Knights and the Sacred Harp -...
Transcript of Knights and the Sacred Harp -...
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Knights and the Sacred Harp
Steve Hinkle
January 2016
Cousins -
I turned off US 31 just south of the courthouse, traveled a block and took a left,
into the parking lot. On business days, parking spots are tough to find, but on
weekends the lot is generally deserted. This was the Saturday before the 2nd
Sunday in July and it was well over half full. That meant the Sacred Harp singing
was going to draw a good crowd. The ‘25’ tags – those from Cullman County –
were the most common, but, after all, it was the ‘Cullman County Courthouse
Singing’. I saw some ‘67’s’ – the Winston County folks were showing and that
was a good sign. My mother, Charlotte, always said you couldn’t have too many
singers from Winston County at a “fa sol la”. It bordered Cullman County to the
west and was the home to a ton of singers and the Denson family – and you
couldn’t talk about Sacred Harp and not talk about them. ‘64’ was well
represented. Walker County lay just over the Sipsey Fork of the Warrior River to
the south and had been a major player in the music for the last 100 years and
more. I noticed nearly a half-dozen ‘28’s’ and ‘39’s’, all parked alongside each
other. DeKalb & Jackson Counties had made the trip. It was the heart of Sand
Mountain and, in a lot of ways, the heart of current day Sacred Harp. They’d been
pointed out to me by Charlotte at this singing, years earlier, “Watch them. They
can really sang.”
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I’d heard the music as soon as I turned into the parking lot – one of the
advantages of being a dinosaur and riding with the windows down, rather than
with them up and the air conditioning on. This was going to be a good trip. Last
year, wife and the twins had come with me. The year before that, Charlotte had
been here. She loved showing off her red-headed grandchildren, to old singers
she’d sung with for a lifetime.
They’d behaved well at their first singing, for 4-year olds. The music seemed to
hold them, despite its peculiar ways. It was certainly loud enough to capture
anybody’s attention – no doubt, they loved that part - but maybe it was more
than that. They’d experienced music in church, but those were trained, rehearsed
choirs and these were just folks singing at the top of their lungs. And the choirs
had sung to them, but this bunch sang to each other. There were 4 groups and
they faced each other, forming a square. One stood in the middle and made up-
and-down hand gestures. The singers couldn’t care less about the twins or the
rest of the audience. And they’d be the first to admit to the peculiar nature of the
Sacred Harp. The twins had been content to sit on one of the benches in the back
with Carol and me – at least for a couple of songs. Then they were gone.
The ‘sacred harp’ is the human voice. The ‘Sacred Harp’ is a musical form. It
began in 1844. In that year, B.F. White and a Mr. King published a song book –
the Sacred Harp. Mr. King died shortly after publication, so most of the history
traces back to B.F. White. The music itself came from a long tradition going back
to the chants of England in the Middle Ages – voices without instruments. It’s
more recent tradition went back to New England and the ‘singing school’
movement before the Revolution, when teachers went around the countryside
using songs as their tools.
In 1844, B.F. White was living on the Georgia side of the Alabama/Georgia line, up
in the Southern Appalachians. He developed the 4-note format – ‘fa’, ‘sol’, ‘la’
and ‘mi’ - that defined Sacred Harp. He also was a ‘songcatcher’ – he went into
the hills and hollows, finding songs that folks were singing. He wrote them down.
Some individual song writers have several in the book. Most are responsible for
the words – the music in them goes back to hymns of centuries earlier. Others
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did both words and music. Some have only one song, but most say something
about life and hope in the impoverished southern Appalachians. With some of
the songs, information about the author is given. For one song, the writer’s name
is given and then the reader is told that no one knows where he lived, where he
died or where he was buried. But he has a song in the book. Not all the songs go
back to 1844. The current edition used has many songs written since then, but
the themes are consistent with the old days and many of them have become
beloved. But they all came out of a similar landscape, the latter one broader than
the earliest, reaching farther afield, but familiar to the world of 1844.
The book itself is an odd looking affair – oblong. Maybe the form required the
notes for each part to be written on each line, thus requiring extension of the bar,
but the song book is much wider than other hymnals seen in churches. It doesn’t
fit well on a book shelf, as it sticks out way past the others. Certainly, B.F. White
wanted to preserve the musical legacy of the day; but he wanted to make a buck,
too. The way to do that was to sell the books; but to sell the books; he needed a
market – a market that didn’t exist. He created one by holding singing schools
that taught the music and dedicating his life to spreading Sacred Harp. By most
any measure, he succeeded.
Charlotte always said it was because of the 4 notes, because it was simple and
because anyone could sing it. “And the songs are wonderful.” B.F. White’s music
was embraced, but by a fairly narrow group. The churches in cities and towns had
instruments and choirs somewhat trained. They weren’t interested in
unaccompanied human voices, loud and untrained. For those out in the country,
without instruments, it was the only music possible and they embraced it. They
were almost exclusively subsistence farmers and mostly impoverished ones at
that. Among them, Sacred Harp found a home. The simple human voice came
cheap. Those folks formed the backbone of the early Sacred Harp.
