Grover Hall (1888-1991), Pulitzer prize winning editor of the MONTGOMERY ADVERTISER, was once a Dothan newspaper editor who was fired because he published a LETTER TO THE EDITOR that Dothan Methodists didn't like. One Sunday in 1908, a Dothan Methodist preacher gave a sermon condemning all show business because of the recent commercial activity of "the female members of a traveling troupe of actors- some of which female members were reputed to have been rather liberal in the bestowal of favors to some of our [Dothan's] virtuous male citizenry for a monetary consideration." An actor who was a Dothan native happened to be in town that Sunday and heard the sermon. When the preacher finished his tirade, the actor stormed out of church and he wrote a LETTER TO THE EDITOR of the Dothan Daily Siftings because he objected to the preacher's bigoted opinion. Grover was editor and ,even though the Methodists warned him not to print the actor's letter, Grover printed it anyway and that was the end of Grover's newspaper career in Dothan. According to Oscar L. Thompkins "everybody in town except me, our two Roman Catholics, the Hebrews and three Negro Baptist preachers cancelled his subscription to the Siftings; most advertisers withdrew their patronage; the Siftings went the way of all flesh and Grover was kicked upstairs." After the bankruptcy of the Siftings, Grover Hall would go on to fame as editor of the Montgomery Advertiser but he got his start in old Dothan and he was one of the greatest writers the town ever produced. (from January 12, 1941 DOTHAN EAGLE)

 from page 212 of DEVIL MAKE A THIRD:

"Buck," the Governor said, frowning fiercely, "I've met your mother. Prettiest woman here. But you've been stingy with her closest competitor."

Lota's eyes were wide, startled, looking back up at Buck. "Young woman," the Governor said, "I'm the governor you've heard cussed so much, and at my age that half-scared look in your eyes is a great compliment."

Buck laughed.

"Miss Lota Kyle, Governor."

"It's exciting to meet a governor," Lota said.

"I'm a little excited, too, Miss," he said, then turned towards Jeanie Bannon whose eyes had gone from one to the other during the introduction. "Perhaps you ladies would excuse Buck while he joins me in a short discussion of liberty at the bar."

The Governor walked energetically, talking all the time, across the lobby with Buck's elbow firmly gripped.

"Fine-looking girl. Built strong, like a first-generation woman." He glanced quickly at Buck. "Pity she can't sit with us up at the end."

"Hmm," Buck said, as they reached the bar. "Governor, a girl like her is as dangerous at your age as seven-card stud." He listened to the old man while he caught Jeff's eye and motioned for him to join them.

"....completely backwards," Governor Thrasher was saying as Jeff sidled close,"a man can get to old to be hurt." (from the April 17, 1906 OZARK TRIBUNE)

 from page 41 of DEVIL MAKE A THIRD: 

He gazed around, gravely studying the purple velvet draperies between the dining room and the vestibule. He slapped  his thigh softly as he looked at them remembering the awed face of a young brakeman who was feeling velvet under his fingers for the first time. He caught sight of himself in one of the two full-length mirrors and tilted his head to see better, then he reached out one foot to push a goat out from between him and the mirror.

"Get away," he said, and raised his head up to holler for Mabe. "Hey, Mabe! Company."

He stared up the stairs as if he expected someone, but no one came, so his eyes drifted back to the peach-colored vase that held Mabe's walking sticks, He wished he had a big vase for his papa. And a newel post to put it by. 

 (from the December 31, 1892 MONTGOMERY ADVERTISER) Dothan prostitute commits suicide

 Farmer's Alliance seen as threat to Democrat Party from the February 18, 1890 Montgomery Advertiser 

The label "dirt road sport" holds much portent for this novel. The author's use of the word "sport" to describe his main character refers to the "sporting man culture" which is defined by Wikipedia as involving "men leading hedonistic lifestyles that included keeping mistresses as well as excessive eating, drinking, smoking, gambling, and big game hunting. It is applied to a large group of middle- and upper-class men in the mid-19th century, most often in Great Britain and the United States." A Gulf South version of this culture is adopted by the character of Buck Bannon once he leaves the family farm in Chapter 1 and in each subsequent chapter, the reader only gains clues as to the precise methods used by Buck to quickly amass the great fortune necessary to support such a lifestyle and at the same time provide financial support to his 13 younger siblings.

