The popular annual play, A Spot on the Hill, written by Heritage Alliance director Anne G’Fellers-Mason, usually performs before sold-out crowds at the historic cemetery in Jonesborough, Tennessee, and features stories about the people buried there. This year, due to COVID-19, the cast was unable to perform as usual. However, the StoryTown Radio Show partnered with the Heritage Alliance in order to present a combined production: StoryTown's A Spot on the Hill Halloween Special
Written by Jules Corriere and Anne G'Fellers-Mason with Catherine Shealy
Music and Accompaniment: Brett McCluskey
Sound Engineer: Jared Christian
Stage Manager: Phyllis Fabozzi
Foley Operator: Gary Degner
Edited by Wayne Winkler
StoryTown Radio Show on Facebook
Supported By:
Wild Women of Jonesborough
Nancy Hope and Odie Major
JULES
Coming to you from Jonesborough, Tennessee, and broadcasting from the historic McKinney Center, it’s Jonesborough’s original radio show, StoryTown. I’m Jules Corriere, your host for tonight very special Halloween program.
Before we get started, I’d like to say a special thanks to our sponsors- The Tennessee Arts Commission, The Wild Women of Jonesborugh, Nancy Hope and Odie Major, and Main Street Café and Catering.
We’ve got a special treat in store tonight. Every Halloween, we try to bring you some of the regional haunted legends and ghostly tales. This year, we also have Anne G’Fellers-Mason from the Heritage Alliance bringing us her wonderful annual production, “A Spot on the Hill.” Usually, this production is done each year inside of the historic cemetery, which is right across the street from here. As COVID-19 has kept mortals from gathering together, it doesn’t preclude the spirits from assembling to tell us their tales. So while Anne is conjuring the voices from Rocky Hill and College Hill cemetery, let’s prepare for their visit. We’ll dim the lights, and start with a local story from Catherine Shealy.
CATHERINE
Tells 5-minute story.
SFX
Chattering noise.
JULES
Thank you, Catherine. What- what is that noise?
GREGG
Sorry, it was just my teeth chattering.
JULES
OK. Gregg. Oh, that reminds me of an interesting fact. Gregg, did you know that the only part of the human skeleton that is visible while a human is alive are the teeth?
GREGG
I, uh, no, I didn’t know that. And frankly, I’m sort of creeped out by knowing this now.
JULES
Oh, come on Gregg. Give us a skeletal smile.
GREGG
Yeah. I’ll never look at smiling the same way again.
SFX
Door creaking. Chains rattling, general spooky stuff.
JULES
Well, it sounds like our visitors have arrived. But I don’t see anyone or anything except…Anne, is that you.
ANNE
Yes, we’re here.
JULES
Maybe I dimmed the light a little too much. I don’t see anyone else.
ANNE
That’s ok, Jules. We- well, they prefer the light this way.
JULES
Whatever you they like. Well, Anne, I will leave you to introduce our very special guests joining you.
ANNE M
This time of year, we’re usually gathering in the Old Jonesborough Cemetery for a new performance of A Spot On the Hill. This play, written and researched by yours truly for the Heritage Alliance, shares the stories of the people buried in the historic Rocky Hill and College Hill Cemeteries. It really is my favorite time of year. I get to work with amazing actors, and we get to share these true stories with a wonderful audience in a beautiful and meaningful setting. The Heritage Alliance debuted A Spot On the Hill in 2014, and I’d like to think it’s become a Jonesborough tradition. The show usually sells out, and the proceeds from the show help to restore and preserve the cemeteries. Thanks to the funds from the show, Graveyard Gordon Edwards has been able to fix over 200 markers. But the best part of the whole experience is making new friends and meeting the relatives of some of the people we’ve talked about in the play.
When I’m crafting a new script, I always want to be sure I have a diversity of voices and life experiences, and I stick to the primary sources as closely as I can. Everyone leaves a record of their life when they die, but some records are more complete than others. My job is to try and fill in those gaps in a person’s life. When I don’t know a lot about someone, I study the time they were living in and what I know about Jonesborough and Washington County in that point in time. Now, I cannot claim these stories are 100% true, but they’re pretty close, and whenever possible I use quotes from those primary sources. This evening the cast and I would like to share nine stories with you from the Old Jonesborough Cemetery.
CHORUS ONE
There’s a spot on the hill
Where you look down below
At the town that bustles
And the town that flows
And the town that does nothing but grow, grow, GROW.
CHORUS TWO
And you see what you gave
And all that you did
The sacrifice you made
For your spot on the hill.
