If you dropped a leaf in the Neosho River, it would likely bob and twirl southward, eventually making its way into Lake Hudson. Depending upon the wind, it might hook a left at some point and float along the south border of Spavinaw and on into Spavinaw Lake, a beautiful body of water that serves as the focal point for Spavinaw State Park.
In late January, fishermen stand shoulder to shoulder, casting off the lookout point, each of them hoping to pull up a nice sized crappe, grateful the weather is pretty enough to be outdoors once again.
I know about the fishermen because we observed them cast, wait, and occasionally nod to each other as if they were using words sparingly, in a friendly fashion, as they went about their business.
We observed them from our own lookout point on Sonny Hopkins’ porch high above the small town of Spavinaw. High enough to see smoke from wildfires miles away. High enough to feel closer to the eagles when they circle over the lake seeking their own fish. High enough to watch the incoming mediflight helicopters should one of the weekend bikers take the curves up the hill too quickly. High enough to see the moon, during certain times of the year, touch the lake and make a shimmering light pattern resembling a staircase leading straight to the sky.
And high enough to offer a perfect setting for fiddling jams several times a year.
Spavivaw lies nestled in a valley at lake level, and as our Every Point team scouted the main street area, our eyes lifted to homes above the town built on the edge of a rock cliff, their back porches overlooking the entire valley area. When we found the neighborhood road leading to that area, Sonny’s door was the first one we approached. Not only did he welcome us in, but he called his nephew Casey Hardison who lived across the street to join the conversation.
Sonny Hopkins and Casey Hardion, sharing their stories on that beautiful porch.
Sonny’s wife, Lisa, is an associate professor at Tulsa Community College. Casey still keeps his connections with the Army and is a bartender in the high limit room at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in north Tulsa. And Sonny and Lisa’s son is Zirl “Bubba” Hopkins, a fiddle champion who now lives in Texas. And occasionally, after a long week at the concrete factory, Sonny drives up the hill to his home and helps Lisa prepare for a night full of fiddling.
Evidently after the American Heritage Music Festival or other area fiddle event, the musicians and their entourage head toward the Hopkins’ home to keep music going through the night. Lisa is known to keep some pretty incredible food around to feed all those jamming on the the porch, in the house, and wherever they can find a spot to play. Our team smiled as we heard stories of these fiddling parties. One tale included an RV loaded with people, headed down to the local American Legion for a beer run, because there isn’t a quick stop or grocery store for several miles.
As we sat on Sonny’s back porch looking over the beautiful lake, Casey shared a story with us that brought our team full circle to the bigger themes of our trip: land and water. As is usually the case with any big project, local interests and large business occasionally come to an impasse. Such was the case when the Spavinaw Dam and water system project was beginning to take shape in the 1920s in order to expand the supply of water to the growing Tulsa area.
The local cemetery was slated to be moved for this project, and that wasn’t okay with the Thompson’s, a local Cherokee family and grandparents of Sonny’s wife. Relatives guarded their family graves, standing, or sitting on horseback, until the project managers gave up and agreed to leave those three graves alone. Casey guided us from the house down to the gravesite and sure enough, there they were, resting in their original location close to a pavilion for visitors to convene in the park.
It was peaceful there. The sky was blue, the air cool, the water clear and still. A good place for a gravesite and a family picnic.
Casey frequently kayaks in the area, and his routes are more purposeful than a leaf bobbing on the current. The Hopkins home is more than just a porch on a hill. And the town of Spavinaw is more than just a couple of stories our team collected while there.
Spavinaw is a complex concentration of Oklahoma history populated by interesting people, high quality water, and beautiful land deeply entrenched by the lives of those who surround the area. And we’re grateful, once again, to spend a bit of time with those who are tethered to this place.
***
Field notes: Kelly liked Spavinaw so much she’s fantasy shopped for a small cabin in the area weekly since their trip.
April is helping her best friend move from one great distance in the U.S. to another right now.
