He’s not wrong, and I mean, he said that several years ago before they proved all that stuff. He’s a smart man. The more I’ve thought back about what he told me and what they’ve found out about what we eat and drink, and about how some of it will kill you, the more I know that he was smarter than they were, ’cause he knew that years before they did.
Bass likes to say he was the meanest man around. And Bass was mean. You asked why he’s called “the Wild Russian.” A wild Russian hog is the meanest thing, I guess, you could ever come in contact with. He’ll slip up on you, gore you, and bite you. He’ll do anything to you, and it’s hard to kill him. You can put a pack of dogs on a wild hog, and if they’re not real good, extra good dogs, he’ll kill all of them and then get away. A Russian can run for miles before you can kill him. He can tear you up, and he’ll eat anything, even spring lizards, so that’s why they named Bass “the Wild Russian.” He lived off the land, and he was tough, and he done real well. And he could be just as mean as any old Russian hog, too—just as ornery and mean! He’s mellowed a whole lot now. I’ll tell you what he would do to people he didn’t like [when he was young]. He’d see them goin’ to church, and if they went with a girlfriend, he’d start shootin’ at them with his pistol, and shootin’ the ground all up around them and runnin’ them off, runnin’ them back. He’d do things like that, Bass would. Now, that was before he lost that arm, but he learned to use that stump pretty well, and he got a little mean again, but Bass Dockery is a very unusual person, and he’s a self-made man, and he’s smart. He’s got more honor than most people you know. Bass Dockery is truthful, and he’s honest. He wouldn’t steal a dime off nobody. He wouldn’t take a dime unless he had done something for it. He never bribed anybody. He wouldn’t give anybody a quarter to leave him alone. That’s just his way, you see. He’s not a mean man, not a vicious man. Bass Dockery is a tough man, but he’s not a mean, tough man. He just means what he says. He doesn’t mean for you to run over him, and he doesn’t intend to run over you. He’s one of a kind, a self-made man. He’s an unusual person because he has survived the way he has for the past eighty years.
“Oh, Lord, if you won’t help me, don’t help them.”
~The legend of the Moccasin gang~
I have lived in the Satolah community in Rabun County almost all of my life. As a little girl I had heard stories about the untamed Billingsley brothers and the trouble they caused in the Moccasin gang war. When Brandie Rushing and I started this article, authentic accounts were hard to find. Relying on old newspapers and history books, we located enough documented information to piece the jigsaw together.
—Mandy Owens
The Moccasin gang war took place near the town of Highlands, North Carolina, in 1885, and alcohol caused it. Liquor and “spirituous fruit juice” were considered by society to be among the greatest and most appalling evils of the time. One 1885 newspaper, The Keowee Courier, of Oconee County, wrote in regard to liquor and the like, “I tell you, all strong drink is crooked, crooked cognac, crooked schnapps, crooked beer, crooked wine, crooked whiskey because it makes a man’s path crooked, and his life crooked, and his death crooked, and his eternity crooked.”
Liquor was believed to possess the power to destroy a man’s country, as well as his life. Obviously, the problem of drunkenness was taken very seriously by society, and when the problem came to Highlands, Highlanders took matters into their own hands. Thus began the Moccasin gang war.
PLATE 42 Map of the Moccasin District and surrounding areas
Highlands was a quiet, pretty town located in the western mountains of North Carolina. The beauty and tranquillity of the area were jeopardized when men and women from surrounding states came into neighboring communities, such as the Moccasin District, near present-day Satolah, to bring their “evil ways” to the law-abiding people of the town.
These newcomers established distilleries in the woods around Highlands, much to the disapproval of the townspeople. During their free time, these Moccasin dwellers rode through the town with their rifles in hand like cowboys, looking for trouble and creating chaos everywhere they went. When these “evildoers” from Moccasin began to bring liquor and moonshine into Highlands, a town strongly opposed to such things, the townspeople decided that it was the last straw. The beliefs and ethics of the town were being jeopardized, so they tried to shut down the distilleries and made it clear that anyone selling or bringing such evils into town would be arrested.
