Jeremy Wright for Athens: Glimpses of Home

By hand: how one man shapes vessels and notes
By Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)

Jeremy Wright tells a story -- with his hands.

“I tell my story through music and clay and art,” explains Wright, an artist and musician. “There is not just one medium to say it through.”

Whether manipulating the physics of clay or playing out songs by ear, he has an idea what he’d like to convey, observes what he sees and hears in the world around him, and then adds his own story.

“Molecules of clay are all connected – it is like pulling a chain to circulate those molecules to add strength to your pot,” he says. “Musicians listen and hear emotion in their song and harness it, making a sound sculpture. But it is all connected to a huger world of the person -- where that person has been, where that person has collected all their information and brought it into this.”

He recall that as a child, he was often drawing and engaged in mechanically-minded tasks. Discovering the potter’s wheel and the blues, he eagerly learned more about both through hands-on, old-fashioned methods – observation and experimentation.

Wright remembers, “I would go for it, because I was having fun experimenting.” He notes, “If you hold yourself back, you are not going to learn.”

His natural propensity forged a path of creating that, through many turns, would eventually lead him to Athens.

While living in Maryland, his uncanny abilities caught attention of master pottery teachers, which lead to apprenticeships. Coupled with that were several invitations to play with blues greats. One such example: Wright’s playing impressed harmonica teacher Walt Linager (the class was playing A harps, and Wright only had a C – yet somehow he duplicated the notes) to such an extent that he invited Wright onstage while performing with legendary Piedmont-blues style guitarist, Etta Baker, who died in 2006.

“She played like a 16 year old with her hair on fire - her fingers were going crazy,” remembers Wright. “I was standing there, playing the harmonica, chugging along. When I came offstage, I felt like I wasn’t even touching the ground. Later, she shook my hand, gave me a hug, said I was good and hoped I kept up with it.”

That he did, but he also kept up with his other love.

For three plus years in Athens, he has chosen to hone his craft in ceramics – as a student and a teacher. He earned an associate arts degree in art marketing and design from Hocking College last June. His senior show featured combined techniques - Iroquois jugs with manipulated clay false facemasks rising out of the form.

Currently enrolled in the general art program at Ohio University, he is ready to apply for inclusion into ceramics specialization this spring. “School has taken me out of the norm – my own norm,” says Wright. “I’ve done things for so long in my art world, that I need this break from my traditional settings and solitude to be with other artists.”

Wright espouses the idea that his secrets and techniques aren’t meant to be kept. Having taught numerous workshops and classes, most recently at the Dairy Barn this winter, he says he enjoys teaching. “I want to show and share what I know - I am always more than happy to help people get to that next level.”

According to Wright, teaching kids means being ready with the next step before their short attention spans are lost. Adults need to be reminded of possibility. “When you see the little epiphany in their head as they learn a new technique,” explains Wright, “It is in that instant where art lives - in that infinite possibility. It is very exciting to help them to get to that point.”

When he centers clay on the potter’s wheel, Wright says anything can be made from that foundation – all forms open up the same way. Pulling up the walls, Wright asks himself, “What kind of vessel am I making?” Take, for example, a mug. “What are people really looking for when they reach for their favorite mug? If it is not there, you look for the next best one, or the next best one.” He continues, “So, it becomes a ritual in your life - the beginning and the ending of your day. You take that first sip from your favorite mug, and somehow you feel just a little bit better.”

Spring’s warmth means that most Saturdays, Wright explores his love for music at the Athens County Farmer’s Market. Amid abundant produce and bustling shoppers, Wright plays guitar, Native American flute, harmonica, and is also skilled with a set of “rhythm bones”. Bones were originally fashioned out of animal rib bones to produce a clackity-clicking rhythm. Wright, after witnessing their effect at a blues concert, crafted his own out of red oak and cherry wood. Then, he learned to play them while taking long, long walks, meting out new rhythms along with his footsteps.

“The farmers market is a wonderful atmosphere,” he says. “People park their strollers in front of me, a few parents hang out. I try to keep variety in my repertoire so that I can sit there for three hours and not play the same song.”