  

 

 The third guy from the left is Dothan postmaster Byron Trammell (1873-1938). He became Dothan's postmaster in 1903, the same year Buck Baker (1869-1920) was elected to the Dothan city council. On June 21, 1905, Trammell walked into his own house in Dothan and murdered one of his boarders who was a cotton broker for Malone & Sons Company. In 1906, a Dothan jury found Trammell not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. That was the second time Trammell had been found not guilty for shooting somebody to death. In 1903, Trammell shot and killed a deputy U.S. marshall in front of the Exchange Hotel and was found not guilty by a Montgomery jury.  Since Trammell's insanity was temporary, he continued to serve as postmaster of Dothan.  In 1909, Trammell was instrumental in putting together the political pressure from the Wiregrass region which resulted in Dothan getting a new U.S. District Courthouse and post office with the construction of the Federal Building at the northwest corner of Troy Street and North Foster.

 

A "Silent Northern" Motor Car in front of the Hotel Martin (model for THE HARRISON HOUSE), 1909. From left: Joe "Buck" Baker (model for the character of BUCK BANNON) ; C. F. "Doug" Baker (model for the character of HEARN BANNON); Eugene Lauck, a drug salesman from Montgomery; Byron Trammell, Post Master; Ed Winters, US Deputy Marshall; Dan W. Baker (model for the character of JEFF BANNON). [clippings from the June 23, 1905 SELMA TIMES; from the June 30, 1905 BIRMINGHAM TIMES; from the May 24, 1906 CANEBRAKE HERALD (Uniontown); the August 7, 1912 DOTHAN EAGLE)

 Farragut blockade of Mississippi Sound in 1864

YEAH, THERE WAS A BATTLE OF MOBILE BAY IN 1864 BUT FOR FOUR LONG YEARS THERE WAS DAILY NAVAL COMBAT AROUND DAUPHIN ISLAND IN THE GULF AND IN MISSISSIPPI SOUND.

In mid-April 1864, the Federal armed tug NARCISSUS and the gunboat SEBAGO joined COWSLIP in the Mississippi Sound. During one six-day period, COWSLIP overhauled and captured a sloop bound from Mobile to Biloxi with a cargo of corn and meal ; captured a sailboat off Pascagoula manned by 5 Confederates, 3 of whom were soldiers; sought to capture 4 mules on the beach but had to shoot them; received on board from SEBAGO 3 Rebel soldiers and 4 civilians intercepted while attempting

to run the blockade; made fast to the Mississippi City wharf to enable the

captain to communicate with the enemy under a flag of truce; and put in

at Ship Island to send the prisoners aboard VINCENNES.

On May 2, Admiral Farragut, learning that COWSLIP and

NARCISSUS were communicating with the Rebels and firing upon "harmless

people on the shores," expressed dismay. Their captains were advised

that "there are a great many Union people on that coast, and you should

have good reasons for firing upon those who do not fire upon you." THERE SURE WERE "UNION PEOPLE ON THAT COAST" ! TWO OF FARRAGUT'S SISTERS LIVED IN PASCAGOULA & WROTE THEIR BROTHER LETTERS COMPLAINING ABOUT HIS SHIPS SHOOTING AT PEOPLE AND MULES ON THE SHORES OF MISSISSIPPI SOUND.

 "It is what it is. Life goes on." https://www.google.com/search?q=%22It+is+what+it+is.+Life+goes+on.%22&client=firefox-b-1-d&sxsrf=AOaemvKrBLgtbWjhdv94U_C4WVSc1fymTQ:1639661217881&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiL6cWDtuj0AhXCj4kEHRwbBf0Q_AUoAXoECAIQAw&biw=1147&bih=677&dpr=1.33

 hereditary influence in DEVIL MAKE A THIRD:

page 14 and 15: "He's my size,' he said, slowly, "but he's you all over, Jeanie. You kin see the McPherson stock ashinin' from fetlock to forelock."

