessee Mounted Infantry.

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Rev. John Nelson Yadon

This is my 3rd Great Grandfather, Rev. John Nelson Yadon. He was mentioned in a book "History of Tennessee from the Earliest Time to the Present..., Volume 4, pages 1151-52

Rev. John N. Yadon, a prominent minister of the Missionary Baptist Church, was born where he now lives, May 8, 1823, the son of Joseph and Phoebe (Cabbage) Yadon; the former was born in 1799, and deceased in 1973, and the latter was born in 1800, also deceased in 1873, and both were members of the Missionary Baptist Church. Joseph Yadon, the grandfather, came from Ireland, as a British soldier, in the Revolution, but afterward joined the Americans, and was at the battle of Stillwater, and was a drum major. He afterward moved to Virginia, and then to Tennessee. The father was a farmer, and postmaster at Haynes, for twenty-four years. our subject, the eldest of seven children, was fairly educated, and March 28, 1841, married Selena Condry, who was born in August 1820, in Granger (now Union) County. Of two sons and seven daughters, six daughters are living. He has bought half of his father's estate and is a successful farmer. In 1858, he was ordained a minister, and preaches at Hickory Valley, Straight Creek, Spring Dale and Head of Barron, Churches. He is a strong Prohibitionist.

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John Chesney

This is my 4th Great Grandfather, John Chesney. He was one of the first settlers of East, Tennessee, acquiring a large body of land on Bull Run Creek and Comb Ridge in Union County. He built a mill on the creek and operated a distillery. He fought in the War of 1812, serving with General Jackson in Captain John Bayless' Co. of the Tennessee Militia. He was also a slave owner and on November 25, 1841, purchased a slave for $421 named Pharaoh "Ferry" who also took the last name of Chesney. Pharaoh lived to be 126-years and is buried in Wyrick Cemetery in Luttrell, TN. John Chesney lived to be 81-years old and is buried in Sharp-Chesney Cemetery in Union County, TN.

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Cousin Danny Barnes

Although it was a sad occasion preaching a funeral for a great man and faithful church member, it was so nice to see my cousin Danny again. If you recall, he is the one that nicknamed me "Tug" when I was just a young boy. We are both getting older and grayer but it still feels like we are kids whenever we get together.

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Pvt. Gideon Chesney

 

This is my 3rd Great Granduncle, Gideon Chesney. He enlisted as a Private in the Confederate Army on July 6, 1861, in General Wheeler's Tennessee Company C, 4th Battn Cavalry. Unfortunately, while still enlisted, he contracted Scarlett Fever, was discharged, and sent home only to die a short time later. He, his brother Levi, and their mother, Ruth, all died a few months apart in 1862. Here is a photo of Gideon's gravesite in the Sharp-Chesney Cemetery in Union Co. Tennessee.

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Pvt. James Knox Polk Chesney

On this day in 1905, my great, great grandfather, Pvt. James Knox Polk Chesney, died. Forty-four years prior to his death, he served in Company C of the 4th Tennessee Battalion (Branner's) Cavalry for the Confederate States of America, enlisted on July 6, 1861

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The Dad Who Stole Christmas Trees

It was December 1970 something. Dad and I were cruising the back country roads in his '66 Dodge Coronet, in search of the perfect Christmas tree. There weren't many houses back then just a lot of cow pastures and woods. Every now and then we would stop, and dad would gaze across the landscape then shake his head and keep driving. 

Finally, we came upon a large cow pasture surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Dad pulled the Dodge over into the ditch and pointed toward the middle of the field. "That's the one," he said, "the perfect Christmas tree." "But dad, there's a no trespassing sign," I said. By now he was standing outside the car with axe in hand and said, "yes, that sign is meant for everyone else, not us." 

In lightning like manner, dad made his way through the fence and was in full sprint toward the tree with my short legs trying to keep up. We reached the tree and dad (who very rarely smiled) had a huge grin on his face as he swung his axe slicing through that tree like it was butter. You would have thought he was a seasoned Lumberjack the way he fell that Cedar. The tree hit the ground with a thud, and he passed off the axe to me. "Let's go boy." He grabbed the tree by the trunk and began dragging it through the cow pasture back toward the car. A group of red Herefords searching for green grass on the frigid winter ground were watching the whole crime take place. I kept listening for approaching cars or a police siren screaming up the road, but we made it back to the car without incident and dad threw our Christmas tree over, climbed through the fence and shoved it into the trunk as far as it would go. A few wraps of baling twine to hold the trunk lid down and we were back in the Dodge headed toward home. 

