This story is like an old gospel song which has many versions. I first heard it one sunny summer morning sitting beside a lake in Putnam County, Tennessee. I’ve sort of forgotten the original words, but the tune is the same and so is the basic story. Let’s hope that the boys in the band don’t mind the new lyrics too much.
George Culbreth put on his hat, picked up his valise, and left the parsonage. As he walked to the railroad station, he stopped by the church to see if word had come from Marvin Lail, a retired minister, confirming that he would preach this Sunday. Lail had filled in before when George had to attend conference meetings, but Rev. Culbreth had been a little late in getting his letter off this time and had not heard back yet. Since it was only Monday, he felt sure everything would work out. If Rev. Lail was not available, George’s wife Vera Star could lead a Bible Study instead. The church’s Akron Plan construction lent itself to this arrangement, and Vera Star was usually willing but they had not discussed it fully. The Church Trustees were always tight, but with the recent downturn in the lumber industry, First Methodist really was short on cash. George hated to think about the rancor that an extravagance like a long-distance call would cause on top of this trip to Conference (which the Trustees rarely felt excited about funding. )
Having struck out at the Church, the good Reverend was turning these things over in his mind for the better part of the time that the train wound its way through Bryson City, Dillsboro, Balsam Gap, Waynesville, and into Asheville. George was jolted from his reverie as two more cars were coupled to the train and passengers who had been traveling on the north-south line of the Southern Railroad transfered for the ride east. George himself was headed to Durham and the new campus of Trinity College. His thoughts and mood lifted as he began to anticipate seeing the progress being made on the Gothic spires of the Chapel. As George became less withdrawn, he also became aware that a young man had taken the seat across the aisle from him.
The fellow’s care worn expression was not such a surprise. Hard times had not been limited to Murphy in the three years since the stock market crash. From the burned skin on his face and the cracked skin on his hands, it seemed like this man had seen his share of hard work. What did not figure as easily was his brand new, if cheap, set of clothes which made his deeply scuffed brogans look all the worse for the wear. The young man also seemed at a loss for what to do with himself before the train began to roll when the scenery might provide a distraction for him. Sensing his discomfort, George made an effort to say hello.
After a few pleasantries, George introduced himself and learned that his fellow passenger was named Arthur Jessup. Arthur wasn’t quite sure why this man was speaking to him, although he seemed nice enough. For the last seven months, Jessup had not been sure if there was anyone who was safe to talk with. He never imagined when he agreed to drive the get away as they held up that gas station in Banner Elk that he would wind up in jail.
He never imagined that he would wind up robbing a gas station for that matter. His parents had raised him along with another brother and a sister on a small farm outside of Mocksville. They had never been rich, but between the farm and steady work in the mills, they had been comfortable. When the crash came and the mills stopped, Arthur’s family started to feel the pinch.
At first it was small things; there was not much meat on the table, even on Sundays. Mama patched their coats that winter instead of ordering new ones from the Sears Catalog. Daddy took the wagon more often than the Model T truck they had bought in ’26. Gathered around the fireplace after dinner, his parents would remark on their gratitude for the farm and family to keep them going through the hard times.
Increasingly, Arthur was having none of it. As he heard the trains go by on the tracks out past their small orchard, he felt more and more drawn to join those his age who were traveling the countryside in search of something better. So one night Arthur Jessup wrote his parents an angry note goodbye and rolled the pick-up to the main road before turning it over and roaring off in the direction of Winston-Salem.
It took about two days for him to figure out that there were a lot more men than there was work. Even the professional types looked hungry, and all he knew was farm work and bobbins. On the third day a city boy with specs on made Arthur feel bad about his patched up jacket, so he punched the pencil pusher in the mouth. In the ensuing melee, Jessup found out that plowing furrows and digging fence posts had made him good for something in addition to farm work. Several other guys noticed this too and drew him in to their circle.
From Winston-Salem they ranged all over: North Wilkesboro, Mt. Airy, Kernersville, Walburg, Gum Tree. Arthur Jessup’s truck made him a welcome site in any hobo camp, since anyone who needed to move along and could scrape together some change for gas could get a ride. After a while, the authorities knew what truck to look for too. One night the Iredell County Sheriff made it clear that Arthur was no longer welcome anywhere near his jurisdiction, and the boys decided to head for Tennessee.
They were almost to Boone when they began to run low on gas and food. Aside from loitering, none of them had ever really broken the law, but the plan seemed so simple and the pickings so easy in Banner Elk. Arthur knew it wasn’t right, but the whole group seemed to be on board. Since he had the truck, they needed him to go along. He finally said he would, but only as the driver. None of them could have known that the gas station was owned by a deputy who had a Buick patrol car in the garage out back.
Most of the boys got away, but Jessup wouldn’t leave his daddy’s Model T, so he went to jail instead. They sent him to Craggy Prison outside Asheville because he was in good enough shape to do road work. On the day he was sentenced, Arthur realized that by the time he got out, he would have been gone from home for over two years.
He had never known who to trust in prison, neither the guards or the inmates seemed interested in helping him. For some reason, though, the man across the aisle on the train seemed like someone Arthur Jessup could trust. When George Culbreth learned that the young man’s clothes had been issued to him as he left Craggy Prison that morning, Culbreth’s own worries completely disappeared. The Reverend could tell that Arthur was earnest now and knew first hand why his parents valued their home and family above everything else. Arthur told George that all he wanted to do now was go home, but he was not sure if he could.
The Jessup family was not overly religious, but they went to church and tried to teach the children well. Arthur knew that the gambling, drinking, and whoring would not have set well with his folks, but the shame of robbing another man would, he thought, be more than they could bear. Having left in the manner he did, and having taken and squandered the one thing they could have easily sold for good money, Arthur did not think he deserved to be allowed back on the place. But he also did not know where else to go.
He told George that he had written a letter home a couple of weeks before, telling his parents the day he was to be released and put on the train. He told them he wanted to come home, but he would understand if they would not have him. His train would come by the orchard, so if they did not mind his coming back, he asked that they tie a white handkerchief to a tree near the tracks. If he did not see a handkerchief, he would not get off the train in Mocksville. They would not have to hear from him again.
After the train passed through Statesville, Arthur Jessup became increasingly agitated. By Barber Junction, he was on the verge of tears. It was unbearable, and there was little that George could do to ease his anxiety. As the terrain became more and more familiar, Arthur asked George to do a favor. “Up ahead is the bend before our place,” he said. “Before we make the turn, I’m going to close my eyes. Please tell me if you see anything.” George was not sure he wanted to bear the news, but Arthur seemed somewhat relieved when he agreed.
Eyes closed, Arthur felt a change in the swaying of the train as they entered the curve. When the rhythm returned to normal, he waited for what seemed to be an eternity for a word from George. Instead, he heard a gasp. His heart skipped a beat. “What is it, George?” he pleaded. “Son, I think you should open your eyes,” George replied. As he did, he saw that every branch of every tree in the orchard was covered with what must have been every white piece of cloth the Jessup family owned.