Buck's mother seemed to grow shy and her face reddened spottily through the swelling. She was trying to keep sheer pleasure from her voice when she spoke.

"His eyes're grey, "she said, "and my nose ain't got no hump." 

Buck rubbed his nose with a crooked forefinger.

"That comes o' rootin' for vittles in his here sorry clay," he said, and felt the words lay out beside the other in the sudden quiet. He wished he had them back.

(page 98: poker game is held above McPHERSON'S SALOON)

page 169: "Buck," she said, softly, "you're a big man in Aven. Mighty big for your age. But don't tell me you won't do somethin'. You've come fast an' hard an' some got tromped on your way. There ain't a soul in town can tell you how to move, but I'm tellin' you now if you do what I say, I'll show you how you learned to ride roughshod," She breathed faster, and some of the color spotted back into her cheeks.

page 169: "You didn't get your ways from Joe Bannon," she said, "that's pure 'n tee McPherson an' it comes straight from me."

page 185: "I didn't mention it, Buck," he heard her say, "but Mayne Foster saw the boy over here around Easter and she says he ain't got a blemish of Longshore. All Bannon."

When David Adkins called me in the spring and told me that he and John Rainey were putting together a new band that would also be the staff band for Playground Studio in Valparaiso, I was ready to come home. That band became the original Beaver Teeth. The lineup was David Adkins on drums and vocals, Lamar Alley on vocals and guitar, Larry Shell on vocals and guitar, John Rainey Adkins on guitar and vocals, and me playing my Hofner bass. Larry Shell was a great singer/songwriter who later went on to some success as a song publisher in Nashville. Beaver Teeth was named by John Rainey because of Larry's prominent buck teeth. That was a good band, and was to my thinking the most unique of the several Beaver Teeth incarnations, though later versions of the group may have been better. I recorded quite a few sessions at Playground Studios with Larry, David, and John Rainey. That was a great time for me, but it didn't last. Late that summer when I just turned 20, Larry and Lamar left the band. We had made a couple of trips up to Atlanta to see the new studio Buddy Buie was building in Doraville. Me being on the chubby side, several people thought it would be a good idea for me to see Dr. Rankin, whose office was in the building housing the Buie/Cochran offices and the old Mastersound studio, where the Classics IV and Candymen had recorded. Actually a lot of hits of the late 60's came out of that Mastersound Studio. (One aside about Playground Studios in Valparaiso, Findley Duncan operated that studio for years, and he had old tapes of the Allman brothers (just the brothers, not the band) when they'd recorded there.) On one trip to Atlanta, I remember cutting a couple of songs for Wilbur Walton when Studio One was new. David played drums, Paul Goddard, the great ARS bass player, played rhythm guitar, I played bass, and I think Dean Daughtry played piano. I bet Wilbur still has those tapes.



After Larry and Lamar left Beaver Teeth, David moved to guitar, Frank Tanton was added on keyboards, and Charlie Silva came in on drums and lead vocals. Charlie was a great drummer and singer, but his biggest talent was that he could do something called the "helicopter" with a certain part of his anatomy. This also made him quite popular with the ladies. That version of Beaver Teeth only lasted a couple of months, but we did record some sessions at Studio One, with Ronnie Hammond as the engineer. Frank and I then left the band. I was replaced by Jack Lane, who had to have been the best bass player in the world--he was phenomenal. Clark Craits took over the keyboard job. Jack Lane was the bass player for several months, and when he left Jimmie Dean, another really great bass player took over that job, keeping the bass chair for several years.