There’s some question as to how many books he actually sold. There’s tales of
early singings where there might not be a book in the entire class. They sang the
songs they knew by heart. The version of the Sacred Harp his book represented
was called the ‘White Edition’ and it’s still used in parts of north Georgia. From
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1844 to the early 1900’s, it was the undisputed Sacred Harp. In the early 1900’s,
the ‘Cooper Edition’ began to be used in south Alabama. From there, it moved
along to Texas. A couple of other editions came out, each including songs the
others didn’t have. One was the ‘Colored Sacred Harp’ which is now figured the
most ‘rollicking’ of all, but its use has disappeared. By the mid-1930’s, the
Danson’s had made their mark on the music. Tom, Seaborn and Paine Denson,
along with a list of others, compiled a new version – it’s called the ‘Denson
Edition’ or the ‘Denson Book’. From its date of publication – 1936 – it’s been the
Sacred Harp standard for the singers of the southern Appalachians.
In a curious way, the book helped define Dicie, Charlotte’s mother. Even before
the Denson edition, she must have had a songbook, probably the B.F. White.
According to Charlotte, Dicie always carried her book. She cradled it from start to
finish, but never opened it. At singings, several never open their books. Even if
there are over 500 songs between the covers, some know them all by heart. Dicie
was one of those, Charlotte only slightly less so.
The lay-out of the book and the way it translates to singings sometimes confuses
the curious. In the index, the songs are listed by name. Erasmus’ favorite – he
was Charlotte’s father - for example, was a song named ‘Morgan’, but at singings
it was never called by name – ‘Morgan’ was ‘#304’. That’s the page where it
appears in the book. Also, some familiar songs go by another name in Sacred
Harp. The beautiful ‘Amazing Grace’ is called ‘New Britain’ by a fa sol la singer. If
it was to be led, it would be ‘#45 Top’. It shared the page with ‘Imandra’ – ‘#45
Bottom’. To make things worse, most of the names have nothing to do with the
intent of the song. One of the titles is ‘The Last Words of Copernicus’. A lot of the
others are place names, from the Alabama/Georgia line. ‘Arbacoochee’ and
‘Cusseta’ are named after communities.
The music doesn’t do itself any favors either, in addition to the peculiar looking
song book. To the ignorant passer-by, at first it sounds like a mix between a
Cherokee war-whoop and a bobcat’s caterwaul. It’s loud, loud, loud and the
words are fuzzy and indistinct. That initial reaction only lasts a minute or so, and
then the musicality takes over, the spiritual starts to seep in. Birmingham used to
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have a music festival, called ‘City Stages’, which was held the same weekend as
the National Sacred Harp Convention – also in Birmingham. The festival had
several stages scattered over several blocks, with a wide variety of musical styles
being performed. On one of the days, on one of the stages, singers from the
Convention would perform Sacred Harp. If I was at that festival, I was at that
stage. And I could watch the crowd. At such events, it seems to be constantly in
motion, as if trying to see as much, and as different, as possible. Once the fa sol
la singing started, some in the passing crowd got caught. It may have taken a
couple of minutes, but once caught, they suddenly were in front of the stage and
spellbound. And they stayed until the last song. It was also a good place to pick
up fa sol la cd’s.
For the most part, according to standard musical tastes, the songs don’t serve
well. Some uninitiated viewer might say, “They’ve been singing the same song all
morning.” At best, they say, “I’ve never heard that before.” To make matters
worse, most of the songs seem slow and filled with melancholy. “Some of ‘em
you got to warm to”, Charlotte said. Each song eventually asserts its individuality.
I asked Charlotte once about her favorite songs and got a list. I asked if there
were any she didn’t like and just got a look - before she shook her head. “Nope.”
Fortunately, the book contains fugues. They’re a ‘spunkier’ sort, with each part
singing over the others. Ear-catching, one might say.
The actual performance is the strangest part of all. The music is sung in 4 parts –
alto, treble (pronounced as ‘tribble’), tenor and bass. The altos are generally all
women and the bass all men, but the tenors and tribbles have both. Members of
each of these groups sit together – the best on ‘front bench’ – and face the
others. The tenors face the altos and the trebles face the bass group. This
creates the ‘hollow square’ that helps define the Sacred Harp. For each song, an
individual stands in the square – the ‘leader’ – picked out of the class or off a list
hastily scribbled at the start of each singing. The leader announces each of his
songs by number, not by name. The leader may lead a couple of songs and his
time in the square is called a ‘lesson’. Both men and women are welcomed to
lead, but no one out of the audience is ever called.
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There are some exceptions, but they’re mainly symbolic. For example, David –
Paul’s son and Erasmus & Dicie’s grandson – regularly attends singings, although
he never sings. Because of his attendance, he knows a lot of the singers. And his
last name still connects with a lot of the older set. At one Courthouse singing,
Jimmy, David’s brother, happened to attend. At one point during the singing,
both were called to the hollow square and announced to the group. Charlotte &
Ted, Erasmus & Dicie Knight were called by name and used to validate Jimmy &
David’s credentials. They both stood there humbled as someone who knew what
he was doing led a lesson, in honor and memory of the Knights.
Leading brings out the individual. Foremost, they get to pick the song and each
has favorites. Over time, each singer gets identified by the songs they lead.
