Eclipse Company Town: part of revitalizing the county

Area renovation eclipses notion of ‘owing one’s soul’ to the company town

Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Ed Venrick)
December 15, 2008

Some local restoration efforts hope to enrich community, environment, and culture in an area where the coal industry's scars left a stigma of poverty and decay.

More than a decade ago, little white bungalows dotted the rolling hillside along Johnson and Jackson Road near The Plains. After Eclipse mine #4 closed in 1948, many cottages and the company store were left in disrepair.

In 1997, six friends with interests in historic preservation, local history and the bike path’s proximity to the abandoned town purchased the land and 100-year-old structures from the former mine superintendent’s heir.

After the purchase, a developer planned condos and an assisted-living facility across Johnson Road, where more original town cottages were located. Motivated to preserve them, Eclipse Ltd. members moved five more cottages and slate roof tiles to the Jackson road site.

Eclipse Company Town, Ltd — 12 bungalows, one “shotgun” house and the company store – would slowly become a new town with inspiration from the owners’ fresh ideas.

Ten years and a variety of tenants later, the town members say it has always experienced commercial and residential stability. A recent nomination and acceptance into the National Historic Register, though, fulfilled one of the group’s primary goals. Athens lawyer Jonathan Sowash, one of the now-four owners notes, “A nice community has bloomed among us here at Eclipse.”

He adds, “One of the things we wanted to try to demonstrate is that you can restore historically significant places (and) reuse them for new purposes that the surrounding community will support. Not everything needs four-lane roads and stoplights to succeed. Not everything needs to look the same.”

In February, the last phase in their original plan will come to fruition. The old pay station and goods store will reopen with more than a facelift.

In many former mining towns, the company would grant credit (“scrip”) based on the amount of coal loaded, and the scrip could be exchanged for goods and services at the store. The trade of difficult and dangerous labor for simple bare necessities was summed up best in Merle Travis’ famous 1947 song “16 Tons” with the lyrics, “I owe my soul to the company store.”

Sowash says of their company store plans, “We want to expand its use as a place where the unique cultural heritage of southeast Ohio is honored and celebrated, to make it a community resource for the widest variety of reasons, events and activities.”

The at-risk, severely weathered building received a new foundation and siding; installation of heating/cooling, plumbing, electricity and insulation; and a kitchen and bathrooms. The spaces on the first and second floors can be used for a variety of purposes, including a rental hall for wedding receptions, banquets, workshops, theatrical events or concerts; or rooms for teaching classes such as tai chi or Pilates.

Cecilia Rinaldi, one of the four partners, says, “We’d like it to become the most happening place in the county — for activities suitable for the community at large, with great food and music and a place for community events.”

Eclipse events coordinator Robin Webb thinks the group’s decade-long efforts have been well-spent. “I think that Eclipse and the Eclipse Partners have restored vitality and energy to the region by preserving our local history and providing a space to honor it,” she says.

Visitors frequent the businesses, especially the restaurants.

One restaurant at the end of Jackson Drive has seen the most turnover. Ed Fisher’s Starving Wolf Café evolved into Sam and Missy Whaley’s Starving Wolf and Yellow Moon Café, and in turn became Scott Bradley’s Zoe. Its recent relocation to 24 1/2 E. State St. in uptown Athens left space for a new restaurant.

Adam Reed, sous chef at the new Lydi’s Fine Dining in Eclipse, began serving customers soon after painting the restaurant and remodeling the kitchen.

He says, “I offer an intimate setting that is casual, yet sophisticated, showcasing some of the area’s best artists.” Reed adds that he offers a seasonably changing menu, with local, fresh and simple food, in line with current trends.

Across the way, Jana’s Soul Food Café, which serves breakfast and lunch, has also found its niche at Eclipse.

“Having great restaurants at Eclipse has been an extra delight we did not anticipate,” says Sowash. “They have really been hits with the community, and we believe that will continue. You should see this place on weekends — people coming off the bike path for brunch and people driving in for casual and all-dressed-up evening dining and dinner parties.”

Eclipse is host to the Little Cities of Black Diamond Council’s benefit auction the second Saturday of every May, also known as the Appalachian Spring Festival. Patrons can enjoy live music, living history characters and concession stands, and peruse auction items. Seasonally, Eclipse also hosts a fresh produce stand at the entrance on Jackson Drive.

In summary, Sowash says, “Places that preserve and celebrate the unique features of our local place, be they cultural, historical, architectural, natural, artistic, spiritual, (or) locally made, nurture us and attract others to come visit. Bloom where you grow.”

King Midget for Reflections of the Past Issue

King of the road

Locally made automobile’s past influences the future

Jenaye Antonuccio (photo of Pat and Earl Funk beside their 1963 Model 3 by Ed Venrick of the Athens News)
December 8, 2008

Throughout history, innovative men and women have emerged from tiny corners of the world to better society. America’s own foundations – true grit earning freedom – enabled countless dreamers using available resources to build a country through know-how, stick-to-it-iveness, and hands-on production. Thomas Edison, the great American inventor, said, “Genius is 1 per cent inspiration, 99 per cent perspiration.” John Quincy Adams, the nation’s sixth president, said, “May our country be always successful, but whether successful or otherwise, always right.” Here, in our tiny corner of the world, two men did just that: through sweat and sound vision, in a country fresh out of fighting a tremendous war, they produced little cars in a world ready for big change.

Dale Orcutt and Claud Dry often rolled up their sleeves, ready to work with their hands. Both had tinkered with various mechanical creations, but one in particular intrigued them both: airplanes. They made them, flew them, crashed them, and made them again.

This love brought them together, serving the country in the Civil Air Patrol. The men met and bonded, exchanging ideas. Both brought to the table idea and design. Add Dry’s business sense and knowledge of publishing and Orcutt’s technical knack with machinery, and fate would soon alter our corner of the world.

Hashing out their plans, they kept their day jobs. Dry worked for the Athens Messenger as linotype operator and photographer while maintaining his self-published Used Aircraft Directory; Orcutt serviced sewing machines in garment factories.

Dry’s publication evolved into the Midget Motors Directory, a source for selling their own and other's surplus parts (today’s equivalent would be eBay). Its purpose was to pass along to fellow at-home hobbyists the available parts he was always searching for himself, not make a killing in resale. Modest profits were generated, as well as advertising space for the two men’s creations: a series of legendary small vehicles utilizing lightweight aircraft engineering principles.

Mark McCourt, associate editor with Hemmings Publishing (Hemmings Motor News and Hemmings Classic Car magazines), says, “They tapped into a ready and willing market of hands-on, mechanically adept people who enjoyed problem solving and getting their hands dirty.”

The Great Depression had sunk its teeth into America’s economy and spirits. World War II, though boosting the economy, singularly funneled the nations resources into sustaining the war effort. America was living by the slogan, “Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without,” and by penny-pinching and making the dollar stretch further. Citizens were used to constructing with scrap metal, rubber, and elbow grease.

When the war neared to a close, Orcutt and Dry sensed the country’s restlessness and need. A three-year automotive production stall and surplus supplies perfectly matched the age-old “supply and demand” scenario - right from the heart of America.

Carefully planned steps in the two men’s production followed: An ice sled. A motor scooter. A “super-cycle.” A car.

The first “King Midget” car (a name thought up by Helen Dry, Claud’s wife) evolved from a series of quarter-midget racers, which would later become known as the Model 1. It was sold as a kit; designed so any man could build and own a midget racer with a single cylinder engine, no doors or roof, and the ride of their dreams. More designs and models would follow: some sold as kits; most were fully assembled.

Earl Funk, son-in-law of Dale Orcutt and husband of Pat, Orcutt’s daughter, says, “This car was sold with the idea that the average man with a hammer and a pair of pliers could repair most things on it.”

Bob Vahsholtz, author of King Midget: The Story of America’s Smallest Dream Car, comments, “They made one huge bet — that people would buy their unique little cars — but covered that bet with sound management and low-risk alternate sources of profit.”

Raised in the cautious times of the Depression and War rationing, it was in their blood to stay debt-free, and make a steady, reasonable profit to boot.

In the later 1940s and early ’50s, times were good. Expanding baby-boom families increased demand for housing. Health blossomed, as penicillin was introduced to combat chronic illnesses and DDT was used against malaria. Introduction of Tide detergent, electric blankets and the bikini exemplified more options for comfort and recreation.

After some success with the Model 1, and having the visit of well-known journalist Tom McCahill of Mechanix Illustrated prompt further sales, it became necessary to move from the “factory” (a small building on Richland Avenue across from present-day C & E). In 1951, they completed the 21 Campbell St location (the present ATCO/Passion Works studio).

The concrete floor was poured 30 inches thick to support weight; the building was heated by piping hot water through the floor.

“They borrowed money only to build a factory and to finance growth once they had proven orders,” comments Bob Vahsholtz. “They built cars only when they had deposits, and quickly paid off all debt. As a result, even though their big bet did not pan out as hoped, the company made profits and allowed them to realize their dream for as long as they chose to work.”

Soon both men could quit their other jobs to focus on what they loved best. The Model 2 and 3 took shape, along with a Trainer and Junior designed for driver education for children.

The pair never had aspirations to become famous or rich – they just wanted to make cars, and make them well and affordable. They never wavered from their philosophy of building – keep improving the car through testing and re-tinkering, and stick to the plan of providing easy, lightweight, do-it-yourself vehicles. They refused many orders that didn't fit in with their business methods.

Along these practical, small-business lines, Louise Orcutt sewed the canvas tops to the Model 3’s in their basement, while a blind man was employed to sew the upholstery.

The same employees who built the vehicles helped build the factory. Pat Funk, daughter of Dale Orcutt, recalls her father bringing a block of clay over to the factory, used for making new ideas, and setting it on his office desk.

“He’d tell them, ‘Come on in here, make this look the way you think it ought to look,” she says.

Pat also remembers of the partners, “They had this common agreement: if one didn’t like something, they were not going to force the other one to do it; if they agreed on something, good.” She adds, “They were good partners — they worked together very well.”

Only six auto manufacturers remained in business by 1966. Midget Motors was one of them. “It was successful in its limited way because those two were excellent managers with a tight focus,” says Vahsholtz. “The significance lies in their ability to profitably build inexpensive microcars at microvolume levels in a sustainable way. They zeroed in on a tiny splinter market ... and never gave up.”

David Funk, grandson of Dale Orcutt, says, “The King Midget is an example of sustainable manufacturing through recycled parts, manufacturing jobs in Appalachia, potential for export sales overseas, earth-friendly fuel economy, and simplicity of only 88 parts so anyone can do repairs.”

