On Tuesday, November 29, 2016, I got a phone call from a friend. It was about 10 o’clock at night, but it was Evan. So I took it.
Evan said he wanted to gather relief supplies for victims of recent fires in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. He would put everything he gathered into his food truck supply trailer and take them to Pigeon Forge. Did I think that was crazy? No, I didn’t. Did I want to go with him on Sunday to deliver the supplies? Yes, I did. Could we leave around 3:30 in the morning. Gulp. Why not?
He announced his intention on Facebook around 11 o’clock that night. The next morning, the post had been seen by 4,000 people. By the time we hit the road for Tennessee, more than 11,000 people had seen it.
Daviess County is an exceedingly generous collection of communities. All day Wednesday and Thursday, Dave Crooks spread the word on his radio stations. That day Evan received more than 40 phone calls from people who wanted to help. Lindsay Owens interviewed Evan for the Washington Times-Herald and Melody Brunson placed the story on the top of the front page on December 1. People knew of the various drop-off points and generosity began to percolate.
On Thursday, Kylie Thomas and Tony Kassissieh from WTHI-TV called Evan, then met him Friday at The Iron Kettle Restaurant in Plainville to film a spot for the evening news. I got to participate as well. Kylie and Tony were great to work with and the Daviess County relief effort got even more valuable press.
Speaking of the Iron Kettle, owner Leetha Stoll is an inspiration. She reached out to people who have helped with other out-of-state disasters and they got funds into her hands right away. She absolutely filled her SUV with dry goods, snacks, toiletries, candies, flashlights, batteries, and more. All very practical, welcome items at such a difficult time.
On Saturday, items from each of the collection points went into the trailer. By the end of the day, anyone opening the trailer door risked being buried in an avalanche of love. Blankets, pillows, gloves, water, toys, tissue … the outpouring was tremendous!
Three a.m. is a challenging time to be in motion if you’re not accustomed to it. Neither Evan nor I had slept well the prior evening as he took the wheel and drove us all the way to Pigeon Forge. We went from dark to damp to outright wet along the way. The two-axle trailer seemed to be caught up in the excitement, doing a little cha-cha movement every now and again to keep us entertained. Passing semi-trailers moved us around a little more.
The hills of eastern Kentucky and Tennessee strained the truck on the uphill side and the brakes on the downhill side. Despite that, we arrived just fine at Huck Finn’s Catfish Restaurant in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. We checked in with Chrissie. When she heard the amount of items we’d brought, she sent three of the guys working in the kitchen out to help us transfer from our 18-foot trailer to a 53-foot semi trailer they had parked out front. That’s when the rain became more steady.
The Huck Finn’s guys got into the semi-trailer and put things into their proper places. When we were done, our contribution rounded out their most recent collection and their trailer was pretty full.
Here’s an interesting thing about being seen doing good. At least one person stopped by and apologized for not having much, but added their contribution as well. People like to be part of something larger. And the size of the contribution was not as important as the act of contributing. We welcomed her and had her hand her items up to the guys. Her something is still bigger than nothing. And it may be just the thing somebody needs at just the right time. Why hold back?
When we were finished unloading, we were happy, hungry, and soaked. The staff at Huck Finn’s offered us dry shirts. Better yet, they offered us lunch. We were more than ready. If you’re in Pigeon Forge, please make it a point to dine with them. They appreciated what you’ve done and they took good care of us.
After lunch, we dropped the trailer at the back of their parking lot and took US-321, the main road toward Gatlinburg. It was closed three miles into the Smoky Mountain National Park, but we drove that far, then turned back toward Pigeon Forge.
Near the turnaround, we began to see that the undergrowth was burnt away and the trees were blackened. The West Prong of the Little Pigeon River divides the two travel lanes through the national forest. The blackened ground went all the way down to the bank of the stream. Seeing it, you think, “Thank goodness. It stopped here.” Not so. The Little Pigeon there is a small stream fed by a number of smaller tributaries. It’s picturesque, even in its winter decline. But it was no match for the recent fires.
Turning north again to return to Pigeon Forge, we saw evidence that the fire had been active on both sides of the stream. Evan had visited other disaster sites in the past. There, the destruction was a marked swath of natural fury. Here, it was oddly capricious.
We turned onto one of the roads leading from the valley into the surrounding hills. The residences here are a mix of the modest, the charming, and the more expensively classy. The fire showed no discernment or respect for the structures. Nor was it all-inclusive. A home on one side of the road seemed unscathed while its neighbor is a pile of scorched masonry and ashes.
Brick veneers that fronted fine homes high on the hill are all that remains. On other homes, black marks ring the house where the siding meets the foundation. A bright orange tag affixed to the back door marks the property as condemned. What looked like a former garage was burned to the ground. The church building beside it was completely spared.
The rain only amplified the other sensory note. The whole area we visited still smelled of wet burn. Think of revisiting the site of a bonfire the next morning. Now multiply that smell, the stench, as if the bonfire had expanded to consume your entire property. That, and more, is the sense you get as you drive past these properties.
These are buildings, but we came to help people. An entertainer who sings at Huck Finn’s lost everything. His co-workers have been helping him in the meantime and he has continued to show up at work each night and entertain visitors. We’re told he was insured for fire and he may come out of this better than he was before. Certainly that is not the case for everybody affected. And there is still the meantime. He’ll still need to get through that.
The guys who helped us transfer items into their trailer told us that when the WestGate resort burned, 700 people lost their jobs. Their homes may be intact or only slightly damaged, but their livelihoods have disappeared.
Imagine having been here around Halloween. Everybody would have been enjoying the celebrations. Families would have been meeting in the resorts. Staff would have been working their trades and earning their livings. None of them would have conceived of the changes that would come so soon. Life does that. It turns so quickly. I’m proud to be part of a community that is ready and willing to so quickly respond and make a difference for neighbors they have never met.
Daviess County and friends, you are too good for words!
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