by Lin Stepp
“It certainly is beautiful here,” Mrs. Reeves put in. “And I love the little white church.”
Turning to point toward the church across the field, Rhea continued. “Churches, like the Laurel Springs Church here, often grew up on the grounds where the revivals and camp meetings were held. The original log church at Laurel Springs burned, and this framed white structure was later built to replace it in the 1900s.”
Rhea started walking her group toward the church. “There is still a nondenominational service held here in the Laurel Springs Church every Sunday. Reverend Preston Layman conducts the service and the Gabes Mountain Band, a local gospel and bluegrass band, leads the church music and performs special numbers.”
One of the college boys, named Pete, waved a hand. “We came to service Sunday and that group was great. They’ve won some awards in bluegrass and gospel, too.”
“Yes. They’re well-known and we’re lucky to have them.” Rhea smiled. “Several members of the Gabes Mountain Band are related to the Layman family, who co-own the assembly here, and many in the group were raised in the Laurel Springs Church. The band also uses the church to practice in.”
The tourists toured the square white church with its broad double doors and handmade, stained-glass windows and then craned their necks to read the faded Scripture paraphrased from Hebrews above the church door: Don’t forsake assembling together.
Rhea frowned. The letters needed repainting badly—as did the entire church. And one of the stained-glass windows was still broken.
She focused her mind back on the tour.
“There is a small cemetery behind the church.” Rhea walked them toward the small fenced area. “In the past, community members made the caskets when a death occurred and dug the graves. You’ll notice all the graves face east toward the rising sun and the Second Coming.”
Rhea pointed toward a trail weaving into the woods behind the cemetery. “Within walking distance from either side of the Laurel Springs property are two other cemetery grounds, the Tritt and the Gilliland cemeteries. Both are about a three-mile hike in either direction. Maps to both places are available in the store or the administration building. Rough dirt roads drive in to both, too, if you’re not a hiker.” She grinned. “But expect a slow, bumpy ride on either, and be aware that you have to drive through the creek on the Gilliland Road.”
She led them away from the church toward the large two-storied administrative building nearby. “The Laurel Springs Administrative Assembly Building was created in 1918—the year when Samuel Kolton Dean and John Carter Layman bought this property from several landowners eager to sell and move to the western frontier. The land the assembly grounds stand on was originally owned by Tritts, Costners, Suttons, and Gillilands—all familiar family names in Cosby and Newport heritage. You will see old cabins and evidence of their earlier way of life as we tour the grounds today.”
Rhea piloted the tour group into the administrative building to see the hand-hewn, rock fireplace in the main entry room and the many framed photographs of the original Dean and Layman families in the library behind the entry room. The two-storied white building also contained six workshop and conference rooms of various sizes and held the campground’s administrative offices.
Visitors always seemed to enjoy the display of historical photos in the library, and Rhea loved talking about the history of Laurel Springs. She walked over to a black-and-white photo of loggers in front of a stand of giant trees. “In the early 1900s, rich tourists and industrialists came into this Appalachian area. Many came with the logging industry that began to develop here; others came driving the new motorcars becoming popular in America. Tourists were drawn to the mountains for the sweet, clean air and healing springs. Many resorts and assembly grounds developed in this region, such as Carson Springs near Newport and Kinzel Springs near Townsend, Tennessee. A Methodist assembly grounds developed on seventy-five acres behind Gatlinburg where Mynatt Park is today—but later moved to Junaluska, North Carolina, in the 1930s when more property was needed.”
She pointed to a large photo of two couples on the wall. “Here is an early photo of the Deans and the Laymans. In the background is the Grove Park Inn in Asheville. Samuel Dean, his wife, Rhea Ansley Dean, John Layman, and his wife, Marguerite Dodd Layman, were mutual friends and wealthy New Yorkers. They came to vacation in this mountain region in the early 1900s and fell in love with the Smokies.”