STEFANIE M (Amanda Bayless)
My name is Amanda Bayless. My father, Jeremiah Edwards, was born enslaved in Greene County, Tennessee.In 1864, after he secured his freedom, he joined the Union army, and he fought for freedom for all his brothers and sisters. When the war was over, daddy moved to Jonesborough. He purchased land on Zion Hill, near the African Methodist Episcopal Zion Church. In that Church, my daddy helped start a school. He raised money to make sure that his children, that future children, could get an education. When he was growing up, when I was growing up, we weren’t allowed to get an education. I was born in 1850, when my daddy was still enslave. By law, I wasn’t even his. We couldn’t have anything, no education, not even our own flesh and blood.
The school in the A.M.E. Zion, the “school for colored people,” as it was called, stayed there until about 1876, when the students relocated to the Warner Institute, a school for those recently freed from enslavement.We take it for granted now, the right to education, the right to a legal wedding, the right to a name, a birthright.My daddy vowed never to take anything for granted. He worked hard, all the days of his life. He was a carpenter, and during the cholera epidemic of 1873, he stayed to help with the sick. Most people left, but he stayed. When he died in 1906, he willed me all his property, saying . . .
KEN B
“She is my daughter, though not born in lawful wed-lock.She was born to me when I was a slave and I have always recognized her as my child and she has always been kind and dutiful to me.”
STEFANIE M
I married Commodore Bayless, and we had a daughter, Cordy. She is my daughter. She went to school at the Warner Institute. I told her, Cordy, you are as smart as any white student, and you are as smart as any male student. In 1895, after she graduated from the Warner Institute, she became the first graduate from that school to be a teacher there. The Herald & Tribune reported she was, “the first one of her race that has ever been honored with the position of a teacher in this school which is highly complementary, not only to her, but also to the school.” She is my daughter, and you had best believe that article was on display in our house.
All parents want better for their children than what they had.That’s how the world keeps turning, and that’s how we all progress.
KYLE M (James Atkinson)
My name is James Atkinson, and I fired the last shot of the Civil War.
ALL CAST
Oooooooh!
STEFANIE M
Well there’s a story to hear.
KYLE M
Technically it was the last “hostile shot fired by artillery in the Civil War,” but still.
ALL
Awwwwww.
KYLE M
How ‘bout this, my grandfather crafted The Great Seal of the State of Tennessee?
ALL
Ooooohhhhh.
KYLE M
Well, he was one of two men who . . .
ALL
(disappointed)
Awwwwwwww.
KYLE M
But it was all in the family. In 1801, William and Matthew Atkinson contracted with the General Assembly of Tennessee to design and cast The Great Seal of the State of Tennessee.
STEFANIE M
You mean John Sevier used that seal?
KYLE M
No, he wasn’t governor anymore, but it was used by Tennessee’s second Governor, Archibald Roane. My grandfather’s silversmith establishment was located on East Main Street. I come from a long line of silversmiths. My grandfather was a smith, as was my father Wilton. I was the last to carry on our family’s tradition. Two of my brothers were tinners, and my brother Brownlow, named after newspaper editor and Governor William Brownlow, was a businessman. The family trade died with me, sadly, but I was proud to carry it on while I could. I also carried on another family trade, unity. My grandfather believed in unity, as did my father. That’s why, when war came, I signed up to serve with the Union Army. At the start of the war, Jonesborough was very Confederate leaning, and I was called several names.
JOEL V
Traitor!
DANA K
Spy!
JOEL V
Yellow belly!
KYLE M
The town I’d grown up in was a stranger to me. Statesmen who supported unification were booed on Main Street, good, well respected men like TAR Nelson were booed and spat at. When Tennessee seceded, all the church bells rang and there were parades for soldiers marching off to help Jeff Davis. I stood in my grandfather’s shop, right where he stood when he designed that seal, our state seal, a seal that was designed as a part of the United States – I knew what I had to do. I enlisted in the Union Army, obtained the rank of Lieutenant. I served in Battery E, First Tennessee Light Artillery. At a small battle on April 17, 1865, near Salisbury, North Carolina, we engaged the Thirteenth Tennessee Calvary. That’s when one of their officers gave me my distinction.
ANNE M
I “feel safe in saying that at this place Lieut. James Atkinson – fired the last hostile shot fired by artillery in the Civil War.”
KYLE M
Of course, General Grant and General Lee had already signed the surrender on April 9 at Appomattox, but news traveled slowly. When I left the service, I returned to my business in Jonesborough. I returned to my home and my dear wife Margaret. We’re buried side by side on the hill with matching, military grade tombstones. My tombstone could have said a lot, but I only wanted it to reflect my service to this state, to this country I value so much. My grandfather crafted the Great Seal of Tennessee; I fought to keep it from breaking.
