Now on top of all of this came my introduction to the Copperhill Gang. Lou was from the Copperhill/Ducktown part of Tennessee so it was natural for others from Copperhill to look him up when they arrived in town. As a result, I gradually became connected with the small community of Copperhill people of my age and often spent the evening at one of the favorite hangouts, a corner drugstore, having some refreshment, just talking, or perhaps planning a weekend foray down to Toledo where another group of Tennessee economic refugees had established a colony. I don’t think I will ever forget the boys: Skip, Ted, Ken, and Dale. I can still see them clearly and would recognize them anywhere were I ever so fortunate as to meet them again somewhere in my rambles.
I recall one weekend Ted and I decided to motor down and touch base with some of his friends in the extended Copperhill group living in Akron. Now Ted liked to drink a bit. Not much, but some. So, since I have never drank anything stronger than a coke, he planned for me to drive and he bought a six-pack to enjoy on the drive. On the way down I had the misfortune to get stopped by the state police for going a little over the speed limit. (I’ve always had a little problem with speeding.) A minor infraction, I thought, however, my anxiety level did jump considerably when the cop walked up to the door and invited me to step out. It just so happened that I had stopped on a slight embankment which tilted the car toward the driver’s side and when I opened my car door to step out, Ted’s beer cans began rolling out: clunk, clunk, clunk. Each one shouting, “Look at me! This guy is drinking!” The cop did take the announcement seriously and very patiently interviewed us to get at the truth of my story which was: the beer belonged to Ted and I never touched the stuff. Of course, I passed every test he presented and when he had satisfied himself that I was not a threat to the motoring public he sent us on our way with a stern admonition that speed limits were posted for a reason. However, I got the impression that southerners were refugees from a foreign country that needed to be treated with tolerance and understanding as though they could be educated enough to become members of a more enlightened society. We need to remember this in our dealings with other people today. Another lesson learned regarding the value of staying within the law and mastering the mores and folkways of the indigenous population. But some other people never learn. I did learn well enough to stay out of trouble. Thanks to my rather stern upbringing back in the hills of East Tennessee.
Map of a Mountain Man 