Wright sells his wares and his CD of original Native American flute compositions, called “Breath for Creator”. But for him, selling is not the end goal. “Sure, it is good to make money and be comfortable,” he says, “but if you are not comfortable in your heart and your soul, it’s not worth it. You have to follow what you love.”
Wright, with ancestry of Northwest Plains Cree, says he sees his creations as expressing his roots, being a vessel through which tradition is summoned and cast forth into the pieces. “I lead with my heart,” he notes, “and try to figure out what it is I want. And that is art, that is what I followed - making things.”

Berry Dilley for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Taking the next cue: one local woman's life script
by Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)

Berry Dilley, at age 75, is ready to begin again.

“If I live as long as my mom did,” she says, “I’ve got 25 more years to go. And I’d like to do it well. I’d like to have a rich, full life.”

Taken in context, Dilley’s hopes are spurred by the lifting of a 10-year pause: she has been devoted to caring for her loved ones as they approached death – first her sister, mother, then husband.

Coming up on the one-year mark after her husband’s passing, she says, “I am in transition, in the process of grieving losses, and discovering who I am now.” She continues, “But I feel like it’s a new beginning. I look in the mirror and say, ‘Well, I may look 75, but I don’t feel 75.’”

Many of Dilley’s previous roles and talents have core values of looking inwardly, outwardly, and at the deeper connection with the world. She has run the Athens Center for Mindfulness Practice out of her State Street home since the mid-90s, armed with certification in Community Dharma Leadership from Spirit Rock Meditation Center in California. She holds a master’s degree in dance and a degree in counseling, has taught theater movement at Ohio University, and has been house-host and mentor to numerous international students over the decades.

Now she feels as if she is picking up the pieces of herself and her life. “I woke up one morning and the word that came to me is ORDER. I want to shape my life - not defined by somebody else, not chaos anymore.”

Dilley says she is motivated by a lifelong interest in community, which she defines as interactive and participatory - figuring out things together.

“Human beings are affected and (then) effect their community and their culture,” says Dilley. “We are both independent individuals and interdependent members of family. The balance changes in response to need and circumstance.”

Dilley demonstrated this balance when she was overseeing care of her sister, Clarissa, who was blind. At the time, Athens did not have much in the way of housing and amenities for those who were disabled. Dilley advocated with then-Mayor Rick Abel for the city to institute the Athens City Commission on Disabilities. Since then, the commission has become an established governmental agency committed to providing a means for those with disabilities to be heard, to advocate for changes in public policy, and to be ensured quality of life and opportunities for community education and participation.

Recently, Dilley helped pick out 6 book-holding carts to further ensure the public library’s handicap accessibility. Two types of carts each – one with a seat, one without - are at Athens, Plains and Nelsonville public libraries, dedicated in her sister’s name.

Due to her trials and experiences in caring for her loved ones, Dilley also emphasizes to the public the importance of advocating for hospice and clearly stating a loved one’s known needs. “Be insistent, because it could make all the difference.”

Bodily awareness is one of the aspects of life that she continues to find important, and teaches it during sessions of mindful meditation.

“Thoughts shape bodily experience, bodily experience shapes emotions, emotions shape the body and thoughts,” Dilley notes. “Notice what’s going on with your breathing, notice how much energy you use, notice how you tense up when something happens. These habits of movement shape your body, and your body shapes your thinking and feelings.”

Dilley believes this needs to be accompanied by a sense of balance and awareness of other’s boundaries. “We need to learn a little more about give and take - people don’t really respect each other’s space. A boundary has to have some mobility, to change as the situation needs to change. But know what your boundary line is, and know when it is crossed.”

Dilley believes all of this contributes to being an interactive member of the community. In turn, community members are needed for support. “When you make changes with who you are, you can only grow and change and develop with support around you.”

As for her own future, she is uncertain which direction she should take, but she senses it is time, and is undaunted by age. “I am a work in progress, continually learning and growing as I interact with the world, and within myself,” she says.

“This is the first time I would say that I am ALONE,” she states. “It is not lonely but being alone. We are all alone – we enter the world alone, and we leave it alone.” She continues, “But now it is a truth. I had to recognize that and really experience it to be ready to move on to a different relationship to (my) community.”

Phil Berry and Jo Merkle for Athens: Glimpses of Home

My beaded valentine: one couple’s story
By Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)


Jo Merkle and Phil Berry just left their homestead to head west, seeking treasure.