ANNA V (Catherine Emmerson)
My service came in a different form. You see, I was a teacher. My name is Catherine Emmerson. You may have heard of my husband Thomas Emmerson. He was the first mayor of Knoxville, and my brother was the second mayor.Thomas was also a Chief Justice on the Tennessee Supreme Court, a newspaper owner, and an inventor. I grew up and lived in the presence of great men, but I refused to be overshadowed. Let that be a lesson to you, ladies, a woman only has herself to fall back on. My dear Thomas and I were only married four years when he passed. I was his second wife, and we had no children to call our own. But there are plenty of children in the world who need good homes, even if they’re not of your blood. I opened a subscription school for young ladies in 1837. Some rumored I’d fallen on hard times following my husband’s death, and that’s why I was teaching, but I kept my head held high. I was above such gossip. I was a teacher, and I had a task to do. The students would come to my house, and we’d start the day’s lessons.We’d practice elocution. “Queen Catherine wakes the cat, and the cat quietly cries.”
CHORUS ONE
“Queen Catherine wakes the cat, and the cat quietly cries.”
ANNA V
“Peter Prangle, the prickly pear picker, picked three perfectly prickly pears.”
CHORUS TWO
“Peter Prangle, the prickly pear picker, picked three perfectly prickly pears.”
ANNA V
We studied poise and diction, and I tried to instill in my students the knowledge that nothing in life is certain, and one must always maintain one’s fortitude if one wishes to persevere. I welcomed pupils into my home until 1846, much longer than other subscription schools in town. I was proud to contribute to the educational history of Jonesborough.Since it’s very founding, this town has believed in the importance of education, and not only education for men, but for young ladies as well. That’s what brought me here. That’s why I’m buried here. Thomas was a great man, but I never felt eclipsed. I take pride in the legacy I left behind. And even though I never had any children of my own, my life was filled with infinite joy.
JOEL V (Robert Dosser)
I know what it’s like to have a family name to live up to. My name is Robert Dosser. My father was James Dosser, merchant extraordinaire. He established his mercantile store at 117 East Main Street. In that store he sold a little bit of everything, including the latest fashions. My father built a local empire, an empire I inherited alongside my brothers. When he died in 1891, he left the store to Albert, Frank, and me. I put my heart and soul into that business, just as I’d watched my father do. My brothers married and had families, but I was too busy traveling, making contacts, expanding the business. My father had once advised me that I couldn’t love both, family and work, with my whole heart. It was family first and then the business. It could never be the other way. And for a long time, at least for me, it was just the business. She was my mistress.
Finally, in 1889 at the age of 33, I married Nellie Fain. She became the love of my life, and we had four beautiful children. But then tragedy struck, and Nellie died in 1901. I retreated into my business; sure my heart would never know that kind of love again.
KELLIE R (Laura Brunner Dosser)
My name is Laura Brunner, and I did not have a family legacy, or an empire. I only had myself. In Jonesborough, I lived with Mr. and Mrs. L.H.Patton. I had to contribute to the household, so I worked for R.M. May and Sons. I would usually see Mr. Dosser in the store, talking with Mr. May. Everyone knew of Mr. Dosser and his great knowledge of clothes, but he didn’t know everything.
JOEL V
Excuse me, ma’m. Does Mr. May carry this Chevron pattern in a darker shade?
KELLIE R
That’s Herringbone.
JOEL V
Pardon?
KELLIE R
That pattern is Herringbone.
JOEL V
I’m certain it’s Chevron.
KELLIE R
And I am certain it is not. See here, the break is at the reversal, which makes it Herringbone.
JOEL V
How much does Mr. May pay you? Come and work for me, and I’ll double it.
KELLIE R
I did go and work for him. We spent more and more time together. And what began as a disagreement over patterns, quickly turned to love. In 1904 we were married in the Patton family home. The Herald & Tribune announced our wedding, writing –
KATY R
“These people are too well known to our people to need an introduction from us. They are well and thoroughly known to all, and are fully deserving of all honor, and are sure to receive the congratulations of all. They go to St. Louis on a bridal tour. May peace, prosperity, and happiness accompany them all through life.”
KELLIE R
We went to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Lois. It was like traveling to the future. After that, we returned to our home in Jonesborough. Life was suddenly a fairy tale that had come true.
JOEL V
In 1908, my brothers and I sold the business in Jonesborough. We had a new business in downtown Johnson City. That’s where the future was. That was the legacy I was going to leave to my children. That same year, Laura and I had a son. I knew that one day he would join his siblings in the family business.
(to son)
Now, what has your father always told you?
JEREMY R
It’s family first and then the business. It can never be the other way.
JOEL V
Good lad.
JEREMY R
But I never helped in the store.
