Clipped From El Paso Herald-Post
TOURING WITH PYLE Hearts-A-Bustin'-With-Love In Hills Are Wahoo On Flat Peddler Of Gratuitous Cheer Takes Trip To Great Smokies From California By ERNIE PYLE Scripps-Howard Roving Reporter ATLINBURG, Tenn.—In a des- VJ perate effort, I presume, to make up for his outrageous misjudgment misjudgment of my walking walking prowess, Assistant Assistant Chief Ranger Ranger Harold Edward Edward 1 devoted his weekly day of rest to showing me some of the interior of the Great Smoky Mount ains National National Park. We drove over to Cade's Cove in the far western Ernie Pyle end of the park. Cade's Cove is several thousand acres of flat farm land set right down in the middle of the Smoky Mountain chain. Its floor is at 1800 feet elevation, and mountains ring it on every side. In the old days, the people of Cade's Cove lived in a Shangri La almost as isolated as a Tibetan monastery. monastery. They sent almost nothing to market. They made their own clothes, ground their own meal, butchered their own meat. Only one road ran into Cade's Cove, and it was a pretty bad road until the park and the CCC got hold of it. Even today it winds and twists down over the pass to the tune of 200 hairpin turns. It isn't a scary road at all, just a crooked one. Some families left the Cove when the Government took over, but 19 families remain. They have cars and trucks and tractors, and a school and a store and even a post office with an R. F. D. carrier. They are still pretty much their own world. * * * IT SEEMS TO DEPEND WHERE YOU COME FROM PERSONALLY, I was not so nuts 1 about Cade's Cove, because to me it was just another batch of flat farm land, and Indiana is full of flat farm land. But Mr. Edwards comes from the Montana mountains, and he is nuts about flat land. You know those little two-pronged two-pronged stickers that tome off onto your clothes by the hundred when you walk through the weeds in the fall. In Indiana we always called them Spanish needles. Here in the mountains mountains they call them "beggar's lice." Around 10 years- ago there was a husky man who stood on a corner every morning in Washington, D. C., waving a stick and shouting a happy "Good morning" to every- S3UQSEEIL WORLD'S URBESTSULER*T1IMj ^ VRAT THOUSANDS UPOH THOUSANDS USE TD HELP RELIEVE RED UGIT, _ we book "about" them7"one"evening7he H body who passed on the way to work. He looked like a combination of God and Hercules. As I remember him his hair was long and he looked healthy and ruddy. People who saw him every day got so they spoke back to him, but strangers who came within the realm of his wildly waving stick thought they were being being attacked. The gentleman's sole motive, we later learned, was simply simply to add a little to the world's happiness by being cheerful and saying good morning. * * * GRATUITOUS GOOD WILL PEDDLER VISITS SMOKIES E peddled his gratuitous good will in Washington for many years. And then, a year or so after we started this roving job, we were walking down the main street of Carmel, Cal., one day, and we saw a familiar head and a familiar waving waving stick, and heard a familiar "Good Morning," Yes, it was our old friend. And all this summer, to bring the gentleman up to date, he has been in the Great Smoky Mountains. A good part of the time he has lived alone in cabins, or on the ground, out in the mountains. He now has a dog that follows him constantly. He walks terrific distances, and occasionally occasionally some of the local people go with him. The mountain people like him. His name is Emiel Larsen. They say he has a small pension. Just a few days ago he set out for the West Coast again—hitchhiking. It was getting too cold for him in the high Smokies. HEARTS-A-BUSTIN' OUGHT TO STOP YOU M ISS LAURA THORNBURGH lives in Gatlinburg and loves the Smokies so much she's written a sent us over a. beautiful bouquet of Hearts-a-Bustin'-with-Love. I'll bet that one stops you. It is a local shrub, or hedge, or flower, or tree. I don't know what you call it. Anyway it looks like Christmas holly at first glance. But when you get up close, you see it has been a round pod, and then it has broken open and out have- come four red berries, just like lights on a chandelier. chandelier. It is lovely. The real name of it is Wahoo, but around here it is always called "Hearts-a-Bustin'-with Love;" On the day that America registered registered for conscription, the Park Service set up its counter and registered registered all travelers and wayfarers and residents of the Park. One Ranger had to hike five miles back into the mountain wilderness to register a boy who had been crippled since childhood with infantile infantile paralysis. There is no road back there, only a foot trail. I have a sneaking feeling that if this young man had never been registered registered at all, nobody would have gone to the penitentiary over it.