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Knights and the Sacred Harp

Steve Hinkle

January 2016

Cousins -

I turned off US 31 just south of the courthouse, traveled a block and took a left,

into the parking lot. On business days, parking spots are tough to find, but on

weekends the lot is generally deserted. This was the Saturday before the 2nd

Sunday in July and it was well over half full. That meant the Sacred Harp singing

was going to draw a good crowd. The ‘25’ tags – those from Cullman County –

were the most common, but, after all, it was the ‘Cullman County Courthouse

Singing’. I saw some ‘67’s’ – the Winston County folks were showing and that

was a good sign. My mother, Charlotte, always said you couldn’t have too many

singers from Winston County at a “fa sol la”. It bordered Cullman County to the

west and was the home to a ton of singers and the Denson family – and you

couldn’t talk about Sacred Harp and not talk about them. ‘64’ was well

represented. Walker County lay just over the Sipsey Fork of the Warrior River to

the south and had been a major player in the music for the last 100 years and

more. I noticed nearly a half-dozen ‘28’s’ and ‘39’s’, all parked alongside each

other. DeKalb & Jackson Counties had made the trip. It was the heart of Sand

Mountain and, in a lot of ways, the heart of current day Sacred Harp. They’d been

pointed out to me by Charlotte at this singing, years earlier, “Watch them. They

can really sang.”

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I’d heard the music as soon as I turned into the parking lot – one of the

advantages of being a dinosaur and riding with the windows down, rather than

with them up and the air conditioning on. This was going to be a good trip. Last

year, wife and the twins had come with me. The year before that, Charlotte had

been here. She loved showing off her red-headed grandchildren, to old singers

she’d sung with for a lifetime.

They’d behaved well at their first singing, for 4-year olds. The music seemed to

hold them, despite its peculiar ways. It was certainly loud enough to capture

anybody’s attention – no doubt, they loved that part - but maybe it was more

than that. They’d experienced music in church, but those were trained, rehearsed

choirs and these were just folks singing at the top of their lungs. And the choirs

had sung to them, but this bunch sang to each other. There were 4 groups and

they faced each other, forming a square. One stood in the middle and made up-

and-down hand gestures. The singers couldn’t care less about the twins or the

rest of the audience. And they’d be the first to admit to the peculiar nature of the

Sacred Harp. The twins had been content to sit on one of the benches in the back

with Carol and me – at least for a couple of songs. Then they were gone.

The ‘sacred harp’ is the human voice. The ‘Sacred Harp’ is a musical form. It

began in 1844. In that year, B.F. White and a Mr. King published a song book –

the Sacred Harp. Mr. King died shortly after publication, so most of the history

traces back to B.F. White. The music itself came from a long tradition going back

to the chants of England in the Middle Ages – voices without instruments. It’s

more recent tradition went back to New England and the ‘singing school’

movement before the Revolution, when teachers went around the countryside

using songs as their tools.

In 1844, B.F. White was living on the Georgia side of the Alabama/Georgia line, up

in the Southern Appalachians. He developed the 4-note format – ‘fa’, ‘sol’, ‘la’

and ‘mi’ - that defined Sacred Harp. He also was a ‘songcatcher’ – he went into

the hills and hollows, finding songs that folks were singing. He wrote them down.

Some individual song writers have several in the book. Most are responsible for

the words – the music in them goes back to hymns of centuries earlier. Others

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did both words and music. Some have only one song, but most say something

about life and hope in the impoverished southern Appalachians. With some of

the songs, information about the author is given. For one song, the writer’s name

is given and then the reader is told that no one knows where he lived, where he

died or where he was buried. But he has a song in the book. Not all the songs go

back to 1844. The current edition used has many songs written since then, but

the themes are consistent with the old days and many of them have become

beloved. But they all came out of a similar landscape, the latter one broader than

the earliest, reaching farther afield, but familiar to the world of 1844.

The book itself is an odd looking affair – oblong. Maybe the form required the

notes for each part to be written on each line, thus requiring extension of the bar,

but the song book is much wider than other hymnals seen in churches. It doesn’t

fit well on a book shelf, as it sticks out way past the others. Certainly, B.F. White

wanted to preserve the musical legacy of the day; but he wanted to make a buck,

too. The way to do that was to sell the books; but to sell the books; he needed a

market – a market that didn’t exist. He created one by holding singing schools

that taught the music and dedicating his life to spreading Sacred Harp. By most

any measure, he succeeded.

Charlotte always said it was because of the 4 notes, because it was simple and

because anyone could sing it. “And the songs are wonderful.” B.F. White’s music

was embraced, but by a fairly narrow group. The churches in cities and towns had

instruments and choirs somewhat trained. They weren’t interested in

unaccompanied human voices, loud and untrained. For those out in the country,

without instruments, it was the only music possible and they embraced it. They

were almost exclusively subsistence farmers and mostly impoverished ones at

that. Among them, Sacred Harp found a home. The simple human voice came

cheap. Those folks formed the backbone of the early Sacred Harp.