KELLIE R
No, and I never lived to see what it would become. The two of us died in 1908 in childbirth. We’re buried in the Dosser family plot alongside Nellie Fain Dosser, the mother of your half siblings. It was a beautiful story, Robert, while it lasted.
JOEL V
Yes, my dear, it was.
DANA K (Fanny Fain)
We’re all family here in Jonesborough, in one way or another. My husband John worked with Robert’s family, and two of our grandchildren, Fain and Dosser, married one another. We all have deep roots here. My name is Fanny Fain. My life didn’t begin here, it began in Blountville. That’s where I was born and raised, the daughter of Samuel and Martha Rhea.I married John Fain, and we lived on a farm. We were living there when the war came. I was alone part of the time, my husband off fighting. I was alone with three small children, and expecting a fourth. James was born in 1863, during the war. A part of me wanted to forget that period ever happened, but the larger part of me knew it had to be remembered. I kept a diary during those years, and there were times when it was the only thing holding me together, keeping me sane.
“November 15, 1863, several months have elapsed since I last opened my book to record any of the transpiring events of the day and equally as many changes have taken place (if not more) as months passed. Since then we have had wars & rumors of wars, fighting and bloodshed in our own little quiet town. During the months of June, July and August nothing special took place, we all were then busily engaged in trying to make & put away things for winter use. I canned a good deal, knowing everything would be scarce and hard to get this winter. We had just gotten through with these things when lo & behold, a very sudden & unexpected Yankee Raid was made through our town on Saturday, Sept 19th, a little after sun-up. From that time to this we have had nothing but war troubles and soldiers in our town all the time. They went to Bristol, had a little skirmish with the Confederates, burnt commissary stores & a small Bridge beyond Bristol, fell back here that night, camped on field belonging to John at the head of town, burnt rails & threw down fencing. They arrested several persons in Bristol, guarded them in the Court house that night.Soon after, here came the Confederates in hot pursuit. All day Monday they were coming and going. All the while both Armies were stealing horses. All the morning Mr. Fain & John were out trying to get back Father's horses which were stolen the night before.”
The hardships did not end there. We watched as our neighbor’s houses burned, and some of them sadly perished in those flames. My husband returned home for a time in 1863, but he was forced back into service in 1864.I tended the farm and the children, all while checking on my aging parents. Days and weeks would go by with no news from Mr. Fain. I marked time in my diary, hoping it would pass all the faster.
“February 19, 1865, this is a bright, beautiful, quiet day. To-day I attended church, heard Mr. Alexander, Chp. in the Army, preach. He has preached here once before. I had prepared myself to listen to a good sermon, but I must confess I was much disappointed. When it came, it was nothing but heaping abuses, railed out against the North & Northern people. This war, he said, was brought on by the fanatics & abolitionists of the North. Then he spoke of Slavery, how it had been written & preached upon in the North, that there they called for an Anti-Slavery Bible, that if our Bible recognizes Slavery, then we will reject it. They wanted an Anti-Slavery Government and an Anti-Slavery people, that fanaticism & infidelity were the ruling principles of the North, and all kinds of other kinds of “isms” thrown in, Universalism, Unitarianism, Woman Rightism, etc. Now all this was on the part of the North, & the South, he seemed to think comparatively speaking was faultless . . . It once was that our best preachers & teachers in the South hailed from the North, but now it seems that nothing too bad or too unchristian can be said of them by their brethren in Christ’s ministry. Oh! This vile, wicked war, what a division it has made, what wickedness & unkindness it has brought about.”
I wrote to remember. I wrote so that others would remember, so that it would never happen again. After the war, we moved to Jonesborough, all of us.We lived at 127 East Main Street.Mr. Fain died in 1873, but here I remained. This was our community now. We’d come to it with war wounds, but together, we found healing, and home. So what will you write, for those to come?
KEN (James Grimes)
I didn’t write anything for those who came after me. My legacy was dirt in the ground. If I did my job right, eventually you wouldn’t know I’d done anything at all. My name is James Grimes, and I grew up around here in Washington County. I did all kinds of odd jobs. One of my jobs was digging graves. I dug lots of graves on Rocky Hill. That was before the Colored Peoples Cemetery Society established College Hill Cemetery in 1890. If a colored person wanted to be buried in Rocky Hill, I dug their grave on the back slope. I also dug graves in small, family cemeteries and next to many a church.
People always wanted to know how I could do that job. “Doesn’t it bother you?” they’d ask me. “Doesn’t it make you think about death all the time?” No. It didn’t. It made me think about life, sure, but it also made me think about peace. Life’s full of all kinds of trouble, but there, in the cemetery, with my shovel in my hand . . . there was clarity. It kept me grounded, that’s what digging graves did for me.