Rachel has several photographs featured in the newest edition of Territory magazine that just dropped.
And, our team is heading out next week to Dewey county…a large piece of land with only 8 towns within the borders.
The stature of a man is not measured in the heights of his frame but by how tall he stands in the eyes of his community.
The worth of a man is not measured in purchasing power but by how much of himself he’s given to others.
The legacy of a man is not measured by the number of buildings bearing his name, but by the number of years others fondly repeat it once he’s gone.
And the capacity of a man is not measured by the depths of his philosophical reservoirs, but by the breadth of his emotional strength to remain resolutely passionate for the people – and ideas -that pulse within the boundaries of his identity.
The stature of a man
Russell Hogan began his time with us in Disney at PJs over a cup of coffee. Leaning forward with the energy of a lifetime story teller, Hogan chronicled the history of his rise, fall, and second life as a business man in the Pensacola Dam area of Oklahoma.
The son of a carpenter, he began his business life as a young man with a shop in Langley building docks on the lake. His business grew with time and effort until he was running an 800 boat marina during Grand Lake’s heydays. For 28 years his work was filled with boat races, cranes, rigging, and sail craft until one day he received a phone call.
“Russell, you need to sell that marina.”
“What’s wrong, Paul?” he asked of the person on the line.
“T. Boone Pickens bought Phillips Petroleum and they’re moving the oil industry to Texas,” the caller responded.
“And they did. I couldn’t sell the marina, it was too large. And as people left and went to different locations I hauled boats across the country for ten more years. At one time early on I had the marina sold for three million dollars and the deal went sour. I ended up selling it for $350,000.”
As Hogan talked of lake life, his growing interest in off roading and perceived social classes of populations who enjoy off roading versus hunters or other outdoors groups, his language was entertaining. He used words like “regime” to describe rotations of gubernatorial administrations in Oklahoma, and anecdotes to describe his interactions with legal representatives of the GRDA as he fought for rights to access and use the shore areas for off roading activities. Eventually, his personal hobby interests in off roading turned into actions to open a local business and park for such purposes. His goal: to bring industry back to Disney, a town gasping for economic air.
But there were obstacles related to clashing ideals about the use of public lands for recreational sport.
“The GRDA came after me for trespassin’ so I told the old boy, ‘Do you want your education here in the middle of this dirt road, or do you want to get your suit out of the cleaners? I took him to court, and I sued him.'”
“Did you win?”
“Yes. A couple of regimes later, we had another guy come down and try the same durn thing. And I sued him. And the lawyer said, ‘Russell, you know more about this than I do, I’m gonna put you on the stand.’ I said, ‘Alright.’ The courthouse was packed. I got on the stand, he asked me the questions and I answered ’em, and when we got done, the COURTroom stood up and applauded me…because what I was contending with was our right to ride. Our RIGHT to use our lands, as under the 1932 Enabling Act. Under the constitution, the lands and waters for this project are to be used for the most and best good. You don’t have to quote me, you can go look it up.”
As he worked through these legal trappings, he purchased “the most lucrative piece of off roading land” in Disney from an “old, retired cowboy,” paying him commercial value to help seal the deal.
Hogan then painted a fairly animated picture of asking Diana to stock up on food at PJs, and of convincing a closing convenience store business to “fill up the gas tanks and bring in one more load of beer” for the off roaders he was going to bring to town. He recalled bulldozing campsites and trails as people were coming in, asking for bathrooms and power outlets. In other words, he was building a business and the off roaders were right behind him, demanding what they needed for their fun while he was supplying the goods as the requests came in.
Since that time, Hogan’s Offroad Park has been open for business approximately 15 years. The city of Disney has attempted to levy various fees upon the four-wheeler community, rules have been drafted related to camping and off roading in State Parks, and according to his Facebook business page, community leaders and Hogan have gone back and forth for years.
It seems the tension between championing a cause and managing a growing business could be a quandary for him.
