The Legend of Big John Hemlock and the Appalachian Swing By Daniel Earle I want to tell you a story, the legend of Big John Hemlock and the Appalachian Swing. Johnny grew up in the Blue Ridge mountains. His Pop labored hard during the week at the feed and seed mill. On the weekend, his Pop would pick up his banjo and take young Johnny to town. Now.....in the town, during the week, things were all business. But by the time Friday evening arrived, the tradition would begin. The people congregated at the city square for something they called the Appalachian Swing. There was music, dancing, the savory smell of southern cooking in the air. Young Johnny would watch his Pop pick banjo, try to dance with all the pretty girls, and fill his belly with barbecued chicken, mashed potatoes, greens, cornbread......whatever he could get his hands on. Yep, those were good times for John Hemlock and good times for the Appalachian Swing. Well, as the years passed and John grew from a boy to a young man. There came a night when the town was swingin'. The moon was full and bright, competing with the pitch black sky when John laid his eyes on Violet, gracefully swaying her way through the crowd. John slowly walked in her direction. As the two locked eyes, Billy the singer for Bee Bumble and the Stingers, called out for a pairs dance. "All y'all grab your gals 'cause we're about to heat things up tonight..." John offered his hand to Violet for a dance he'd never forget. John fell deeply in love with Violet over the time they were courtin', but she was giving her love to another man. John saw Violet kissing Jimmy Lee by the riverbank one day while he was on his way back home from fishing. The sight of the lady he loved kissing someone else shattered poor John Hemlocks heart into seven thousand pieces. John stayed to himself for a good piece of time after that, the man had the blues!! And a terrible case at that. To make things worse, Pop told Johnny he saw a bad sign. He was on a hike through the woods when he saw the silhouette of what looked like a person staring directly at him through the trees. He said the figure appeared to have on a black cloak and when he went to look into the eyes of this entity, there was nothing but two dark empty holes looking back at him. "I believe it was a demon, John." His father exclaimed, "There was no hope in it! It's a bad sign Johnny, a bad sign for certain." "What should we do about it?" He asked his Pop. "Son, all we can do is pray that the good Lord's will is done. Trials and tribulation will come but stay strong in your faith no matter what happens. God will always see you through." As the weeks followed the town fell on troubled times. The mill was closed down due to a depression in the economy. But soon the lack of work would become the least of John Hemlock's worries. While he and his Pop were on a hike in the mountains, they came upon an apple tree in a large clearing, Pop ate an apple from the tree and within an instant became violently ill. John helped his Pop back down the trail to their house, and sent his neighbor to fetch a doctor, but Pop died in his bed before the doctor even arrived. "It's my time to go, stay strong in your faith son." These were the last words Pop spoke to Johnny before he went to be with the Lord. Full of sorrow John decided that the only option to keep his mind off of the pain and earn a living would be to leave his home and drive steel for the railroad company. So John made the 40 mile trek to the neighboring town where the gang was laying tracks. Laying rails was hard and dangerous work, but it paid a good wage and took John's mind off things. The foreman of the crew was Benny Thompson, a short, frail man with a booming voice that rang out instructions to the 6 workers. Johnny and the rest of the crew laid track through miles of wilderness, setting up camp where they stopped at night. Some nights John Hemlock would break out his Pop's banjo and sing songs with the gang. The whole crew would get to having a good ol' time and the Appalachian Swing would lift the fellas spirits. Well, Big John worked on the railroad crew for 3 years. He dreamed of returning home, but dreaded the sorrow he left behind. Suddenly, he remembered his father's words, "Stay strong in your faith son. God will always see you through." John fell to his knees and cried out to God like he never had before, he poured all his worries at his feet and asked the Lord to show him the way. "Return home my child. You must face the demons of your past. Sing the songs that are written on your heart and restore the joyful spirit to the mountains where it once lived." Big John Hemlock had heard the voice of God and he knew what he had to do. So he grabbed his banjo, and said goodbye to the foreman Benny Thompson and the rest of the railroad gang. He was gonna miss those fellas. Johnny hitched a ride on the train for most of the journey. He hid out in a boxcar for the next few nights. He spent those days marveling at the beautiful landscape, rivers and fields that the train passed by. The leaves on the trees had begun to show their brilliant yellows and reds. The scenery was majestic. At last the engine let out a loud exhausted sigh. John hopped off and hiked toward the base of a familiar mountain, he knew that when he reached the top he'd be home. He was excited to see the blue peaks across the skyline, but at the same time a fear began to rustle in the pit of his stomach. John said a prayer for protection, and began to hike up the mountain. As John reached the halfway point where the old oak tree stood, night was falling fast. He hurried to start a campfire before the light of day escaped. As he started toward his tent to lay down, he caught something moving in the corner of his eye. John spun around to see what was approaching. As the cloaked figure moved into the light of the campfire, he became paralyzed with fear. Cold chills ran up his spine. John peered into the dark pits of the demons eyes. " You won't scare me away from my home anymore!" he cried out. The demon flashed images into John's mind of shame and defeat, but he knew that it's