There’s some question as to how many books he actually sold. There’s tales of

early singings where there might not be a book in the entire class. They sang the

songs they knew by heart. The version of the Sacred Harp his book represented

was called the ‘White Edition’ and it’s still used in parts of north Georgia. From

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1844 to the early 1900’s, it was the undisputed Sacred Harp. In the early 1900’s,

the ‘Cooper Edition’ began to be used in south Alabama. From there, it moved

along to Texas. A couple of other editions came out, each including songs the

others didn’t have. One was the ‘Colored Sacred Harp’ which is now figured the

most ‘rollicking’ of all, but its use has disappeared. By the mid-1930’s, the

Danson’s had made their mark on the music. Tom, Seaborn and Paine Denson,

along with a list of others, compiled a new version – it’s called the ‘Denson

Edition’ or the ‘Denson Book’. From its date of publication – 1936 – it’s been the

Sacred Harp standard for the singers of the southern Appalachians.

In a curious way, the book helped define Dicie, Charlotte’s mother. Even before

the Denson edition, she must have had a songbook, probably the B.F. White.

According to Charlotte, Dicie always carried her book. She cradled it from start to

finish, but never opened it. At singings, several never open their books. Even if

there are over 500 songs between the covers, some know them all by heart. Dicie

was one of those, Charlotte only slightly less so.

The lay-out of the book and the way it translates to singings sometimes confuses

the curious. In the index, the songs are listed by name. Erasmus’ favorite – he

was Charlotte’s father - for example, was a song named ‘Morgan’, but at singings

it was never called by name – ‘Morgan’ was ‘#304’. That’s the page where it

appears in the book. Also, some familiar songs go by another name in Sacred

Harp. The beautiful ‘Amazing Grace’ is called ‘New Britain’ by a fa sol la singer. If

it was to be led, it would be ‘#45 Top’. It shared the page with ‘Imandra’ – ‘#45

Bottom’. To make things worse, most of the names have nothing to do with the

intent of the song. One of the titles is ‘The Last Words of Copernicus’. A lot of the

others are place names, from the Alabama/Georgia line. ‘Arbacoochee’ and

‘Cusseta’ are named after communities.

The music doesn’t do itself any favors either, in addition to the peculiar looking

song book. To the ignorant passer-by, at first it sounds like a mix between a

Cherokee war-whoop and a bobcat’s caterwaul. It’s loud, loud, loud and the

words are fuzzy and indistinct. That initial reaction only lasts a minute or so, and

then the musicality takes over, the spiritual starts to seep in. Birmingham used to

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have a music festival, called ‘City Stages’, which was held the same weekend as

the National Sacred Harp Convention – also in Birmingham. The festival had

several stages scattered over several blocks, with a wide variety of musical styles

being performed. On one of the days, on one of the stages, singers from the

Convention would perform Sacred Harp. If I was at that festival, I was at that

stage. And I could watch the crowd. At such events, it seems to be constantly in

motion, as if trying to see as much, and as different, as possible. Once the fa sol

la singing started, some in the passing crowd got caught. It may have taken a

couple of minutes, but once caught, they suddenly were in front of the stage and

spellbound. And they stayed until the last song. It was also a good place to pick

up fa sol la cd’s.

For the most part, according to standard musical tastes, the songs don’t serve

well. Some uninitiated viewer might say, “They’ve been singing the same song all

morning.” At best, they say, “I’ve never heard that before.” To make matters

worse, most of the songs seem slow and filled with melancholy. “Some of ‘em

you got to warm to”, Charlotte said. Each song eventually asserts its individuality.

I asked Charlotte once about her favorite songs and got a list. I asked if there

were any she didn’t like and just got a look - before she shook her head. “Nope.”

Fortunately, the book contains fugues. They’re a ‘spunkier’ sort, with each part

singing over the others. Ear-catching, one might say.

The actual performance is the strangest part of all. The music is sung in 4 parts –

alto, treble (pronounced as ‘tribble’), tenor and bass. The altos are generally all

women and the bass all men, but the tenors and tribbles have both. Members of

each of these groups sit together – the best on ‘front bench’ – and face the

others. The tenors face the altos and the trebles face the bass group. This

creates the ‘hollow square’ that helps define the Sacred Harp. For each song, an

individual stands in the square – the ‘leader’ – picked out of the class or off a list

hastily scribbled at the start of each singing. The leader announces each of his

songs by number, not by name. The leader may lead a couple of songs and his

time in the square is called a ‘lesson’. Both men and women are welcomed to

lead, but no one out of the audience is ever called.

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There are some exceptions, but they’re mainly symbolic. For example, David –

Paul’s son and Erasmus & Dicie’s grandson – regularly attends singings, although

he never sings. Because of his attendance, he knows a lot of the singers. And his

last name still connects with a lot of the older set. At one Courthouse singing,

Jimmy, David’s brother, happened to attend. At one point during the singing,

both were called to the hollow square and announced to the group. Charlotte &

Ted, Erasmus & Dicie Knight were called by name and used to validate Jimmy &

David’s credentials. They both stood there humbled as someone who knew what

he was doing led a lesson, in honor and memory of the Knights.

Leading brings out the individual. Foremost, they get to pick the song and each

has favorites. Over time, each singer gets identified by the songs they lead.

