Daddy and the Elephants − 4 September, 1940
When Daddy went to the University of Tennessee, just before WWII he was a pike, a member of the Pi Kappa alpha fraternity, you know, the ROTC boys. Not only was he a pike and a ROTC cadet, he had a good connection to the local moonshiner, which made him popular with several fraternities on campus. Prohibition had been repealed by Roosevelt but in the east Tennessee hills near the end of the 30s, mason jars filled with clear White Lightning could be had for $2. He said it wasn't that bad if you cut it with a little grapefruit juice.
The favorite place to get well and truly liquored up was the Smoky Mountains, which at this time was not the National Park but was simply a stretch of wilderness and smaller towns where people told few lies because they asked even fewer questions. That said, civilization wasn't too far away in the form of the Murphy Branch of the Western North Carolina railroad, which brought passengers and mercantile goods to western towns like Asheville. Moreover, the railroad tracks also carried part of the Barnum & Bailey Circus up from its Florida winter grounds to the east coast.
Anyway, as Daddy told it, he and his fraternity brothers had bought a bunch of moonshine and went to North Carolina for a blow-out in the woods. They road across bumpy dirt trails close to what is now Fontana Lake to find a picture perfect spot close to water and flat grass with the forest rising up sharp behind them. The trains whistled by about twice to three times a day and the local Cherokee were more than happy to trade various items for booze.
After two or three hours of sitting on the hoods of their cars and tucking into the mason jars, the boys felt no pain. Sky was blue, water was green and all seemed right with the world. Slurred, bawdy songs started to fill the air. Then, as Daddy told it, there was a rumble coming from the tree line at the edge of the field that led to the water. Sure as hell wasn't a bear but something much bigger. The passing of the jar slowed as people cocked their ears to get a better hold of the strange sound.
Then out of the trees, in the middle of the North Carolina hills, came an elephant.
Daddy said that it passed through the grass on its way to the water, pausing to swing its head in their direction but moving with purpose to get a long, cool drink. As the great beast passed within 30 feet of the car, a general silence covered the group of drinking buddies almost like that gap of silence that follows a weak joke told by an amateur. Because he's had several good slugs of moonshine, Daddy said he wasn't quite ready to relate to his friends what he was seeing.
His drinking buddies must've shared the same sentiment. I could only imagine how you might phrase it, perhaps "Look, I know I'm skunk drunk but isn't that a fuckin' elephant!" or something to that effect. The silent tension lasted only a moment before Daddy and his frat brothers did confirm and A.) they were rat-assed drunk on moonshine but B.) they could agree that they were looking at a live elephant that came out of the forest and was taking a cool drink from the water not 50 feet away.
Moreover, another elephant and a zebra followed. Then came humans with horses, dromedaries, dogs and a host of other circus animals. By this time half of the brothers had put the moonshine away while the other half had doubled their intake according to my father. A man came over for directions and a drink. Apparently, there had been a slight derailment of the circus train traveling on the Western North Carolina railroad. While the engineers fixed the track, the handlers took the animals out of their railcars for exercise and watering. So Daddy and his frat brothers sat on their cars and got a private circus parade in the middle of the Smokies.
Daddy did remark that back on campus, nobody believed them when they said there were elephants in them thar hills. Even fewer people took them up on a sip from the mason jar.
The favorite place to get well and truly liquored up was the Smoky Mountains, which at this time was not the National Park but was simply a stretch of wilderness and smaller towns where people told few lies because they asked even fewer questions. That said, civilization wasn't too far away in the form of the Murphy Branch of the Western North Carolina railroad, which brought passengers and mercantile goods to western towns like Asheville. Moreover, the railroad tracks also carried part of the Barnum & Bailey Circus up from its Florida winter grounds to the east coast.
Anyway, as Daddy told it, he and his fraternity brothers had bought a bunch of moonshine and went to North Carolina for a blow-out in the woods. They road across bumpy dirt trails close to what is now Fontana Lake to find a picture perfect spot close to water and flat grass with the forest rising up sharp behind them. The trains whistled by about twice to three times a day and the local Cherokee were more than happy to trade various items for booze.
After two or three hours of sitting on the hoods of their cars and tucking into the mason jars, the boys felt no pain. Sky was blue, water was green and all seemed right with the world. Slurred, bawdy songs started to fill the air. Then, as Daddy told it, there was a rumble coming from the tree line at the edge of the field that led to the water. Sure as hell wasn't a bear but something much bigger. The passing of the jar slowed as people cocked their ears to get a better hold of the strange sound.
Then out of the trees, in the middle of the North Carolina hills, came an elephant.
Daddy said that it passed through the grass on its way to the water, pausing to swing its head in their direction but moving with purpose to get a long, cool drink. As the great beast passed within 30 feet of the car, a general silence covered the group of drinking buddies almost like that gap of silence that follows a weak joke told by an amateur. Because he's had several good slugs of moonshine, Daddy said he wasn't quite ready to relate to his friends what he was seeing.
His drinking buddies must've shared the same sentiment. I could only imagine how you might phrase it, perhaps "Look, I know I'm skunk drunk but isn't that a fuckin' elephant!" or something to that effect. The silent tension lasted only a moment before Daddy and his frat brothers did confirm and A.) they were rat-assed drunk on moonshine but B.) they could agree that they were looking at a live elephant that came out of the forest and was taking a cool drink from the water not 50 feet away.
Moreover, another elephant and a zebra followed. Then came humans with horses, dromedaries, dogs and a host of other circus animals. By this time half of the brothers had put the moonshine away while the other half had doubled their intake according to my father. A man came over for directions and a drink. Apparently, there had been a slight derailment of the circus train traveling on the Western North Carolina railroad. While the engineers fixed the track, the handlers took the animals out of their railcars for exercise and watering. So Daddy and his frat brothers sat on their cars and got a private circus parade in the middle of the Smokies.
Daddy did remark that back on campus, nobody believed them when they said there were elephants in them thar hills. Even fewer people took them up on a sip from the mason jar.