After I left Beaver Teeth, I played with almost every band in Dothan: Norman Andrews and the Concrete Bubble, Wilbur Walton, Jr. and Blackhawk (we played one summer at the Hang Out in PC), Strawdawg, MG and the Capers. In my mid-twenties I went off to school at Auburn to study agronomy and have never played professionally again, though I still play and try to keep up my chops.

 strategic planning of a novel   https://www.livewritethrive.com/2014/02/12/a-compelling-novel-centers-on-the-protagonists-goal/

 Chapter 30, page 330:

"Bah!" his mother said, then she moved her eyes sharply straight ahead at Millie.

 "That'n now. She'll never get a real man-ain't built for it." 

Millie stood up straight and put her hands on her hips. "I don't know," she said. She moved to the side so her mother could see her and pulled her long skirt up nearly to her knees."If skirts were this short, I'd be beating them off." 

 "Humph! All baseball players, too."

 Millie dropped her skirt and glared at her mother. She didn't say anything, and the room suddenly was very quiet. 

"Baseball players?" Buck's quick words cut deliberately into the quiet. Millie nodded and her hands went back onto her hips.

"What of it?" She looked back at her mother defiantly. Lota cleared her throat to speak, but Buck squeezed her hand and stopped her.

"I never could understand," he said, thoughtfully, "how come you girls don't marry better. You're all right pretty, and I never saw either one of you with a dirty neck."

"Now, you just wait." Millie said her words slowly with a space between each. Her head went from side to side as she spoke. "As long as you've been living in Aven and running around with senators and bankers and really big men, you never introduced either of us to a man." She stopped abruptly and clenched her teeth. "Why?"

Buck didn't answer, but he felt a flush coming up his face. He let her eyes hold his for a moment, then shifted them uneasily to his mother.

"Think that over," Millie said distinctly, and turned quickly and walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

The silence was heavy until Jeanie Bannon said, "Whew, boy, she laid it on heavy, didn't she?"

DEVIL MAKE A THIRD is the near three decade story of man whose every action seems to be driven by the profit motive and the desire to dominate yet he is burdened by a conscience which forces him  him to maintain his self respect by acts of devotion, kindness and loyalty to his few friends and family. The novel is composed of 13 sections which cover a period of approximately 28 years from 1887 to 1915. Each section is made up of multiple chapters and an interlude which the author uses to advance his timeline. No dates are used in the novel but Chapter 1 to Chapter 15 which make up the first seven sections of the novel cover the period from 1887 until the early 1890s. INTERLUDE 7 advances the action ten years with the fictional town of Aven going from a frontier boom town into a small urban area with paved streets, a water works, power plant, telephone company and all the other innovations of a turn-of-the-century urban area. All of the 33 chapters show us the world from the perspective of the protagonist, Buck Bannon and the 12 interludes describe Buck Bannon from the perspective of two railroad brakemen, Jake and Bascom.

Section 1 of Devil Make A Third consists of Chapter 1, Chapter 2 and the first Interlude. Virtually all of the action of the protagonist, Buck Baker, has a commercial motive or a selfish action driven by the desire to make money.

 The author never implies that Buck has been anywhere outside the family farm other than an occasional wagon ride to the mill or a walk to the schoolhouse. The reader has no reason to believe that Buck has ever been to town or even to have seen a train but he's learned enough that he knows he never wants another tool job. From page 24, "Tool jobs make corns on a man's hands and when he gets through he's so tired he ain't got sense enough to spend his money right."

page 13: "Mother, this is the last time I'll ever follow a mule. I got twenty dollars and I'm headin' to town."

page 15: "When I was twelve I went to mill and back and made the trade. That was near as far as Aven."

page 16: "that time when he was eleven and had to quit school to help in the fields- and his Blue Back speller that cost a quarter bushel of meal"

page 24: "The place a man starts at ain't the thing-it's where he ends up that counts."