Furthermore, the leader has a certain amount of control over how the song is

rendered. Erasmus, for example, loved the song ‘Morgan’ (# 304) and frequently

led it. “And sing it slow”, he always directed. Tempo was controlled in the way

the leader moved his hands – “beatin’ time”, Charlotte called it. Usually with one

hand but sometimes with both, either way with palms open, the rhythm with

which the leader raised and lowered his hand defined the tempo he had in mind.

Some leaders seem wooden, but most have their ways. Some twist and point

from part to part, while some look only at the tenors. Some have their feet nailed

to the floor while others stomp with abandon, even white-haired old ladies with

canes. It’s said to be ‘the best seat in the house’, sound-wise, but also appears to

be the most emotional. It’s not uncommon to see singers cry, but for every singer

that cries, there’s a half-dozen leaders with tears sliding down their cheeks as

they beat time through songs that have touched them for what seemed like

forever. Again, this aspect of the music helps define Dicie – she never led a song.

No matter the leader, each song starts the same way. At the beginning of any

singing, certain individuals are designated ‘pitch men’. At the beginning of any

song, that person sings and lingers over the first few notes of the song chosen.

For a couple of seconds, the other singers join in, trying to make their pitch

consistent. Then it stops, just before the song kicks off in earnest. In Sacred

Harp, the first verse is sung by notes – thus, the term ‘fa sol la’ – before the words

are sung in the traditional way.

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For all of its drawbacks, it has a lure – it has a charm. The simple act of singing is a

reward to most. There are people, fearing the shortcomings of their voices, who

shy away from choirs and such. Those people are welcomed into Sacred Harp and

many become good if not gifted singers. It was designed for ‘untrained voices’

and each singer brought his own. Dicie’s voice was known as crystalline, but

Erasmus’ was less so. No matter – he was welcomed into any class. If he didn’t

sing well, he sang sincere and that was enough. And a fa sol la singer didn’t need

a crowd to provoke singing. Many times Charlotte would be standing in the

kitchen by herself, singing away. When anyone made a comment, she’d say she

“came by it honest”, for Dicie was famous within the family for that habit.

The Sacred Harp didn’t turn hardly anyone away. They required respect for the

music and singers, but not much beyond that. A man named Buell Cobb – a

Cullman native – has written a couple of books. In one, he cites the response of

Hugh McGraw, well known in Sacred Harp, when asked if all the singers were

Baptist. “Why, no”, he said. “You’ll find Presbyterians, Lutherans and others.”

He grinned at the questioner. “If you look hard enough, you might even find a

couple of hypocrites!”

Charlotte had a tale that provided further evidence of acceptance among the

singers. At a courthouse singing, in the middle of the morning session, a seedy-

looking fellow entered the room. He sat off to the side and, before long, began

singing. He couldn’t hide that and soon was waved up to join the group. As it

turned out, he’d gotten drunk, into a fight and arrested the night before. He was

stubbly and still smelled of wildcat whiskey. Back in those days, the Jail was at the

Courthouse. It was when he was let out that he heard the music and followed the

sound. Nobody knew him and he refused to tell his name – concerned that his

mother might find out the depths to which he had stumbled. “He ‘uz a purty

good sanger, too.” Charlotte recalled.

Many associate the Sacred Harp with the Primitive Baptists – at least, in the old

days. It would seem to be true with the Knights – Charlotte, Ted, Erasmus and

Dicie were all Primitive Baptists to their last breath. But Sacred Harp was and is

pointedly non-denominational. People were to show up for the music and the

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music alone. And that’s what they did. It got connected because many of the

singers were Primitive Baptists and many singings were held in little Primitive

Baptist churches. Context is lost in the modern day as the denomination has

dwindled, but back then it dominated the southern Appalachians. Most of the

country churches were Primitive Baptist.

Another lure was the fellowship. Sacred Harp singers have a charming tradition of

calling each other ‘brother’ or ‘sister’. Charlotte was ‘Sister Charlotte’ and Ted

was ‘Brother Ted’. The elders are called ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’. Even miles and weeks

away from a singing, they’d still be greeted by their titles. There’s a genuine

fondness among the singers. Love of the music served as common ground, but

they were alike in other ways, too. Back in Dicie’s day, most knew milk cows and

cotton fields – and losing babies early. The southern Appalachians were known

for that, too. That landscape produced a set of values that were simple and

embraced with both arms. Many times, Charlotte, while looking through the

obituary’s, would call out a name, shake her head and say, “She ‘uz a fine old

woman. An Old Harp sanger – and a good ‘un.”

Food helped define the women of the Sacred Harp – and some men. No one ever

left the table hungry. Singings are all day affairs, with the morning and afternoon

sessions separated by lunch. Among Dicie’s crowd, it was called ‘dinner’. That it

was served at the place of the singing caused the phrase ‘dinner on the grounds’.

The women always brought their best dishes – prepared on wood-burning cast

iron cook stoves in all of Dicie’s day and a lot of Charlotte’s. They became known

for their gems, much like leaders and their songs. The tradition carried

peculiarities.

One old bachelor brought something to every singing and it was always the same

– white beans with ham hock, along with a pint fruit jar of pepper sauce.

Charlotte told the tale – as told to her – of a singing way off where one of the

women brought possum. And it was eaten! Neither Charlotte nor Dicie was

much of a cake baker, but did better with cobbler pies. It didn’t matter – the

group included aces with both. Dicie was famous for her chicken pie, while

Charlotte was known for dumplings.

