"The Holtic (not the "Fannie") Burner", a Concord stoge cooch built in 1857, no» homed in the Wocho*io
Historical Museum, Old Salem. (Photo courtesy of Wocho»io Historical Society.)
Did Uncle Ed Drive
The Hattie Butner?
Our slculli never really found out. but
she learned sonic thing's about Old
Salem, a stage eoacli. and a parade.
«»/
BETTY LOU BRUTON
I know my great-uncle Ed had a big.
growl
у
voice. I know he smelled of
horses and leather. I clearly remember
he liked cold green beans and poured
milk in his ice lea. but these traits,
fascinating as they were to me as a
child, are not facts that would impress
my children and grandchildren. Such
meager information would not give
them a link to history.
While compiling the letters and
memoirs of my father, the late Bill
Sharpe. I thought I had found that link.
These family memories of the thirties
were written in the sixties. In them
Daddy vividly described I he horse¬
manship of his uncle. H. L. Anderson
of Winston-Salem. He w rote:
"Uncle Ed prided himself on his
knowledge of horseflesh. He would
20
examine a horse carefully, looking at
its teeth, lifting up its hooves, ex¬
amining its chest, and soon. He always
trotted it vigorously to determine its
wind. If it wheezed or panted ex¬
cessively. he would have nothing to do
with it. He was never afraid of wild
horses, and Aunt Louise was in a con¬
stant dread that one would kill him. He
was a strong man physically, and I
have seen him go into a stall with an
unbroken colt, grab it by the nostrils
and slip a bridle on it. then saddle it and
ride it until it was ‘gentled’. He spoke
to his horses firmly and with an au¬
thority they seemed to understand,
and he never would let a horse defeat
him. I have seen him go back time and
time again to a recalcitrant horse until
the animal acknowledged him as mas¬
ter. In the early thirties he leased the
old Polo Club, boarded horses and ran
a riding stable there. People would
bring new-bought horses to Uncle Ed
and he would break them for a fee."
Recollections Of Uncle Ed
I was reading this aloud to my son. I
asked. " Do you remember what a time
you had with the pony your grandaddy
gave us?”
He nodded. "I guess Uncle Ed could
have straightened him out in no time,"
he said, politely.
I continued. "He drove his buggy
into town almost every day. traveling
like a charioteer. Uncle lid also owned
a large three-seated sleigh, and on the
rare occasions when we had deep
snows in Winston-Salem, he was much
in demand by young blades for sleigh¬
ing parties. By Changing teams. Uncle
Ed could book that sleigh from morn¬
ing until midnight. Many couples
wanted to go on moonlight rides, call¬
ing on their friends. They all had lap
robes, of course, and bundled up good.
The horses on such occasions wore
bells on their collars. Uncle Ed never
seemed tired. He enjoyed the pleasure
of his passengers. Sometimes he would
drive a big hay wagon for a hay ride put
on by the wealthy for their children."
"It sounds like a Currier-lves
Christmas card, doesn't it?" I re¬
marked. My son smiled tolerantly at
my pleasure in my father’s reminis¬
cences. I continued reading in silence.
"Somehow. Uncle Ed had acquired
the old Fannie Butner. the last stage
coach to run between High Point and
Salem. It was still in good condition,
and he drove it in all the parades. He
firmly controlled two spans of beauti¬
ful horses, and once I saw him drive
three spans. Incidentally. Uncle Ed fi¬
nally donated the Hattie Butner to the
Moravian Museum in Old Salem,
where it is today. I have taken many a
ride in her. sitting on the seat with
Uncle Ed and marvelling at how he
could so precisely drive four horses
through traffic. 'How do you do it?’ I
asked him. ‘A firm but gentle grip on
the reins.’ he said, and he showed me
how he could hold four reins in one
hand. He also carried a long
coachman's whip in the other hand,
long enough to reach the lead horses.
He almost never used it. except in
starting up. He did this, he said, to let
all the horses know it was ‘back
here’."
Dad Was Sometimes Mistaken
There it was! A genuine stage coach
preserved for posterity in the Mora¬
vian Museum, and my great uncle had
THE STATE. JULY 1984