Funk adds, “Thirty-three car companies started up after WWII, but in the end only the King Midget lasted into the 1960s, and by 1966 was the 6th largest car company in the country.”

Local impressions varied, in part because of Orcutt and Dry’s modesty, and in part because of an established rule. No King Midgets were sold within a 50-mile radius of Athens, simply because they wanted to avoid the responsibility of making repairs due to lack of room.

Earl Funk, Pat’s husband, who owned a sporting goods store, Sports Incorporated, located across from the Court House, rarely saw them uptown. Julie Stoudt, who lived right next door to the Dry’s South Shannon house and office, says, “They were very kind and generous people.”

The Drys let Stoudt and her siblings play often in their yard without complaint. “It was very low-key. We never saw the cars, not even in the driveway,” she says.

But Dan Dry, son of Claud, has one special memory. “I remember riding down our street, South Shannon Ave, with my Father at the wheel and me seated next to him, being the proudest kid in the world.”

He adds, “I was so proud of my Dad for being a part of such an amazing invention.”

Metal carefully fitted together, the car is utilitarian, reliable-looking, and solid. Because it is so low to the ground, even the engine casing boosted up on the small wheels only comes to knee-height. You think you might not fit. But giddy as a little kid at Christmas, you must get in. You step over the lip, slide into the seat. Long legs withstanding, it is still quite a surprising reach to the gas pedal below. The steering wheel fits nicely into your hands. The car is begging for a spin. You wonder why you haven’t done this sooner.

Here’s what others say about how it feels to drive or ride in a King Midget:

• “They’re very easy to drive (though shifting into reverse can be tricky). My grin never shifted out of ‘ear-to-ear’ mode during the excursion.” — Bob Vahsholtz

• “It was definitely strange sitting so low to the ground, not having doors or a roof, and pulling up behind a modern car and having their taillights at your eye level. I actually would like to drive it again – because the first time was getting the feel and getting the kinks worked out. Next time, I want to be able to just drive it.” — Heather Reed, curator of the Athens County Historical Society and Museum

• “Loud, bumpy, lots of rattling, but ultimately, honestly, and I’m a little embarrassed to admit this, it made me feel special and lucky to have access to the adventure of riding in a King Midget Car.” — Kelee Riesbeck, director of the Athens County Historical Society and Museum

• “I drove my model 3 about 100 miles one day and it felt like I had gone 1,000 miles — no heat and sitting on three inches of foam. My grandson enjoyed it because he was small enough to move around inside.” — Paul Gerhardt, restorer of King Midgets

• “That ride was one I’ll never forget. I think I started laughing as soon as I got in the car and didn’t stop until well after we were parked again.” — Mark McCourt of Hemmings Publishing

In 1966, a group of investors bought the Midget Motors Corporation from Dry and Orcutt, and Joseph Stehlin became president. Production ceased in 1970. No records indicate exactly how many King Midgets were produced in total - factory records were lost in a flood. Estimates range as low as 4,000 to as high as 18,000, with most falling into the lower range.

The Midgets nearly disappeared from the public eye, but not from the hearts of many. Few still searched for it, remembering the little car in the back-page advertisements of magazines such as Popular Mechanics and Popular Science.

Some were discovered in used-car parking lots, or rusting away in abandoned barns. They were taken into hobbyists’ garages to be slowly brought back to life while the owners sought for original parts.

In 1985, Dave Stults collected and bought up the parts for the same reasons. He says: “My motivation to own the King Midget parts, that I believed were the only remaining parts from the factory, was three-fold. I’d enjoyed the 1958 King Midget (a previous purchase) and my enthusiasm for it was still strong. Secondly, it seemed to me that all other brands seemed to have an advocate or club, but King Midget had none. I decided that I wanted to be King Midget’s advocate. Lastly, I wanted to build a small electric car for retirement communities.”

Stults contacted Pat and Earl Funk with the idea to start Jamborees, gatherings of fans of the cars. The Funks thought it was a great idea. Thus began the formation of International King Midget Car Club.

The first Jamboree was June 22, 1991 in Westport, Indiana. In the parade, Mrs. Louise (Orcutt) Lee rode with Erlyn Wilker of Stratford, Ontario, Canada in his 1959 King Midget.

The line-up of King Midgets started with a 1952 Model 2, and ended with Stults’ last King Midget made, a Model 3, with Pat and Earl Funk onboard. Pat remembers, “We were going across these hilly country roads. Going up a long slow hill, I could see all of the cars at the same time, and I cried.”

The Funks, too busy in their early-married years and beyond trying to keep food on the table for a family of four, acquired their first King Midget in 1991. They’ve had some practical modifications made – such as thicker seats and a bigger horsepower engine to compete with today’s traffic.

Pat says, “I think the club and jamborees are wonderful. I think, ‘What would my dad think of all of this?’” She pauses. “And I think, ‘He would love it, he would love it!’”

Orcutt and Dry used to test the cars by trying to ascend High Street Hill. If a car didn’t make it, it was sent back to the factory for adjustments. The Jamborees hosted in Athens resurrected this event for entertainment. Here are some accounts:

• “I accelerated as quickly as I could to have the most momentum possible as I started up the hill. When the speed slowed to the shift point between high and low gear, I momentarily released the throttle and depressed it again to enable the shift to occur more quickly and smoothly. I was confident that it would suceed, but it was exhilirating to top the hill, still with good forward motion.” — Dave Stults, former owner of King Midget rights and parts, founder of the King Midget Car Club International

• “My grandmother and I made a valiant run at it in my King Midget. The pressure was on because I definitely didn’t want to stall out with the Jamboree Parade Queen in the car with me. Unfortunately, though, we didn’t quite make it. At the time, people in clown costumes would help by pushing the cars to the top of the hill. The final humiliation, though, was my grandmother’s explaining to the clown that there really wasn’t anything wrong with the King Midget, rather that her grandson was getting chubby and the car just wasn’t meant to carry that kind of load. I believe she was the first Parade Queen ever asked to push the car she was riding in.” — David Funk, grandson of Dale Orcutt

Mike Beebe, current owner of King Midget rights and parts, and developer of a new prototype he hopes to have available as a kit in the coming year (www.midgetmotorsupply.com), says, “Dry and Orcutt were very much about the utilitarian aspect of a motor vehicle — lightweight, a resource conservation, and economic. King Midgets were not about the indulgence of the huge steel vehicles of the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s.”

Joe Blosser, who restores the cars, says today’s road standards limit the use of King Midgets on larger highways. Yet, he adds, “It is exactly what we need today as a commuter car for transportation locally. I’m trying to get as many back on the road that I can.”

Paul Gerhardt, another expert restorer, says, “I enjoy bringing any King Midget back to life so people can enjoy them.” He owns two.

But it is more than just regulation standards that would hinder King Midget’s success in today’s world. America’s lust for comfort has changed.

Mark McCourt says of King Midgets marketed today, “To succeed, the entire concept of selling and distributing the King Midget would need a thorough re-think. To engineer a small runabout with the necessary safety features would require far more than a small manufacturer could afford to do without the support of a large and experienced corporation (think of the computer software, crash testing facilities and the passenger packaging and amenities we’ve all come to expect). And off-the-shelf, small-displacement engines (like the old Wisconsins and Kohlers) would have to be completely reengineered to meet pollution standards and allow safe highway speeds. How would they engineer crumple zones, front and side impact air bags, traction control, a cd player and four cupholders into a car with a target weight of fewer than 1,000 pounds?”

Today’s auto industry is suffering. Resisting filing for bankruptcy, the Big Three (General Motors Corp, Chrysler LLC, and Ford Motor Co) have submitted two bids to Congress for emergency funding in an economic downturn due pitiful auto sales and the clamped credit market. The executives in the companies, not wanting to shut down different brand lines, and have been urged to take major salary cuts.

At a recent congressional hearing for the Big Three bailout, Senator Christopher Dodd (D – Conn.) said, “Their board rooms in my view have been devoid of vision. They have promoted and often driven the demand of inefficient, gas guzzling vehicles, and dismissed the threat of global warming.”

The Big Three have made commitments to speed marketing of hybrid and electric vehicles. Ford has pledged to increase the production of smaller vehicles. Other companies have designed similar small cars, such as Volkswagen’s Up! concept car, the Smart ForTwo, and Toyota IQ.

Could the little car made by two men in Athens, Ohio inspire vehicles today?

Bob Vahsholtz thinks it could. “I believe Dry and Orcutt are a splendid example of the entrepreneurial spirit we’re losing in this country,” he says. “I believe it would be easier now than it was then to succeed with microcars in this country. Americans rarely have the patience and work ethic to actually do what it takes to make a dream come true. There are plenty of examples, but Midget Motors is a good one.”

Dan Dry says, “I think the car inspired auto designers to think about stripped-down non-luxury autos that are fuel efficient.”

“It is ironic that as the country debates the merits of a $25 billion bailout of the auto industry,” argues David Funk. “We have a story in Athens of a high school-educated inventor and a enterprising business man that refused outside capital, let alone debt, as they combined recycled WWII scrap, ingenuity, and a dedicated Athens workforce to produce a vehicle that gets over 70 mpg. Detroit has yet to match it to this day.”

Facts and information were compiled from resources at the Athens County Historical Society and Museum, the Robert E. and Jean R. Mahn Center for Archives and Special Collections at Ohio University, and from King Midget: The Story of America’s Smallest Dream Car by Bob Vahsholtz. Special thanks to Bob Vahsholtz, Mark McCourt, Dave Stults, Kelee Riesbeck and Heather Reed, Pat and Earl Funk, David Funk, Dan Dry, Julie Stoudt, Joe Blosser, Paul Gerhardt, Mike Beebe, and Deborah Rentz.

Green Family Summer for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Making it green: one family’s lifestyle transforms vacation into opportunity By Jenaye Antonuccio (photo provided by the Wilsons)


“Who will raise up the new generation of conservationists?” This is a question often posed by The Sierra Club, America’s oldest environmental organization. Athens residents Jeff and Sherri Wilson have strived to answer this question by modeling an eco-friendly lifestyle for their two daughters to emulate. Last summer’s Sierra Club article about the certain death of family summer vacations gave the Wilsons further motivation: to better their annual tradition for the sake of the earth.

Typically, as winter’s chill descends, Jeff and Sherri Wilson, along with daughters Winter and Sylvie, start planning more extensively for their annual summer-long vacation.