The threat was not really taken seriously until the spring of 1885, when revenue officers captured a moonshiner from Moccasin who was a friend to the Billingsley brothers. They brought the man back to Highlands and planned to stay at the Smith Hotel until they could transfer him to the state prison. While the moonshiner was there, one of the Billingsley brothers tried to free him but was arrested in the attempt. He, too, was held in the Smith Hotel.
A rescue party of eighteen was formed by friends and family of the Billingsley man. The infamous Billingsley brothers, nicknamed the Moccasin gang for the trouble they had caused in town, were included in the party. They declared war on the once-quiet town of Highlands.
PLATE 43 The Smith Hotel, currently the Highlands Inn
This war lasted three long days. During those days, every animal or human that stirred was in danger, for any sign of movement was followed by a shower of gunshots from both sides. The nights were filled with dread of the day that would follow, as trigger-happy gunmen kept their weapons on hand and waited impatiently for daylight. Although the shooting continued, no one was shot or killed until the third day.
On that day, Highlander Tom Ford took a ladder and climbed to the roof of the Smith Hotel. He pointed his gun at the Georgia men and hoped he could hit one before they had a chance to kill him. His finger closed tightly over the trigger, and the bullet flew from the gun, killing a man from the rescue party. Before the rescue party had time to react, Ford began to fire again, wounding two of the other men.
The Georgia men didn’t retaliate then. Instead, they retreated from Highlands to bury their dead, but Highlands had no cause to celebrate: The Moccasin gang knew that food and supplies had to be brought into town along the main Georgia road that ran through the Moccasin community. The gang intended to use this road to prevent such goods from reaching Highlands.
The Billingsley brothers sent a letter to the mayor explaining that they were planning to blockade the road from Walhalla, South Carolina, into Highlands and that any man attempting to pass into or out of town would be killed. The mayor took the threat very seriously. No one from town dared challenge the Billingsley brothers, so Highlands commissioned a Confederate War blockade runner, Joe Lovin, to infiltrate the blockade. He was “as brave a man that ever walked the Earth.” He mounted his horse and started on the road to Moccasin. After riding awhile, he came upon an odd sight: The Billingsley brothers were walking single file toward him.
His heart leaped into his throat as he looked into their eyes, but he held fast. He grasped the reins of his horse in one hand and searched his mind for the appropriate prayer, but only one came to mind: “Oh, Lord, let us be grateful for what we are about to receive.” Then, with his free hand, he reached for his gun and said, “Oh, Lord, if you won’t help me, don’t help them, and I’ll shoot the d——Yankees like I used to durin’ the war!” The old man didn’t know if it was the prayer or the threat that saved him that day. Joe Lovin passed by the Billingsleys’ watchful eyes, waiting for an attack that never came. They let him pass by unharmed. That gesture ended the blockade, as well as what is known locally as the Moccasin gang war.
Sources
The Keowee Courier, 1885.
McIntosh, Gert. Highlands, North Carolina … a Walk into the Past. Birmingham, Alabama: Southern University Press at the Presses of Birmingham, 1990.
Rabun County Heritage Book Committee. Rabun County and Its People. Clayton, Georgia. Walsworth Publishing, 1992.
A Legacy Lives On
~Sam McMahan
on the loss of the Woodards~
I knew Diane and Duane Woodard before they were married. Diane and I attended school together at Rabun County High. She was a sweet girl with a wonderful personality and very active in school. My father, Rev. Jesse Edmonds, was the pastor of Taylor’s Chapel Baptist Church in Mountain City, Georgia. I remember him having Duane, a young minister, come to preach for us at our little church. Daddy also took us to a tent revival where Duane was holding services in Mountain City. Through the years I have often thought of Diane and Duane and was saddened by the memories of lives ending way too soon.