Rhea smiled. “Women’s roles were limited then, and their dress restrictive, as you can see, but wealth gave much privilege.” She pointed to another photo. “Here are Rhea Ansley Dean and Marguerite Layman in riding and hiking clothes. Both couples loved exploring the mountains and that is how they discovered this old assembly grounds near Cosby. A tour guide brought the four of them here to camp and hike. They were captivated by the spring-fed lake and the mountains rising up majestically behind it, and they decided to buy the land, if possible, to develop a resort for wealthy family and friends from the northern industrial states.”
She led her tour group to another group of pictures. “After buying the needed land, the Deans and Laymans divided the property equitably and built personal homes. Then they hired an architect to draw the resort and campground plans.” Rhea pointed to a frayed, yellowed map framed on one wall. “After plans were approved, a building crew erected the assembly store and entry buildings on the highway and constructed paved roads into the grounds. They created the administrative building here beside the original assembly grounds field—which also once served as a dining hall. They built the covered bridge over the creek, improved the old campsite roads, and built bathhouses. Their architect also designed two dozen charming summer homes, which were built on roads excavated along Little Cascades Creek.”
Mrs. Reeves spoke up again. “All those little cottages along the creek roads are so colorful and cute. They look like the summer homes on the Chautauqua grounds near my home in New York.”
Rhea smiled. “Do you mean the Chautauqua near Jamestown in Western New York?”
“Yes, that’s the one.” Mrs. Reeves nodded. “It’s on the National Register of Historic Places and is still in operation. I read that over ten thousand people still come to it in the summers.”
Rhea was pleased that Mrs. Reeves had introduced the topic of chautauquas. Few people even knew what they were—or knew how popular they once were as summer resorts in America. “Actually, the concept of Laurel Springs was patterned after the chautauquas that developed in the eastern United States in the late 1800s and early 1900s. Like the New York Chautauqua, built on an old Methodist assembly grounds on Chautauqua Lake in New York, Laurel Springs was built on a Methodist assembly grounds, too.”
Rhea warmed to her subject. “Laurel Springs once hosted lectures, devotional services, concerts, and offered many outdoor activities. The early chautauquas, almost like educational summer camps, were widely copied. Their widespread growth actually spawned the Chautauqua Movement to encourage learning through educational events and entertainment in outdoor settings.”
She pointed to several pictures of ladies and gentlemen playing outdoor games. “The early owners of Laurel Springs erected croquet and badminton courts for leisure, created a sand beach by the lake for bathing, and built a charming gazebo. Because the spring-fed lake is so large, they offered canoe rentals and provided bicycles for leisurely rides on the circular road around Laurel Springs Lake.”
“It certainly looked beautiful then.” Mrs. Reeves sighed as she studied the gracious women in long dresses and the men in their elegant suits and hats.
“Yes, it was.” Rhea felt a clutch around her heart as she looked at the old photos. “Laurel Springs quickly developed a reputation as a charming summer resort and many famous people stayed here.” Rhea pointed to pictures of several well-known Americans who had visited.
“It seemed likely in the 1920s and early 1930s that this area of the Smokies would grow and flourish like Asheville and Gatlinburg. Logging had brought
a mix of prosperity and devastation to the area, but plans were underway to create a national park. The Deans and Laymans thought tourism would inevitably spread into the Cosby area because of its proximity to both Asheville and Gatlinburg. Although there had been extensive logging in areas near Cosby, this area had largely escaped being raped of its forestland and still maintained its natural beauty.”
She escorted her group out of the administrative building. “The Weeks Act of 1911 led to the establishment of national forests in the eastern United States, and then in the 1920s the Great Smoky Mountains Park Commission began buying land for a national park. The families were optimistic that the Cosby area would soon be bustling with opportunity.”
“What happened?” a young man named Kent asked.
Jim Briley, the banker from Ohio, answered quickly. “The stock market crashed in 1929 and the Great Depression began. That hit this part of the world hard—where many people already experienced subsistence living back in the hills.”