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The food did pose a problem, back in the early days, but one they managed.

When folks traveled by mule and wagon, their dogs tended to tag along to the

singings and they didn’t miss an opportunity, if given the chance. No doubt, they

weren’t given the chance. The food for dinner was placed somewhere secure and

someone probably stood sentinel, guarding the feast. Much to the dog’s dismay,

the dishes were for the singers and visitors, not for them.

Many of the things that bind in the Sacred Harp are the traditions. To a large

degree, the music has followed families and certain names resonant still, the

Denson’s most of all. It’s said that ‘Uncle Tom’ Denson had sung with people that

had sung with B.F. White. All the singers are aware of how aged their music is.

Many of their songs were sung before the Civil War. Its peculiar nature

sometimes works against it, but its peculiar nature is also the charm. They know

it’s old-fashioned, but love it that way. One of those traditions has become the

Cullman County Courthouse Singing. Singers may fondly recall singings at little

churches in the middle of nowhere, but most hold that the bigger the class – the

better the singing. The Courthouse had been going on forever and always drew a

crowd. It finally drew us.

When I discovered the twins gone, my heart jumped. They didn’t get out in public

much and, when they did, never seemed to let it inhibit their rambunctious

natures. I knew all too well that they were capable of disrupting any event. What

one child didn’t think of, the other would. The singing, as usual, was in the main

courtroom and had drawn a good class of singers, close to 100, that used up a lot

of the benches; but there were more toward the back for those that just came to

listen. From there, I didn’t have to look far before I spotted them.

They’d located Charlotte among the singers and, without notice, were headed her

way. Without a notion of propriety between them, they were on a bee-line to

Maw Maw. She sat in the treble section – at least, that’s the way it’s spelled. She

called it ‘tribble’ and there were a couple of dozen in that section. They wiggled

past a few singers and a moment later were in her lap, one on each knee, drawing

the attention of all. She had her book out and they spent most of the time

turning the pages, but she didn’t need it – she was singing songs that she had

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sang since not much older than the twins. After a couple of songs, they returned

to our bench, receiving looks from the singers and audience alike, but not creating

a stir. It provided Charlotte a good backdrop to show off her grandchildren during

dinner, after the morning session, to her old-timer brethren.

Finding a parking spot, I pulled in, grabbed Charlotte’s book and headed for the

sliding glass doors. I could hear the singing, but the words weren’t distinct and

that was no surprise. It would sound the same way in the courtroom – that’s why

I had Charlotte’s book. Once I was on the right page, everything was clear as a

bell. I briefly lost contact as I passed the air compressors, howling even at that

time of day. The courthouse was built around central air, so there wasn’t a

window or door open. It’s a rather recent addition to the Cullman landscape,

built around 1960, and arguably one of the ugliest buildings in the city – a sterile,

rectangular, marble-veneered affair. The preceding courthouse was farther up-

town and entirely different. It looked like a courthouse from the mule-and-wagon

days, set in the middle of the block and surrounded by trees and benches and old

men whittling. And it was built well before an air-conditioned building in Cullman

could be imagined.

The date of the first Courthouse singing is debated, but most agree that it would

have been in the 1890’s. It’s for sure there was one in 1900. Singings have

protocols and one of those is the ‘minutes’. The minutes give a listing of the

songs sung and, sometimes, those who led them. The minutes of the 1900

singing have been seen by reputable individuals. How different that singing

would have been from this one. And, there would probably been a Knight there,

likely 2.

Dicie Knight was Charlotte’s mother. According to Charlotte’s recollection of the

tale told by Dicie, in late summer of 1896 she attended a singing school held at

Macedonia Church in Valley Grove. It was taught by Tom Denson – one of the

pillars of Sacred Harp music. Dicie would have been about 18. She had been

married to Erasmus for nearly 3 years and was not a new-comer to the music of

the day. They had been ‘Little Book’ singers – Christian Harmony was its correct

title. As a musical form, it’s older than Sacred Harp. Christian Harmony, like

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Sacred Harp, was sung a cappella but with 7 notes. Sacred Harp only used 4. For

whatever reason, the form hooked Dicie. Through her, Erasmus was drawn into

the fold. For the rest of their lives, they attended singings that were within reach

– first of a mule and wagon and then of a Model T. Neither ever learned to drive,

though – that was handled by one of the boys. In the year 1900, both would have

been at the Courthouse Singing.

It would have been hot - July in Cullman typically is – and every window would

have been wide open. The sound heard outside wouldn’t have been muffled but,

rather, have been clear as a bell. Or as clear as fa sol la music ever is. The

attendance at the 1900 singing is a matter of speculation, but those of later years

were written about in the Cullman newspapers and spoke of ‘overflow’ crowds.

Veracity in reporting wasn’t stressed in those days, but the crowds were

estimated in the ‘thousands’. If that was the case, most stood outside the

courtroom – most stood outside of the courthouse.