The Woodards’ son Kevin shared these memories with me: He remembered hearing his grandparents talk about Diane wanting to marry Duane when she was fourteen years old. Her daddy refused to sign for permission for them to get married, and she cried for days until he finally gave in. Kevin told us that after this tragic event, his grandfather had mentioned on different occasions that he was glad he had gone ahead and signed for the marriage because it gave them more years together and allowed them to have their family. Kevin also told me that the murder of his parents is what influenced him to pursue a career in law enforcement. Although these tragic events took the mother and father of three wonderful children, and the son and daughter of two loving families, the legacy of Victory Baptist Church and Christian School lives on. The church attendance is unbelievable for such a small community, and parents send their children all the way from here in Rabun County, Georgia, to Dillsboro, North Carolina, approximately fifty miles, to attend and graduate from Victory Christian School.
—Joyce Green
Duane Woodard, a young minister, founded Victory Baptist Church and Victory Christian School in Dillsboro, North Carolina, in 1967. He was their first pastor and school principal. I started attending the little Christian school when I was in the second grade.
Duane’s wife’s name was Diane Carnes Woodard, and she was originally from Tiger, Georgia. Diane’s parents were Boyce and Dorothy Carnes. Boyce worked for years for the city of Clayton. He played the guitar and did a lot of bluegrass stuff. For many years he played and performed with the Black Rock Quartet.
Duane and Diane were murdered during my senior year at Victory Christian School. Duane and Diane had three boys, Arnold, Kevin, and Shane. Kevin and Shane both graduated from Rabun County High School. Arnold returned to Victory Christian School during his junior year and graduated from the school his father had founded. Arnold is the oldest and Shane is the youngest. On January 9, 1981, Diane and Duane had taken two of the boys up to Duane’s daddy’s to spend the night. They had Shane with them, and they went down to the church. There was a man, Herman Franks, that was mentally challenged, who had got saved there. The best way to explain it is, I think that he was wanting to be pastor there and he thought, I guess, if he could get rid of Duane, he could be the next pastor. He told Duane he was called to preach. He tried to go to Bible college, and he wudn’t able to do the work, so he came back and he started there at the church. He got it in his mind that if he killed Duane, that he would be the next pastor.
PLATE 44 Victory Baptist Church, founded by Duane Woodard. Victory Christian School is located just to the left of the church.
When Duane and Diane were leaving, Mr. Franks rammed into their car and knocked it up against the bank. Then he jumped out and stabbed Duane and Diane but never hurt Shane. Once he had killed them, I think realization set in, and he got in his car, shot and killed himself. It had been snowing, and there was about two inches of snow on the ground. The Woodards’ car was still running, and Shane crawled up under the car. He layed under the car all night, and it run out of gas. When they found him he was still under the car, and the side of his face was real bad frostbit, but he recovered.
Our house was located right above the church, so we could see all the commotion that was going on after the murders. It was a sad time. That killing almost closed the church down when it happened. It got down to about twenty people attending. Now there’s almost four hundred attending every Sunday. We are in the process of building a new church because we have outgrown the little church.
Diane was born February 23, 1954, and Duane was born October 27, 1946. Diane was about one month shy of her twenty-seventh birthday and Duane was thirty-five when they lost their lives. Diane’s mama and daddy took the boys and raised them. Arnold has a beautiful voice and is a talented singer. He is going into the mission field. Kevin became a law enforcement officer. Shane, who was about two years old at the time, is in the construction business.
PLATE 45 Family portrait of the Woodards: Duane (back), Arnold, Diane, Kevin, and baby Shane
Barbara Allen
In Scarlet town where I was born, there was a fair maid dwelling,
And many a lad cried well a day, for the love of Barbara Allen.
Twas in the merry month of May, when spring buds were a-swelling,
Sweet William on his deathbed lay, for the love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his servant unto her, and down where she was a-dwelling,
Saying you must come to my master dear, if your name be Barbara Allen.