“My family lives on the west coast, so this is time for the kids to reunite with family - that is the only time I see them,” says Sherri. “Our professions both have flexible schedules. If we work really hard in the winter, we can have that time in the summer.”

The last leaves may now be falling, but summer is still very much on their minds. Not only are they starting to plan for next summer’s trip; they are revisiting and editing videos, journals, blogs and tidying the mileage log from this summer’s trip.

“This was a trip we were going to take anyway, but we just like the idea of being able to change what we did and then tell that story,” says Jeff. “It really was an experiment to see if it was possible.”

That idea proved possible.

“Green Family Summer”, the title of their story, turned out to be more than just a vacation and desire to educate their children and the public; it turned into a job.

Two months before departure, it wasn’t the just skyrocketing gas prices or the uncertain future of the economy that made the Wilsons re-evaluate their goals – it was also their inevitable carbon footprint, and their impact on the environment. Though the experience of travel was important, they agreed certain aspects needed to be changed.

Wanting to increase their gas mileage in a “green” way, they hashed out ideas on how to replace their old, heavy camper and full-size, gas-powered truck. “Six or seven weeks before we left,” says Jeff, “I had an idea that it sounded like a good story. We thought there must be solutions, so we embarked on this experiment.”

He researched auto-makers, carbon offsets, and alternative energies. No stranger to telling newsworthy stories, Jeff used his contacts and knowledge as a host on HGTV, Do-It-Yourself networks and as spokesman for Thompson’s Water Seal. Jeff explained the couple’s goals to a few select companies and received immediate positive response. The deal? Exchange of product for a feature in their story – told through a Web site, blog, video clips, and interviews in magazines and on various local TV news-stations.

“We didn’t sign any written contracts and there were no verbal contracts with any of the companies that we dealt with,” says Jeff. “This is our story, and what we offered was the chance to be involved.”

The new digs: Columbia Northwest provided a lightweight, low-profile Aliner Ease camper; Chevrolet loaned a 2008 Tahoe Hybrid (for the trip only); Talco Electronics offered solar panels and a wind generator; Garmin donated a GPS; Mountainsmith and GSI-Outdoors gave recycled-material outdoor gear backpacks; the Better World Club provided passes to the national parks; and Terrapass eased their minds with third-party audited carbon offsets – balancing the carbon they produced by funding clean energy and efficiency projects. Looking at the map, they decided to also visit nature preserves along the way, giving press to the Nature Conservancy’s environmental agenda.

Ten weeks of “green family summer” would become an invaluable experiment in family bonding and education, with a valuable environmental message. The nearly 13,000 visits on their Web site (greenfamilysummer.com) suggests everyone’s investment was worth it.

“Everybody has been very positive; they are glad they invested in the project,” says Jeff. “We worked really hard and will continue to work at it. We wanted them to feel like the amount of work exchanged for the product they gave was at least equal or better.”

Gas mileage was increased from 11 miles per gallon to 19. Cameras and laptop were kept charged through solar and wind power. They met and spoke with countless people, taking less-traveled roads, visiting local farmers markets and small-town diners to teach the girls about every part of their country. “The best sources for local information are locals,” says Sherri, smiling.

Visiting three Nature Conservancy sites (Flint Hills Tallgrass Prairie Preserve in Kansas, Ball Creek Ranch Preserve in the Kootenai River Valley in Idaho, and Yellow Island on the San Juan Islands in Washington) taught them to slow down and study landscape details shown by knowledgeable and passionate employees.

The girls also took part in the Junior Rangers program, designed to teach kids to search and learn in the National parks and earn badges of achievement. “They take a pledge at the very end to preserve the land and protect the park,” says Sherri. “Often they will have to collect litter, or report grafitti, and they learn lots.”

The Wilsons believe this and other trips they have taken discourage provincialism and encourage tolerance. Jeff insists, “Teaching kids a wider view of the world, exposing kids to nature, getting along with other people, why places are unique – traveling anywhere is important for anybody.”

Adds Sherri, “It’s a special time with the kids that I wouldn’t trade for any amount of money in the world.”

Leaving their snug 1,000 square foot home for the small space within a camper, conflicts naturally arise, but it is considered part of the work to get along. “We all have a job to do,” says Sherri. “If conflicts do arise, we have to resolve our conflicts to make things work.” They wash their clothes (without soap) in the stream and hang them up to dry, and go many days without showers, often taking a dip in the creek. Sherri says that living this way, upon every homecoming, their small house looks huge, and she purges through their possessions.

The Wilsons by nature have strived to live “green” in every aspect of their life since before they were married. They quit corporate jobs to travel and explore nature at its best. Self-described “Walden”-ites, now, with kids, their outlook hasn’t changed.

“We realized that this is a great road map for how to lead your life,” says Jeff. “If you want ‘stuff’ you can have it, but it comes with a cost.” He adds, “We have tried to keep our consumption way down. We have worked out our lives very carefully - any purchase we make, we look not at the sticker price, but what it will cost us in the long run.”

This attitude is exemplified by their purchasing of ten acres of farmland through the Conservation Reserve Program. “You take acreage out of production of crops, plant trees, and manage the trees until they grow up,” Jeff says. “It’s an investment of our money and time, but its also something that we can see improve over time.”

Adds Sherri, “We work on taking out invasive species. We spend a lot of weekends out there just tromping through.”

Until the City of Athens started accepting green glass for recycling, this “waste” spurred Sherri’s idea for reclamation wine-bottle art – tumblers, vases, tables, and light fixtures are constructed from trash into something lasting. Collecting bottles from neighbors and area restaurants, she saves hundreds of bottles from the trash each week. Her works are currently on display at the Athens County Public Library on Home Street, or can be viewed on her website (bluemoonbottles.com).

Though the Wilsons love travel, they adore Athens. “A huge part of why we live here because our daily living is so simplified,” says Sherri.

Coming from the west coast, they find the pace is refreshing. “You don’t have to get in your car to drive, so the problem of health care is reduced,” says Jeff. “You are out walking in the open air, getting some exercise.”

Out on the road, they saw the “vanillification” of America, Jeff calls it. He says, “Everything is the same.” But this summer in particular, more people were driving slower, and there were less “big rigs”. In fact, they encountered park rangers frustrated with the amount of violations of basic park rules, and increase in campers who had purchased tents but didn’t know proper set-up – all in the name of saving money in a troubled economy.

The Wilsons are pleased with the way the story turned out. “I imagine people will say, ‘Who can afford a new Tahoe and a new camper?’” says Jeff. “That is expensive, but long term costs, if we could make a big change, it would be getting people out of the gas and into the hybrids.”

“One thing I wish Americans would agree to,” says Jeff, “is that our issues with the economy, energy, climate, and health care, they are all tied together and they require us to sacrifice something. I think of America as the people that when an issue arises, you roll up your sleeves and get the job done.”

Jeff believes our patriotic duty and security of the world is based on a few simple solutions. “For the future of the country - look for solutions that are greener, but will help to stimulate parts of the economy that are important, like green and renewable technologies.”

Three pies: a pumpkin experiment with a timeless tradition
By Jenaye Antonuccio, recipe tester
photo by Sherry DiBari

“When a nation loses the ability to substantially feed itself, it is not only at the mercy of global commodity markets but of other governments as well.” Michael Pollan, in a letter titled “An Open Letter to the Next Farmer in Chief”, published in the New York Times, October 9, 2008

Reacting to the practice of international trading of basic goods, economist Herman Daly wrote, “Exchanging recipes would surely be more efficient.”

Our ancestors did it.

Autumn harvesting from their own fields, they enlisted all family members to assemble any meals from handed-down recipes. Thankful gatherings at the table celebrated a season’s worth of hard work – they knew the source of their abundance because they had put in the effort to produce it.

Today, most people don’t have crops and livestock to reap from. But we can come close using our own hands and local resources.

Modern day autumn means colors muted in frosty mornings, football games and mmm… pumpkin pie. Tables will soon be laden with the first of the holiday’s feasts and will most surely hold one, if not two, familiar baked golden-orange pumpkin pies.

How much effort would it take to bake a pumpkin pie from a real pumpkin, and how different would it taste?

It is pretty certain our ancestors didn’t open things like a can of processed pumpkin, dump in a can of evaporated milk, add a dash of pre-mixed pumpkin pie spice, and pour it all into a pre-made crust.

Last year, U.S. shoppers bought $10.3 million worth of canned pumpkin during Thanksgiving week, according to ACNielsen U.S., a marketing research firm.

A search about canned pumpkin online revealed a site for Libby’s pumpkin: (http://www.verybestbaking.com/products/libbys/trivia_answers.aspx). It swears they use a special kind of pie pumpkin, their own strain cultivated from the Dickinson, of which Libby’s owns the rights. “LIBBY’S pumpkins were specially developed over time,” the site states, “and are officially named the LIBBY’S Select Dickinson pumpkin. It is smaller, squatter, meatier, heavier and sweeter than the Halloween pumpkin.” Apparently, according to those who have seen it, it is oblong and unappealing-looking, with tan skin – similar to a butternut squash.

So we conducted an experiment.

Sugar pie pumpkins are smaller, sweeter, and sold in grocery stores, pumpkin farms or farmers markets. Their color is a deeper orange, inside and out, as opposed to a typical Halloween pumpkin.

The amount of money we spent (a dollar for a sugar pie pumpkin vs. $1.28 for canned) ends up about even: though we had to purchase things like flour, eggs, butter and spices, all can be used for other cooking adventures, which stretches the dollar over time.

We also wondered about evaporated milk. It is essentially milk with the water taken out, is thicker, and lasts longer on a shelf if one lacks refrigeration. It can be reconstituted and used as regular milk. Different pumpkin pie recipes cite using anything from skim, 1%, 2%, or whole milk, or even soy, with additions of cornstarch for thickness.

Lining the counter were two sugar pumpkins, one can of pumpkin, and as a last minute just-for-kicks decision, one acorn squash.

Preparing the pumpkin for pie filling can be accomplished in a variety of ways. Chunks can be cut for steaming in a large pot on the stovetop, cooked in a pressure cooker, or halves can be microwaved in a covered dish.

We chose to bake them. Wash, slice in half, scoop out seeds (boil in saltwater for about five minutes, then drain. Add sprinkles of salt, cumin and chili powder and bake on a cookie sheet – yum!). Place pumpkin facedown in enough water to cover the bottom of a large, glass baking dish. Cover with foil and bake for one hour at 350 degrees.