“In the meantime – my park has expanded to the point…I was looking for something to coast in my retirement because it beats settin’ on the front porch. [But] it’s seven days a week; I had wrecker trucks pulling guys out of mud holes this morning.”
He pauses, takes a drink of coffee, and says, “You probably need to see it. I’m gonna take you out in the ambulance and show you all over the place.”
The worth of a man
Ambulance? The team and I eyed each other, not quite sure what to think and extending our trust to a man we had just met. The air of adventure was too strong to resist and we followed Hogan to his business. The next thing I remember was crawling into the back of a military style vehicle designed to transport wounded soldiers to M*A*S*H units. That vehicle was so sturdy, it was designed to travel along the bottom of a body of water submerged in 20 feet of water. Rachel and I climbed into the back, April sat up front with Hogan, and I’m quite certain his 75 year-old frame beat all three of us in his nimble ascension to the driving seat.
He had the vehicle started and moving before we had settled in and readied our equipment.
The next 1.5 hours were spent in what can only be described as a detailed tour of the beautiful landscape backing up to the Pensacola dam. We climbed extreme degrees of rock sheers, crossed running water at fairly impressive depths, and got slightly stuck at one point, all the while listening to Hogan’s narrative about those who access this territory, and how it enhances their quality of life.
At some point, we stopped, descended from our seats to the rock-solid footing below and Hogan pointed to the dam. His narrative switched to stories that men who worked on the project told him as a boy. He differed with the GRDA account; he asserts people did lose their lives in the project. Their days were hard, their times difficult, and occasionally there was heartache, mystery or death. At one point he paused, looked down and said, “Theys somethin’ bad-awful that went on down there at those work campsites.”
In the history of man, whenever there are large projects build upon the backs of men, there is almost always “somethin’ bad-awful” that takes place.
Hogan’s perspective of the GRDA, how they use their funds, and how he would like for them to enhance the lake shore lands exemplified the eternal conflict between the common man and government – between the intrinsic need for freedom and validation, and the extrinsic compilation of structure and red tape designed to keep the common man safe.
By the time we returned to the campsite, our team was quiet. Humbled. Overwhelmed with the information we had taken in.
But Hogan wasn’t quite finished.
As we sat back in lawn chairs, debriefing with questions, we got to the heart of his heart. During our discussion, April asked him, “Why do you care so much about THIS…this place, this town.”
The capacity and legacy of a man
For a moment, Hogan offered a rare pause then responded.
“Well, I’m a native of here. I’ve been here – my people – since before statehood. We’ve went through hard times: depressions, droughts, small farmers…but eventually people bought up large tracks of land around the lake. But when I first walked these rocks around THIS part, barefooted with my fishing pole – Huckleberry Finn – [the off roading recreational business] was unheard of. Very few people appreciated the wilderness. I did, but it was a matter of economics. You couldn’t make a living here. There were no jobs and no industry.”
But he then said “far-sighted men” put in business and recreational opportunities north of the dam. Times changed; money changed. People now, he said, have money to purchase these types of recreational vehicles and can make it to this particular area of the dam.
“These vehicles were unheard of. I dreamed of having a jeep, and finally got one – my first jeep is still sitting in the garage over there. That was back in the 60s. Now the Baby Boomers have their own recreational vehicles and they want to enjoy the outdoors.”
Then Rachel asked about his Native American heritage, and if that were a part of his connection to the land. Hogan agreed that his heritage was Irish, and Cherokee, with roots in the Civil War prior to coming to this part of the country.
“But I am Cherokee Indian, my wife is Cherokee, and when they moved those people out here – burnt their homes and stole their cattle, they moved them at gunpoint out here in the middle of the winter. But my great-grandfather was quite a builder. He built a mill that cut wood into shingles and ground corn out there by Russellville. I know where that land was, I know where the foundation of the house is that my grandmother was born in…”
At this point, Hogan’s voice cracked with emotion and he paused again.