Then the cholera epidemic came, summer of 1873. There wasn’t any peace to be found those weeks. I stayed behind in town to do my job, to help my community. I dug graves quick as I could to help put the souls to rest. Cholera took over town for four weeks that summer, and at least 35 people died. I buried a lot of my friends those weeks. There was Joseph Smith, Polly Luckey, Jerry Rhea, and Jefferson Kenney’s little child. So much death so quickly. I was listed in the Herald & Tribune among the list of people who chose to stay, their list of heroes. I don’t think I was a hero. Some people may say I was being foolish. I didn’t leave like most people did, but I could have. I made a choice to stay. And because I stayed, I got sick. I got cholera. There’s a rumor going around that I dug my own grave, but that’s not true. Makes for a good story, though. I hope whoever dug my grave, I hope they did a good job. I didn’t leave a tombstone behind, so I hope people remember me. I hope people tell my story.
STEFANIE M
I remember you, James Grimes. I’ll tell your story.
ALL CAST
We’ll tell your story.
KATY R (Axie Holmes)
I sometimes worried who would remember me.I grew up in a large family, very large, and it was easy to feel eclipsed by the sheer number of people.The house was small. It probably wasn’t that small. We were just so large in number. My name is Axie Holmes, but I’m not buried with my blood. I am buried with my family of choice, the Deadericks. The house was crowded, and the money was tight, so I started working as a servant for the Deaderick family when I was just a teenage girl. I worked for Mr. Alfred Deaderick and his wife Mrs. Carter Deaderick. They had five daughters, a little younger than me, Kate, Adeline, Day, Felicia, and Lucille. They had a son, too, James, but he passed away at the age of three before I came to work for them. I was Miss Lucille’s personal attendant. I made sure her dresses were pressed, and that her hair was perfectly pinned. Miss Lucille was very involved in the town, and she always asked my opinion.
KELLIE R
(as Lucille Deaderick)
Should I write my State of Franklin Day speech on John Sevier or John Tipton?
KATY R
Who won?
KELLIE R
John Sevier went on to be the first Governor of Tennessee.
KATY R
I’d pick him. Miss Lucille also had a lot of hobbies, especially music. She liked to experiment with various instruments.
KELLIE R
(strumming instrument)
I’ll get it eventually. It will sound quite pretty.
KATY R
I’m sure you will. Miss Lucille was tenacious, and very bright.
KELLIE R
Axie, who would you date, John Keats or Robert Browning?
KATY R
Are they boys in your class?
KELLIE R
No, they’re poets. Dead poets, but they wrote such lovely words.
KATY R
I don’t know anything about poets, Miss Lucille.I’m not smart enough for that.
KELLIE R
Yes you are. You’re plenty smart, Axie. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Here, come sit with me and I’ll share them with you.
KATY R
I had plenty of siblings of my own, but it was different with Miss Lucille. She actually looked at me, listened to me, valued my opinion and my feelings. In 1904, Miss Lucille fell in love with John Belvin. He was a cashier for the local tobacco company, and he was very attractive. I knew it was love the moment she told me about him. I could see it in her eyes. They were married at the Baptist Church, and it was a grand affair. I got to sit up front with the family. It was such a joyous day, but it was also sad, because Lucille was leaving, moving to Richmond. I didn’t realize until that moment just how much she meant to me. We were sisters, even if we didn’t share blood.I remained in Jonesborough, but then Lucille wrote to me. She wanted me to come and live with them in Richmond. She told me –
KELLIE R
Axie, my home is your home. Always has been, always will be.
KATY R
I left Jonesborough, something I never thought I’d do. I helped Lucille tend her house and raise her children. I never had children of my own, but that was all right. I had all the family I needed. When I died in 1942, Lucille sent my body back to Jonesborough, to be buried in the Deaderick family plot, right beside the house that brought us together all those years ago. My marker reads, “Our Beloved Friend.” How wonderful to be remembered as such for all eternity. There are no greater words.
JEREMY R
Hello, Axie
KATY R
Hello. Who are you?
JEREMY R
You don’t recognize me? That’s okay, I guess. I died before you came to work with my family.
KATY R
James William, how are you?!
JEREMY R
A little dead, but aren’t we all? I’d like to share my story now.
KATY R
The stage is yours.
JEREMY R
I’m a cautionary tale
It’s morbid, but it’s true
I’m the tombstone grown-ups point to
Look at their kid and warn
“Listen up, this could be you.
If you don’t do just as you’re told,
And obey your Mama right,
You might end up like this poor child
A casualty of hindsight.”