Furthermore, the leader has a certain amount of control over how the song is
rendered. Erasmus, for example, loved the song ‘Morgan’ (# 304) and frequently
led it. “And sing it slow”, he always directed. Tempo was controlled in the way
the leader moved his hands – “beatin’ time”, Charlotte called it. Usually with one
hand but sometimes with both, either way with palms open, the rhythm with
which the leader raised and lowered his hand defined the tempo he had in mind.
Some leaders seem wooden, but most have their ways. Some twist and point
from part to part, while some look only at the tenors. Some have their feet nailed
to the floor while others stomp with abandon, even white-haired old ladies with
canes. It’s said to be ‘the best seat in the house’, sound-wise, but also appears to
be the most emotional. It’s not uncommon to see singers cry, but for every singer
that cries, there’s a half-dozen leaders with tears sliding down their cheeks as
they beat time through songs that have touched them for what seemed like
forever. Again, this aspect of the music helps define Dicie – she never led a song.
No matter the leader, each song starts the same way. At the beginning of any
singing, certain individuals are designated ‘pitch men’. At the beginning of any
song, that person sings and lingers over the first few notes of the song chosen.
For a couple of seconds, the other singers join in, trying to make their pitch
consistent. Then it stops, just before the song kicks off in earnest. In Sacred
Harp, the first verse is sung by notes – thus, the term ‘fa sol la’ – before the words
are sung in the traditional way.
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For all of its drawbacks, it has a lure – it has a charm. The simple act of singing is a
reward to most. There are people, fearing the shortcomings of their voices, who
shy away from choirs and such. Those people are welcomed into Sacred Harp and
many become good if not gifted singers. It was designed for ‘untrained voices’
and each singer brought his own. Dicie’s voice was known as crystalline, but
Erasmus’ was less so. No matter – he was welcomed into any class. If he didn’t
sing well, he sang sincere and that was enough. And a fa sol la singer didn’t need
a crowd to provoke singing. Many times Charlotte would be standing in the
kitchen by herself, singing away. When anyone made a comment, she’d say she
“came by it honest”, for Dicie was famous within the family for that habit.
The Sacred Harp didn’t turn hardly anyone away. They required respect for the
music and singers, but not much beyond that. A man named Buell Cobb – a
Cullman native – has written a couple of books. In one, he cites the response of
Hugh McGraw, well known in Sacred Harp, when asked if all the singers were
Baptist. “Why, no”, he said. “You’ll find Presbyterians, Lutherans and others.”
He grinned at the questioner. “If you look hard enough, you might even find a
couple of hypocrites!”
Charlotte had a tale that provided further evidence of acceptance among the
singers. At a courthouse singing, in the middle of the morning session, a seedy-
looking fellow entered the room. He sat off to the side and, before long, began
singing. He couldn’t hide that and soon was waved up to join the group. As it
turned out, he’d gotten drunk, into a fight and arrested the night before. He was
stubbly and still smelled of wildcat whiskey. Back in those days, the Jail was at the
Courthouse. It was when he was let out that he heard the music and followed the
sound. Nobody knew him and he refused to tell his name – concerned that his
mother might find out the depths to which he had stumbled. “He ‘uz a purty
good sanger, too.” Charlotte recalled.
Many associate the Sacred Harp with the Primitive Baptists – at least, in the old
days. It would seem to be true with the Knights – Charlotte, Ted, Erasmus and
Dicie were all Primitive Baptists to their last breath. But Sacred Harp was and is
pointedly non-denominational. People were to show up for the music and the
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music alone. And that’s what they did. It got connected because many of the
singers were Primitive Baptists and many singings were held in little Primitive
Baptist churches. Context is lost in the modern day as the denomination has
dwindled, but back then it dominated the southern Appalachians. Most of the
country churches were Primitive Baptist.
Another lure was the fellowship. Sacred Harp singers have a charming tradition of
calling each other ‘brother’ or ‘sister’. Charlotte was ‘Sister Charlotte’ and Ted
was ‘Brother Ted’. The elders are called ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’. Even miles and weeks
away from a singing, they’d still be greeted by their titles. There’s a genuine
fondness among the singers. Love of the music served as common ground, but
they were alike in other ways, too. Back in Dicie’s day, most knew milk cows and
cotton fields – and losing babies early. The southern Appalachians were known
for that, too. That landscape produced a set of values that were simple and
embraced with both arms. Many times, Charlotte, while looking through the
obituary’s, would call out a name, shake her head and say, “She ‘uz a fine old
woman. An Old Harp sanger – and a good ‘un.”
Food helped define the women of the Sacred Harp – and some men. No one ever
left the table hungry. Singings are all day affairs, with the morning and afternoon
sessions separated by lunch. Among Dicie’s crowd, it was called ‘dinner’. That it
was served at the place of the singing caused the phrase ‘dinner on the grounds’.
The women always brought their best dishes – prepared on wood-burning cast
iron cook stoves in all of Dicie’s day and a lot of Charlotte’s. They became known
for their gems, much like leaders and their songs. The tradition carried
peculiarities.
One old bachelor brought something to every singing and it was always the same
– white beans with ham hock, along with a pint fruit jar of pepper sauce.