This isn’t the first time. The couple plans such trips each year.

Leaving behind their off-the-grid, self-built, country cabin and in-town business in an older home situated near the ghost of railroad tracks (which once brought bustling activity to the west side of Athens), the good-natured duo will return with a temporarily-satiated travel bug. The round trip to warm, sunny Tucson, Arizona and the 2009 Gem, Mineral, and Fossil Showcase provides Merkle and Berry with necessary revitalization and stock, readying them for the beginning of a busy season at their co-owned 8 N. Shafer Street shop, Beads and Things.

But, as their travels have taken them all over the world, they say they always happily gravitate back to Athens, a place that, for them, suits who they are best: as a couple, business partners, and individuals.

For Merkle, the reason is simple: “The magic of Athens and living here is that when you are doing something that you are meant to be doing, it just comes together.”

The result of that “magic” is revealed in gained respect as a business, highlighted by earning Ohio Magazine’s vote as the best bead store in Ohio in 2006 and 2007.

Watching her own mother’s lifelong talent as a beader, Merkle picked up the trait herself in childhood. “I love beads. They are little treasures, beautiful pieces. Each bead is a little piece of art from everywhere in the world,” she says.

In 1990, after years of traveling to acquire beads and lamenting the lack of nearby vendors, Merkle opened Beads and Things with an agreeable Berry.

The store is lined with row after row of such treasure: colorful variations of beads – seed beads, Rudraksha tree prayer beads, Czech glass, Japanese delicas, lampwork, bone, wood, and metal beads - fill glass cups, racks, and shelving alongside tools, decorative rocks, and beaded wall-hangings and accessories.

After filling a tray with beads and supplies, the customer is urged to sit at one of the ready antique wooden tables to test the depths of his or her learned creative genes. With genuine mirth, the couple says their patient instruction is aimed to put a customer at ease.

Berry comments, “It’s a place where people come and will often spend a lot of time - they might spend hours here. We tend to make relationships with our customers.” He continues, “The best part is seeing what kind of creative things they are doing. Many people get in here say, ‘Oh, I’m not that creative, I can’t do that.’” He jokes, “So, we kind of bully them into being creative, ‘Yes! You can! Sit down!’”

Merkle, laughing, explains further, “No, we help to facilitate the creative process, because everybody is creative. They get to imbibe it with their energy. It’s not really expensive - under five dollars. To provide the space and having the supplies here is a good thing to be able to do, and let them be creative.”

But it is the final product that brings the most satisfaction. Says Merkle, “As they try it on looking in the mirror, you watch their eyes and their face and they are illuminated!”

The current economic recession has slowed spending worldwide, but Berry says it hasn’t affected their business. “When money is tight, people can make things for a lot less and get a lot more value,” he notes.

As if the couple’s life and pursuits together could be explained as coming together one bead at a time on a string, Berry says, smiling, “It’s just evolved into what it is.” Merkle agrees, saying, “Everything just fell together.”

Berry began visiting Athens in the early 1970’s, and he “fell in love with the place.” Merkle, separately arriving in 1971 as a student, then felt the urge to move to the country, and began to farm organically. Though they had met, they would not start dating until years later, in the mid-eighties. “We both take things pretty much a day at a time; we don’t make long term plans,” she says.

They had only been dating for a short time before Merkle was offered to purchase nearby property. Because she was familiar with the land and adored the location, she felt she couldn’t pass up the opportunity. She asked Berry if he’d like to go in on it with her. He agreed. “We didn’t know it would manifest into being a long-term relationship,” says Merkle.

Though they have often had to live hand to mouth, and for much of the time slept in evolving-sized tents on their property, it is a lifestyle they have chosen. They have built their cabin – complete with a shower that pumps water from their pond – by periodically affording one board at a time for nearly ten years. “People who say they have to wait until they have money to do something,” says Merkle, “will be waiting forever. You never end up having enough. You don’t wait.”

They consider themselves to have everything they need, especially each other.

“I love working with Phil.” Merkle says. “I always wanted a partner that I could work with, build with and have a lot of fun with.”

He agrees, “I couldn’t imagine not working together in some fashion or other.”