I played in the cemetery
I admit it, I proclaim
It’s my solid declaration
It’s no secret, there’s no shame.
But have you seen it?
Have you been there,
That place atop the hill?
It’s full of trees and rocks and grass,
Obstacles and thrills.
Hundreds of stones to hide behind,
To creep behind,
To peak behind,
When nosey sisters come to spy.
Some say the hilltop makes them cry
Others they get mad
Some leave pretty flowers, or a note
Place a picture, leave a flag
Where some see only sadness
I see jungle vast and wide,
Full of endless possibilities
A kingdom, for which I can provide.
It’s perfectly located, right beside my home
I can see it from the windows,
Almost reach it from the porch.
I’ve spent my whole life looking
At that kingdom, vast and wide,
Calling to me,
Whispering to me,
“James William, come inside, come inside.”
But there’s always this nagging,
This voice inside my head.
It sounds an awful lot like mother,
Meant to fill me with dread.
“James William, listen up, don’t go playing over there
The stones are big and you’re so small.
You might fall, and hit your head.”
“Yes, mother.”
But mother have you seen it?
It’s green and it’s alive,
With trees and knolls and shady spots,
Groundhog holes and birds,
Rabbits, snakes, and salamanders,
Squirrels and possums, too.
And bugs, lots of bugs
Perfect for scaring a sister or two.
Did I tell you I have sisters?
I do, a lot.
And that’s why I need the cemetery,
So I can hide and wait
As they creep ever closer –
“James, Oh James where are you!”
And then –
Gotcha!
Ha ha, they scream and run away
Off to Mother,
Who looks mad,
And I know what she’s going to say.
“James William, stay out of the cemetery,
It’s not a place for little boys.”
What about little girls,
Because they were out there, too?
It’s not fair
Life’s not fair
And bad things happen, it’s true
One minute you’re playing in your favorite place
And the next, you’re splattered flat.
I was almost three when I was crushed
On that spot atop the hill
I pushed the wrong stone
And down it came
I was real little, and it was real big.
But there’s something else, something more.
Like my father and his father before him, my legacy lives on.
I’m the most exciting story,
Most morbid story,
Most interesting story
Of this whole lot.
Don’t let the others buried here tell you that I’m not.
Once you’ve heard my story,
And after you’ve been to my grave,
You’ll stand there, and wonder
Which stone helped me meet my fate?
Where was I standing, when that rock came tumbling down?
Maybe it was right where your feet are -
Gotcha!
Ha ha!
Just try and catch me now!
STEFANIE M
Death’s a funny thing, a humbling thing, and a certain thing. So a lesson to you, our visitors. When you come to your spot on the top of the hill, and gave all you could so that others can live, then you must sit, with the things you did and did not do, and find your peace at last.
CHORUS ONE
There’s a spot on the hill
Where you look down below
At the town that bustles
And the town that flows
And the town that does nothing but grow, grow, GROW.
CHORUS TWO
And you see what you gave
And all that you did
The sacrifice you made
For your spot on the hill.
ANNE
Thank you for joining us this evening as we shared stories from the Old Jonesborough Cemetery. If you’d like to make a donation to the cemetery or the educational programs of the Heritage Alliance, you can do so on our website heritageall.org. We have an easy to use PayPal donation button. I’d like to say a huge thank you to this wonderful, amazing cast. We hope to see you all back next year in the Old Jonesborough Cemetery.
SFX
Door slamming and wind.
JULES
Wow, They were out of here fast, weren’t they! I- I didn’t even see them leave. Anne- Anne? Are you still here? Anne?
GREGG
Boo!
JULES
Oh, gosh, Gregg. You startled me.
GREGG
Well, I’ve been thinking about teeth. And skeletons.
JULES
Oh, good, then you can help me tell this next story.
GREGG
I meant, I was hoping to try to forget it--
JULES
Great, so you’ll help. Perfect. I call this The Weekend Visitor.
GREGG
I got a bad feeling about this.
MUSIC
play a little inro
JULES
“It’s time for you to go home now.”
GREGG
She said, as his hollow eyes stared beyond, or perhaps through her.
JULES
Someone is waiting for you. Just tell me something, any little thing, so I can help you get there. Where are you from? Who’s missing you?
GREGG
She sat, waiting for a response she knew would never come, but kept working him over for some clue that might help her weekend visitor find his way back home. He’d been there for three days now, and while she had taken in strangers like this before, she felt uncomfortable with this one.
JULES
“These poor strays,”
GREGG
she thought to herself, as she stroked his cold cheek.
JULES
“If you could just tell me something.”
GREGG
She looked at him and thoughts of Sunday School verses came to mind. Arise, and go down to the potter's house, and there I will let you hear my words.