Charlotte told the tale – as told to her – of a singing way off where one of the
women brought possum. And it was eaten! Neither Charlotte nor Dicie was
much of a cake baker, but did better with cobbler pies. It didn’t matter – the
group included aces with both. Dicie was famous for her chicken pie, while
Charlotte was known for dumplings.
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The food did pose a problem, back in the early days, but one they managed.
When folks traveled by mule and wagon, their dogs tended to tag along to the
singings and they didn’t miss an opportunity, if given the chance. No doubt, they
weren’t given the chance. The food for dinner was placed somewhere secure and
someone probably stood sentinel, guarding the feast. Much to the dog’s dismay,
the dishes were for the singers and visitors, not for them.
Many of the things that bind in the Sacred Harp are the traditions. To a large
degree, the music has followed families and certain names resonant still, the
Denson’s most of all. It’s said that ‘Uncle Tom’ Denson had sung with people that
had sung with B.F. White. All the singers are aware of how aged their music is.
Many of their songs were sung before the Civil War. Its peculiar nature
sometimes works against it, but its peculiar nature is also the charm. They know
it’s old-fashioned, but love it that way. One of those traditions has become the
Cullman County Courthouse Singing. Singers may fondly recall singings at little
churches in the middle of nowhere, but most hold that the bigger the class – the
better the singing. The Courthouse had been going on forever and always drew a
crowd. It finally drew us.
When I discovered the twins gone, my heart jumped. They didn’t get out in public
much and, when they did, never seemed to let it inhibit their rambunctious
natures. I knew all too well that they were capable of disrupting any event. What
one child didn’t think of, the other would. The singing, as usual, was in the main
courtroom and had drawn a good class of singers, close to 100, that used up a lot
of the benches; but there were more toward the back for those that just came to
listen. From there, I didn’t have to look far before I spotted them.
They’d located Charlotte among the singers and, without notice, were headed her
way. Without a notion of propriety between them, they were on a bee-line to
Maw Maw. She sat in the treble section – at least, that’s the way it’s spelled. She
called it ‘tribble’ and there were a couple of dozen in that section. They wiggled
past a few singers and a moment later were in her lap, one on each knee, drawing
the attention of all. She had her book out and they spent most of the time
turning the pages, but she didn’t need it – she was singing songs that she had
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sang since not much older than the twins. After a couple of songs, they returned
to our bench, receiving looks from the singers and audience alike, but not creating
a stir. It provided Charlotte a good backdrop to show off her grandchildren during
dinner, after the morning session, to her old-timer brethren.
Finding a parking spot, I pulled in, grabbed Charlotte’s book and headed for the
sliding glass doors. I could hear the singing, but the words weren’t distinct and
that was no surprise. It would sound the same way in the courtroom – that’s why
I had Charlotte’s book. Once I was on the right page, everything was clear as a
bell. I briefly lost contact as I passed the air compressors, howling even at that
time of day. The courthouse was built around central air, so there wasn’t a
window or door open. It’s a rather recent addition to the Cullman landscape,
built around 1960, and arguably one of the ugliest buildings in the city – a sterile,
rectangular, marble-veneered affair. The preceding courthouse was farther up-
town and entirely different. It looked like a courthouse from the mule-and-wagon
days, set in the middle of the block and surrounded by trees and benches and old
men whittling. And it was built well before an air-conditioned building in Cullman
could be imagined.
The date of the first Courthouse singing is debated, but most agree that it would
have been in the 1890’s. It’s for sure there was one in 1900. Singings have
protocols and one of those is the ‘minutes’. The minutes give a listing of the
songs sung and, sometimes, those who led them. The minutes of the 1900
singing have been seen by reputable individuals. How different that singing
would have been from this one. And, there would probably been a Knight there,
likely 2.
Dicie Knight was Charlotte’s mother. According to Charlotte’s recollection of the
tale told by Dicie, in late summer of 1896 she attended a singing school held at
Macedonia Church in Valley Grove. It was taught by Tom Denson – one of the
pillars of Sacred Harp music. Dicie would have been about 18. She had been
married to Erasmus for nearly 3 years and was not a new-comer to the music of
the day. They had been ‘Little Book’ singers – Christian Harmony was its correct
title. As a musical form, it’s older than Sacred Harp. Christian Harmony, like
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Sacred Harp, was sung a cappella but with 7 notes. Sacred Harp only used 4. For
whatever reason, the form hooked Dicie. Through her, Erasmus was drawn into
the fold. For the rest of their lives, they attended singings that were within reach
– first of a mule and wagon and then of a Model T. Neither ever learned to drive,
though – that was handled by one of the boys. In the year 1900, both would have
been at the Courthouse Singing.
It would have been hot - July in Cullman typically is – and every window would
have been wide open. The sound heard outside wouldn’t have been muffled but,
rather, have been clear as a bell. Or as clear as fa sol la music ever is. The
attendance at the 1900 singing is a matter of speculation, but those of later years
were written about in the Cullman newspapers and spoke of ‘overflow’ crowds.
Veracity in reporting wasn’t stressed in those days, but the crowds were
estimated in the ‘thousands’. If that was the case, most stood outside the
courtroom – most stood outside of the courthouse.