“That’s exactly what happened, Mr. Briley.” Rhea turned to smile at him. “It proved a struggle for many to simply survive in those times. Sadly, many mountain families had just sold their lands to the government for the national park and put their land money in the banks before they crashed. They lost everything they had. Other families, who still owned land, had to find innovative ways to make do and survive through the hard Depression years.”
“Some made moonshine around here.” One of the college boys made a swigging motion with his hand and then laughed.
“Yes,” Rhea agreed. “Or hunted ginseng or raised bees to sell honey or made crafts to sell to tourists in Gatlinburg. They did what they had to. Hunted, fished, raised their own food. Their natural self-sufficiency helped them in a difficult time. So did new jobs that opened up—work with the CCC after 1933—building park roads when the national park was created—and later, in the 1940s, new jobs helping to build nearby Douglas Dam.”
One of the college-aged girls, named Cecily, looked wistfully around as they came out of the administrative building. “I guess the Deans’ and Laymans’ big dream of growing this place into a major resort dimmed during that time.”
“They had some struggles.” Rhea saw no point in stressing just how difficult some of those struggles had been. “However, rich Northerners still wanted to come to the mountains, especially as the national park became more established. And by the forties and fifties, more middle-class families began to travel here for vacation weeks. They liked that the assembly was near the park—and yet quiet and scenic. Many of these families come back year after year to Laurel Springs.”
Ralph McMahan, who had been quiet, suddenly perked up at that comment. “Our family has been coming here for vacations for over fifteen years. We’ve stayed in different cottages over that time, but our favorite is Two Gables on West Camp Road.”
“Oh,” gushed Mrs. Reeves. “We’re only two doors down from you in Redbud Cottage.”
Rhea loaded her visitors into the tram now. She’d drive them from the assembly grounds around the lake, with stops at the old Tritt and Gilliland cabins and the cantilever barn, then up to Gold Mine Springs below High Ridge, where historic photos and artifacts told of the gold-mining days in the Smokies. On the route back, she’d stop the tram so her visitors could see the gazebo and boat dock beside the lake and then give them a tour of the old one-room schoolhouse as a finale.
“Got room for two more?” a voice behind her asked.
Rhea turned to see Carter and his son, Taylor, walking up to the tram. She ground her teeth but offered them a pasty smile. “Of course, but wouldn’t this be old hat to you, Carter?”
“Maybe.” He grinned at her. “But not to Taylor. He’s never taken the tour.”
She saw Taylor’s bright eyes watching her with childish enthusiasm.
“Well, climb on,” she said, introducing them around as they did.
She put the tram in gear and headed down the meeting grounds driveway to connect with the main Assembly Road. Rhea continued her tour talk with less ease now. Having Carter on board made her nervous.
He and Taylor had climbed into one of the front seats where no one else wanted to sit, and Rhea could sense Carter’s presence close behind her. She could also hear Taylor’s excited questions and comments.
“This is just like a little train, Dad. And Rhea is like the conductor, isn’t she?”
He was a cute little boy, but Rhea churlishly didn’t want to like him or get to know him better. However, despite her own misgivings, his sweet, eager disposition—and nice manners—quickly stole the hearts of the tour group.
Furthermore, at every stop, Carter tossed out extra comments about Laurel Springs to entertain Taylor, old memories or cute stories, which soon mesmerized the visitors on the tram. Naturally, Taylor told them how his dad had grown up here, which opened up a spate of questions Carter was only too eager to answer.
“My dad and Rhea learned to swim right there in this lake,” Taylor told his captivated audience when they stopped at a pull-off beside Laurel Springs Lake. “And my dad can swim all the way out to the raft in the middle of the lake and back.”
Mrs. Reeves giggled. “I’m not sure I could do that anymore.”
Like most six-year-old children, Taylor bubbled with questions on the tour route. The grown-ups found his questions charming, but Rhea, the one expected to answer, found his questions annoying, especially with Carter watching her with barely suppressed mirth the entire time.