Slowly, slowly she got up, and slowly she came nigh him,
And the only words to him she said, young man I think you’re dying.
Well he turned his face unto the wall, and death was with him a-dealin’,
He said farewell my comrades all, be kind to Barbara Allen.
Oh mother, mother, make my bed, make it long and narrow,
Sweet William died for me today, I’ll die for him tomorrow.
Sweet William was buried in the old churchyard, Barbara Allen in the choir,
And from his breast there grew a rose, and out of hers, a briar.
They grew and grew, to the old church top, till they could grow no higher,
And there they twined in a true lover’s knot,* for all true lovers to admire.
* See this page for instructions for tying a true lover’s knot.
The fireplace, built from rocks gathered from a nearby stream and held together with just the red clay mud from the hills, served as the place for families in the mountains to bond and share the events of the day. Bibles were read by light from kerosene lamps, prayers were prayed, and many legends and stories, both true and imagined, were shared as families huddled around the glowing red embers that at times could be deceitfully hidden by the gray ash surrounding the bed of coals. Sometimes smoke would fill the room from winds that drifted down the open chimney. The smell of kerosene from the burning lamp permeated the air of the humble dwelling. It was often difficult to fall asleep after hearing the many tales of “haints,” ghosts, and witches.
Just as the ghost of Grace Brock has evolved through the years, so have other legends and tales. Many of the legends have been recorded as songs. There are at least ninety-two versions of the tragic love ballad “Barbara Allen.” The version I remember, the one opening this section, was recorded by the original Carter Family.
As you read these stories—some legend, some true—shared by some of our contacts, light an old oil lamp, gather around the fireplace, and get ready to hear strange noises during a sleepless night.
—Joyce Green
“This happened on a cold, windy winter night.”
~Family ghost stories from Melissa Rogers~
This happened on a cold, windy winter night, where a brother of mine was walking down a road at Hiawassee, Georgia. He had been to visit a girlfriend that night. He had a great big old German shepherd dog with him ever’where he went, and that dog would fight for him and do anything he told him to. He didn’t have to speak to him but one time.
He stayed with his girlfriend till about midnight that night, and then he had about two miles to go down the road and up through and around the cemetery. About a half mile before he got to the cemetery, he heard something coming behind him—the ground was froze, and it was real cold and the wind a-blowing—and he could hear its hooves a-cracking, and he said he was afraid to look back
. After a while it got closer and closer to him, and he turned around to look back, and he saw this sheep a-coming as plain, and he told his dog to go get it, and his dog only got closer and closer to him till he rubbed up ag’in his leg. He said that sheep come right on down to the side of him and went on down the road out of sight, but he could still hear its feet a-ploppin’ on the cold ground—just a regular-looking sheep, only it just didn’t have no head!
My mother and daddy, at one time, lived in a house that was said to be haunted. People said that they had been some people that lived back several years before then that had killed a man there. They was two men and a woman killed this man there, and they cut his head off. And after they cut his head off, why, the woman kicked it over across the floor. They was some big ol’ shoals off below the end of the farm, and they took ’im and put ’im over there in the big shoals where the water flowed off.
And they was a woman that her husband killed her in this house, and they said that he killed her because she couldn’t have any children for ’im. They said that he abused her, and she died within a little while. He married this other woman, and they had about five boys and two girls, and they both lived to be real old. Well, anyway, this happened to my brother one night when he and my mother and my daddy lived in that old house. All the other children was married off, and he was the only son still living at home. The house didn’t have no inside bathroom, so he had to go outdoors to the bathroom, and it was real cold that night. There was a big, long porch come all the way across the house, and when my brother got up and went to the door, he seen this woman sittin’ on the banister of the porch, and he thought it was Mommy. So he went back into the house in a few minutes and stood at the door for a while, and directly Mommy called him from the bed and said, “H.P., what are you doin’ up?”
The Foxfire 45th Anniversary Book Page 22