The old courthouse may have had more than one courtroom, but the one that’s
remembered is the main one. It looked like the one featured in the movie ‘To Kill
a Mockingbird’ in that it had a main floor and a balcony that surrounded the
room. If the crowd was as large as suggested, the ground floor was taken up by
the singers with the audience filling the balcony and beyond. It had other
features recalled by Charlotte, from when she was a young girl in the late ‘20’s
and early ‘30’s. The courthouse had flush toilets and electricity – items never
seen out in Cullman County. Due to the electricity, it had water fountains that
dispensed cool water and, most of all in Charlotte’s memory, the courtroom had 4
big fans that dangled from the high ceiling, creating something akin to a breeze.
That didn’t mean that the singers put up their hand-held fans, though.
Most singings were held in little country churches, a lot of them Primitive Baptist,
and they didn’t have air conditioning or electrical fans. Most didn’t have
electricity. Singings were also held according to the seasons with most occurring
in late summer, after the crops had been ‘laid-by’ and before harvest. In the
winter, after harvest, was also a slack time but the weather and poor road
conditions made any singings during that season problematic. Most were held in
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the heat of late summer. During those days, hand-held fans were popular. They
were stiff cardboard with a thin wooden handle and most had religious pictures,
like the ‘Last Supper’ or some advertisement. Back then, at singings, the crowd
would have been alive as the fans worked back and forth. According to Charlotte,
Dicie never opened her songbook but always had her fan tucked securely
between its pages.
About the only thing that would have prevented Dicie from being there in 1900
was pregnancy or new baby. It would have been an issue, but one that she dealt
with as the years wore on. Charlotte was the youngest of 10 children that lived to
adulthood, born in 1920. James Legret was the first, born in 1896, but only lived a
couple of months – Grady, Callie Mae and the rest followed. One might think the
children too much of a chore to even consider attending a singing, but stories are
told about her that say otherwise.
Back in that day, Sacred Harp was so popular that singings drew crowds, even to
some little out-of-the-way spot up some hollow – a little Baptist or Primitive
Baptist church with a little cemetery attached. With the crowd came children. If
the recollections of ‘later-day’ Knights are an indication, they weren’t always
there by choice. School-age children weren’t much of a problem – they milled
about outside, like during recess at school. Instead of a teacher watching over
them, it would be some adult that was part of the audience but preferred to listen
from the shade of the trees in the church yard. The toddlers were the issue. In
the Dicie story, there were 2 of them and wore gowns – that’s the way they were
dressed, back then. The picture drawn was of her, cradling her songbook and
singing with eyes closed – while having one foot firmly pressed to each of the
gowns of the toddlers on the floor in front of her.
Another story takes place in a similar locale. It had a side-door that, at one time,
opened to a set of steps. The steps had rotted away, leaving a drop of several
feet. On that day, the door – along with all the windows – was wide open in
hopes of catching any breeze that might offer itself. Dicie was obsessed by the
danger she saw before her. After a couple of darts from her seat in the class, she
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found a chair. She placed it and herself in front of the opening and continued
singing as if she were among the altos.
Erasmus loved the music – he wasn’t the sort to have gone just on Dicie’s
account. And it re-paid him. He served on the Board of Revenue – it was like the
County Commission, back then. It was an elected office and the Sacred Harp
singers – at least the men – voted. And it’s likely most had influence with their
neighbors. Charlotte was something of a political sage and she always held that
he got first elected, in 1916, due to the ‘fa sol la vote’. At its peak, the genre
reached into each community along the Southern Appalachians and Cullman
County was alive with it. There were a lot of singers, but not so many that all,
over time, weren’t known by name. All of them knew Erasmus – they didn’t
hesitate to cast their votes for him. Sacred Harp helped Erasmus, but so did Dicie.
She was popular with the group and – again, according to Charlotte – could have
beaten Erasmus in a head-to-head election, two to one.
There’s another story about Sacred Harp’s political clout that involves the
Courthouse Singing, again told by Charlotte. Since the first one, the singing was
always held at the Courthouse. In the modern one, it was always held in the main
courtroom. There’s an elected official that decides matters involving activities at
the courthouse and, somehow, one got cross-ways with the singers. That year,
the singing was held in one of the little courtrooms; where there was barely room
to breathe. Charlotte – and the other singers – was outraged. When the man
stood for the next election, he got beat by a landslide. He spent the rest of his life
running for this office or that, but never got elected to any of them. Charlotte
was always quick to smile, but she saved her brightest and broadest for that story.
No doubt, Dicie would have wanted all her children to follow her into the Sacred
Harp, but it didn’t happen. Ted, her 3rd from oldest, sang his entire life. He had
settled in Atlanta – some distance from Cullman – but stayed close to the music.
North Georgia had plenty of singers and singings, back in the 1920’s & ‘30’s. In
the 1940’s, the center of the music – at least, the administrative part – had
moved to Atlanta. A man named Hugh McGraw became something of a leader
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and he lived in Atlanta. Other singers, like Uncle Ted, lived there also, even if
their ‘fa sol la’ roots ran into the mountains and hills of Alabama, Georgia and
Tennessee. They became a group who were welcomed at any singing and Ted
became influential in the Sacred Harp world. He served as one of the editors of
the songbook and also headed up the publishing arm, in addition to being an
excellent singer.
