Blogger’s note

This is another experiment done as an assignment for a class at the Center for Documentary Studies.

I had to create a short video of a personal narrative. Thus this post contains two versions of the same story. You can start the video below and hear the same words, see the same pictures as the traditional post below. Let me know which you prefer!

Our choice – the video

Simply hit the arrow and adjust the volume!

Our choice – the blog (with audio if desired)

Starting out

We were young, grown up with the education and advantages of the white middle class.  Now we had the world ahead of us.   The 60’s were exciting – but dying.  Joining the Teacher Corp was an explicit decision on our part to abandon the Movement and deal with the issues of war, racism, and class by living a simpler life focused on service.

Now looking back over 50 years, few of the artifacts of that time remain.

• I carried a camera – or two – everywhere
• I built a darkroom in every house we lived in
• I developed and printed thousands of my photographs
• I wrote and prepared documentaries and stories as a sideline to my teaching.

But after all the years and after 17 moves, almost every original documentary, every print, every written paper, all my stories are gone. I have a couple 7 1/2″ reel-to-reel tapes I re-recorded in 1969. I have my original negatives. And I have my memories.

Thus this story is built on those negatives and on my memories.

In 1969, the Tennessee mountains drew us

Robin and I hiked the mountains together, walking through the woods, exploring the new land.

There was joy as we reached a mountain tops.

We watched as the sun highlighted specific trees and then moved on.

We paddled our canoe and kayak through cold mountain rivers and streams.

We delighted as we watched three bear cubs climb a tree after mamma warned us that we were too close.

As we camped after a long day we watched the sun set over mountain ridges.

We had moved away from the university to the remote community of Little Milligan where we did our student teaching.  Our new friends gave us warmth as they introduced us to their life in the Appalachian mountains. Vern always had a story to tell. We liked his Jack Tales best.

Theresa showed us her quilts. Robin never learned to sew one well even though she was an excellent seamstress and tried hard.

They played music – families sang “shape note” in church and bluegrass at home.  This was our entertainment. We spent many an evening listening to Bass and Faye in the Burchett family living room.

Above all the kids, our students, delighted us. Mr. Haskins, my supervising teacher, sometimes sat in the back of the room while I taught. I’m not sure what he did back there because I was on my own from day two. I was busy.

It was outside class that the kids taught us. Stevie had been out of school less than an hour!

We came upon Scotty’s house on a dirt road way back off the highway. A student of mine, his parents were delighted to meet us. His mom fixed us a squirrel dinner with all the fixings – on a wood stove!

My seventh graders were always ready to take us on an adventure. To this day I wonder how we all survived those hikes!?!?

But reality hit us as we finished our Teacher Corps program:  there were no teaching positions open in the nearby mountain schools, and we had little chance of getting one of the prized teaching positions – let alone two – even if any positions were open.

The store across from the school

But there was a country store across the highway from the Little Milligan School, our school where we did our student teaching. The owners had kept the store for years and were beginning to get tired of the workload. Perhaps they’d sell us that store. It even had a small upstairs apartment. I wonder if there was enough space for a darkroom up there?

Back in those days someone had to come out and pump gas for you. We always bought our gas at this store – or at a similar store just up the road. Even if it was a bit more expensive. Support the locals and they’d give back so much more.

Sometimes there would be a whole family in the back of the truck when they pulled up for gas. A couple of these kids were in our school but none were actually in our classes.

I carried my cameras everywhere. I’d sit in the store and let them hang. I was patient After we moved into the community, this store was almost our second home.  We bought our gas and often some things for dinner and breakfast.

After a few weeks I asked permission. For some reason, people seem to trust me when I take pictures. They always knew, almost always they accepted. We visited with the owners, enjoyed their stories. We listened to their advice. We were always the outsiders, but we not not just customers or acquaintances, we became friends.

We studied that store

We’d sit with our students snacking, a student of mine standing in the center, a student of Robin’s sitting. That’s Robin in a reflective mood on the left.

So by May, Robin and I began to think and talk about the store. We studied the electrical system. I thought, “I know a bit about electricity – I think I can manage all those wires.”

We looked at the scales even though we never saw them used. We looked at the stacks of drinks and at the snack racks. Again we thought we might be able to do this.

We also studied the stuff on the counter, the jars and cans and boxes on the shelves. It was here that the doubt began to creep in, “how do they know what to stock?”

Occasionally Lynette would pose. I’d wonder, What was she thinking? She knew what they had in the store and where everything was. But her eyes told us she knew so much more.

Lynette saw these guys, she knew them. She knew where they lived. She knew their families. She knew what they’d buy.

Sometimes Paul posed. He knew too. They knew their customers.

Each and every one. Young and old.

Perhaps the owners were serious about retiring. They were born in the area. The store had supported them.

It was the life they knew. We thought about asking them of their plans. But we hesitated …

Robin and I asked ourselves, “Could we ever know enough to run this store?” And there was more.

The decision

As I watched this print take shape in the developer I knew.  Paul sat next to the stove, their little dog on his lap.  A cigarette in his hand.  A slight smile.  A look of peace and contentment. His life pleased him.

Looking at the picture, I knew – that couldn’t be me.  I was restless.

My mother’s spirit, her voice, was inside me.  “But Barry, what are you going to do with your life?”

I loved Little Milligan but it wasn’t me … We had choices, we were trained to be teachers and that should be our start.

Robin agreed.