“They were wonderful people and they survived a lot. A lot of things our American History books don’t write about. My grandfather lost the biggest cotton farm in the bottom land over there during The Depression when cotton was ten cents a pound, and the bank took all that land. But that didn’t work for the government – socialism is a pendulum that moves back and forth, and it’s time now for people to realize the recreational value of our land. This land is owned by the public, but we have no access. When I go to visit the graves of my ancestors, the game warden runs me out. That area was CLOSED, yet under the law you can visit those areas and I go in there, but that area should be available to the general public!”
“Americans want to go out in the woods and take their families. They want to go hunting and they want to go fishing and take their families and take pictures and listen to the birds. We are not Russians, happy to sit in a park, listen to a fiddle song, drink a beer and eat an onion. Americans want to explore the land.”
Our Russian comrades would probably not take too kindly to being characterized in the way Hogan recounted. But thanks to Hogan and possibly others, for right now Americans can still explore their land.
He has a visitor that walks around his land and finds flint points and artifacts of the Indians who were here years ago. He personally turns dirt over with his equipment and finds campfires of natives who tread Oklahoma hundreds of years before anyone’s name was registered in a courthouse as the owner. And if there is a legacy he wishes for us all, it’s to realize our freedoms to enjoy the land we pay for with our taxes to the government.
And I would imagine, he’ll be telling that story for as long as he possibly can.
***
Field notes: April’s birthday was yesterday. Rachel is now shooting for yet another magazine, and Kelly is struggling with how to honor all the stories from all the people we’re collecting with this project.
Hopefully our video to accompany this post will be done very soon.
We had a scare three weeks ago when we thought our video files were lost from the Dam Run, but they are now recovered and our production is back on track. Look for the wrap up of this particular run with Spavinaw and an outlier stop in Stillwater fitting this recreational theme. See you soon ~ Red Dirt Kelly
Purchased in 1979 from a friend, PJs owner Diana Owen has been capably running her business for 36 years. The grill stays hot from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m. during the winter months and an incredible 7 to 11, seven days a week during the summer. Continue reading EPTOM Dam Run, Stop 5A: Disney – Diana Is Ready To Fish→
Larry Eby must have been a bus driver because he definitely took us to school. From the moment we walked into his jam packed “Corner Store” emporium, until we exited an hour later, class was in session and Mr. Eby taught us well.
Leaning casually against the glass cased counter, coffee in hand and his dog Prince at his feet, our “social studies teacher” covered subjects deeply important to an Oklahoman reflecting on 73 years of change in Adair.
He opened with family history. When his eldest son was born (“a fifth generation”), “that child had 13 living grandparents.” 21 years later when his son’s eldest daughter was born, “she was again the fifth generation on both sides of the family.” Then 22 years later when her children were born, they were again the fifth generation on Larry’s side of the family. His eyes twinkled as he told us of his nine great-grandchildren.
It was evident while listening that family was important to Larry. His grandmother was Cherokee, and he and his wife still live on her Indian allotment land on an area known as Rock Creek.
The Works Progress Administration (WPA) had built a dam on that creek “around 1935, and it backed up a little lake for three-quarters of a mile, and below that dam was the best fishing hole in the country, because when the creek would get up, the fish would come up from the river but they couldn’t get over that dam and they’d pile up…and that’s where I grew up…fishin’…so that’s why that property is important to me.”
His outline moved to the theme of business. Larry lectured about the importance of hard work, details about local commerce and how downtowns look and feel completely different than times prior to the installation of toll roads. And, about the day when he realized he had worked hard enough and it was time to “close the store”:
“I had a convenience store right across the road there, where that car lot is…for 27 years and 8 months, which is almost 28 years (he chuckles). I had got to the point where I had run off most of the help, and it was just me and a woman who run this store. And I went down one morning to open the store, and the first 3 or 4 people that came in were – to say the least – not very nice.