The old courthouse may have had more than one courtroom, but the one that’s

remembered is the main one. It looked like the one featured in the movie ‘To Kill

a Mockingbird’ in that it had a main floor and a balcony that surrounded the

room. If the crowd was as large as suggested, the ground floor was taken up by

the singers with the audience filling the balcony and beyond. It had other

features recalled by Charlotte, from when she was a young girl in the late ‘20’s

and early ‘30’s. The courthouse had flush toilets and electricity – items never

seen out in Cullman County. Due to the electricity, it had water fountains that

dispensed cool water and, most of all in Charlotte’s memory, the courtroom had 4

big fans that dangled from the high ceiling, creating something akin to a breeze.

That didn’t mean that the singers put up their hand-held fans, though.

Most singings were held in little country churches, a lot of them Primitive Baptist,

and they didn’t have air conditioning or electrical fans. Most didn’t have

electricity. Singings were also held according to the seasons with most occurring

in late summer, after the crops had been ‘laid-by’ and before harvest. In the

winter, after harvest, was also a slack time but the weather and poor road

conditions made any singings during that season problematic. Most were held in

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the heat of late summer. During those days, hand-held fans were popular. They

were stiff cardboard with a thin wooden handle and most had religious pictures,

like the ‘Last Supper’ or some advertisement. Back then, at singings, the crowd

would have been alive as the fans worked back and forth. According to Charlotte,

Dicie never opened her songbook but always had her fan tucked securely

between its pages.

About the only thing that would have prevented Dicie from being there in 1900

was pregnancy or new baby. It would have been an issue, but one that she dealt

with as the years wore on. Charlotte was the youngest of 10 children that lived to

adulthood, born in 1920. James Legret was the first, born in 1896, but only lived a

couple of months – Grady, Callie Mae and the rest followed. One might think the

children too much of a chore to even consider attending a singing, but stories are

told about her that say otherwise.

Back in that day, Sacred Harp was so popular that singings drew crowds, even to

some little out-of-the-way spot up some hollow – a little Baptist or Primitive

Baptist church with a little cemetery attached. With the crowd came children. If

the recollections of ‘later-day’ Knights are an indication, they weren’t always

there by choice. School-age children weren’t much of a problem – they milled

about outside, like during recess at school. Instead of a teacher watching over

them, it would be some adult that was part of the audience but preferred to listen

from the shade of the trees in the church yard. The toddlers were the issue. In

the Dicie story, there were 2 of them and wore gowns – that’s the way they were

dressed, back then. The picture drawn was of her, cradling her songbook and

singing with eyes closed – while having one foot firmly pressed to each of the

gowns of the toddlers on the floor in front of her.

Another story takes place in a similar locale. It had a side-door that, at one time,

opened to a set of steps. The steps had rotted away, leaving a drop of several

feet. On that day, the door – along with all the windows – was wide open in

hopes of catching any breeze that might offer itself. Dicie was obsessed by the

danger she saw before her. After a couple of darts from her seat in the class, she

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found a chair. She placed it and herself in front of the opening and continued

singing as if she were among the altos.

Erasmus loved the music – he wasn’t the sort to have gone just on Dicie’s

account. And it re-paid him. He served on the Board of Revenue – it was like the

County Commission, back then. It was an elected office and the Sacred Harp

singers – at least the men – voted. And it’s likely most had influence with their

neighbors. Charlotte was something of a political sage and she always held that

he got first elected, in 1916, due to the ‘fa sol la vote’. At its peak, the genre

reached into each community along the Southern Appalachians and Cullman

County was alive with it. There were a lot of singers, but not so many that all,

over time, weren’t known by name. All of them knew Erasmus – they didn’t

hesitate to cast their votes for him. Sacred Harp helped Erasmus, but so did Dicie.

She was popular with the group and – again, according to Charlotte – could have

beaten Erasmus in a head-to-head election, two to one.

There’s another story about Sacred Harp’s political clout that involves the

Courthouse Singing, again told by Charlotte. Since the first one, the singing was

always held at the Courthouse. In the modern one, it was always held in the main

courtroom. There’s an elected official that decides matters involving activities at

the courthouse and, somehow, one got cross-ways with the singers. That year,

the singing was held in one of the little courtrooms; where there was barely room

to breathe. Charlotte – and the other singers – was outraged. When the man

stood for the next election, he got beat by a landslide. He spent the rest of his life

running for this office or that, but never got elected to any of them. Charlotte

was always quick to smile, but she saved her brightest and broadest for that story.

No doubt, Dicie would have wanted all her children to follow her into the Sacred

Harp, but it didn’t happen. Ted, her 3rd from oldest, sang his entire life. He had

settled in Atlanta – some distance from Cullman – but stayed close to the music.

North Georgia had plenty of singers and singings, back in the 1920’s & ‘30’s. In

the 1940’s, the center of the music – at least, the administrative part – had

moved to Atlanta. A man named Hugh McGraw became something of a leader

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and he lived in Atlanta. Other singers, like Uncle Ted, lived there also, even if

their ‘fa sol la’ roots ran into the mountains and hills of Alabama, Georgia and

Tennessee. They became a group who were welcomed at any singing and Ted

became influential in the Sacred Harp world. He served as one of the editors of

the songbook and also headed up the publishing arm, in addition to being an

excellent singer.