At Gold Mine Springs, Rhea finally lost her temper as the group climbed up the short trail to High Ridge to see the old Sutton cabin.
Taylor had asked why the old springs, spurting out from the rocky ledge in a small falls, were called Gold Mine Springs. Before Rhea could answer, Carter jumped in to reply. “The name comes from the fact that settlers hoped they might find gold here in the Smokies’ streams like the gold being panned in the mountain streams out West.”
“Did they really find gold here in the Smoky Mountains?” Taylor asked.
The tourists looked first at Rhea and then at Carter, not sure who should answer.
Rhea gave Carter an insipid smile. “You know, I think it would be nice if Carter did the rest of the tour. After all, he grew up here, just as I did, and I’m sure he’d enjoy offering his account and memories.”
He turned questioning eyes to hers and Rhea sent him a tightlipped, challenging look. She hoped he fell flat on his face. After all, he hadn’t been here for nine years.
Carter’s eyes flashed back at her in challenge, and then he turned to the group with enthusiasm. “I rode this tour a million times with Sam Dean, Rhea’s father, when I was a boy. It will be my pleasure to do the rest of the tour.”
He directed the group up the steps to the door of the Sutton cabin and then turned to put a finger over his mouth. “If we’re all real quiet we might hear the ghost of Jonas Sutton rattling around in the cabin.”
The group gasped.
His voice dropped dramatically to a whisper. “Rumor has it that he still roams this part of the mountains and walks through his old cabin.”
Carter opened the door carefully. “Jonas was a prospector in the 1800s. He panned with his brother on a claim down in Dahlonega, Georgia, and after his brother’s death, returned and panned here at the springs on Rocky Creek and at a stake on Porters Creek in Greenbrier.”
He led the group into the cabin with confidence, acting as though he’d been here only yesterday. Rhea seethed. Granted, the old cabin had hardly changed a whit, with the same dented gold pans hanging on the walls and the same spade and shovel leaning against the fireplace. The furnishings still included a battered table and chairs, a rocker by the fireplace, a few tin dishes and personal items on a rough sideboard, and an iron bedstead draped with a faded quilt. But Rhea had added a display table in the cabin with artifacts under glass inside it—plus old photos on the wall above it.
Spotting the new table right away, Carter walked ov
er to study it covertly while he talked about the other simple furnishings in the room and reiterated how harsh life was for mountaineers in the 1800s.
“Jonas Sutton was murdered here in 1850.” He pointed toward the fireplace. “That dark stain on the floor in front of the fireplace is thought to be a blood stain from where his body was found.”
Cecily gasped and jumped back from the spot.
Kent laughed. “Who killed him?”
“Authorities never found the murderer. Legend has it Jonas was killed to learn where he’d hidden his gold stash. Whenever he got liquored up, he foolishly bragged about all the gold he was savin’ for his old age.”
Ralph McMahan picked up one of the battered gold pans to study it. “Did the murderer get the gold?”
“Rumors from that time say no. Family and friends said Jonas would have died before he told where he’d hidden it—and most think that’s exactly what happened.”
Several in the group looked up in interest. “Was the gold ever found?” Cecily asked, wide-eyed.
Carter shook his head. “No, and no one is really sure if Jonas ever really had much gold. Still, those who panned around Dahlonega, Georgia, found some big stashes. And there are accounts that say Jonas went over to pan a stake around Franklin one year, too. Gemstones were found in that area—rubies, amethysts, emeralds, garnets, topaz.” He smiled at the group. “It’s an unsolved mystery in this area that still gets talked about.”
He raised his eyebrows and grinned at Rhea before artfully drawing the group’s attention back to the display area. “Two decades before the California gold rush in 1849, a major epidemic of gold fever descended on the streams, creeks, and riverbeds of the Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains. The amount of gold found in the Smokies was limited, but an industrious man could pan two dollars a day in gold, an excellent business in those hard times.”