JULES
“Why can’t I hear yours?”
SFX
Telephone ring.
GREGG
She jumped at the sudden sound.
JULES
“This is Betty Pat.”
MAN
“What can you tell me about your friend?”
JULES
“Unfortunately, not much, Detective.”
MAN
“I hope you’re able to get something. You’re his last chance, you know. If you can’t help, we’ll have to just assign him a number and put him away like the others”
JULES
“Not all the others.”
MAN
“You’re right. You have a great record of getting these poor souls home. But you have to figure the odds that once in a while, you won’t.”
JULES
I need another day. I’m sure I can get something. I don’t know why it’s so difficult this time. Talking to you isn’t getting me any closer so let me sit with him some and see what happens.
GREGG
She hung up with her usual abruptness, and the phone cord caught on the cup holding her paintbrushes.
JULES
Oh, darn it.
GREGG
The pink-tinged water began to pool toward him. She stopped the flow with a dishcloth, and stood back, staring at the soaked rag, which began picking up more of the magenta pigment, and she gasped.
JULES
“That’s it, isn’t it? You saw something like this, didn’t you? It pooled around you.”
GREGG
His mouth didn’t move, but he answered. She stroked his cheekbone, and felt something. A sort of stirring in her fingers. She reached for her tools and went to work.
JULES
Yes, of course you did. You poor dear. No wonder you couldn’t tell me sooner. It must have been so hard. Of course, I don’t know exactly if that’s it or not, but it feels like that’s what you’re telling me. Now, let’s see what else you might say.
GREGG
She set another, small mirror across from the larger mirror behind him, so she could see all of his angles.
JULES
Sort of like being at the barber, isn’t it? Don’t worry. I’ll get to your hair.
GREGG
She picked up a small envelope, pulled out a strand of hair the color and texture of a maple leaf deep in a pile of autumn leaves.
JULES
“Is that where they found you?”
GREGG
She gently changed the form of his philtral ridge until the cupid’s bow of his lips showed his teeth.
JULES
“There. At first, when I saw your teeth, I didn’t think you smiled much. But…maybe you did, didn’t you? The more I warm to you, the more I believe you have a sense of humor. Maybe a little mischievous crooked smile that shows off that protruding upper left lateral. Yep. There it is. Now that’s nice. Imagine if you’d have worn braces. How handsome. Of course, then you would have looked like everyone else. Your smile isn’t perfect, but it is…distinguished.”
GREGG
Betty Pat began pushing and pulling at her visitor’s orbicularis oris.
JULES
“I’ve been wrong for days! Teeth! They do more than help us talk. They distinguish us. I’ve been covering your teeth with your lips, thinking more people would recognize you with a closed mouth smile. Thinking you wouldn’t show off your crooked grin. Of course, that’s my own prejudice. I always thought my teeth were too long for my face. Ah. The foibles of ego. Forgive me. I’m sorry for wasting so much of your time. We’re going in the right direction now. I’m going to get you home. Trust me. I’ve got a good track record. Seventy percent. Better than the police do on their own. I’d bet on those odds, wouldn’t you?”
GREGG
Slowly, subtly, the visitor began to smile back as she worked his face into shape, his crooked teeth showing proudly beneath his upturned lips.
JULES
“You know, I had a teacher in school, Sister Mary Perpetua. Such a severe woman. If any of us were caught smiling, we’d be called out for misbehaving. Apparently, a smiling child is idle and must be worked until miserable. ‘We must hold ourselves as a model example,’ she’d declare, before whacking our ankles with a ruler. Don’t get me wrong, it didn’t make me hate church. But I knew I’d never want to be a model like her. Married to God and miserable. That’s what we used to say about her. I think I’m doing what God put me here for. Some might call my work miserable, and of course, I’m not married to anybody. But I love my work.
GREGG
She rotated her wrists while examining her progress.
JULES
“Have you ever given thought to the fact that the teeth are the only part of the human skeleton, that can be seen by your family? By your loved ones? By anyone you allow to see them? If you think about it, smiling is a really intimate act. Maybe that’s why Sister Mary Perpetua didn’t allow it. You truly show something of yourself. So, I wonder…is your smile shy? Is it warm?”
GREGG
Betty Pat practiced a few smiles on her visitor.
JULES
“Of course, teeth are bared for other things, too. Animals bare their teeth before they attack. When they rip into flesh. Sorry. I sometimes go on when I work. I don’t always remember that it might be a sensitive subject.”
GREGG
She stroked deeper creases into his labial folds, shaping him a little older. He seemed to agree, as Betty Pat made another choice.
JULES
You had blue eyes, didn’t you, honey?
GREGG
She pulled two 14mm Code 700 1.3 glass eyes from the drawer, light blue with green flecks.