One of the ‘Atlanta group’ provides the basis for a ‘Ted story’. His name was

Marcus Cagle. He was raised in western Cullman County but, like Ted, had moved

to Atlanta. Mr. Cagle had a wonderful grasp of the music, in breadth and depth.

He had several songs in the book that were well received. In addition to being an

excellent singer, he understood the structure of the music. His reputation

included all those attributes, but more – he could be extremely hot-headed.

Once, he ran Hugh McGraw out of his house, using two hands and a dining room

chair – telling him to never come back. Eventually, that fence was mended.

Once, Ted and some other singers were riding back to Atlanta in Mr. Cagle’s car,

maybe from a singing in Guntersville. While traveling through north Georgia, Mr.

Cagle and Ted got sideways. It should be mentioned that Ted, although

diminutive in size, was raised in Valley Grove and had a make-up that didn’t allow

being pushed around – by anybody. The dispute stopped just shy of becoming

physical, with Ted making Mr. Cagle stop the car. Ted got out and motioned the

others down the road, leaving him in the middle of nowhere. He found a

telephone and called family in Atlanta. His daughter, Evelyn Ann, fetched. She

also retrieved Ted’s suitcase from Mr. Cagle’s car. I’m still waiting to hear that

story. She’s remembered for a fierce determination – she became a doctor in an

era when women in that capacity were rare. At any rate, she retrieved the

suitcase and didn’t go to jail.

At each singing, there’s a ‘Memorial Lesson’. It’s one of the most touching parts

of any singing. A leader steps forward and announces the names of those singers

who had recently passed away - singers that had been a part of many lives. The

lesson is then sung in their memory. It’s also the most tearful part on any singing.

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At the Cullman County Courthouse singing of 1944, Dicie was remembered during

the ‘Memorial Lesson’. Her name was called out by Marcus Cagle.

Singings at one of the churches in Valley Grove, and probably the courthouse

singing, brought outsiders from far enough away that they had to spend the night

in order to attend the 2nd day. What the Knight house lacked in amenities was

made up for in its sprawl. If they didn’t mind sleeping several to a bed, the house

could accommodate a crowd. Sometimes, the ‘crowd’ included a certain

individual that was always placed with Gorman in ‘Gorman’s room’. It was in the

far back corner of the house – and for a reason. This certain individual was a

notorious snorer. Whenever a singing nearby was being talked about, Gorman

asked about the guy before letting out a howl of dismay. Years later, the story

told, usually by Gorman, never held the man in high regard.

Arnold, Callie Mae’s son, told a story concerning just such an event at the Knight

house. He was a child and was staying there. After supper, the group gathered

on the ‘L porch’, facing the road. In his telling, there were a dozen singers or

more. Some sat in Erasmus’ chairs while others stood in the yard. Arnold was in

the field across the road, propped up on a terrace row, but could hear every note

once they started singing. Even after singing all day, the group had an appetite

for more. Arnold remembered his bed that night being a pallet made from one of

Dicie’s quilts, spread out on the floor, but he remembered the singing, too. It

lasted about an hour, before they all retired for the night, but Arnold claimed it

was the best he ever heard.

Of the remaining children, only Charlotte took it up and stayed with it. Grady

sang, she said, but Christian Harmony rather than Sacred Harp. Callie Mae was a

good singer, but quit going after marriage. The others could sing, but had no

interest. I never asked specifically, but figure each of the children was sent to a

singing school in Valley Grove. Although Dicie could remember specifics about

her 1st (and probably only) school, Charlotte never mentioned hers. I figure she

went to more than one, back in the ‘20’s & 30’s. The others knew enough of the

music to aggravate Dicie. Trying to get a rise out of her, they would sing random

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notes off the top of their heads. According to Charlotte, Dicie never saw the

humor in it.

Why none of the other children ever took to the music is anybody’s guess.

Competition for Sacred Harp had sprung up from several directions. One of the

things that caused singings to draw big crowds was the social aspect. The

southern Appalachians were an area of isolation and had been from the

beginning. Back in the mid-‘30’s, one of the New Deal programs sent writers into

the crevices of America, to find stories. One writer was sitting with an old woman

in the mountains of east Tennessee. He asked her about her grandmother, who

walked in from North Carolina with her family as a child. To her, what was the

worst part of those frontier days? The old woman was nodding before he got the

words out of his mouth. “Lon’tsomeness.” She said. Sacred Harp gave a reason

for folks to draw together. The music took them from there.

By the time Dicie’s children were coming of age, several things were working

against the Sacred Harp. Radio came in, with gospel music. It was also spiritual,

had a kick and was appealing to those that could have had Sacred Harp potential.

In the Knight family, it was probably baseball. Grady, the oldest, was a fine

catcher and played on the Trimble team. And when baseball hit, around World

War I, it hit big. Every community had a team and a baseball field. The games,

held on Saturdays and Sundays, were well attended. The fa sol la singings were

held on those days, too. A family story comes out of the situation.

In about 1913, the family was loaded up in the wagon headed to a singing in

Valley Grove. All were to attend the morning session, but the children were

released then to go see Grady play baseball. After the game, they would walk

back along the creek, then up one of the hollows to the top of the ridge and back

to the house. All of them were going but Joe, who was 3. As Callie Mae tried to

explain, he “wuz too little for the walk and too big to tote.” When he realized the

exclusion, he pitched a fit, jumped out of the wagon and ran into the house.

