Port William had two grocery stores, a bank, post office, restaurant, hardware store, and a tavern in the center of town at a time when small villages prospered.
Joe Beam and Sons Mill sat on the edge of Anderson Fork, where the town residents came to ice skate in winter and fish in summer. The river was a centerpiece of the town.
To prove their manhood, boys walked across the cement dam, where the murky water of the Anderson eased across the wall, down under the bridge and on to the goggleye, named after the rock bass, where we swam as kids.
As a teenager, my brother, Jack, took me with him when he swam in the cool, dark water across from the slaughterhouse, operated by Horace Vanway, that stood just down from the residence of Johnny Little.
To say the snakes were many and the carp were big was an understatement. The reptiles in the grass and the cows chewing their cuds watched as we made our way to the swimming hole.
I was only seven years old, so going to the goggleye was a big deal.
“Count to three,” Jack would say, just before the big splash when he hit the water. More often than not he took a bar of Ivory soap with him when he swam. He liked to use Ivory to shampoo his hair, and I liked it because it floated on top of the water.
Jack would towel off before we walked back toward town, passing by the large cement railroad abutments in the middle of Anderson Fork just up from the mill. My brother stepped behind an abutment, folded his arms and asked, “Do you know what those abutments are?”
“They held the big railroad bridge, didn’t they?” I replied.
“Yes. The railroad ran up by our house, and Henry Ford once owned it,” Jack said. “Let’s cross the water and I will show you where the tracks were located.”
Jack stood six foot two at the time, and I must have been four feet nine. I wasn’t sure I wanted to wade across the stream, but I felt safe with Jack with me, and I figured if the Ivory Soap could float, so could I.
We walked across the Beam property on past the high school, and then stopped on the Mason farm. “The train came right across Mike Mason’s field,” Jack said, as he pointed to a row of trees. Mike Mason, a few years younger than Jack and a few years older than me, was just as fascinated with the large cement pedestals and the railroad that crossed them as were the Haley brothers.
The stories the railroad spawned were fascinating to most of the kids who grew up in Port William.
The years passed. Jack is gone, but the cement abutments remain.
Mike Mason became a respected farmer in Clinton County and an expert on the Port William railroad. The railroad which ran through Port William, Kingman, Bowersville, and Octa has now become better known as the ‘Grasshopper Railroad’.
Mike and co-author Roger Starnes recently wrote a 182 page history, a delightful book, titled The Story of the Waynesville, Jefferson and Port William Railroad. They chronicle the railroad from its farmer-funded inception, through its many bankruptcies, Henry Ford’s ownership, until its’ final demise. Their stories fascinate.
According to the authors, Henry Ford came closest to keeping the railroad operational and financially stable. Mr. Ford brought his business genius to the ‘”Grasshopper” and almost made it work indefinitely.
There is a picture in the book of Mr. Ford standing in Kingman with Bill Thompson, Richard’s father, discussing the rail line.
Mr. Ford was once asked why he was successful with the railroad while others before him had failed.
Mr. Ford pondered the question for a moment and answered with a parable and a smile.
“The question, ‘Who ought to be boss?’ is like asking who ought to be the tenor in the quartet?”
“Obviously, the man who can sing tenor.”
A few years ago, I was sworn in as county commissioner, and Mike Mason attended the ceremony. I asked if he thought there was anything particular I should try to accomplish as commissioner.
“Yes. Build a light rail from Wilmington to Port William,” he said.
Mike was kidding.
Or was he?
Pat Haley is a Clinton County Commissioner.
