they give no thought to the em¬
barrassment attendant upon the
method and manner of disrobing
one's' self in those quarters. A
woman carefully extinguishes hcr-
il behind the curtains, slyly un¬
loosens the lace, envelopes herself
decorously in a large water-proof,
not daring to lay aside her chig¬
non for fear of a surprise,
and proceeds to bestow herself
away uncomfortable and de¬
pressed.
The stranger in the bunk above
leisurely divests himself of his out
garments, pulls off boots loosens
suspenders, and bounds into bed
with graceful ease, rather enjoy ing
the situation. I think if there could
be a ladies’ car for sleeping and
toilet exclusive of gentlemen, it
would be a great advancement in
wayfaring civilization. I thought
so this morning, especially, when
I awoke from uneasy slumber to
find the foot board fallen, and a
group of serene-browed men gaz¬
ing smilingly upon my sleeping
beauty.
This demand for special sleeping
cars for ladies was never met. but the
sleeping car had conic to the Old North
State to stay. The traveler across the
state would never again be without this
convenience.
Eating presented as great a problem
to the post-Civil War railroad leaders
as sleeping. Travelers on the railroads
in the 1860’s and 1870’s secured their
meals at conveniently located meal
stops along the route. The railroad
companies made arrangements with
eating establishments located in accord¬
ance with the schedules of the various
trains. Of course the trains were not
always near a town at mealtime and
arrangements frequently had to be
made in the backwoods areas.
Meal Stops
Henry Latham while traveling from
Norfolk to Charleston, told of stop¬
ping for breakfast at the "breakfast
house" on the line, a "sort of farm
house," two stations beyond Wilming¬
ton. The good wife was not only willing
to furnish meals for the travelers, but
offered to board and lodge Latham and
his traveling companion for ten dollars
per week and assured them they could
shoot ducks and deer to their heart’s
content. The hunting may have been
excellent, but the food left much to be
desired. Railroad eating houses gener-
( Continued on page 22 )
King
of the
Buck
Dancers
By
Е1ШЛ1Ш (.ЛКМ К
Hundreds of thousands of people
have seen Bill McEIrcath. the dancing
phenomenon of Swannanoa, do the
buck dance in his inimitable fashion.
It’s a dance that isn’t seen much any
more, and should be preserved. As Mc-
Elreaih dances it in his skilled and
flawless fashion one smiles automati¬
cally in appreciation of the good mood
this carefree dance induces. For the
moment one is lost to all except Mc-
Elreath’s nimble feet.
The buck is an old dance. It has
been danced on plantations, in country
stores of a rainy day when someone
would pat. in lieu of music, for the
dancer; and in remote settlements when
the time had come for jollity and good
fellowship.
McEIrcath was one of a buck danc¬
ing family and perhaps some of his
talent was inherited from his father
who was himself something of a non¬
pareil in the art. Of the six children in
the family all learned the steps and did
them ably.
This summer at the City-County
Plaza in Asheville there has been a
Saturday night outdoor affair known as
Shindig-on-thc-Grccn. It is a thing of
the mountains, folk music, stringed in¬
struments. square dancing, and McEI¬
rcath ’s buck and clog.
The "Shindig" is free and is proving
to be highly popular. McEIrcath is al¬
ways there, not only to dance but to
instruct those who may wish to learn
from a master the fine points of the
buck and the clog.
Also for many years McEIrcath has
8ill McElreoth of Swonnonoo of "Shindig on Ihc
Green." — (Photo by 8ob Lindsay.»
been a featured attraction at the annual
Folk Festival at Asheville’s City Audi¬
torium.
Not only has he won regional ac¬
claim, but he has won the buck and
clog dancing championship at five
state fairs.
He also plays the guitar and has
been to a number of colleges with folk
music musicians. A few months ago he
danced at the Smithsonian Institution's
folk program. As a musician he has re¬
corded for Victor records.
McEIrcath is a mountain man of the
old school. It is a treat to sit down
with him and talk and get his down-
to-earth viewpoints on the current
scene, and to get an insight into his
philosophy. It is a philosophy that has
the ring of truth and the genuine. He
has the strength of the mountains in
his bearing. His smile is pleasant and
his handshake firm.
He is 65 now and has retired from
the Beacon plant, at Swannanoa, after
many years there; but McElreath is a
dancing man and the probability is that
he will never retire from the lively
rhythms he puts his feet to when "Crip¬
ple Creek” or “Sourwood Mountain"
sound the call.
1 2
THE STATE. August IS. 1969