GREGG
She picked up a new block of clay and began warming it in her hands.
JULES
“Behold, like the clay in the potter's hand, so are you in my hand.”
GREGG
She built around his eyes, and with the double ribbon carving tool, fashioned hooded lids.
JULES
What a face, so sweet you are my boy.
GREGG
A sudden sadness came over her as he began to take shape. She stretched and reached for the light. The afternoon sun set into tones of fiery amber, which prompted her to open the closet and sort through wigs in varying shades of red and bags of loose hair, and compared them to the single strand from the envelope.
JULES
Just as I thought. You’re a number 342. Red-head, gingerbread. Did you mother ever say that to you when you were little?
GREGG
She put on her reading glasses to attach eyebrows. Finally, she added the wig.
JULES
Now, there’s a handsome lad. I told you I’d get to the hair. The finishing touch. What do you think?
GREGG
She asked her visitor, holding the mirror to his face, studying it in the opposite mirror, admiring the work, with a sense of victorious sadness.
JULES
“It’s you, isn’t it? You could have been my son, if I’d ever had one. You were somebody’s son. And it’s time you went home to them now, don’t you think?”
GREGG
Betty Pat cleared the area around him, then picked up the Pentax 50mm. She put in a fresh roll of film and photographed her visitor from every angle. It was time to make the call.
JULES
“Derek. It’s Betty Pat.”
MAN
“Well? Did you get it?”
JULES
“I think so. The likeness feels authentic. A skull can only tell you so much. But I think he finally talked to me, maybe a little more than most.”
MAN
I knew you’d get it. You’re the best forensic sculptor in the business, for my money. Did you photograph him already?
JULES
“Yes. You can pick up the roll of film in the morning.”
MAN
“And your visitor?”
JULES
“He’ll be ready, too.”
GREGG
Betty Pat hung up the phone and returned to her visitor.
JULES
“My sweet, sweet boy.”
GREGG
She pushed his auburn hair aside and gently kissed his forehead.
JULES
Time for you to go home now. And time for me to do the hardest part.
GREGG
She retrieved the box delivered to her porch three days ago by the detectives from the missing persons cases. The box that held his skull.
JULES
The human body is a remarkable thing. I’m more amazed by the human skull every time I work with one. What the Creator has given us just can’t be improved on. How he shapes us from the inside out. I only work on recreating the outer shell. I don’t get it exactly right. I’m not the Creator. But I do my humanly best. And I hope I did well enough for someone to recognize you. You are beautiful, my dear, sweet boy. This next step might not seem pleasant, but it must be done, so for that, I’m sorry.
GREGG
She removed the mirrors from around him. It would be cruel for him to witness his own undoing again. She then removed the wig and eyebrows, placing them back in their bags. Next came the eyes and the modeling clay. Then the removal of the small pins she had placed along the bones to guide the depth of the facial structure she created. She cleaned the skull of all traces of her work, and placed it in the box. She thought again of Sister Mary Perpetua and her verses.
JULES
“Your hands fashioned and made me, and now you have destroyed me altogether. Remember that you have made me like clay; and will you return me to the dust?”
GREGG
She placed the skull carefully into his numbered cradle to be returned to the police. Betty Pat hoped the impish, crooked smile he had shared with her, and the photographs she took as he modeled it, would finally be identified. He would go home, at last.
JULES
Goodbye, sweet boy. I wish you could have stayed longer.
GREGG
She placed it on her porch for pick up by the detective. It wasn’t pleasant work, but important. Finding home for the missing. Finding closure for families. Finding a name to the lost.
JULES
There are a lot of scary things in the world. but the most frightening of all is being forgotten. Our stories are important.
ANNE
The names of those before us are as well.
JULEs
That’s why we tell these stories. Thank you, for receiving them, and hopefully, remembering and handing them down. That looks like all the time we have for tonight’s show. We’d like to thank our sponsors for helping us bring these stories to you.
ANNE
The Tennessee Arts Commission.
JULES
The Wild Women of Jonesborough. Main Street Café and Catering.
ANNE
And Nancy Hope Major, and her beloved husband Odie, who sponsored our show before his passing. Odie Major, we remember you.
JULES
We’d also like to thank the Heritage Alliance and especially Anne G’Fellers-Mason for their presentation of A Spot on the Hill, and we all look forward to assembling together on those cool, historic grounds, together again perhaps next year. And, we want to thank you, our listening audience. Remember to tune in on the last Wednesday fo the month at 8PM on 89.5 FM out of Johnson City, and to listen to this and other episodes on our StoryTown podcast, wherever you listen to podcasts. Happy Halloween, and Good night.