One of the ‘Atlanta group’ provides the basis for a ‘Ted story’. His name was
Marcus Cagle. He was raised in western Cullman County but, like Ted, had moved
to Atlanta. Mr. Cagle had a wonderful grasp of the music, in breadth and depth.
He had several songs in the book that were well received. In addition to being an
excellent singer, he understood the structure of the music. His reputation
included all those attributes, but more – he could be extremely hot-headed.
Once, he ran Hugh McGraw out of his house, using two hands and a dining room
chair – telling him to never come back. Eventually, that fence was mended.
Once, Ted and some other singers were riding back to Atlanta in Mr. Cagle’s car,
maybe from a singing in Guntersville. While traveling through north Georgia, Mr.
Cagle and Ted got sideways. It should be mentioned that Ted, although
diminutive in size, was raised in Valley Grove and had a make-up that didn’t allow
being pushed around – by anybody. The dispute stopped just shy of becoming
physical, with Ted making Mr. Cagle stop the car. Ted got out and motioned the
others down the road, leaving him in the middle of nowhere. He found a
telephone and called family in Atlanta. His daughter, Evelyn Ann, fetched. She
also retrieved Ted’s suitcase from Mr. Cagle’s car. I’m still waiting to hear that
story. She’s remembered for a fierce determination – she became a doctor in an
era when women in that capacity were rare. At any rate, she retrieved the
suitcase and didn’t go to jail.
At each singing, there’s a ‘Memorial Lesson’. It’s one of the most touching parts
of any singing. A leader steps forward and announces the names of those singers
who had recently passed away - singers that had been a part of many lives. The
lesson is then sung in their memory. It’s also the most tearful part on any singing.
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At the Cullman County Courthouse singing of 1944, Dicie was remembered during
the ‘Memorial Lesson’. Her name was called out by Marcus Cagle.
Singings at one of the churches in Valley Grove, and probably the courthouse
singing, brought outsiders from far enough away that they had to spend the night
in order to attend the 2nd day. What the Knight house lacked in amenities was
made up for in its sprawl. If they didn’t mind sleeping several to a bed, the house
could accommodate a crowd. Sometimes, the ‘crowd’ included a certain
individual that was always placed with Gorman in ‘Gorman’s room’. It was in the
far back corner of the house – and for a reason. This certain individual was a
notorious snorer. Whenever a singing nearby was being talked about, Gorman
asked about the guy before letting out a howl of dismay. Years later, the story
told, usually by Gorman, never held the man in high regard.
Arnold, Callie Mae’s son, told a story concerning just such an event at the Knight
house. He was a child and was staying there. After supper, the group gathered
on the ‘L porch’, facing the road. In his telling, there were a dozen singers or
more. Some sat in Erasmus’ chairs while others stood in the yard. Arnold was in
the field across the road, propped up on a terrace row, but could hear every note
once they started singing. Even after singing all day, the group had an appetite
for more. Arnold remembered his bed that night being a pallet made from one of
Dicie’s quilts, spread out on the floor, but he remembered the singing, too. It
lasted about an hour, before they all retired for the night, but Arnold claimed it
was the best he ever heard.
Of the remaining children, only Charlotte took it up and stayed with it. Grady
sang, she said, but Christian Harmony rather than Sacred Harp. Callie Mae was a
good singer, but quit going after marriage. The others could sing, but had no
interest. I never asked specifically, but figure each of the children was sent to a
singing school in Valley Grove. Although Dicie could remember specifics about
her 1st (and probably only) school, Charlotte never mentioned hers. I figure she
went to more than one, back in the ‘20’s & 30’s. The others knew enough of the
music to aggravate Dicie. Trying to get a rise out of her, they would sing random
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notes off the top of their heads. According to Charlotte, Dicie never saw the
humor in it.
Why none of the other children ever took to the music is anybody’s guess.
Competition for Sacred Harp had sprung up from several directions. One of the
things that caused singings to draw big crowds was the social aspect. The
southern Appalachians were an area of isolation and had been from the
beginning. Back in the mid-‘30’s, one of the New Deal programs sent writers into
the crevices of America, to find stories. One writer was sitting with an old woman
in the mountains of east Tennessee. He asked her about her grandmother, who
walked in from North Carolina with her family as a child. To her, what was the
worst part of those frontier days? The old woman was nodding before he got the
words out of his mouth. “Lon’tsomeness.” She said. Sacred Harp gave a reason
for folks to draw together. The music took them from there.
By the time Dicie’s children were coming of age, several things were working
against the Sacred Harp. Radio came in, with gospel music. It was also spiritual,
had a kick and was appealing to those that could have had Sacred Harp potential.
In the Knight family, it was probably baseball. Grady, the oldest, was a fine
catcher and played on the Trimble team. And when baseball hit, around World
War I, it hit big. Every community had a team and a baseball field. The games,
held on Saturdays and Sundays, were well attended. The fa sol la singings were
held on those days, too. A family story comes out of the situation.
In about 1913, the family was loaded up in the wagon headed to a singing in
Valley Grove. All were to attend the morning session, but the children were
released then to go see Grady play baseball. After the game, they would walk
back along the creek, then up one of the hollows to the top of the ridge and back
to the house. All of them were going but Joe, who was 3. As Callie Mae tried to
explain, he “wuz too little for the walk and too big to tote.” When he realized the
exclusion, he pitched a fit, jumped out of the wagon and ran into the house.
