Whaley Bradley was probably born sometime in the 1890’s in isolated Green River Cove in Polk County, NC on the Green River. He was not only born there, he never ventured further than 20-30 miles from his birthplace, even though having the opportunity. And he never, ever spent the night away from home even though he also had that opportunity. His close attachment to this area could have been because of this beautiful Green River, with it’s rapids closer to it’s origin, and it’s flat, slow-moving expanse as it flowed on it’s way to join Lake Adger.

There was only one road that went through the area, and it was unpaved back about 1939 or ’40 when I had my first experience there. You had a choice, and your decision hinged on the condition of your vehicle. Most chose to enter by way of Saluda, but you needed excellent brakes. The road into the cove was a series of about 20 sharp downhill switchbacks that would challenge any automobile of that era – even to this day. Or, you could enter by way of Mill Spring, but this took longer – depending upon where you were coming from. Exiting from the area also required an informed decision. Not all vehicles had the power to negotiate the steep route back to Saluda. Once you were in the area the only side roads were not roads at all, but trails.

The main occupation, for those who chose not to venture out, was little more than subsistence farming. And, living was crude – no running water or electricity. Recreation was also limited, unless you like to fish and hunt – of which there was as much as one could handle. The one church provided both worship and social activities.

I got to know Whaley when I was a boy. Dad would take us fishing just up the river from his house in a remote area called Fish Top. You parked your vehicle beside the road and walked in by a narrow trail closely bordering the river. So close in some spots that you became wet from the spray that frequently issued from the river. The trail was narrow and bordered by poison ivy. That was the price one paid for the pleasure of fishing there.

We would always fish for suckers. They were abundant and easily caught. If you have ever eaten a sucker, you know they have a sweet, white flesh, but difficult to get at because of so many bones. But, it’s worth the effort, the risk and the itch.

No trip was complete without a visit with Whaley. He lived alone, and had never married, so the story goes. He had one tooth remaining in his head when we met him, and he would encourage young boys to touch it. If you fell for that line, he would bite you – but only in fun. There was not an evil bone in his body.

In the summers, before World War II, the Boys’ Club, chaperoned by men of the community, would take upwards of 20 boys to spend the a night on a section of the river near Whaley’s house know locally as Turkey Trot. He would join our campfire in the evening and often relate stories about growing up in that primitive area. The only one I recall was about his going on a church picnic when he was a young boy. It goes something like this:

Before I relate this short story, remember that the year was about 1900, and Whaley was about six or eight years old. Boys and girls were on a church picnic in an area where there was no bathroom facility – not even an outhouse. Of course, all anyone who lived in that area had was an outhouse, or just the woods. I guess how boys handle the “call” is somewhat different from girls. And Whaley just went behind a tree to relieve himself. A little girl, more curious than some, I suppose, peeked at him standing behind the tree and observed, “Oh, what a handy thing to have on a picnic.” That was the totality of the story, but it reveals much about the area, the time, and innocence of children.

Fred Eargle is retired from the School of Engineering at NC State University, where he taught, conducted workshops and seminars on quality, job evaluation, industrial engineering, and human relations. He currently writes and consults. A collection of Mr. Eargle’s stories, and technical publications is available at www.lulu.com. Mr. Eargle currently lives at Windsor Point, Fuquay-Varina, with his wife.