THE OAK RIDGE PROPHET
Born November 9, 1865, in Oakridge, Tennessee, John Hendrix is known today as a prophet and mystic whose predictions were scarily accurate. He was married to Julia Ann Griffith and they had four children. After their daughter Ethel died of a strange infection in the nose and throat, Julia blamed John for causing the sickness because he had whooped Ethel over something before she got sick. Soon after, John was deserted by his wife and kids, who took off to Arkansas.
Heartbroken, John turned to religion and mysticism. He slept on the ground in the woods for forty days, believing that God would talk to him there. This is when his visions began. He announced his visions and prophecy to his neighbors, but they all deemed him crazy and out of his head. John predicted that his hometown would soon have huge buildings and big engines building something, and it would all be to help stop the biggest war in history. He even gave specific locations of routes and railroads, which have turned out to be true. He spoke of Oak Ridge, the establishment that played a major role in the development of the atomic bomb, and aided the Allies during World War II. John Hendrix wasn't a witch or a conjurer, but a seer: somebody who can see and hear the word of God and spirit. He died of tuberculosis on June 2, 1915.
BOB SHEFFEY
Robert “Bob” Sheffey, born July 4, 1820, was a circuit rider, a traveling preacher who went from town to town sharing the Gospel. Like most circuit riders, he'd stay in some parts for a week or more ministering to the locals. Folks often called him St. Francis of the Wilderness because of the care he showed to animals, even stopping his wagon on mountain trails to relocate a beetle from the wagon's route. He truly detested illicit distilling and would pray curses on folks' stills, asking the Lord to destroy them. For one he prayed against, he asked that a tree fall on it and ruin it. The only problem was that the still wasn't near any trees; but that didn't matter, because a tornado came through and dropped a tree right on it.
But that isn't what Sheffey's most known for. He's known for the curse he made on his hometown in the late 1800s that continues today. When he came riding through Ivanhoe, Virginia, the town was prosperous with a railroad, a rock quarry, and lead mines. In their free time, the locals passed the nights with gambling and drinking and all nature of things that Sheffey found distasteful and bad.
Because of this and the locals' rejection of his ministry and word, upon leaving town Sheffey did as the Bible says in Matthew 10:14–15:
14 And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet.
15 Verily I say unto you, It shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment, than for that city.
Sheffey took his shoes off and knocked them together while cursing the town, saying Ivanhoe will never amount to anything and will slip into the pits of hell. Since then, all the industries that made Ivanhoe prosper have disappeared. There were pay cuts at the mines, the railroad left that part, and the town was dry of any work. Sinkholes have also been rampant in the area, swallowing roads and whole houses in a single night.
Knocking the dust off one's shoes or washing the feet is decreed by God's word and, as I've been taught, should only be done in dire circumstances. Here it seems Sheffey was directed in his actions, since in his eyes the town was a pit headed for hell. However, the descendants of Ivanhoe still suffer for it though they are good folks, at least the ones I've met.
PEGGY BUCK CLAWSON
A story I found while writing this book actually involves one of my ancestors, Peggy Clawson, a melungeon woman and my fourth great-grandmother. The family story goes that she was really mean and dominating over her husband, William. Instead of folks saying she was the wife of William, she'd rather have it as he is the husband of Peggy. Born in November of 1778, she lived in what was then Watauga County, North Carolina, now the border between Ashe and Wilkes counties.
They say one day she was going to church and stopped at a water hole off Big Ivy Road when she saw a bear come down to the water. She decided to hop into a small boat, paddled over to the bear, and held his head underwater with the paddle until he drowned. Then she paddled the boat back, and walked down the ridge to attend Sunday church. That water hole is now called the Peggy Hole, but local lore gives a different reason behind the name.
In the present day, there is a local legend about that water hole and a witch named Peggy Buck. The story goes that some man took up with a melungeon woman and she became pregnant. Back in those days, melungeon people were considered mongrels and nobody would “harbor” one. So the story goes that, like many of our people, she took to the ridges and woods to live and have her bastard child. When she gave birth, she was faring okay until her milk began to dry up and the baby began to starve. Having no skills in hunting, and plants not having the substantial nutrients the child needed, she conjured up the Devil who came out of the ground forming the Peggy Hole. She made a deal with him for her child to have enough food, but the Devil tricked her and the child grew teeth and sharp ears and extra fingers (a play it seems on old melungeon stereotypes where melungeons took the place of the boogeyman, folks telling their kids to be good or the melungeons would take them away to their caves).