Dicie, no doubt impatient to be gone, fetched him. Coming across the yard in
Dicie’s grasp, he managed to tear away and, again, ran into the house. He tried
hiding, but to no avail. This time, when they came out, she carried him with one
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hand on his collar and the other on the seat of his pants. A few steps from the
end of the wagon, she threw him into the crowd and offered to “beat the hell out
of all of ‘em if he got out again.” Years later, the children recollected that it was
the maddest they ever saw their mother. Joe told another tale of baseball and
Sacred Harp. He said he had a choice of baseball or fa sol la – and said it was the
easiest he ever made.
If Sacred Harp didn’t capture her children, it apparently touched Dicie’s sisters. As
unlikely as it sounds, there was a telephone in the Knight house in the late 1920’s
that’s central to the story. Already, the place had a radio, courtesy of Ted. It was
battery operated – electricity didn’t come until 1940 – but they could be charged
at one of the stores at Trimble. It brought in the outside world – the Grand Ole
Opry and St. Louis Cardinal baseball games. Some claimed it was like drawing
back a curtain and letting sunlight into the isolation. That was probably less true
at the Knight house than at other places.
Erasmus had always been fond of newspapers. There are stories of him, as a
youngster, going over to the stores at Trimble and reading the papers to the old
timers gathered there. When money allowed, Erasmus always had subscriptions
to the newspapers, both Cullman and Birmingham. To a degree, the papers had
already drawn the curtains back at the Knight place. When the chance for a
telephone came, Dicie took it.
In a way, it was unusual. 10 years later, when electricity came, Erasmus & Dicie
didn’t particularly embrace it. The only evidence of the ‘new age’ was a single
naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling of maybe half the rooms in the house.
The bulb had a cord that hung down enough to reach the upright hand of an
adult. The light was turned off and on by pulling on the cord. The first electrical
appliance they got was a butter churn and they only got it because Charlotte
ordered Ted to bring one from Atlanta – along with an extension cord. Charlotte
lost most of those visionary battles. It was a week after Dicie’s funeral that the
washing machine appeared on the back porch – making the cast iron wash pots
main use to involve hog killings. The wood cook stove remained until it moved,
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along with Erasmus as an old man, down the road to Aunt Lizzie’s vacant house.
As they moved out, the electric stove moved in.
Charlotte was just a girl the day the telephone came. Aunt Viney – her real name
was Vienna Austria – was there. She was Dicie’s sister – younger by 2 years and
the youngest of the family. They were thrilled when the man proclaimed them
‘hooked up’. He left and, suddenly, ear piece in hand, they were in a quandary.
Try as they might, they couldn’t think of anyone to call – at least, anyone who had
a phone. Finally, they remembered Mae Tildy.
Her real name was Margaret Elizabeth. She was their oldest sister and had raised
both of them after their mother, Margaret, died and their father, James Lowery,
had left the family for another woman – a widow with children of her own, a
woman who wouldn’t accept James’ children. Dicie & Erasmus were married at
Mae Tildy’s house. Later, she and her husband left Valley Grove and moved to
Birmingham, where he took a job with the railroad.
The telephone hung on the wall. The earpiece was lifted from a hook and the
operator was reached by turning a little wheel on the side of the box. Dicie gave
it a spin and the Trimble operator came on the line. A couple of questions and
answers - they were connected with an operator in Birmingham. No, they didn’t
know the number, but the lady said there was only one ‘Tom Canant’ listed. The
next thing they knew, Mae Tildy was on the line. They placed the earpiece
between them, heads canted to it and, together, talked into the mouthpiece.
Although they didn’t talk – they sang a Sacred Harp song to their sister. After
they finished, in Charlotte’s telling, they both hugged and giggled like a couple of
schoolgirls. The phone system didn’t stay in operation long – as it turned out, the
lines couldn’t be maintained. After service was discontinued, another telephone
didn’t enter the house until the 1950’s.
Sacred Harp lived on in the Knight family, but it didn’t prosper like it did in some
families from the early days. Erasmus & Dicie fit into the singers of the day. They
farmed and he made chairs. Together, it was a living much like any of the others.
Neither had much education, but both could read and write. Of their 10 children,
6 got college degrees – and this was back in the ‘20’s & ‘30’s. Except for
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Charlotte, they left the farm and found lives of their own – lives that didn’t
include Sacred Harp. Of the 10 children, only Ted & Charlotte sang as adults.
Erasmus & Dicie had 30 grandchildren. Of them, only a handful (Jimmy, David,
Jane (Joe’s daughter, living over in Rome, Georgia), Beverly & Marion (Ted’s
daughters, living outside of Atlanta) and myself) have ever been to a singing. And
none of us sing. Erasmus & Dicie had 52 great-grandchildren – only Reid & Jessica
have heard Sacred Harp in the flesh.
Sacred Harp stuck with Dicie until the end and at least a couple of days beyond.
Arnold was at Dicie’s funeral, in January of 1944, and remembered it as the most
dreadful day ever – a rainy, cold day following a stretch of rainy, cold days.