This method makes the golden pulp spoon away easily from the skin. Let the pulp sit for a bit to drain off excess water. Puree in the food processor or blender until it becomes fine and smooth.
Two pumpkins made enough pulp for one pie with a little left over. The acorn squash was given the same treatment in a baking dish, and pureed the same way.

The colors were dramatically different. The canned pumpkin was rusty-orange; the pumpkins we baked and prepared came out golden-orange; the acorn squash was creamy white.
We used the same recipe (below) for all three pies, except for the acorn squash pie – we used real heavy whipping cream instead of evaporated milk.

When the pies were done, we let them cool slightly and conducted a taste test. With closed eyes and not being told which was which, most tasters by far preferred the real pumpkin as opposed to the canned. The flavors in the real pumpkin pie were prominent, less muted. The squash pie tasted surprisingly like rich custard. I took the pies to a party and they were gone within minutes. My son liked the squash pie so much that he volunteered for me to make another for his “healthy” Halloween party at school.

One-crust pie crust:
• 1/3 cup butter
• 1 cup flour
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 2 - 3 Tbsp cold water
Using pastry blender or two knives, cut butter into flour and salt until it resembles small crumbs. Add water and toss with a fork until all is blended and easily forms a ball. Lightly flour a flat surface and roll out with a rolling pin. Put into pie plate and pinch the edges round the top.

Pie filling, to be poured into crust-lined, 9-inch pie plate:
• 4 large eggs
• 3 cups pumpkin or squash
• 1 tsp vanilla
• 1 can (12oz) evaporated milk, or one pint carton of heavy whipping cream, or 1 1/2 cups of milk
• 1 cup sugar
• 1.5 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1 tsp nutmeg
Some other optional ingredients:
• 1 teaspoon ground cloves
• 1 teaspoon ground allspice
• 1/2 tsp ground ginger
• 1/2 tsp salt
Whisk the eggs, then add the rest. Pour into crust-lined pie plate.
Bake at 425 F for the first 15 minutes, then lower temperature to 350 F and bake another 45 to 60 minutes, until knife inserted into the center comes out clean.

Eric Gunn for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Music store owner keeps the beat to an indie tune
By Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)

Creating music may be timeless, but selling it in today’s market is harder than ever.

Retail businesses across the board have been experiencing the effects of the economy’s downturn through business closings and employment cuts.

The music industry, already ailing from availability of downloads and file-sharing, has taken a steady hit. “That decline has taken a heavy toll on our industry as a whole -- from songwriters losing their jobs to record stores, especially those around college campuses, closing their doors,” said Jenni R. Engebretsen, former Director of Communications for the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), a Washington, DC-based trade group that represents the U.S. recording industry.

But here in Athens, Haffa’s Records at 15 W Union St. has had a different experience.

Eric Gunn, owner of the independent small business, explains, “We are unique in that we are the only record store within 50 miles.” Because of this, he says he’s sure the business will weather whatever crisis is ahead. “The music industry is changing, CD sales are slowing, but dying industries take a long time before they finally keel over,” he says. “More people will come to us because we are a small niche store.”

Gunn also insists that people’s need for music will never die, no matter the economic climate. “Music is one of those luxuries that even in tight times, people can afford,” he says. “Even poor people still bought their Jimmie Rodgers 78’s in the middle of the Depression.” He adds, “You might not be able to go out and blow 80 bucks on dinner, but you can pick up a six pack and a used CD and you are under 15.”
Keeping the value of the entertainment dollar in mind, customers can find most of Haffa’s items priced under $20, and most used items less than $10.

Since opening in the 70s, the goal of Haffa’s has been the same: good merchandise at low prices. Used books and LP’s made up the majority of initial sales. The name plays off of “half-price” and a reference to an old blues song, with the lyrics “kind of have to have something…”. What is the correct pronunciation of the store – short or long “a”? “Tomato, tomah-to,” says Gunn. “We answer to everything.”

As the fourth owner of the store, Gunn’s fourteen-year Haffa’s tenure (pre-ownership employment and ownership) has seen much change. Aside from moving upstairs from the basement location to the former Duplication Station storefront, people’s musical tastes and listening repertoire have broadened due to the World Wide Web. “Now a much broader palate of music with file sharing and being able to listen to music online, people have a broader array of genres that they listen to, or styles of music from all different eras,” says Gunn.

Since his early youthful days of employment, there’s always been a record store in his work-life. Though it is not always easy, he confirms there is no better job. “It’s a cool job - hang out and listen to music all day and get to talk to people about music.”

He agrees that brick-and-mortar music stores may not always be around, but the value of an independent store will not cease. “There is still value to be gotten at your independent record store - things that aren’t mainstream, and discovering new music,” he says.

Athens has supported only one record store for the past four years. Schoolkids Records stopped selling music in its Court Street location in 2004, deciding to focus on a different area of the business, and the two or three short-lived corporate record stores in the University Mall are long gone.

Gunn notes that business in Athens requires planning. “You have four months of the year when the town is half the size it is at other times,” says Gunn, “you have to make sure at the end of spring you have enough money in the bank to get through summer.”

He says he looks forward to the switch to semesters, and likens the adjustment to the expansion of State Street. “Three years after, no one will remember that it was any other way,” says Gunn. “Like when State Street went from two lanes to four, now you can’t imagine it going back. You think, ‘Why was it not that way the whole time?’”

Simple business plans are what he thinks will help to navigate through the shaky economy.

“Business owners need to be realistic with where things really are: track what you are selling, pay attention to trends in your business, don’t assume that things are going to change for the positive. If it is not viable anymore, you are better off to cut the losses.”

He likes being where he is, and often has customers visit from out of town. People had to search for the store when it was in the basement. “Now people will walk by, walk in and check it out,” he says.

The arrival of large chain businesses in Athens, such as Walmart, hasn’t hurt, Gunn says, but instead opens opportunity. It prevents other large chain stores from locating here. And when the customer can’t find what they want at the larger stores, they are sent to Haffa’s. “You can find that space to exist in their shadow, or thrive in it: what aren’t they selling, what aren’t they doing that people in the community want.”

He thinks the alternative record store will always be worth the visit. “A dark scary record store, those were the stores you found stuff, where the best stuff was to be found,” says Gunn. “People (own) it because that is what they love to do, not because they are trying to buy a second home.”

“Americans have lived on cheap credit and we all had fun at the party,” he continues. “It’s going to take a while for that to unwind. Banks have to loan within their means, people have to live within their means.”

He likens America to a massive aircraft carrier. “It doesn’t matter who is at the helm,” he says. “They can steer it a little to the left, a little to the right, but it’s really hard to turn the thing around.” Still, he has hope for America’s re-start. “We have to think about what we can do to get the heart beating again and try to clean up the mess.”

As a community member, he tries to be realistic about his standing. “We’ve got lots of loyal customers,” Gunn says. “There are a lot of people I know that if we ever did shut down they would be really bummed. I think we’ll be here for a while, I’m pretty confident of that.”

What does he see a decade from now?

“In ten years,” he says, “I hope people still care about music and still want to buy some. I hope we can change enough to still be a successful business without losing the feel I’ve always liked about the place - supporting independent music, not mainstream.”

Ivy Crockron for Athens: Glimpses of Home

A clear voice in tough times
Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)
October 13, 2008

Ivy Crockron has a recognizable voice.

As the star of a performance, she has a voice that tells stories in operatic song.

As a voice teacher, she instructs others to find their own.

As a mother and wife, she speaks with discipline, grace and jokes.

Finally, she is an African-American Christian woman whose voice is clear in this election year.

“I must research the candidates and pick the person who has the vision and the ability to do the job,” says Crockron. “Women and African Americans have not always had the right to vote. How dare I waste my opportunity, my privilege to vote.”

She has reason to be concerned. Motherhood comes with necessary attentiveness to today’s economy and issues.

After trying for 10 years to have their own children, Crockron and her husband attended Athens County Children Services’ foster care/adoption classes facilitated by Carol Cockrill. “Adoption is the most meaningful way for Christians to care for orphans,” she says.

According to Adoption and Foster Care Analysis and Reporting (AFCARS), nearly 800,000 children entered the foster-care system last year. This statistic, plus information and aid from Cockrill and Lynn Sowards with Franklin County Children Services, led to Crockron’s adopting first one, then an additional child.

“It went really fast for us,” Crockron recalls, remembering back to four and a half years ago. “Within two months we had a call.”

Ready to take out a small loan to purchase a car seat and supplies, Crockron was cautioned by her mother to wait. Their church, Grace Christian Center on Johnson Road in The Plains, at which her husband is associate pastor, threw them a surprise shower. “They got us everything!” says Crockron.

Both times when she laid eyes on the children, she expected her reaction to be tearful. “I couldn’t even cry,” she remembers. “I was stunned, in awe. I immediately loved them.”

Now, watching them grow, she measures her responsibility with faith.

“As a mother, I am responsible for demonstrating God’s unconditional love to my children. I attempt to do this by teaching and displaying obedience, self-control, grace and discipline.”

The children’s musical talents continue to surprise the couple. One has a rhythm; the other is always singing.

But being raised by musically inclined parents, one would have a hard time not following in their paths.

Crockron’s husband, Otis, often plays in local restaurants and leads worship with their church group, Banners of Praise. She solos and occasionally duets in the alto with her husband in the same group. Her light lyric soprano has graced numerous operas. “My voice is suited for (characters in) Mozart operas: ‘Susannah,’ ‘Pamina,’ ‘The Countess’ or ‘The First Lady.’”

She claims that singing worship and opera are different experiences: opera is performance, with eyes on her; worship is solely for God. She clarifies, “Opera is more technically driven, whereas worship has a heart connection.” She adds, “My operatic voice does not blend well in contemporary Christian music.”

What she most enjoys is teaching. A bachelor’s in vocal music performance and music education and a near-completed master’s in vocal pedagogy allow her to teach at both Rio Grande Community College/University of Rio Grande, and through Ohio University’s Athens Community Music School. “I love to see someone ‘get it’,” she says. “I use a lot of imagery in my teaching. I sing only when appropriate and necessary, if I’m trying to speed up the learning process.”

Upon arrival in Athens in 1989, she was ready to make this her home. “There are two places you grow up – one with your parents, and the other after you are away from your parents,” says Crockron. “I grew up in Athens for the second time.”