Merkle relates a story of when she first knew Berry was “the one”. On a trip out west, she had seen a strand of black tourmalated quartz and debated purchasing it. As they drove away, she kept musing out loud that she would like to have it, but resisted when he offered to drive back. Finally, at least one hundred miles away, she announced she’d decided: she wanted the beads. With no hesitation, he turned round. “He didn’t skip a beat,” she remembers. “I knew how much I liked him before, but then I knew.”

In all the years together, the duration of the 18 they have been able to keep their store open surprises them. They attribute it to the community. “The community support is just fabulous,” Berry says.

Merkle agrees, “That’s why we are in business.”

Sandy Plunkett for Athens: Glimpses of Home

Local comic artist sketches a life outside of the box
By Jenaye Antonuccio (photo by Sherry DiBari)

ON A QUIET ATHENS STREET, BETWEEN MODEST HOUSES AND FRIENDLY NEIGHBORS, A MAN SITS ALONE AT HIS TIDY DESK, WORKING. IT IS EARLY MORNING. THE LARGE WINDOW COVERING SHIELDS HIM FROM THE COMING DAY’S OVER-ABUNDANT LIGHT AND INEVITABLE DISTRACTION. THOUGH OCCASIONALLY RISING, STRETCHING, AND FEEDING THE WOOD STOVE WITH SELF-HEWN KINDLING, HE IS FOCUSED, TRAINED TO MASTER THE MOMENTS SO THE DEADLINE CANNOT ATTACK!!!
LATER, MOUNTING HIS TRUSTY BIKE (HIS SOLE MODE OF TRANSPORTATION), HE SHAKES OFF CABIN FEVER WHILE TACKLING ERRANDS. BUT HE WILL NOT BE CAUGHT EMPTY-HANDED!!! ALWAYS, ALWAYS, HE CARRIES HIS PACK OF NECESSARY TOOLS. INSIDE THE PACK, A WATER-RESISTANT CASE CLEVERLY SEALS INSIDE ONE SKETCHBOOK AND A ZIPPERED POCKET WITH PENCILS, PENS, ERASERS, SHARPENERS, ETC. HE DEFIES WET WEATHER, THE MORTAL ENEMY OF THIS OUTFITTED AND CRAFTY ARTIST!!!

Born and raised by two artist parents in bustling Manhattan, Sandy Plunkett, well-known comics writer and artist, suggests, “I'm pretty convinced that my artistic inclinations are partly inherited.” As he grew older, he discovered his dyslexia as typical children do, while learning to read. “To try to get me to read,” he remembers, “my mother brought home comics.”

Being introduced to his first superhero comic in the third grade, he was hooked, and began a lifelong tendency to render his own superhero drawings. But pressure in sixth grade about the then-unpopular kid’s medium (“Are you still reading comics?”), he says, led to involuntary repression of comic-character sketching till near-completion of high school. “I don’t think the interest had completely gone away,” he says. “Inspiration kicked in again.”

Of his one year of college studying fine arts, Plunkett remembers, “It was a wonderful year, but what I wanted to be doing was at such odds with what they were offering.” He then pursued a career as a comic book artist, which soon expanded to contracts with Marvel, DC and Gold Key comics.

Throughout the 70s and 80s, as he aged and competition standards stiffened, he says the appeal of living in the city soured. “Growing up in New York, I felt perfectly at home. But as an adult, I was pretty unhappy.” He adds, “I was getting hit both ways: in emotion; and in terms of career and finances, it was starting to affect me.”

The decision to relocate became appealing. “When you are depressed it is hard to create,” he states. “The more you can eliminate that from your inner life, the freer you are to really do your work.” He knew he could continue comic work anywhere due to telephones, Internet, and overnight delivery services, with occasional contact-maintenance trips.

Through a “circuitous turn of events”, the curative destination became Athens, Ohio. The year was 1990.

Plunkett cites the writer David Foster Wallace, who penned in the novel Infinite Jest: “You compete with your own limits to transcend the self in imagination and execution.” Plunkett thinks this summarizes the challenge for growing in his craft. “The drawing I do provides me with the pleasure and satisfaction of making things (hopefully beautiful, interesting things) and that desire could be fulfilled through other artistic expressions,” he explains. “But the drawings I do also provide me with the chance to become completely engaged in an endeavor so huge and so thoroughly consuming that an in entire lifetime, one can never hope to reach it's conclusion. And in the process, what your really grappling with is yourself.”