After this, Peggy swore she'd kill the Devil if she ever met paths with him again. Over time, in order to survive, the legend says she “learned herself to witch” so she could turn into different animals and hunt. One day, her and the babe were at the Peggy Hole and buck came up to the water to drink. Much like the bear in the family story, she drowned it by grabbing its antlers and holding its head under the water, thus the meaning behind “Buck” in her name.
Today it's said that if you say her name three times while passing by the hole, different animals (usually a groundhog, rabbit, and deer) will come out of the forest and run out in front of your car each time in an attempt to wreck you.
DOC MULLINS
One conjure man working on South Central Street in Knoxville was Doc Mullins. Back in those days, the street was filled with merchants who often shared places of business through front doors, alley doors, or even second floor balconies—and it was no different with Doc Mullins, who worked out of a small second shop in the same building as an eating house for African Americans, owned by Blaine and Pearl McGhee at 318 South Central Street.
What little we know of Doc Mullins comes from Bert Vincent in his Strolling column. Records indicate his first name was either Ralph or Richard, and he was said to be in his late forties or early fifties at the time these stories and events took place. In that time, if a person was African American, they identified that fact in news articles. But Vincent neglects this fact in the majority of his stories about Mullins, only mentioning he was “colored” a couple times. Leaving that fact out back in those days led to the belief that the person was white. We also aren't sure when he was born or when he died, as his death certificate contains no date of birth and the tales of his death vary as the decades go by. Different sources point to him being from either Alabama or New Orleans. It's possible he migrated during the yellow fever scare.
Vincent described Doc Mullins' shop as small, with piles of herbs and roots on the floors and hanging on the walls. His usual greeting to folks was, “I'm Doctor Mullins and I'm guaranteed,” usually with a bow. Mullins shared secrets with Vincent over the course of their time together, always keeping quiet lest evil spirits hear him. Other times, he denied conjuring altogether, saying folks were fools to believe him. But then the next second he would be paranoid again of haints and spirits listening in on their conversations.
According to Vincent, Doc always carried a personal poke or mojo bag on him to protect against fire, flood, wind, and lightning, as well as weapons such as knives and bullets. Doc Mullins claimed the bag contained powdered lizard tongues, hair from a woman's head, Jimsonweed, and bo' hog root (lovage). Doc Mullins was not only an herb man but a conjurer, too. Looking at the contents of the bag, we can see why it was set for protection against these many things. Have you ever heard of a lizard getting struck by lightning? No. They're also quick to find safety in times of flood and fire. Hair from a woman's head is used a lot in southern Appalachia based on biblical beliefs and observation: Papaw said the only thing he was afraid of besides God was womankind, because she could bleed for a week straight without dying. That same strength may have been called on in the bag. Jimsonweed, also called devil's snare or thorn apple, is an invasive plant, meaning it can endure a lot of environments; finally, bo' hog root may have been used because the plant stands sturdy and straight up, tall and prideful.
GRANNY HACKEL
Another local witch woman named Granny Hackel lived in what is now the Turkeytown community of Carter County's Eighth District in Tennessee. Stories about her and the ridge she lived on—now unofficially named Granny Hackel Ridge, between Watauga and Smalling roads—have circulated for years. She is said to have arrived in the Watauga, Tennessee, area in the 1700s, riding on a black stallion and accompanied by two men. They came across the ridge and Granny pointed to a flat piece of land beneath some towering oaks at the crest, and that is where the men built a cabin for her.
Both men died from unknown causes soon after, but Granny continued her work in the community doctoring those in need, helping the ill with her spells and herbs, and delivering babies. The strange thing with Granny Hackel was that she was never called when a woman “went to straw” to give birth; she just somehow knew and showed up to be of help. Children were her specialty, and folks claim she was so good at her work that she could heal a wound just by looking at it.