Others who were there vouched for Arnold’s memory. The service took place at
Valley Springs – she’s buried in the cemetery there – but she lay in state at the
home place. It was the tradition of the day. Putting a touch on the entire affair, it
ran late from the start.
One of her sons, Joe, was in the Army and was in the States, but way off. He’d
been notified and the Red Cross handled the details, but the timing was still a
logistical problem. On that day, Erasmus had been a Commissioner for years and
was afforded courtesies. The Sheriff of Cullman County took Aunt Leyte and met
Joe’s train in Birmingham, before streaking toward Cullman. They arrived about
the time the funeral was supposed to start. Everyone cleared out of the front
room where she lay and gave Joe a few moments alone with his mother. The
group then loaded up and splattered dirt-road mud all the way to Valley Springs.
If the old saying is true - that any funeral’s turnout is determined by the weather
– then no one should have been at Dicie’s. But the place was overflowing. The
crowd there was kept informed – they knew everything was waiting on Joe – and
none left. Erasmus may have been responsible for some of the attendance – Dicie
being his wife – but Charlotte held that most were there because of Dicie. She
touched people in ways that Erasmus, with his reputation for sternness, never
could. Jimmie, Erasmus’ brother, wrote a letter after the event that had some
description.
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He was at the funeral, although Dicie couldn’t stand him. Jimmie was the school
teacher at Valley Grove and in that capacity once gave a beating to Paul, Dicie’s
son. There was a cornfield next to the schoolhouse and Paul, during recess, had
knocked down a bunch of the corn stalks. If he had just been given a spanking,
that probably would have been that, but Jimmie beat him to an extent that the
doctor had to be summoned from Trimble. After that episode, according to
family tradition, he was never allowed to darken Dicie’s door. The letter said that
he’d never seen the like of flowers in his life and he found that ironic – Dicie never
cared much for flowers. She didn’t have many in her yard beyond a rose bush, an
English dogwood and a few daffodils. Jimmie’s letter didn’t mention the singing.
According to Charlotte, Dicie’s funeral caused 100 of them to collect at Valley
Springs. That may be an exaggeration – Charlotte’s stories usually involved
embellishment, but only to a degree. Her story cited several eyewitnesses that
claimed it was one of the best they’d ever heard. The funeral was to have started
at 2:00, but actually began closer to 3:00. The singing started at 1:00. When
word came that things had hit a pause, the singers never missed a beat – they’d
sing until Dicie arrived. Instead of like today, when such a delay would be
awkward in a funeral home, the folks at Valley Springs were treated to a Sacred
Harp singing. Dicie couldn’t have asked for more – it would have filled her with
joy. Charlotte was steadfast in her conviction that even if some of the crowd
were there because of Erasmus, all the singers were there because of Dicie. She
never mentioned the flowers.
Charlotte lived to be 83, her last years as a frail old woman with arthritic pain. At
the very end, she was confined to a nursing home, dying with a tumor in her liver.
She was never in pain, but was kept pretty drugged for those 2 or 3 weeks. Most
of the time, she was asleep. Sometimes – maybe twice – she was as sharp as a
tack. The rest of the time, she was not.
The story was told by a nice lady, I think from Winston County, whose mother
shared the room with Charlotte. The lady – in her 40’s – took to her right off and
always gave a detailed description of Charlotte’s day. Her mother weighed about
80 pounds and never said a word. Her daughter, sweet as she was, never stopped
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talking. The room stayed dark but the daughter had brought in a 2-foot Jesus,
illuminated from the inside, and it gave most of the light. One day, when I went
to visit Charlotte after work, she was sound asleep and the daughter told the tale.
Earlier, Aunt Cleo, Uncle Doc’s wife and Charlotte’s sister-in-law, had come to
visit. Cleo stood at the foot of the bed, while the daughter talked – until she saw
Cleo wasn’t listening to her. She was absorbed with Charlotte and the daughter
turned to look. Charlotte was laying on her back, teeth out and her right arm
thrown on top of the sheet. Suddenly, she trembled a little and her hand
twitched enough to be seen. An instant later, she lifted her arm from the elbow.
The skin draped from her bones and was almost translucent. Then her lips
started to move and sounds came out, weak but plain as day – notes, fa sol la
notes. Her right hand started to move up and down, hand splayed out, beating
time to an old Sacred Harp hymn. The daughter looked back at Cleo. She still
stood at the foot of the bed, but now she had tears streaming down her cheeks.
I took a seat toward the back, book in hand. It had attracted attention in the past.
It was Charlotte’s – the 1960 Denson edition, black with gold lettering. The front
had come loose and she had used paper tape amply for repairs. The tape had
started to yellow and fray. With the next song, I picked up the number and found
the page. I didn’t begin to try to sing along, but just sat there, following the
words and taking it all in. The near shouting that could only be heart-felt made
my skin tingle. And it seemed, if I closed my eyes, I could go back in time for
years-upon-years. The voices became those of Dicie and Erasmus and Ted and
Charlotte. I traced the words with my finger as they sang, but soon found them
getting blurred. I thought the feeling would pass and sat through maybe a half-
dozen more, dabbing my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt – but it didn’t. I could
have stayed and probably should have stayed – just to wallow in it all – but I felt
self-conscious and a little light-headed. I closed the book and quietly slipped out
the doors.