Dicie, no doubt impatient to be gone, fetched him. Coming across the yard in

Dicie’s grasp, he managed to tear away and, again, ran into the house. He tried

hiding, but to no avail. This time, when they came out, she carried him with one

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hand on his collar and the other on the seat of his pants. A few steps from the

end of the wagon, she threw him into the crowd and offered to “beat the hell out

of all of ‘em if he got out again.” Years later, the children recollected that it was

the maddest they ever saw their mother. Joe told another tale of baseball and

Sacred Harp. He said he had a choice of baseball or fa sol la – and said it was the

easiest he ever made.

If Sacred Harp didn’t capture her children, it apparently touched Dicie’s sisters. As

unlikely as it sounds, there was a telephone in the Knight house in the late 1920’s

that’s central to the story. Already, the place had a radio, courtesy of Ted. It was

battery operated – electricity didn’t come until 1940 – but they could be charged

at one of the stores at Trimble. It brought in the outside world – the Grand Ole

Opry and St. Louis Cardinal baseball games. Some claimed it was like drawing

back a curtain and letting sunlight into the isolation. That was probably less true

at the Knight house than at other places.

Erasmus had always been fond of newspapers. There are stories of him, as a

youngster, going over to the stores at Trimble and reading the papers to the old

timers gathered there. When money allowed, Erasmus always had subscriptions

to the newspapers, both Cullman and Birmingham. To a degree, the papers had

already drawn the curtains back at the Knight place. When the chance for a

telephone came, Dicie took it.

In a way, it was unusual. 10 years later, when electricity came, Erasmus & Dicie

didn’t particularly embrace it. The only evidence of the ‘new age’ was a single

naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling of maybe half the rooms in the house.

The bulb had a cord that hung down enough to reach the upright hand of an

adult. The light was turned off and on by pulling on the cord. The first electrical

appliance they got was a butter churn and they only got it because Charlotte

ordered Ted to bring one from Atlanta – along with an extension cord. Charlotte

lost most of those visionary battles. It was a week after Dicie’s funeral that the

washing machine appeared on the back porch – making the cast iron wash pots

main use to involve hog killings. The wood cook stove remained until it moved,

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along with Erasmus as an old man, down the road to Aunt Lizzie’s vacant house.

As they moved out, the electric stove moved in.

Charlotte was just a girl the day the telephone came. Aunt Viney – her real name

was Vienna Austria – was there. She was Dicie’s sister – younger by 2 years and

the youngest of the family. They were thrilled when the man proclaimed them

‘hooked up’. He left and, suddenly, ear piece in hand, they were in a quandary.

Try as they might, they couldn’t think of anyone to call – at least, anyone who had

a phone. Finally, they remembered Mae Tildy.

Her real name was Margaret Elizabeth. She was their oldest sister and had raised

both of them after their mother, Margaret, died and their father, James Lowery,

had left the family for another woman – a widow with children of her own, a

woman who wouldn’t accept James’ children. Dicie & Erasmus were married at

Mae Tildy’s house. Later, she and her husband left Valley Grove and moved to

Birmingham, where he took a job with the railroad.

The telephone hung on the wall. The earpiece was lifted from a hook and the

operator was reached by turning a little wheel on the side of the box. Dicie gave

it a spin and the Trimble operator came on the line. A couple of questions and

answers - they were connected with an operator in Birmingham. No, they didn’t

know the number, but the lady said there was only one ‘Tom Canant’ listed. The

next thing they knew, Mae Tildy was on the line. They placed the earpiece

between them, heads canted to it and, together, talked into the mouthpiece.

Although they didn’t talk – they sang a Sacred Harp song to their sister. After

they finished, in Charlotte’s telling, they both hugged and giggled like a couple of

schoolgirls. The phone system didn’t stay in operation long – as it turned out, the

lines couldn’t be maintained. After service was discontinued, another telephone

didn’t enter the house until the 1950’s.

Sacred Harp lived on in the Knight family, but it didn’t prosper like it did in some

families from the early days. Erasmus & Dicie fit into the singers of the day. They

farmed and he made chairs. Together, it was a living much like any of the others.

Neither had much education, but both could read and write. Of their 10 children,

6 got college degrees – and this was back in the ‘20’s & ‘30’s. Except for

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Charlotte, they left the farm and found lives of their own – lives that didn’t

include Sacred Harp. Of the 10 children, only Ted & Charlotte sang as adults.

Erasmus & Dicie had 30 grandchildren. Of them, only a handful (Jimmy, David,

Jane (Joe’s daughter, living over in Rome, Georgia), Beverly & Marion (Ted’s

daughters, living outside of Atlanta) and myself) have ever been to a singing. And

none of us sing. Erasmus & Dicie had 52 great-grandchildren – only Reid & Jessica

have heard Sacred Harp in the flesh.

Sacred Harp stuck with Dicie until the end and at least a couple of days beyond.

Arnold was at Dicie’s funeral, in January of 1944, and remembered it as the most

dreadful day ever – a rainy, cold day following a stretch of rainy, cold days.

