Metro Pulse

No one was using the word “postracial” in 1876, but William Francis Yardley challenged the usual categories. He looked like a black man, though his mother was allegedly white. He was raised and educated by whites, but he regarded himself as black. A Maryville College graduate, he’d studied law, and was, before he was 30, a full-fledged member of the Knoxville bar, an elected city alderman, and a justice of the peace. Full story »

Two old friends have passed in the last week, one day apart. I got to know Al at Pete’s Coffee Shop, in their old location in the Sprankle Building, mainly thanks to his extraverted nature and our shared interest in local history. I feel as if I knew him well, and he’s helped me with more than one column over the years, but come to think of it, except for a few phone conversations, that popular lunch spot on Union Avenue accounts for nearly 100 percent of my acquaintance with Al Heins. He was known as the Chairman of the Board, even to the other chairmen of boards who eat lunch there every day. Full story »

In the last couple of years, we’ve witnessed some stark examples of the hazards of patronizing chain restaurants. As my family and friends will attest, I’m almost pathologically opposed to chains, so you may want to take what I say with a grain of sea salt. Some of them do serve pretty good food, especially if you like various sorts of colorful and savory hot goo drizzled atop it. But to me, no restaurant meal is, in itself, worth what I pay for it. I mean no disrespect to professional chefs, but I don’t mind saying I can make an excellent meal of a can of beans and a piece of toast, plus a few herbs and spices and maybe some onion or fresh tomato, for less than a dollar. When I go out, I go for the whole experience, and accept that most of what I pay for a meal is an investment in my city, and a vote for some establishment—some permanent place—that I think is unique and worth keeping around. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: Earlier this summer, a twin-front building on the 800 block of Market Street was demolished, without publicity, as demolishers prefer it. I didn’t know about it until I saw the backhoes biting into it one weekend. It was the first demolition on Market Street in 30 years, but no one raised a stir. Few cared much about the building, a drab little former law office, a one-story victim of the over-stuccoed ’70s, ineligible for National Register status. I saw it in mid-demolition, when the stucco had fallen off, but the front walls were still standing, and was surprised to see, for the first time in my life, its dignified circa-1920 facade. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: If you want to take a break from all the political stuff, the hate stuff and the attack ads and the county political stuff—and I think we could all use a break—have a look at the upper left-hand gallery at the Knoxville Museum of Art. It’s called Higher Ground, sort of an episodic history of art in the Knoxville area, and the KMA’s first permanent exhibit Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: Many Knoxvillians heard Sunday morning’s awful news not from the Internet or television or even a phone call but oracle-like, from the pulpit, a shaken minister announcing a tragedy that would soon be known to the nation. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: If you didn’t know Harold Shersky, you know somebody who did. Harold could perplex those simple-minded enough to believe there’s such a thing as a typical Knoxvillian. A master of kosher cuisine and an observant Jew trusted with solemn rituals at Heska Amuna Synagogue, he was the son of a Russian refugee from the czar’s terror. Some preferred to believe he was an immigrant himself, or at least an errant New Yorker. In fact, he was born just around the corner on old Vine Street, and, except for his time in the service during World War II, never lived anywhere but Knoxville. He was more Knoxvillian than most of us, and no one has ever made such a positive contribution to a city without budging from one place Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: You do it, too. You overhear people talking, and you listen in. You can’t help it. Listen long enough and you’ll be able to predict what comes next; most conversations run in predictable patterns. The other day on the bus, I heard a couple of young graduate-student types, talking about life in Knoxville. One was from Chicago, the other from New York. One had lived here for a few years, the other for a few months Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: I heard last week that my friend Lynn Westergaard died, at his home in Atlanta. He was 71. He hadn’t lived in Knoxville in 40 years, and his obituary didn’t appear in the daily, but he was once well-known here. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: Both of Knoxville’s biggest Fourth celebrations had been sponsored by the Grand Army of the Republic, the vigorous association of Union veterans. There had been lots planned at Fountain City and Chilhowee parks, several baseball games, a tennis championship, horse races at Johnson’s park, the annual tug-of-war between the veterans of the Blue and Gray (all well past 60, they were leaning more toward the gray). Box ball, later better known as four square, was the rage in 1908; there were to be tournaments. There were to be fiddlers and fortune-tellers, and an expected 70,000 jamming the streetcars to see it all. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: By the end of the week, Knoxville will no longer be home to White Lily Flour, which has been milled at its original location at Central Street and Depot Avenue for well over a century. For reasons that must make sense to somebody with a calculator, Smucker’s is moving the production to a couple of different mills in the Midwest. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: Last Monday I set out to meet my family for dinner at a restaurant in Bearden. I’d ridden my bike to town that morning, and I could have ridden it to the restaurant easily enough. But I didn’t know what my mom would think if I were all sweaty when I got there, so I caught the Kingston Pike bus. The 11 leaves at 6:15, right after about 15,000 people downtown have just gotten off work. It was right on time, as usual. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: Lindsay Kefauver was in town last month doing some research at the University of Tennessee’s old Hoskins Library. An experienced art and photograph researcher, she’s working on behalf of an unusual new museum of organized crime in Las Vegas. As it happens, she’s also the oldest daughter of the late senator and two-time presidential contender Estes Kefauver. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: Unlike the gray men who dominated the TV news, Robert Kennedy looked like my friends. His hair was always kind of a mess, and so was mine. He parted it on the right; I parted mine on the left. I tried brushing mine from the right. It felt weird, and looked modern. I tried to keep it that way, but it kept slipping back. Full story »

Secret History by Jack Neely: At Kroger a few months ago, I’d found the beans, the soup, the olive oil, most of what I needed; all I lacked was milk. It was a Kroger I’d been to before, but not one I’d ever known my way around without looking. I peered up at the signs that hang over the aisles. Full story »