tricks were just an illusion. John yelled "I bind you devil! I've got a word from God and you ain't gonna stop me!!" With that, the figure faded and disappeared into the night. John sat up under the old oak until morning came. He spent the night devising a plan. If he was going to bring the swing back to his hometown, he needed to put a band together.... After a few hours of hiking he turned the bend and saw a rooftop in the distance. Home at last. He turned the lock and entered his former house. A wave of emotion hit and he was drawn, as if by force down the hall into his Pop's room. Then, he heard a voice in his spirit softly, "Look in the closet." John walked across the room and drew back the closet door. He looked up, a red ribbon caught his eye on the top shelf. He reached up and pulled down a dusty black guitar case, attached was a note "To: Johnny From: Pop". He opened the case to find a beautiful varnished oak dobro with a copper slide. He knew at that moment that his Pop was helping him along the way. So Johnny went to town for the first time in over 3 years. He walked the streets where he was raised, memories on each corner, but something didn't feel right. The expressions on the faces of the people he passed by looked sad, down right pessimistic even. He missed the traditional celebration and smiling faces of the townsfolk. Things had changed. John went to the market to pick up some food and maybe see a familiar face. Mr. Jenkins, an old man with a good heart but an ill temper had run the market since Johnny was a boy. He spotted John right as he walked in, "You're the Hemlock boy, right? Heard you'd run off." "I came back for the Appalachian Swing." John replied. "Well, we don't do that no more, these are hard times, ain't cha heard?" "That's when we need the tradition the most!" John stated "Don't you know anybody who still plays?" He asked. "Bobby bags groceries, he keeps an upright bass in the stock room." Just then a tall lanky fella came from around the corner aisle. "Bobby come meet John Hemlock." "So you play bass?" John asked. "Cause I'm startin' a band." A customer walked in the store and Mr. Jenkins' yelled "Bobby, get to work!" "Meet me back here after close." Bobby whispered and hurried back to work. Later that evening, John knocked on the market's door. Bobby opened it with a wild eyed grin and said excitedly "I'd like for you to meet Gil Stratford. I asked him to bring his drums down." "Pleased to meet you." A short stalky man stood up and extended a handshake from behind a cherry red drum kit. "Likewise." Johnny said and shook his hand. "Gil, don't talk much but he plays the hell out of those drums, John." "Well, lets get to it then!" Johnny exclaimed. These three got to playing and it was like magic. The fellas practiced every evening, sometimes at the market, others at Gil's house. Johnny liked practicing at Gil's place because his Momma could cook. After a while the band had a few good songs down pat. So John, Bobby, and Gil drew up a whole heap of bulletins that read: This Saturday Night at the town square, be there for The Appalachian Swing Revival... featuring John Hemlock and the Pines. Good food, good music and good times. The band nailed the bulletins on every street and trail head in town in hopes that everyone would come out and dance. Over the course of the week, the band heard a lot of feedback about the upcoming event from Mr. Jenkins. "See I run the market, people in this town talk to me and they say they ain't got time for foolishness. And who the heck are John Hemlock and the Pines anyways? See Johnny, people don't want you around here stirring up all this mess." Well, Big John and the Pines were awful sad to hear that folks weren't excited about the show. But Johnny and the band were determined to play their music for the people. Before long the big night had arrived. Gil Stratford's Momma stood behind a buffet of southern cooking. Bobby scanned the mountain town's streets "Ain't nobody here, Johnny." he reluctantly announced. "Keep the faith, brother." John replied. Just then, a town member walked down the street, and strolled over to the stage. Then another came, and another.... and before long it looked like the whole town had shown up. Folks were swarming around Mrs. Stratford's buffet like bees on honey. Others just stood with their arms crossed and judgmental looks on their faces. Whether they had come for the food, gossip, or out of plain curiosity the town was there. Big John Hemlock draped the leather strap over his shoulder holding up his father's banjo and stepped forward toward the microphone, "Ya'll ready to bring back the swing?! We'll I'm Big John Hemlock and these are the Pines and ready or not it's about that time!" The band exploded into a swinging groove that hit the town like a steam engine. Gil's drums sounded as if they were shaking the very foundations of the mountains, Bobby's bass rumbled the leaves right off the trees, and Big John's banjo rang out with a melody that echoed through the whole valley. The people started remembering the joys of their abandoned tradition. Gil's Momma was clean out of food. The revival was a success, the band played all night long, just shy of sunrise. That night the ritual gathering of good people, good music, and good cooking was born again and we keep that tradition alive to this day. Thanks to Johnny Hemlock and his word from God. Big John Hemlock and the Pines became very well known throughout the South, and his story became local legend. Along with the success of his music, John found the love of a good woman, settled down and started a family. People have passed on his tale for years around campfires and on moonlit nights in the country. Children listen to their parents tell about Big John overcoming the blues, facing a demon in the woods, and bringing the sweet sounds of the Appalachian Swing back to these mountains. That's the way my Grandmother told me the story as a child and that's the way I'll tell it to my youngins. Passed down for generations, the tale of Big John Hemlock and the legend of the Appalachian Swing will never be forgotten. The End. ,