Her presence and power were well known, the oddly strong winds on the ridge to this day mean many do not need air conditioning during the summer—just an open window or screen door will do the job. But at the top of the ridge is where the strange nature of the winds can be felt and heard, as it sounds like a church choir singing gospels up near the top. Dowsers have found remains of cabins, springhouses, a church, and a cemetery on the ridge.
WITCHDOCTOR SAM EVANS
Sam Evans was a self-appointed witchdoctor of the Great Smokies. I assume he traveled all up and down this range, as most did, but this story brings him to the area of Big Creek, thirty miles east of Gatlinburg, on the North Carolina side of the border. A family was living in one of the hollers along the creek when their cow started giving off bloody milk, a tell-tale sign of witchery. Going by the old saying that “iron lays the Devil,” Evans told the folks to take the top of a Dutch oven and put it in the fireplace until it got red-hot, then prod and probe it with a reaping hook. Soon after, the cow's milk cleared up, and the witch herself sought Evans out to pick a bone with him. During the confrontation, the witch's dress got pulled up, revealing marks all over her legs that resembled those of a reaping hook.
So we can see how varied and multiple these tales are and the colorful array of spiritualism and religion they exemplify. We had met yarb doctors who also conjured, seers who simply hear God speaking about pivotal points in history, witches who made deals with Devils and witchdoctors who took them out. This array of mystic workers includes people of color and those of European descent.
Having been so close in the mountains for centuries, practices melded and mixed almost beyond recognition. In this way, superstitions, usually handed down from mothers to their children during their time at home, often blended. Voodoo charms and European charms likewise melded, as the men freely shared tricks among other folks, where the ingredients were interchanged or replaced by whatever was readily available, such as the luck acquired from carrying the right front paw of a possum, as opposed to the gator foot in New Orleans. The supernatural worldviews of all, as well as the stories, melded into some greater entity that lives on today, hovering over the hills in the form of purple hues and blue smoke. As we dig deeper into the conjuring past of southern Appalachia, we will meet old friends and new ones—and possibly some dangers as well, because this path is filled with briars and laurel hells.
4
CORN AND QUARTERS
You're in for a long run if you consider this work. Having visions and sharing prophecies, prescribing herbal medicines to people and animals, or leading a congregation in a prayer of faith healing doesn't take nearly as much out of you as conjure and root work do. Before you do any kind of work, you need to prepare a few things and practice some new habits.
PRECAUTION RITUALS
You always want to cover your head when doing any kind of work, because you're at a veil or ridge to the otherworld and time runs differently there. Without a covering, your hair will turn gray; you may become forgetful or anxious; you might have insomnia; and any preexisting conditions you may have, such as high blood pressure, arthritis, even heart disease, may worsen. It's not the presence of God or the spirits exactly, but the way of “praying” that conjuring takes. It takes a back-alley door to the other side, and it's not always 100 percent safe. Notice how in many of the previous stories folks seemed a bit crazy in their later years? Not all of them were known to cover their heads. Root work is fine because you're not crossing realms or calling out into them like you are with conjure. It's when spirit is brought into the work that caution is needed.
I was taught to follow these practices when working roots or working with the spirits. You may be an experienced worker from another tradition that calls for something different; that's fine, go by your own ways. But with Appalachian folk magic and the methods and beliefs of practice that make up the body of it, what follows is what is called for.
First, take a piece of red ribbon and sew it into the inner side of each shoe. This will help keep spiritual attachments off you.
Find a hat or head covering that is comfortable for you. (I personally switch between either a toboggan or bandanna, sometimes a ball cap.) This will not only keep your mind from getting away from you or your hair going gray, but it'll also protect you from haints hopping on your back.
It is also recommended that you have a strong, unwavering will and a cunning mind for this work; it's not for the meek. Use your common sense with everything you do and anything that happens. Let your humility be the only tamper on your will. Look folks directly in the eye when speaking to them. A lot can be learned about a person just by looking them in the eyes. It's hard for them to lie to you with that.
Take time to sit in silence a few times a week to keep your mind clear. This work can run you mad if you let it. It'll have your mind every which way, leading to paranoia and fear. You will not be invincible, nor all powerful. You will be capable: beyond that is God and the spirits. This is also recommended in order to listen to the spirits, but you must be silent. In these times of quiet, I read a chapter of the Bible repeatedly. I also recommend any of David's Psalms.