Others who were there vouched for Arnold’s memory. The service took place at

Valley Springs – she’s buried in the cemetery there – but she lay in state at the

home place. It was the tradition of the day. Putting a touch on the entire affair, it

ran late from the start.

One of her sons, Joe, was in the Army and was in the States, but way off. He’d

been notified and the Red Cross handled the details, but the timing was still a

logistical problem. On that day, Erasmus had been a Commissioner for years and

was afforded courtesies. The Sheriff of Cullman County took Aunt Leyte and met

Joe’s train in Birmingham, before streaking toward Cullman. They arrived about

the time the funeral was supposed to start. Everyone cleared out of the front

room where she lay and gave Joe a few moments alone with his mother. The

group then loaded up and splattered dirt-road mud all the way to Valley Springs.

If the old saying is true - that any funeral’s turnout is determined by the weather

– then no one should have been at Dicie’s. But the place was overflowing. The

crowd there was kept informed – they knew everything was waiting on Joe – and

none left. Erasmus may have been responsible for some of the attendance – Dicie

being his wife – but Charlotte held that most were there because of Dicie. She

touched people in ways that Erasmus, with his reputation for sternness, never

could. Jimmie, Erasmus’ brother, wrote a letter after the event that had some

description.

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He was at the funeral, although Dicie couldn’t stand him. Jimmie was the school

teacher at Valley Grove and in that capacity once gave a beating to Paul, Dicie’s

son. There was a cornfield next to the schoolhouse and Paul, during recess, had

knocked down a bunch of the corn stalks. If he had just been given a spanking,

that probably would have been that, but Jimmie beat him to an extent that the

doctor had to be summoned from Trimble. After that episode, according to

family tradition, he was never allowed to darken Dicie’s door. The letter said that

he’d never seen the like of flowers in his life and he found that ironic – Dicie never

cared much for flowers. She didn’t have many in her yard beyond a rose bush, an

English dogwood and a few daffodils. Jimmie’s letter didn’t mention the singing.

According to Charlotte, Dicie’s funeral caused 100 of them to collect at Valley

Springs. That may be an exaggeration – Charlotte’s stories usually involved

embellishment, but only to a degree. Her story cited several eyewitnesses that

claimed it was one of the best they’d ever heard. The funeral was to have started

at 2:00, but actually began closer to 3:00. The singing started at 1:00. When

word came that things had hit a pause, the singers never missed a beat – they’d

sing until Dicie arrived. Instead of like today, when such a delay would be

awkward in a funeral home, the folks at Valley Springs were treated to a Sacred

Harp singing. Dicie couldn’t have asked for more – it would have filled her with

joy. Charlotte was steadfast in her conviction that even if some of the crowd

were there because of Erasmus, all the singers were there because of Dicie. She

never mentioned the flowers.

Charlotte lived to be 83, her last years as a frail old woman with arthritic pain. At

the very end, she was confined to a nursing home, dying with a tumor in her liver.

She was never in pain, but was kept pretty drugged for those 2 or 3 weeks. Most

of the time, she was asleep. Sometimes – maybe twice – she was as sharp as a

tack. The rest of the time, she was not.

The story was told by a nice lady, I think from Winston County, whose mother

shared the room with Charlotte. The lady – in her 40’s – took to her right off and

always gave a detailed description of Charlotte’s day. Her mother weighed about

80 pounds and never said a word. Her daughter, sweet as she was, never stopped

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talking. The room stayed dark but the daughter had brought in a 2-foot Jesus,

illuminated from the inside, and it gave most of the light. One day, when I went

to visit Charlotte after work, she was sound asleep and the daughter told the tale.

Earlier, Aunt Cleo, Uncle Doc’s wife and Charlotte’s sister-in-law, had come to

visit. Cleo stood at the foot of the bed, while the daughter talked – until she saw

Cleo wasn’t listening to her. She was absorbed with Charlotte and the daughter

turned to look. Charlotte was laying on her back, teeth out and her right arm

thrown on top of the sheet. Suddenly, she trembled a little and her hand

twitched enough to be seen. An instant later, she lifted her arm from the elbow.

The skin draped from her bones and was almost translucent. Then her lips

started to move and sounds came out, weak but plain as day – notes, fa sol la

notes. Her right hand started to move up and down, hand splayed out, beating

time to an old Sacred Harp hymn. The daughter looked back at Cleo. She still

stood at the foot of the bed, but now she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

I took a seat toward the back, book in hand. It had attracted attention in the past.

It was Charlotte’s – the 1960 Denson edition, black with gold lettering. The front

had come loose and she had used paper tape amply for repairs. The tape had

started to yellow and fray. With the next song, I picked up the number and found

the page. I didn’t begin to try to sing along, but just sat there, following the

words and taking it all in. The near shouting that could only be heart-felt made

my skin tingle. And it seemed, if I closed my eyes, I could go back in time for

years-upon-years. The voices became those of Dicie and Erasmus and Ted and

Charlotte. I traced the words with my finger as they sang, but soon found them

getting blurred. I thought the feeling would pass and sat through maybe a half-

dozen more, dabbing my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt – but it didn’t. I could

have stayed and probably should have stayed – just to wallow in it all – but I felt

self-conscious and a little light-headed. I closed the book and quietly slipped out

the doors.