And I stood there after that second or third one, whichever one was left, and I thought, ‘You know, I don’t need this anymore.’ And I just closed the door, I was completely stocked and everything, and never opened it again…practically gave the inventory away. That morning they all had a real bad attitude, and at that point in my life I didn’t want to listen to it….and I’ve got worse as I’ve got older about ‘not wantin’ to listen to it.'”
Another smile.
The topic of business was important to Larry. He had a grandfather who owned “a laundry there” in Adair. His life’s work was spent growing his business holdings, and he and his wife patiently paid for everything they owned in cash while they watched some of their friends suffer from the worries of owing money. “They’d get a new boat, or car…but I’ve slept like a baby every night of my life.”
Larry wrapped up his lecture by discussing the changes in the landscape and land ownership from his perspective:
“When I was young, the older folks lived on their homestead places, 160 acres, and there were 2-4 homes per section. Now their kids have sold off those homesteads into 5,10 and 20 acre plots, and there are trailer houses all over ’em, and there’s not any amount of land that people farm around here any more.
One thing I really love is to quail hunt. There used to be quail all over this country. But people have chopped up the land, and they pull up those old fence lines where the briars and brush served as protection for the quail, then they bulldoze the land, tearing up the native grasses,and plant their Bermuda or fescue in the dirt, and birds can’t make it on that. So the few that DO manage to survive, the hawk gets. I haven’t seen a covey of quail in years.”
I felt like we had been on a field trip without ever leaving the store. Pounds of Depression Glass reflected rainbow colors in Rachel’s eyes as she spent her “recess” walking down the aisles of Larry’s emporium. I looked for April and found her stroking the luxurious sheep hides, her brain calculating how much one would set her back if she spontaneously decided to take one home. Larry shared a story about purchasing a hurricane lamp for $15 and selling it for $200 the following day while our photographer and videographer wrestled with the urge to load the car up with his “inventory.”
School was out and we drove down the road with Larry’s stories in our heads. I had an inclination to go fishing and take steps to rebuild the quail population in Mayes County. Rachel was sharing a story about Larry’s wife happening upon a mother lode of Depression glass and how they brought it back to Oklahoma. Finishing her second official stop, April was beginning to grasp what our project was all about.
And on we traveled…to the next little town whose buildings were shorter, and businesses were almost non-existent, and we wondered what the area might have been like had toll roads never been built.
***
Notes: We skipped our publishing date last week because of a family death, and dedicate this particular post to Emma Lee Bennett who we covered a few years ago in a series called “One Voice on the Oklahoma Prairie.”
April apologizes for the “Strang” slide in the Adair movie above, and will change it as soon as she returns from Haiti.
Rachel really wants this lens if any philanthropic readers happen along and feel generous.
And, we’ll be rolling out a non-profit soon in order to help underwrite our expenses for this project. Otherwise, we’re all safe and doing just fine. ~ Peace, RDK
This is my favorite picture of Larry Eby, “social studies teacher” and owner of the Corner Store (wonder emporium) in Adair, OK.
This video is the second in our Dam Run series completely shot, edited and produced by April Kirby. All photos were shot by Rachel J Apple.
***
Every Point on the Map has never been as much about the towns in which people live, as it is about the people who live in the towns.
Our time with the Fleming family of Strang wholly exemplifies this philosophy. Their living room environment was intimate, warm, and thoughtful; bursts of occasional laughter were a delight.
The cloudy overcast day, however, seemed to temper the municipality’s mood as we traversed the diminishing town proper four or five times. I struggled while absorbing what remains of a formerly vibrant area through our car window vantage point. Strang seems as if “the town” somehow vanished mysteriously, while a random sampling of people remained – still connected to each other, but without a sustaining economy to support their lives. Continue reading EPOTM Dam Run, Stop 2: Strang – View from the Bridge→
Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.
Casey frequently kayaks in the area, and his routes are more purposeful than a leaf bobbing on the current. The Hopkins home is more than just a porch on a hill. And the town of Spavinaw is more than just a couple of stories our team collected while there.
Leaning casually against the glass cased counter, coffee in hand and