She says she loves the small-town community. She acknowledges that at times she has experienced others’ racial inappropriateness, but her overall outlook is positive. “I think one of the ways I serve Athens best is by living here,” she says. “For example, a friend of mine allowed me to hold her 6-month-old baby. She said I was the first African-American to hold her. Initially I laughed and then I realized. ‘Yeah, that’s pretty important.’”

Her reasons for being concerned about today’s issues are simple: she’s got a plan. She says of the future, “I am happy by doing what I love, cracking jokes with my husband, and seeing my kids graduate from college.”

The next few weeks are on her mind and heart. “I’ve encouraged people to register to vote,” she says. “I volunteer for the candidate I’ve chosen.”

The last few years she has been convinced of the importance of an election. “I felt that I needed to pay attention to the news, be more informed about the decisions that I was making, and stop wasting my vote.” She says faith and God are important to her, but so is a president. “He is not the savior, but he does happen to rule the country,” she says.

Robert Wickham for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Building upon a craft: one man’s near-century journey
By Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)

Robert Wickham arrived in Athens because of a Napoleonic coach.
From the 1930’s through the 60’s, The Fisher Body Craftsman’s Guild (a division of General Motors) sought to increase design and engineering skills in teenagers. High school boys could compete to win college scholarships, and possibly influence future vehicles.
The instructions for 1931’s contest were this: make a miniature Napoleonic horse-drawn coach. Earning first prize required focused determination.
For an entire year, Wickham devoted at least five hours a day to his contest submission. His winning version (for his home-state of Utah) is displayed at the Athens County Historical Society. It was the first time he combined intense engineering with his love of woodworking. Complete with ornate carvings, tiny door handles, a foot rug, petite upholstered seats, gilded cookie-sized wheels, a lift, and small windows that slide open and shut, the masterpiece is his favorite from his years of wood-crafting.
“It is what got me to Athens,” says Wickham.
Yet Wickham’s love for woodworking predated the miniature coach. “I was always making something out of wood,” he remembers. “I always had a knife.” He purchased pocketknives with money earned from making toy boats. Once, he spent two days retracing his steps to retrieve a knife lost through a hole in his pocket. He found it. “After that, I got a knife with a loop on the end and used a shoe string to tie it,” says Wickham.
It was worth the effort. The investment in his craft paid off for a lifetime of building upon related skills to enhance his career. As with any craft or skill, it is the paying job that keeps creativity flowing. For Wickham, that job would be teaching.
Wickham’s prize for his coach was a trip from Salt Lake City to General Motors in Detroit. Afterward, he took a detour to visit his aunt Ada O’Blenness (married to the brother of the famous hospital founder) in our sleepy little town of Athens, Ohio. After a few weeks, plans for heading back westward began to fade.
He spent a few weeks flipping hamburgers at a local joint called The Spot. His aunt then approached him about attending Ohio University. At the time, Wickham was unaware she had been one of the first female graduates.
Not convinced his study habits were the best, he hesitated before enrolling. “I have no idea what I did, but they must have needed students because they accepted me,” says Wickham. While working on his chemistry degree, an inquiry to the Bureau of Appointments (which was backhandedly called the “Bureau of Disappointments”) informed him the greatest call for jobs was for teachers of chemistry, physics and woodshop. “I started taking summer school,” says Wickham. “I graduated with a degree in chemistry, with minors in industrial arts and physics, and a teaching certificate.”
After graduation and his wedding, he began teaching physics, chemistry, general science and woodshop in the small town of Zanesfield, near Bellefountaine, Oh. “The most fun was teaching 7th and 8th grade general science,” says Wickham. “I would do an experiment and say, ‘Okay, what happened, you explain it. You saw something, you write it down.’ I wanted them to do their own workbooks. They learn better then.”
From there, he taught mechanical culling at a Bedford high school, then worked for Jack and Heinz Precision Industries, designing aircraft and increasing his mechanical skills.
As for any man during the time, the draft for World War II loomed. But the war ended, and he received another call instead. On the other line was his engineering graphics professor from Ohio University (who had given Wickham the only ‘A’ he ever gave out). Wickham remembers, “He said, ‘Bob, would you like to come back and teach engineering graphics?’” He accepted, and returned to Athens. He taught for 23 years at Ohio University, retiring in 1974.
Now, two months shy of his 96th birthday, Wickham doesn’t show his age as he maneuvers lithely down the stairs to his workshop. Wickwood, his business, is set up in his garage, where he repairs furniture, fixes clocks and hones his craft. His memory is sharp as a tack; he still drives with good peripheral vision.
Recently, he was commissioned to repair four antique chairs donated to the Konneker Alumni Center. He says, “I always enjoy repairing something handmade, because I’m carrying on what somebody else did years ago with their hands.” He also enjoys giving dead clocks new life. “I call it a Lazarus clock,” he laughs, referencing the biblical man that Jesus brought back to life. “There’s a lot of Lazarus clocks in Athens County.”
In his orderly shop, tools are separated into sections. A double row of hammers are neatly hung, arranged by age. His favorite tool is a bandsaw, but most often used is the powered handsaw. In a shop full of aged, well-cared-for tools, his handsaw is new. “I wore the other one out,” he says, chuckling.
Projects are ongoing, in different stages. While one is drying, he works on another. Once finished, he marks the piece with an ‘OK’ sticker.
Spanning the years, his works range from the walnut Seal of Ohio that hung in the old Baker Center on campus, decorative crown molding in the now-razed Natatorium across from Scott Quad, religious decorative wall hangings, podiums, and spool holders. In his spare time, he makes toys for kids, or other items as gifts. Smiling, he holds up a horse and rocks it, which emulates the sound of trotting perfectly.
Each home he has lived in was self-renovated and furnished throughout with pieces of his own creation. Tables, desks, and side-tables bear his characteristic patience through perfectly symmetrical and ornamental designs carved into the woodwork. One loveseat was inspired by Duncan Fife. “There was a similar design, but I didn’t like that too well. So I did my own design and drew the pictures. I even upholstered it and did all the spring-work.”

Three-quarters of a century have passed since his first arrival. Speaking fondly of his 54-year marriage to his wife who passed away fifteen years ago, he feels blessed to have met her here in Athens. “She was the first person I dated,” he says proudly. They had four children, and now 11 grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren.
A 40-year membership to Central Avenue United Methodist Church is a steady stronghold in his life.
Every morning, he can be found breakfasting at Bob Evans, choosing from one of three of his favorite items on the menu. He likens his daily visit to “Cheers” - a place where everyone knows his name. The cooks give him high-fives. Then he heads back to his quiet workshop, finishing up the latest project, breaking for lunch of his favorite: steamer frozen vegetables.
“Athens is no longer a neighborhood, it is just a bunch of people living in houses,” he laments. He remembers a time when walking uptown on the weekend was a social event, and when neighbors invited each other over to share a watermelon. “In West Virginia there is a saying, ‘We’ve howdied, but we haven’t shook,’” says Wickham. “I don’t think people are friendly like they used to be. Athens is growing, but something happened to being friendly.”
Yet, he does not regret coming here. He misses the west, but feels that his roots are here, due to his ancestor’s arrival in 1806 to Bern Township, where Federal Creek empties into the Hocking River.
“I still love to watch cowboy movies. Looking at the scenery, I’ll say, ‘Hey, I’ve seen that big rock,’” Wickham says. “I’m a westerner at heart, but my heart is here. Home is where the heart is.”

Pawpaws for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Appalachian gold: Rediscovering riches of the ‘poor man’s banana’

Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Michael DiBari, Jr.)
September 11, 2008

A boy stands beneath the tropical-leaved tree, peering at the mottled-skinned fruit pods. Alien-like, they hang from multiple limbs, singularly or in clusters. With his stick, he takes a swipe at the nearest group — down they fall. Quickly realizing that his new shoes (with added traction and support) are perfect for the job of smashing, he stomps on the fruit with much gusto. Gargantuan seeds and golden pulp squelch onto the forest floor. Disgusted, he walks away. Flies soon swarm in to feast upon the meal that has been so graciously provided.

There is gold waiting to be mined from our backyards.

Modern eyes aren’t trained to detect it, yet no treasure map with an “X” marking the spot is needed. The gift of the pawpaw has always been right before us.

For longer than history notes, the pawpaw has steadily persevered as an under-story tree in Eastern North American woodlands, thriving and basking in the shade. Walk through any nearby woods and witness eye-level views of the pawpaw’s broad, tropical leaves. Spring’s warmth conjures up small maroon, triangular blooms predating bees’ evolution that receive pollination from carrion flies and beetles. By summer’s end, the fruit’s yellow-orange skin peels open to reveal amber, custard-like pulp with oversized brown seeds, perfect for spitting contests.

Yet, at best, the most attention we give the pawpaw is to avoid stepping in its fall fodder.

Southeast Ohio’s soil and climate are most excellent for the fruit tree that dominated native culture plantations and was voted landscape tree of the year in 2000 by Better Homes and Gardens. The pawpaw, subject of repeated legislative attempts to be named the official fruit of Ohio, is superior in nutritional benefits, is potentially one of the highest food sources for antioxidants, and could provide untapped economical boosts for a poverty-ridden region.

Should we not proudly boast of our very own rich natural resource? Most people have not heard of this eccentric fruit, and if they have, its mention either prompts a face of disgust, annoyance or confusion.

At what point was the pawpaw wiped clean from our fruit bowls and memories? Was it when the forests were ruined for want of houses? Was it greed for something more palatable?

“Our agriculture changed in the ’40s with lots of trucked-in foods from California,” says Chris Chmiel, co-owner of Integration Acres, a pawpaw orchard and goat farm, and president of the Ohio PawPaw Growers Association. He is working hard to expand the pawpaw’s status from just a forgotten component of old folk songs.

Compared to the popular marketing prowess of such exotic fruits as gem-like, succulent pomegranate or the energy-packed, Amazonian acai berry, the ugly pawpaw lacks luster. But for a nation emphasizing deliberate health-mindedness and local organic shopping, the slow takeoff of pawpaws doesn’t make sense.

“Pawpaws are rampantly growing but that doesn’t mean the fruit is widely available or preserved for later use,” says Chmiel.

Perhaps the confusion about the pawpaw is best stated in the song, “Bear Necessities” from the movie “The Jungle Book.”