When he arrived in Athens, ready to begin afresh, his plan was to continue along the path of his already-successful career. But the excited buzz about his move here had rapidly spread from ear to ear, as mysteriously happens only in small towns. “Other opportunities presented themselves, and none of them were things that I had anticipated,” says Plunkett. “It has been wonderful.”

Drawing for political cartoons, CD covers, posters, business logos, tee-shirts, or commissions gained from fans who contacted him through his website (www.plunkettart.com) – such endeavors began taking up his time. Soon, comic book work was less needed for a source of income -- perfect timing for avoiding the comic book industry’s crash in the mid-90s. Today, he works only occasionally for the slow-recovering field.

Finding work as an artist is a constant worry. But even in today’s shipwrecked market, by comparison, Athens’ smaller competition pool and alternative-embracing nature supports Plunkett’s efforts, signified in the fact that currently he has more commissioned work than before.

“I know some artists who begin with a very clear mental image of what they're about to draw,” says Plunkett, about his approach to drawing. “That rarely happens with me. Most often I start out with a feeling I want to convey, but only the vaguest visualization. That develops on the paper (if I'm lucky).”

He approaches assignments with understanding of his personal capabilities, he says, and paces the time he knows he will need. Wanting to avoid the notorious stigma that artists always miss deadlines, in the end, whether he is personally satisfied or not, he strives for one thing: “What I’m looking for most of the time is not to embarrass myself.” He adds, “I give myself a little pat on the back, not because the work itself is great, (but) because I did it efficiently.”

His biggest investment of self and time went into a graphic novel of his own initiative. Through his self-created guidelines and focus for a number of years, the project is now complete.

But it is the publication process that tires him. “It is one of the most masochistic things I’ve ever gone through,” he says.

Three different publishing companies have expressed interest, but have backed out at the point of contract-signing.

The difficulty, he explains, is in taking the chance. “If you are writing a novel, imagine you can show an early draft, then you rewrite it. In one comic book page, no one will really understand the impact you are going for. When it is all together, if someone says, ‘I think your pacing is wrong,’ and you have twenty pages, then you really can’t do anything at that point.”

Though discouraged by what seemed like a job in itself to get the publication wheels turning, he says, “For the time being I’m tired of it, but I don’t know if I’ve given up on it.”

Other projects keep him busy. As does exercising his craft. One of the three running sketchbooks he keeps (he calls it his exercise book) has been the most enjoyable as of late. “When I sketch, its all just a big flurry of lines at first. Often those extraneous lines are gestural lines, though they are kind of abstract. Working in this notebook allowed me to say, ‘Okay, those lines aren’t right, but I like what they look like. Just don’t erase, don’t keep revising, don’t have an absolute idea in your mind on what it should be - that type of space where initial gestural lines can be explored.’” In other mediums, he feels he has gained facility with watercolor painting, and would especially enjoy more experimentation with oils.

Plunkett also tries different perspectives, like turning his piece upside down, or looking at it in half-light: “Sometimes,” he says, “when you are seeing less precisely, you are seeing more truly. Like a hidden structure behind the visual world which we are distracted from. Because we see so clearly, if you see it in the half light, I think you can be more sensitive to the underlying structures.”

Plunkett is not invulnerable to life’s banalities. Plumbing problems, appointments, and housework are not sensitive to artist’s deadlines, just like in everyone’s life. He states, “If you have too many things going on, its hard to get that sense of quiet.” His solution? “I think I’m always trying to return to that place of stillness where everything else seems like it is distant, so I can just focus on what is there.”


THE SINGLE-MINDED AND MEDITATIVE ARTIST ALWAYS CARRIES IN HIS MIND AN IMAGINARY AUDIENCE FOR HIS WORK. HE CAN BE FOUND BASKING IN THE ENERGY OF A SUMMER NIGHT, COLLECTING INSPIRATION IN THE NEW WARMTH OF SPRING WHEN BIKING OUT ON COUNTRY ROADS, OR DILIGENTLY WORKING SNUG INSIDE ON A WINTER’S DAY. HE EXPLORES INSIDE, OUTSIDE, AND IN BETWEEN THE LINES. IT IS ALL IN A DAY’S WORK IN THE PLACE HE CALLS HOME.

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.”