We sat in silence on the way back. Dad must have known I had questions about what we had just done. He finally spoke up and said, "I was just helping them out, they probably needed that tree cut down anyway." I felt much better knowing we had actually performed a good deed that day. We got home, unloaded the tree and my mother and sisters were jumping up and down with excitement ready to decorate it.  We had a great Christmas that year and it all started with a stolen Christmas tree.

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The Greatest Payday of All

Back in the 1950's, the famous Baptist preacher, R. G. Lee preached a sermon called "Payday Someday." It is a wonderful sermon and considered a classic. I've listened to it dozens of times over the years. This post isn't about R.G. Lee's famous sermon but it is about a Payday. 

My dad was a Knox County public school teacher. Teachers get paid once a month and dad's check always came on the 25th of the month. You cannot even imagine how excited and desperate we were on that day. We had lists of places we wanted to go and things we wanted to buy. My sister and I would sit backwards on the couch with our knees on the cushions and arms folded across the back of the couch and stare out the window waiting for the mailman to stop at our mailbox. I remember one 25th when the mailman drove right on past our house without stopping. You could have shot us all and we wouldn't have been more depressed. 

Needless to say, all of my life the 25th has been a significant day but five years ago on February 25th 2016 it became even more significant - dad received the greatest payday of his life when he closed his eyes in death here on earth and opened them in the presence of the Lord in Heaven. Now whenever the 25th rolls around I'm not excited like I once was. Now there is a sense of dread whenever I see that day on the calendar, especially this year as it marks the 5th anniversary of dad's departure. I know he is much better off now but we aren't. We now have a huge hole in our lives that can never be filled. With every single loved one that passes away that hole gets bigger and bigger. 

I sure miss my dad and would give up the rest of my years just to talk to him one more time. I hope he's somewhere in Heaven fishing or sitting on the front porch of his cabin in the wildwood. I wouldn't be surprised if him and Pam were singing together right now with Granny and Paw and other members of our family. 

Tonight as I was taking my mother out to eat for her birthday, we were discussing how many of our family members have died from cancer. I figure it will be the way I will die as well and am just waiting to see which kind it will be. I'm not afraid to die because I know where I'm going and I know I have plenty of family members and friends waiting for me, and of course the Lord Jesus will be there. I'm in no hurry to go but I know Heaven will be the greatest payday of all. 

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Dad's Big Red Ram

 In three more days, February 25, 2021, it will be 5-years since my dad passed away from cancer. It is still unbelievable to me that he is gone. I'd say there hasn't a day gone by that I haven't thought of him in some way. One of the constant reminders is seeing his big red Dodge Ram truck sitting in my driveway. Every time I see it, I think of how much dad loved that truck. 

Dad posing with his "new to him" 1996 Dodge Ram

Growing up, dad never had a new vehicle of any kind. He usually had something that someone else had already used up and then he bought it and constantly made repairs to it when it would break down. Even though dad would drive nearly any make of vehicle, he always seemed to favor a Chrysler product even though he would admit they didn't have any resell value and often broke down. But, to dad, a large Dodge was a sign of masculinity. I remember he used to want a Chrysler Cordova because he thought it was a manly car, but he never did get one.

When dad was finally able to bring himself to buy a really nice used truck, he chose the Ram. He said it was a "man's truck," and it is. The sheer size alone takes someone with a lot of grit to drive it on the road. My mother bought him some chrome step bars for it to make it easier to climb up in. She used to keep a step stool inside for the times she would get in it. 

Dad enjoying two of his favorite things; fishing and his Ram

When dad would come over to our house to pick up my son for a fishing trip, he would pull into the lower lot at the Church where we used to live in the parsonage, and circle around just outside our bedroom window. It would jar us awake and sounded like the world was coming to end when the big 360 V-8 with dual exhausts would circle around. I made the video below last year, it doesn't really do the big rumbling sound justice but gives you an idea.

In the last few weeks before dad got too bad off to get out, he and I drove to the gas station to fill the Ram up with gas. He always put the 100% gas in it, even though it cost a lot more because he said it ran better on it. It was strange with me driving and him sitting in the passenger seat. He had me take the long way home that day. We drove up Ridgeview Road and down Wise Spring and back up Maloneyville. I had no idea that would be the last time dad would get to ride in his big red Ram. I'm glad he was able to enjoy one last ride. 

One of the last photos with dad and his Ram

Today, I went and sat in dad's Big Red Ram and thought of all the good times we had going to the lake and rambling around in it. I try to keep the Ram looking and running good. I think dad would approve.

Me missing dad.     New driving lights.        Keeping it clean.

I imagine on a day like today dad would have hitched up the boat and headed to Cherokee Lake to fish. I wish we were there right now.

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