Now when you pick a pawpaw
Or a prickly pear
And you prick a raw paw
Next time beware
Don’t pick the prickly pear by the paw
When you pick a pear
Try to use the claw
But you don’t need to use the claw
When you pick a pair of the big pawpaw
Have I given you a clue?
The bare necessities of life will come to you…

Local resident Annie Pepper owns an in-town property that held one of two of the largest pawpaw trees in the official National Register of Big Trees in Ohio. Practical yard care stands in the way of her appreciation, however. “The fruit bangs on our car tops, driveway and grass,” she says. “It is similar to a smashed banana.” Recently, they had to cut one tree down from the four-tree cluster due to rot. “The leaves are brutal on the gutters because they are so big. They are not fun to rake, either,” notes Pepper.

One could almost call the pawpaw persistent in its glories, if not just plain stubborn.

Research conducted at Kentucky State University yielded surprising results in pawpaw nutritional information: the amount of vitamins, nutrients and protein in one pawpaw outweighs that of many others. The pawpaw supplies more food energy and protein, provides all the essential amino acids, and contains more or equal amounts of vitamin C, phosphorous, magnesium, iron, zinc, copper, riboflavin and manganese than the apple, banana and orange.

Melanie Duffrin, assistant professor of nutrition and dietetics at East Carolina University and former Ohio University assistant professor of human and consumer sciences, took 15 pawpaw trees with her when she relocated. She has long been convinced of the fruit’s benefits, having conducted thorough research, namely on the pawpaw’s ability to be used as a fat substitute in many recipes for baked goods – excellent news for a diabetes-ridden region. Half of the trees she brought have survived, especially one on her own property.

Chmiel has planted pawpaw orchards on a continual basis for the last 10 years, and the initial trees are starting to bear fruit. He also gathers and purchases pawpaws from the woodlands of his neighboring farmers. His products have been shipped as far away as Japan and Italy, and have been used on movie sets, sold to zoos, and purchased by old-timers reliving memories of their favorite childhood snack.

Initial research findings conducted at Ohio University on antioxidant content in pawpaw seeds yielded promising results. Antioxidants protect cells from damage by unstable molecules. Dane Salabak, researcher and graduate student in food and nutrition at OU, tested the seed’s antioxidant properties while a colleague tested the pulp. “The compulsion for further study is that the results were promising,” he says. “We received good numbers in a lab.”

Harvesting and eating the pawpaw seems like a no-brainer, correct?

A few problems stand in the way, including taste preferences.

“I tried them but do not care for them,” says Pepper.

“The taste is not bad; it’s the texture that gets me,” says Salabak.

“I absolutely love the flavor,” says Chmiel.

“I prefer some varieties over others,” says Duffrin.

The there’s the short shelf life:

“The reason the pawpaw has never been commercialized is the rapid ripening process,” says Salabak. The ripe pawpaw lasts about three days once picked, and for about a week in the refrigerator.

“Short shelf life has hurt the pawpaws accessibility,” concedes Chmiel. His solution? “I make frozen and shelf-stable pawpaw products available for year-round consumption.”

Because of pulp availability, Duffrin’s fat-replacing baking experiments were successful. “We probably made a dozen different batches before we decided on something we thought would work,” she says. “Using pawpaw as a substitute for fat in (storebought) cake mixes is quick, easy, and adds a nice flavor to the cake mix. You can also mix the fruit into a white icing. There are many things you can make with pawpaw. A bourbon sauce my friend made with pawpaw that we put on bread pudding was awesome.”

With ever-increasing popularity, long-standing and new recipes are pushing their way as culinary creations in more kitchens across the country. The Ohio Pawpaw Growers Association now has a 200-recipe cookbook available.

This Saturday and Sunday marks the 10th annual Pawpaw Festival, organized by Chmiel at Lake Snowden Park several miles southwest of Athens on U.S. Rt. 50/Ohio Rt. 32. Events include a cook-off, an eating contest, beer garden, assorted vendors, kids activities, and a new component called the Ohio Country Fair, with exhibits and workshops on self-sustainable living. (For more information, visit http://www.ohiopawpawfest.com/). A full lineup of bands is on tap both days, including the ever-popular Royales on Saturday night.

Mostly, however, the wonders of the pawpaw will be the highlight. “Some people have had bad experiences eating pawpaws, but mostly due to lack of knowledge of pawpaw perfection — eating pawpaws too ripe or under ripe,” Chmiel says. “Powerful chemicals are in every cell of the pawpaw; in the under-ripe fruit they protect them from being eaten until their seed is ripe.”

Yet Chmiel is adamant about its wonders. “When I first tasted a fresh pawpaw picked up off the ground, I remember thinking about the viscosity and texture of the pawpaw reminding me of something sweet and sexy.”

THE FUTURE LOOKS PROMISING for the pawpaw.

Salabek says of his research, “There is until only recently one or two papers that have been published with work similar to ours and a couple of papers in submission for publication.”

Chmiel adds, “I’ve got lots of ideas which include getting more and more people out to the farm, a new farm store opening up this fall, and a place for gatherings and other eco/agricultural tourism opportunities.”

Duffrin states it plainly: “I would love to see the fruit have a longer shelf life so people could get it in stores. This would give the farmers more income potential. I would also like to see it become the state fruit of Ohio.”

“Ideally we will get published and find a market for PPSE/PPPE (pawpaw seed/pulp extract),” says Salabak. “Knowing the benefits of the pawpaw could cause increased popularity. Additionally, if these things were determined, it could be a benefit to Appalachia. It could bring a financial benefit to the region.”

Time (and taste) will tell.

Brent Hayes for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Athens glimpses of home: Developer says it’s all a question of opportunity

Jenaye Antonuccio
August 18, 2008

He says he’s just a hillbilly farm boy.

Brent Hayes, one of the best-known local developers, spent all his spare moments until high-school graduation on a circa 1877 family-owned dairy farm. He never gave a thought of doing anything else but helping his father.

Daily tasks hadn’t changed much in 100 years – cows needed to be fed and milked twice a day, 365 days a year, no matter what. Floods or drought damaged hard work.

Hayes claimed it never upset his father. “I learned so much from my dad — to look at problems as an opportunity, not a failure. You look at it, step back, and think about it a little bit.”

Hayes didn’t think anyone from his family would leave farming and break the cycle. But his father had a different idea.

“I was out raking hay,” remembers Hayes, “and he came in the fields and said, ‘Are you going to do this? What do you want to do? There’s not a lot of money in this farm. I think that you ought to look for something else.’”

Opportunity was before him. He believes his father’s offering of a choice brought him to where he is today. Said Hayes, “That was a great thing, that I could make my choices. I may have still been on the farm if he hadn’t come to me that day.”

Hayes said he began his career as a developer and businessman with a roustabout crew, a ditcher and a bulldozer.

The company’s roustabout crew paid $5 an hour plus overtime in the early ’80s. Working hard extra hours was second nature for Hayes, yet now he had incentive. With these earnings, he incrementally bought his step-grandfather’s trencher. Evenings and weekends, he dug ditches.

Hayes figured he could build a business by taking out a loan to purchase a bulldozer and a truck. Hayes recalled, “My father said, ‘You don’t even know how to run a bulldozer.’ I said, ‘I can learn.’” The elder Mr. Hayes volunteered to cosign a loan with his son.

“People would hire me, though I didn’t know what I was doing,” said Hayes. “I wasn’t very good but I worked hard, did the best I could, and tried to do better and extra things. I didn’t charge as much because I knew I wasn’t as good as some.”

He hired a small crew. Barely able to afford new tires, he found replacements in junk tire shops. Patched machinery was repaired with used parts. Looking back, he is amazed they got anything done.

Nonetheless, JB Hayes Excavating and Pipeline, Inc. was born. Soon to follow were such partnerships and companies as Southeastern Ohio Management Company, LLC, and East State Street Development Co. (ESSDC).

He attributes his success to having good people around him. “It was out of (having) good people. I still am blessed with that, just having good people around,” he said.

In addition, his parents instilled confidence. “My parents never held me back. It was never negative; it was always positive. They never said, ‘I told you so’ or ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’” He tries to model his actions after his 75-year-old father — firm but fair.

Today, Hayes (with partners) has most recently been known for ownership and renovation of the University Mall and refurbishing the former McBee building for its current tenant, Diagnostic Hybrids. He has also been publicly criticized for his decision to clear-cut a very visible hillside along Harmony Ridge, across from the East State Street shopping district. Most recently, in proposing to build an assisted-living facility on the outskirts of Athens, he criticized the Athens Planning Commission for being anti-development.

However, he claims that different opinions are good to hear, and he’s always willing to talk things through.

“I’ve got an opinion and I respect (others’) opinions,” he said. “We don’t always agree. There are different opinions of what is good and what is not good.”

He added, “People can depend on that I’m committed to Athens, this area, to do things that improve the quality of life for people that live here.”

Comparing Athens’ growth to that of larger cities, Hayes maintains that there hasn’t been much growth here at all since he was a kid. “I think the changes that I’ve seen in Athens have been positive,” said Hayes. “Does everybody think it’s smart? Well, everybody’s not going to think it’s smart.”

According to Hayes, opportunity looks different for different people. “As a farmer, you grow up and see some of those nice soybean, hayfields or cornfields (along highways) that now are houses — that’s kind of sad,” he saids. “But to that farmer that is barely getting by (who sold the land for residential development), he is getting more than he ever dreamed of. That may be smart to him.”

Hayes says he loves what he does. “I like work. I enjoy the people I work with,” he said. “I love to make deals, to see things come together. Problems come up and you come up with the answer. That’s an adrenaline rush.”

Though he never attended college, he claims that most learning comes from other people. “I learn something from everyone,” said Hayes. “I’m influenced every day by people just listening, talking, and asking questions. Every day, that’s my goal — to try and expand knowledge.”

The aforementioned assisted-living project refects his stated dream to treat the elderly citizens of Athens with deserved respect. He said he’s sad that many residents have been forced leave town when faced with the decision to move into assisted living.

“There have been so many people that have built and contributed a lot to this area,” he said. “I would like for whoever makes that choice to feel good about that choice.”

The 300-acre site, located on the west edge of Athens near where River Valley Community School was located, inspired in Hayes visions of playing fields and farming space to keep life front and center. “In my opinion, these kinds of places need youth and life. Let’s introduce life,” he said.

He said he hopes to provide contentment and peace. “I’m probably more passionate and excited about it than anything I’ve ever done,” he declared.

About Athens, Hayes said, “There’s a lot of life here, a lot of great opportunity, and a lot of great people.”

He hopes misconceptions about his goals and character will dissipate. “People think I’m a big business person, or they think I’m here to cut down trees,” said Hayes. “I’m a local guy that grew up on a farm, and my roots are still here. I am here to do what’s right for the community.”

