Jonesin’ on the Cumberland Plateau

Rockin’ some style from the 70s.

Born in 1960, I never felt much like a traditional Baby Boomer, although most definitions for that generational cohort range from the mid-1940s (post World War II) to 1964 or so. Boomers are associated with the 1960s, and I was a child in the 60s, not a child of the 60s. The 70s — the logical extension of the 60s — was my decade.

Doing a little research on other generations, I was pleased to discover that I’m not alone — I’m Generation Jones, post-Boomer but definitely not Generation X. Roughly defined as the birth years 1954-1964, Generation Jones went to high school in the 70s. We inherited a lot of the idealism of the early Boomers but little of the energy. A lot of their work was done or the wheels of change were in motion.

A friend and fellow Joneser once told me that 1975 to 1985 was the “golden age” of high school — “post-draft and pre-AIDS,” he said. We were out of Vietnam, the Army was all-volunteer and we’d never heard of AIDS. Golden, indeed.

Growing up Jones on the Cumberland Plateau was sort of unique — Crossville and Cumberland County were still largely off the beaten path and we did things our way.

WALKING HOME

I grew up on Highland Lane, a little over a mile from Homestead Elementary. Starting with football in fourth grade, I played every sport as soon as they’d let me. There were four team sports for boys — football, basketball, volleyball and softball — whose seasons, separately, spanned the entire school year. Probably by sixth grade and certainly by seventh, I was involved in all four sports, which meant a lot of after-school practice.

I wasn’t alone — most of my friends played multiple sports. When the days were longer we’d walk home, stopping by Burton and Huddleston’s grocery store on the way. (Burton and Huddleston’s [now Grandma’s Attic Antiques] was a fixture in the Homesteads — Mr. and Mrs. Burton and Mr and Mrs. Huddleston were original Homesteaders and were wonderful people.

My mother would give me 26 cents each day for the walk home, which bought a bag of chips and a coke (generic for soft drink in the Southern vernacular), with a penny tax. I can’t remember which was a dime and which was 15 cents between the chips and drink. If I had to guess I’d say the drink was 15 cents — I remember my dad going off when drinks from a vending machine went up to 15 cents.

Maybe I shouldn’t admit this, but I’d get into vehicles with strangers. It wasn’t uncommon then for drivers to offer a ride to walkers — even kids. It was just common courtesy, the mountain way. I now know there was always the potential for trouble but back then no one thought much about it. Inevitably my ride was someone who knew one or both of my parents and I never had any trouble. I usually told my parents because it was someone who said they knew them. (I was always amazed at my parents’ reach, so to speak. They seemingly knew everyone in the county.)

CIRCLING TOWN

Circling town was another feature of my g-g-generation, Generation Jones. It’s hard to imagine now but downtown Crossville on Friday and Saturday nights was bumper-to-bumper traffic, clogged with cars and trucks filled with teenagers, mostly, not going anywhere. That was the point of circling town, to see and to be seen.

Here’s the route. I usually came to town from Homestead, driving north on 127. You’d start picking up circling traffic around Shadden’s (more on that a little later) and get a good view of town as you crested Watertank Hill. Continue down Main Street, seeing who’s in town by checking out the approaching traffic.

Turn left at Mitchell’s Drug Store onto West 5th Street, then right onto the Truck Route (West Avenue). First choice to turn around was the First National Bank branch (drive-through is built out now; Salon Vintage occupies the building); sometimes they’d rope it off so you’d have to be creative and find another turnaround, usually one of the businesses on the other side of the street. There were likely dozens of vehicles already doing the same thing.

Come back down the Truck Route, left on West 5th Street then right onto Main Street. Continue through town and over Watertank Hill and turn around at Shadden’s. Sometimes you’d turn at Volunteer Electric (now Resp-I-Care Medical Services Co.) for the return cycle.

I’m not sure how circling town started or exactly why it ended. But circling town was something of a rite of passage for Plateau youth. I couldn’t wait to join the herd. Circling town was vehicular social media, a way to connect before the digital age. You might “go to town” just to see who’s there and see what you might get in to. It also was not uncommon for plans to include meeting up in “town”. But you could also be in “town” looking for someone in particular, seeing if they were in “town” tonight.

There were plenty of places to pull over and talk to someone — sometimes a matter of preference and other times a matter of geography. The parking lot at Shadden’s and at the former Dairy Queen next door were popular on the south end of town. The A-frame that’s now Living Water Baptist Church started as The Spot grocery, a convenience store and a convenient spot to visit.

On the other end of town, what’s now Cornerstone Frozen Yogurt but started as the Jet Drive-In and morphed into the Mountain Minit Mart (it had a drive-through!) was a popular spot to meet up. So were parking lots a little further north, closer to the bank and where you turned around.

For a change of pace you could shoot out 70 East and turn around at the bowling alley. You never knew who might be thinking the same thing.

THE TRAILS

When you needed more, ahem, discretion in your activities you could take it to the trails, what we called the then-partially developed area behind Holiday Hills that’s anchored by Spruce Loop, all the way to Taylor’s Chapel Road. At some point in the 60s or 70s someone began developing the area by cutting gravel roads but stopping there. The result was a largely abandoned but easily accessible network of dead-end roads and empty cul de sacs, perfect for teenage tomfoolery and known as the trails.

There was a code among users of the trails. It was first come first served — if you were going for a spot and saw flashing headlights, that meant the spot was taken and you went on to your next choice. Everyone had a favorite spot or two, spots which inevitably overlapped with others. The code kept order on the trails.

The trails appear to be fully developed today. The gravel roads have been paved for some time now, maturing into long tree-lined streets dotted with tidy houses. It’s a nice area that belies the debauchery that precedes it. If those underlying gravel could talk … a lot of Generation Jones would regret it, I’m sure.

Growing up Jones on the Cumberland Plateau was interesting times. I realize now, a little late perhaps, that I had a window into history, watching this area transition into a more modern era. The older I get the more I yearn for that simpler time. I was too busy growing up to recognize how special it was.

rpdgraham@gmail.com