CHRISTMAS PLANS CHANGE

By Travis W. Lewis

December 24, 2023 (Date of final edit)

[This essay recounts a personal experience of over fifty years in the past, when my plans were forced to abruptly change early on the morning of Christmas. A Christmas Eve 2023 casual drive-through of the small town of Scotts Hill, Tennessee reignited nostalgic memories of long ago, and I was prompted to gather some notes and perform some research that make up this article.]

It was Thursday, Christmas morning, 1969. Our immediate family at the time consisted of Kay and me, along with our only child, one-year-old Cindy Lee, as we enjoyed life at 510 Maywood Street in Lexington, Tennessee. We had plans for Kay’s parents to join us early for our traditional gift opening, then to enjoy our country-style breakfast with ham and eggs, redeye gravy, hot biscuits, sorghum molasses, and all the other goodies associated with an old-style southern breakfast. However, that was not to be our fate on this Christmas day.

In a couple of weeks, I would finish my lineman apprenticeship at Lexington Electric System, LES, and finally become a journeyman lineman. During that era of my life, I had become enamored by duck hunting, which had recently replaced an almost equal enthusiasm with deer hunting. The previous day, Wednesday, which was Christmas Eve, Bobby Nowell and I had scrouged into our otherwise not so crowded schedule an impromptu hunt, which was actually more of a scouting trip, on the east side of nearby Dogwood Lake.

A cold front had moved through the area the previous night, temperatures had plummeted, and the sky now appeared to be clearing. As with any duck hunter who is crazed by the prospect of seeing a new wave of migrating ducks set wings as they look for a haven to rest from their long flight, our excitement was nearing a peak. We had driven to near the end of Hemby Road, where we left my recently purchased 1968 Chevrolet pickup, and sneaked through the few hundred yards of tall weeds and bushes toward a pit that Bobby had permission to use on Christmas day. As we creeped along and approached the prong of the lake’s shore that extends northeast and behind the old Leo Davis homeplace, we spotted a group of mallards near the water’s edge, only a hundred yards or so away. Only an avid duck hunter can relate to the exhilaration we were experiencing. Deciding to slowly edge forward in a low-stooped profile until the beautiful group of greenheads would become alarmed and flush, we actually moved to within a few yards of shore until, in a loud flutter, up they came! And we unloaded, leaving three ducks dead on the lake.

Having to wait several minutes for our harvest to float to shore and be recovered, we started to notice different flights of ducks and one small family of geese circling high overhead, obviously surveying the prospective resting place for the night which they had probably used in years past. Transfixed by one of nature’s truly amazing spectacles, as we watched the several flights orbiting overhead and with each circle spiraling progressively lower, all seemed to be aware of our presence and would choose to land further out into the lake. Bobby and I sat until near dark before deciding to call it quits for the day and to return to the nearby pit early the next morning. All that sets the scene for our not-to-be fulfilled plans for Christmas.

As Kay and I were about to arise the following morning and prepare for the same ritual that millions of other families would be performing simultaneously, which would be watching the family opening gifts, then followed by a wonderful breakfast, or vice versa, the phone rang. As I recall, it was the Scotts Hill Police Department breaking the news of a car having struck a power pole in midtown Scotts Hill and that the whole area was out of electricity. Before beginning to dress, I called my friend and fellow lineman Paul Aaron, hoping he would forego his own Christmas morning plans to accompany me on the call. He agreed, and I was to pick him up at his home on Highway 22 South in about twenty minutes. For me, Christmas gift opening and breakfast would be foregone today.

Temperatures had dropped into the upper teens during the night, as a heavy cover of clouds continued to hang overhead, and a cold north wind boldly reminded us that the morning’s work would not be pleasant. Arriving in Scotts Hill at what must have been before 7:00am in our half-ton pickup truck laden with its utility bed, the accident scene was not difficult to find. Driving past the several law enforcement and fire department emergency vehicles with their bright, flashing lights, we began to hurriedly assess the damage and to decide what our immediate response should be.