Lori Gromen for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Changing the earth one step at a time

Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)
August 4, 2008

You will hardly ever find Lori Gromen in a car or lingering in the produce section. Seldom sitting still, she bikes, walks, runs, or races with teammates flipping discs in a game of “ultimate.” She has officiated weddings, helped people to see, and transformed yard to garden featuring such delicacies as gooseberries, currants and asparagus.

But this is her point of pride: she treads the earth lightly and lives simply.

“I feel I have made a difference (with) the way I live,” says Gromen. “I have a passion for the environment — that’s why I ride my bike, why I grow my own food. There is no reason NOT to.”

For the past six years, Gromen has biked or walked to work, spending half of her days inside the large brick building of Hillel House at 21 Mill St. Past the stained-glass window where sunlight paints colors on the floor, she manages the small office, keeps the budget, and works closely with the Rabbi Danielle LeShaw overseeing interns. Though Hillel centers provide for Jewish students’ needs on campuses nationally, Athens’ sole synagogue is unique in that it dually serves both community and students.

Gromen is not Jewish, but her natural friendliness spurs compatible relationships with the students and families. “I really enjoy our community functions,” Gromen says. “Everyone here is so nice and sincere.”

She recently attended a bar mitzvah for a boy who participated in a class along with four others. “They work so hard; they come every Tuesday,” she says. “This boy was the first one of the four (to graduate). I was proud of him.”

Interaction with a wide range of people and ages, including four years as an optician at Athens Pro Care Vision, coincides with Gromen’s affability. But a 14-year focus on ultimate (formerly known as “ultimate Frisbee”) has kept her anchored among one age group: college students. She has coached them, mentored them, and played with them competitively.

“I enjoy being around college students,” she says. “It keeps me young.”

Her age is never a question in the eyes of the students. Their respect grows for her, however, when they learn that she’s 15 years older than they are, an Athens resident, and married to former men’s ultimate coach and First Ward City Council representative Kent Butler. “Besides their parents, we might be the only adults they interact with,” she said, referring to OU students. “They are constantly surrounded by their peers.

“Ultimate,” Gromen says, “is a sport (most haven’t grown) up playing. It helps to have someone who has been playing to guide and answer questions.” Though she and Butler have thrived in their addiction to ultimate, they have begun retiring from the sport. Says Gromen, “We have weaned ourselves off — our bodies can’t take it anymore.”

She also has run marathons and continues to bike. She claims that marathon running, similar to cycling, allows the mind to fall into a meditative state and observe passing scenery while the body is still challenged. Ultimate is about focus. “You need to be mentally clear,” she says. “If you get tired, then you become unfocused, and that is where mistakes are made. My body after an ultimate tournament is torn up a lot more than after a marathon.”

With less time spent on intense physical pursuits, more care has been put into her garden. Rising costs of food is an obvious motivation, but she also cites the simple inspiration of joy. “I’ve always loved gardening,” Gromen says. “I get out there and get our place looking decent.”

Four raised beds and various trees and bushes create a balanced selection of vegetables and fruits that cut half the cost of produce purchases. Onions, garlic and potatoes are abundant, along with blueberries, strawberries and peaches. The rest of the essentials are purchased from Kroger and the Farmer’s Market, all on bike. “As long as I can put it all in my panniers and backpack, I’ll take the bike,” says Gromen.

She loves the accessibility of the bike path and the newly created bike lanes. “I feel comfortable riding with cars,” she says. No matter what the weather, she persists in her conviction that biking is better. “It gets really icy around here, and I honestly have felt more comfortable on my bike than I would driving a car.”

Her mother, she says, has been her biggest influence and inspiration. Growing up as the third child, she was able to observe her mother’s transformation from primary caregiver to career woman. After years of working at the local preschool, her mother began earning her master’s in library science, and remained a librarian up until a few years ago.

This fall, Gromen says she will follow in her mother’s footsteps. Passion for the environment was the impetus to enroll in the master’s program in environmental studies. “I want to work outside in the field sampling water or air quality, or counting deer. Something that makes a difference in some way,” she says.

Southeast Ohio’s geography is similar to her Cincinnati homeland, and has made her feel settled here for 16 years. She says she hopes to help this area and repair watersheds.

Having traveled many places, she considered few others in which to reside. One place in particular appealed to her for its simplicity. A park system in Canada near the St. Lawrence River connected a series of lakes with hand-cranked locks. Says Gromen, “The people were so informative. They weren’t there for a summer job; they were adults still doing their hand-cranked locks. They would take the time out to talk to you and they kept everything clean.”

Her easy-going nature helps when she officiates weddings. ”I love being part of a couple’s special day,” says Gromen. “It’s fun being on that end of the ceremony.” Since receiving her license to marry people through the Spiritual Humanism Web site, she has officiated weddings for three different couples in Athens, the Outer Banks and Idaho.

A recent visit to her brother in Italy gave her a bug to own a bed and breakfast serving homemade mozzarella topped with olive oil, and give bike tours to her guests. Ultimately, though, the future in Athens looks good. “I want to stick around here,” she says.

Scott Kreps for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Man hopes to help destroy stigmas of mental illness

Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)
July 21, 2008

Two women converse on the wide front porch. Piano music wafts out from the open front door — a welcome change from the busy street below. Inside, someone sitting at the computer turns and smiles; two play a game on a couch in another room. The kitchen counter is brimming with supplies for a fresh meal. The back door opens to picnic table full of lively conversation. Flowers flourish, splashing color on a backyard cove created by hemlock, ivy and latticework.

One woman rises from her chair.“Well, I’m going home,” she announces. “Home?” someone asks. She says her goodbyes; the conversation picks back up. Yet the question hovers in the air. This is home for many, even if some have another place to return to at night.

“Here,” says Scott Kreps, handing over a jar of homemade marinara sauce. As executive director of Athens Mental Health Inc., he oversees The Gathering Place in Athens, Home Away From Home in Logan, and The Friendship House in McArthur. The sauce, visibly full of tantalizing local ingredients, is labeled “GP Gold - Marinara for the Masses” with a rendering of the Gathering Place. A grant from the Presbyterian Hunger Project enabled its mass-production, and the sauce is sold at the Village Bakery’s Village Market. It is one small aspect of many positives Athens Mental Health Inc. offers as an alternative to strict hospitalization for those coping with mental illness.

Kreps moves about the house, greeting each person by name, inquiring of personal details. Everyone responds; everyone knows who he is. The 7 N. Congress St. house is an older Athens classic, complete with servant and main staircases, warm woodwork and diamond-pattern leaded windows. For 30-plus years, The Gathering Place has striven to provide a safe haven for whole-person recovery. Kreps has served as director for the last three and a half years. It is clear he is home as well. “I believe in this work. I believe in the people I work with,” he says.

Kreps is devoted to a few core issues: restoring capability and capacity to groups of oppressed individuals, providing access to healthy foods in a Type 2 diabetes-plagued region, and fostering sustainable longevity of local farms. These issues prompted him to tailor his master’s thesis specifically for The Gathering Place.

Titled “Healthful Hunger Reduction: A Community Development Project,” the Presbyterian Hunger Project grant provided employment for him, and new initiative funding for The Gathering Place, including the making of the aforementioned sauce. Programs such as connecting people to secure housing, cultivating health and wellness by providing healthy take-home meals on Fridays, connecting with Green Edge Gardens through Community Supported Agriculture to augment their meals and pantry, and maintaining a community garden spot are also highlights.

As with many who call Athens home, Kreps’ road to Athens has been wide-ranging. Armed with three seemingly contradictory degrees from Ohio University, he sees all varieties of study and experience tied together. “I’ve always been a person wanting ongoing diversification of my experiences,” says Kreps. “Combining my skill-sets in a place that has been a strong force for those that experience oppression, I am extremely proud to be part of such an amazing legacy.”

In a room full of local information and resource pamphlets, with constant interruptions from pressing phone calls and queries, he recounts his personal expeditions as an observer, entertainer, caregiver, overseer, father, citizen and friend.

“I’ve always rooted for the underdog, and I’ve always seen this as key,” says Kreps.

In his early youth, he remembers, his family often visited a local organization that housed a mixed population of people with mental and developmental disabilities. His family often went to socialize, entertain with clowning performances, and simply be present among the residents. “That was a gift — being so close in proximity, developing relationships and friendships with folks that had different issues than I had,” he says. “At that young an age, it was really important for my growth and development.”

Earning his first degree in outdoor recreation was a physical test: he pushed through to early graduation before starting a rigorous internship the next spring.

Two quarters were spent heartily living Athens life as a non-student. As a bounty hunter of sorts with an alias, he collected unpaid checks for a local landlord. He then purchased a one-way ticket to England to complete his degree at an outdoor recreation facility. He became skilled at instructing wind-surfing, rock-climbing, and sea-kayaking to youths at risk. Community programming and gardening became part of his repertoire.

Upon returning to U.S. soil, he caught and identified mosquito larvae, earned a master’s degree in higher education with a focus in college personnel, was a house parent for abused and neglected children, then an assistant resident director in the dorms. He became a father. A two-year stint at Marietta College in ’00–’02 as area coordinator for first-year student programs spurred a desire to return to Athens, where he found employment at Tri-County Mental Health and Respite. A second master’s degree in international affairs with focus on community development and food politics gave him the final push to his current position.

Constant activity and variation have seasoned Kreps’ life. So why settle at Athens Mental Health, Inc.? What rules of the game made this network-of-care the goal?

He says he was never in it for the money. “I get such joy because most of the people that come through here are the most genuine people you will ever meet,” says Kreps. “They don’t have time or energy to mess around with NOT being themselves. To me it is inspirational. When I can see someone’s quality of life, their ability to enjoy life and be able to hold down a job, be able to gain some perspective and intuition and trust their own self, that gives me energy.”

In the midst of the bustle, his efforts are not without effect. Kreps admits to exhaustion in managing the intricacies of non-profit work and political processes. But it’s all worth it.

“I used to say this was people’s second home,” says Kreps. “Now I know that this is their first family; it is their first home.” He stresses that humans need other humans for better mental health, not isolation. “Social connections and having an outlet in a place that’s safe, a place that is de-stigmatized — it is so vital.”

It is no easy task to provide space for the uninsured who cannot afford a $495/day hospital bed while experiencing mental-health symptoms. Athens Mental Health Inc. operates on a $150,000-per-year budget that pays for seven staff (two others are compensated through a grant and work/living-space trade), three facilities and utilities, parking spaces, programming, non-donated food, and special trips. The Gathering Place serves an average of around 110 people a week; The Friendship House (McArthur) and Home Away From Home (Logan) see an additional 30.