 Bilbo https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=mdp.39015074197909&view=page&format=plaintext&seq=25&skin=2021

 from pages 38 and 39 from DEVIL MAKE A THIRD: Baptist Bottom lay between him and Mabe's Place. It crouched at night under a sullen fog, a few clapboard shacks, shrinking in the sun and swelling in the rain. Mist rose from stagnant water that drained off the higher ground of the white folks and ponded in the bottom. The fog held too long the odors of frying fish, onions, and hush puppies. It rose and dulled sights and sounds. (clipping from the April 6, 1937 DOTHAN EAGLE) 

2019 was the year that virtually every groovy little hippy pad that ever existed between 10th Avenue and 14th Avenue was demolished. T-town's dwellings where we first copped a buzz are no more. I found reading 19-year-old Courtney Haden's article to be both timely and appropriate even though it was written 49 years ago.

from the UNIVERSITY FREE PRESS, July 8-14, 1970 (Tuscaloosa):

ATLANTA POP

by Courtney Haden

Returning early Monday morning, stopping a the redlight in Columbus, Ga., we saw a VW van full of festival freaks pull up alongside us. We waved cigarettes at them, "Ya want some?" One electric gent scrambled out the back of the van with the speed of Speed, whooshes Thankyou, scoops the Winstons, and scuttles back to the VW just as the light turns green.

At the next intersection we pause again, and suddenly the same freak sprinter in out of his bus and over to our right side window. Leans in and says, "this is all we had, man, thanks a lot." Um, tab and a half of acid.

Explain the Atlanta Pop Festival on your terms? I can't even corroborate it in my terms.

You know the facts by now: 500,000 stoned music loves, dope, nudity, shit, garbage, incredible stage performances. You were there, whether you attended or not. No matter what your personal persuasions might be, you were represented by proxy. And you've returned now, whoever you are, and you've resumed your dailiness. Atlanta Pop and the Byron trip are over. Now what?

There is a Woodstock myth around, thanks not to Abbie, but to the established media, who laid the movie/album/rap on us. And the Byron folk were living the Woodstock trip, according to script, even down to chanting the Rain Chant when a shower blew through the festival. How many of the free mannerisms of Byronfolk were real, how many joints were puffed and passed only because "that's what they did at Woodstock?" Is there really a new consciousness abreeeding, or just more complex social games?

That there revolution is in your heads, not in the streets. The exhilaration of Byron must finally be replaced by the summer tedium of Tuscaloosa. A lot of people had to leave the festival to get back to jobs on Monday. Did they take a heightened awareness with them? (I don't mean, 'Did they get stoned'?) This week, would you give a hitchhiking brother a ride? Would you be as considerate of your fellow man at home as you were under grueling festival conditions?

You know where you're at, now. Not alone in your lifestyle, Byron showed you your culture brethren. You don't have to be in uniform; there were Straights and Freaks, Longhairs and Shorthairs, Radikals and Konservatives were all together on that raceway. Happy birthday to America from the Atlanta Pop Festival!

Woodstock is a lie, but a useful lie. There are millions of young hip kids who subscribe to a lot of these cultural values. But these people are outnumbered and outgunned for any conceivable head-on confrontation with Ameri a [sic]. The Man has the money, the Pig has community support, and the Media controls the majority mind. Is Revolution the answer? Then let it come, but not uselessly in urban streets, not hopelessly in the courts, and not endlessly in the rhetoric of radical politicians.

The way we lived for three mystic days in Byron can became the way we live all of our days. Only if that's what you want. But you have never LIVED a revolution. Can you? You know your enemies, but can you trust you friends enough when you need shelter? Unless your ideas are clear and your will is determined, it's probably suicide to try to get it on.

This is all bullshit. In truth I saw only one thing at the festival that even remotely indicated a holy possibility. On the last evening, we sat in front of a bedraggled longhair kid. He was completely in tune with the stage, and completely oblivious to his surroundings. He was Alvin Lee's guitar, he was the Allmans blues. In trance he dug performances, and at end, totally freaked, he would scramble to his feet and scream to the stars in a slow, tired, defenseless, desperate, triumphant cry, "More...git it on...yeah...play all fucking night long..." Nobody, nobody could touch that cat. We marked his every bawl with reverence. Dunno where he went.

Prove yourself to yourself, is all that it could mean.

 

 ROBERTOREG Family tree website https://www.myheritage.com/site-family-tree-260317891/register