The second power pole south of the entrance to present day Scotts Hill Elementary School gymnasium on Highway 114 had obviously been struck by a vehicle, breaking the pole into three pieces. The top piece with the crossarm, instead of normally supporting the three primary wires, was sagging to within ten feet or so above ground and being held up only by the conductors it was to support. Two of the three transformers previously supported by the pole clung onto their bracket which was still bolted in place, though tilting heavily toward the road. The third transformer had become dislodged and was laying broadside and destroyed as its content of oil leaked onto the edge of the road pavement. One of the three conductors, each being #2 AWG solid, hard-drawn, bare copper, had burned into two pieces, with each piece having slipped back through its tie wires on the next supporting pole each way. In summary, we found an ugly mess which obviously would require several hours, even for journeymen linemen, to repair.

A radio call to General Foreman Joe Earl Davis and Operations Superintendent Herman Holmes, both of whom were awaiting Paul and my initial report, would begin the recruitment of helping hands and hardy men, along with a replacement pole, transformers, and other material needed for repair. Meanwhile, power must be restored to a maximum number of families who were awaking to freezing cold homes with no electricity this Christmas morning. With use of alternate feeds yet totally absent of any remotely controlled switching capabilities, within an hour or so, the normal process of sectionalizing would leave only a hundred or so homes in the downtown area of Scotts Hill, along with the Cedar Grove and Doe Creek communities still cold and in the dark.

Note that in 1969, LES had no aerial line trucks, other than our lone digger-derrick truck which carried an eight-foot-long fiberglass extension that would retrofit onto the end of the truck’s boom and onto which could be mounted a one-man bucket with no boom-tip control. Until at least 1970, there were no bucket trucks, which meant that unless aerial activity could be performed with a fiberglass extension stick, a lineman would have to physically climb the pole.

By midmorning, help and repair material would arrive. Temperatures still hung in the low twenties, and the north wind blowing down Scotts Hill’s main street was brutal. As I recall, Herman and Joe had recruited linemen Curtis Wright, Dwayne Williams, and Iley Priddy from the Lexington area who would deliver sufficient manpower and material for repair as they joined up with Paul and myself. Additionally, lineman Eugene Todd and Area Supervisor Bob Adams from our Parsons area had joined in the power restoration activity earlier, and both were still on the scene. In all, we would have at least six linemen and Mr. Adams, along with both Herman and Joe who would arrive later in the morning as we had begun cleanup prior to the rebuild.

Even today, power restoration following such a failure, especially during such hostile weather conditions, requires time and clear thinking – and often pure grit and stubborn perseverance. Yet, without aerial devices or material handlers, except for a lone digger-derrick truck, quantities of manhours and perseverance are compounded. I also recall that sometime during the latter part of the morning, our newly appointed General Manager Bobby Dyer, along with new power board members Coolidge Bailey, Olice Hayes, and L.M. Powers, Jr. arrived as we neared the end of restoration. Personally, I felt appreciation that each of them was taking a part of their holiday time to show their regard for the work we were doing, though a couple of my cohorts were not so impressed.

I also recall, as the project was in process, Paul Aaron along with others continuously ribbing me for having to miss what I still think could have been the duck hunt of which one dreams. Even so, our whole team had persevered through a difficult morning of challenging work and, when the project was completed just past noon, we were ready to head toward home for a hot shower and hardy meal, then hopefully to salvage at least part of the festive holiday.

I drove past that site today, fifty-four years later, on Sunday, Christmas Eve of 2023. The streets of Scotts Hill were quiet and empty; Christmas lights were all on; the temperature was an unseasonably mild sixty-eight degrees; emergency vehicles with flashing lights were nowhere to be seen.

Except for Paul Aaron, Bobby Dyer, and myself, all our former comrades present for that Christmas day breakdown of over half-century ago are gone. And at least relatively soon, we three will join their ranks. So, I penned this article for posterity’s sake – to bear yet another record that every member of every generation perseveres through unplanned changes which bring painful disruption at inopportune times. And interference often demands special effort and adaptation which cannot be skirted.

Regrettably, such stories of interest too often go to the grave with the bearer – untold. I pray that this one lives on.