“Over the last 10 years, people think that individuals with mental illness are more dangerous,” says Kreps. He seeks to destroy the stigma, and utilize the potential for community and economic development. “I‘m an educator at heart,” Kreps says. “I’m not a wait-till-the-house-burns-down type of person. I want to be at the front end, helping move things forward.” His visions are clear. “People won’t just say, ‘I’ve heard of the Gathering Place,’” he says. “They’ll say, ‘I know they do great stuff.’”

Kreps loves Athens and believes in its rural sustainability, small-business models and potential for agro-tourism. “Athens has such a rich history,” says Kreps. “Every single issue that I can think about and prioritize in my mind – it’s all about potential.”

In the future, he says he’d like to start an Athens parkour group (which focuses on an international sport that’s growing in popularity, involving a person on foot getting from point A to point B in an urban landscape as quickly as possible). He and his son have already tested their skills and maneuvers on the OU campus. He also has aspirations to write a retrospective book about Court Street businesses. But for now, he is enjoying living on Athens’ west side with his three cats, son and partner.

Joanne Prisley for Athens: Glimpses of Home

One woman’s journey through pages of Athens history

Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)
June 30, 2008

“The secret of a good life is to have the right loyalties and hold them in the right scale of values.” – Norman Thomas, six-time presidential candidate for the Socialist Party of America

We are all contributors to history. But few create a legacy while preserving others’ history.

Joanne Prisley, 76, has spent 28 years with the Athens County Historical Society and Museum working part-time, both formerly as the director and currently as curator. With her resourceful mind and focused determination for community issues, she has given knowledge and spirit to our town by transcending the conventions of her time.

Chapter One: The early years

“My dad was very radical; he was just wild,” says Prisley. “He always had an opinion.” His opinions supporting communism cost him his job. “He was blacklisted and he didn’t work for years.” Her mother was born to Irish immigrants. “My mother was the one in our neighborhood that if there was something they didn’t like, they would say, ‘Mrs. Dove, you’re going to have to do something about this,’” Prisley says. “She was always out there rabble-rousing and making sure people were treated right.” Both her parents were schooled only through the eighth grade.

Her brother, 11 years older, would become a football star for Notre Dame and the National Football League, and then coach for 37 years. He brought home his college books, which Prisley’s father voraciously read. Her brother’s fame sparked their home-town’s interest, which she and her father opposed. “He became well-known; then they wanted him to come and work in the mill to stay in shape so they could show pictures,” she says.

Her family was naturally inclined toward social values and seeing all sides an issue. “Nobody sat down at home and said, ‘Look, we are going to go out there and support people,’” says Prisley. “It was just what you did.”

Chapter 2: The college years

Prisley traveled southwest from Youngstown to begin her college education in Athens in 1949. Majoring in government (now called political science), she enjoyed the small department where everyone seemed to know each other.

Athens in 1949 to 1953 was mainly Republican. “Everybody thinks of this as this big Democratic stronghold,” says Prisley, “but it was very conservative.”

Athens is where she met her husband, the late Alexander Prisley. He would eventually serve as associate professor emeritus of political science at Ohio University for 37 years. “I met him in Ray Gustafson’s American Political Parties class,” recalls Prisley. “He wanted to take an Alpha Gam to the dance so he could double date with his roommate. I was the only one he knew, so that’s how we got started.” Political involvement strengthened their bond.

She earned her master’s degree in government the following year while working as a graduate assistant in the dorm and her own department. After their marriage, the couple would return to Athens in 1957 while her husband earned his master’s. She was a high-demand residence counselor in three successive dorms, and her husband was one of the first males to live in each.

Chapter 3: The working years

In a time when the majority of women were not working, Prisley was a trailblazer.

Straight out of college she worked for Proctor and Gamble in an innovative market and consumer researcher program. She traveled to conduct door-to-door casual interviews and later recorded extracted data.

She then taught fifth grade in Youngstown, which she despised. “I was raised in a family where if you take on a job, you do it if it kills you,” Prisley says. “I didn’t go and cry and say, ‘I have to leave.’” Despite her feelings, she cared enough to convince school nurses of one boy’s dyslexia and another’s epilepsy, both uncommon diagnoses.

She married, moved to Cleveland, and began employment with BF Goodrich in industrial research and market analysis. No other women worked in that capacity, save one, who was the department head. Though married, she was prohibited from traveling with the men. “They wouldn’t let me travel on the same plane. I had to stay at a different hotel,” she says. “I used to type my own report, but I was typing the fellas’ report, too. I’m sure I wasn’t making as much money. I know I was smarter.”

During this time, the CIA was investigating her husband’s Russian heritage, making his own employment difficult since the available work did not match his capabilities. Prisley was the primary breadwinner.

From 1958-63, while her husband was earning his doctorate at Brown in Rhode Island, she worked in a rare book library with printed material dated before 1800. “That’s where I learned about collecting: how you restore things, how you preserve them, how you do exhibits,” says Prisley. “They gave me good training there.”

They returned to Athens in 1963 on her husband’s agreement to temporarily replace a colleague, teaching American government. She worked as one of two assistant deans of women. He had not yet completed his dissertation, and would not for three more years. With a bachelor’s in history, he struggled to teach the material. Says Prisley, “Luckily, I had saved all my notes. He used that as a basis for his lectures.”

Chapter 4: The child-raising years

Ten years into the marriage, the decision was made to have children. In 1965, at the age of 33, Joanne’s son was born at the old Sheltering Arms Hospital on Athens’ west side. She had chosen not to work. But it didn’t stop her from joining clubs and organizations. She was a member of the Democratic Women’s Club; an adviser to her former sorority, Alpha Gamma; an adult dame for her husband’s fraternity; and co-chair for the Cancer Crusade. Lacking cooking skills, she joined a luncheon group from the time her son was 7 weeks old, called the Ladies Outdoor Gardening and Karate Club. They still meet to this day. She notes, “We have wills, money left for when we die to have a party and a big dinner.”

After her son began grade school, Joanne joined the PTA and was homeroom mother. She also worked part time. “Bill Lavelle was the chairman of the Ohio Democratic Party, and worked out of his office here,” she says. “I was the administrative assistant in Athens.”

Chapter 5: The historical society years

The building where Prisley has spent the last 28 years, her longest stint of employment, once housed the Athens Public Library. In 1980, the Athens County Historical Society & Museum found its first home, occupying the upstairs. Though the organization itself had started slowly in 1960, it was too late, in Prisley’s opinion. “As a community, we should have had a historical society back in the 1800s,” she says.

When the library moved to its new facility on Home Street in 1993, the Historical Society & Museum spread itself into both floors. The current displays, library, files, researching area and bookshop began to expand into the respected organization that it is today.

“We did the same thing the Smithsonian did, but without staff, equipment or money,” says Prisley. The Historical Society & Museum relies upon membership fees and book sales to keep the bills paid. Their stunning collections and exhibits are from county residents’ donations. With little, the organization has gained much respect, both historically and professionally. Says Prisley, “We’ve had people come here from across the country to research. They say this is one of the most outstanding small historical societies they have ever been in.”

The society also offers genealogical researching tools, tours and classes. Their publications program has more than 100 titles on its list.

But spend any amount of time with Joanne Prisley, and you will become keenly aware of her sharp propensity for accuracy. She remembers in fine detail her husband’s teaching schedule from 45 years ago. “I remember weird things,” admits Prisley. “My husband always said, ‘How do you know how to find things?’” This ability, which she denies is a talent, has served in countless research projects, in which she has been reliable in finding the proper source. Her most productive thinking time: when she is cleaning. Then she can remember specific pages and books.

Her only regret for the Historical Society & Museum is the lack of storage space, and the proper funding for humidity and temperature control to ensure perfect preservation procedures. She says she will miss interacting with people.

Chapter 6: The current years

Keep your eyes open for a woman walking around town, armed with a clipboard. She will be taking meticulous notes on code-enforcement violations to help the city keep standards alive and avoid more deterioration. Having served with the Metropolitan Housing Authority since 1977, chaired the Athens Planning Commission for a 16-year term that expired in January, and involved with the neighborhood association, Prisley is keenly aware of local issues.

“My father always said, ‘Keep your mouth shut for the first six months, and you may speak the next six months. But wait a whole year before you try to do anything.’” Her family training has never wavered, but only burned brighter in her later years. “My husband said I was more radical than (my father) was,” she says.

Having watched the university change and grow, and impact growth in the city of Athens, Prisley feels the most disheartening about some people’s self-centeredness. “Some don’t know how to get along with other people in town,” she says. “People are just not considerate. They forget that they live in the midst of lots of people. Everybody has certain rights.” Of particular concern are trash and noise pollution, and lack of respect for pedestrians.

Prisley is also frustrated by the assumption that this is poor, isolated Appalachia. “This is not the back of beyond. It was on the main road, and the east and west, north and south railways ran through,” she says. “People who (originally) came here were well-educated people. They were hard workers and office holders. They gave up everything because they wanted to make money, come out West, and do better.”

Her husband supported her and her views. “He’d believe strongly in things but I was always dashing off to the City Council, going to the Board of Zoning Appeals, and calling up the police.”

Her husband died after battling an illness in 2005. “I always think funerals are a time to celebrate,” Prisley says. “I don’t sit around and cry about things. We used to have a good time going to cemeteries, putting flowers on, going out to eat afterwards or having a big picnic. It was an occasion. I just hope that I pop off when I’m out running around. I’d rather pop off in the middle of some cleaning fit.”

She claims she is not an artistic person, and completes exhibits in order to convey information. “My biggest talent is on the clean-up committee,” she says. “I’m very good at putting things in order.” She’s fascinated by watching people. “I love watching how they react to things,” she says. “Sometimes I do them over in my head. If I could say, ‘Now if you just let me cut your hair or change your hairdo…’ It’s constantly wanting to organize things.”

Prisley confesses she will not be bored after her retirement. She has plenty to do. Still involved with her sorority, Alpha Gamma Delta, she is undergraduate adviser, treasurer of the house company, and president of the alumni group. She recently helped plan their 100th anniversary on this campus, and also handles and organizes their historic memorabilia. She is active in her church, St. Paul’s, keeping their photographs and historic items in order, and organizing exhibits. She remains on the statewide board of the Ohio Association of Historical Societies and Museums.

There is no doubt she will continue to make history.