Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Reflecting on the Old Days in Hendersonville, July 31, 1919

From the French Broad Hustler, Hendersonville, N.C., July 31, 1919

Hustler Leaves But Will Be Remembered

People die and are forgotten—some of them. Newspapers die and are forgotten—some of them. The French Broad Hustler is about to die, for it has been sold. These are its last words, for even its name will be changed, but it will not be forgotten.

This paper was born in the mountains and came to Hendersonville many, many years ago. It came to Henderson quite different from the Hendersonville of today—a quiet, a beautiful village with a row of great trees down its always calm Main street, disturbed not by the discordant honking of many motor cars. A quaint and very small street car, drawn by a pair of sedate brown mules, ran from its owner’s home on Main street to the station. The fare was 5 cents, which you deposited in a box at the front end of the car, where it was under the driver’s eye. “Jim” Rickman was a leading merchant and “Old Jim” Waldrop sold real estate. His office was in a little brown building where they are now excavating for a new bank and the sign over the door read “Smith and Waldrop.” Captain toms was the village capitalist and the old Virginia House stood where now the million dollar bank has its home. Colonel S.V. Pickens was a familiar figure on streets less crowded than today and Dr. Few practiced his profession.

A crushed stone walk, not the easiest to travel, ran the length of Main street and when the town came to improve, long and serious was the discussion of the startling innovation. The school system—well, the school system was somewhat different from what it is today, and the board of trade, father of the present efficient organization, was working hard for the good of the town. The meetings were held in the commissioners’ room in the court house, and sometimes the lights would go out, and sometimes there would be but a very small handful of the faithful present, but always were there present “Jim” Waldrop and the other—W.A. Smith. And it seems that while Time has worked many changes here, has sent some on a journey and is responsible for many queer things, it seems that Time has touched “Bill” Smith most lightly of all. In those days there was the same vehemence, the same optimism, the same determination in this builder of Hendersonville that there is today. Some of these board of trade meetings were mighty interesting.

It was at one of these gatherings that the decision was reached to advertise Hendersonville. The work on the first town booklet was all done in the Hustler office and all of the boys were proud of that work. On the cover of that little booklet were two gates open. This was printed in gold. It suggested, it is needless to say, that the gates to Hendersonville, the gates of opportunity, were wide open. Yes, it was sure some nifty piece of job printing, not at all the same class with the new town booklets of many colors and wonderful pictures.

Well, it would be possible to go on and talk forever about that Hustler office of those days and that most beautiful village of those days. But ever since then, and before then for that matter, the Hustler has always been telling everyone just how fine a town its home town was and just how proud it was to live in such a town. Editorially and locally it has printed many miles of words of the good things to be found here, and of the other things it has printed but very few words, indeed. In this respect it is like Judge Pace—may his shadow never grow less and may he continue to preside as clerk of the Henderson County Superior court until that day comes when a new and much larger county court house will be required, which will be some little time. As to its politics—well, M.L. Shipman has always been editor of The Hustler. In the face of difficulties of which the outside world has had no conception. The Hustler has always kept the faith.

The devil says, and so many unwise suggestions come from the devil, that before the old Hustler dies he would like to see it tell the plain, unvarnished truth about some things. He says he would like to see a wedding written up as it should be—with the bridegroom played up in the headlines and the bride dismissed as an “also present.” But the devil is of an impetuous disposition with a love for flowers, as all who enter the Hustler office may see. For those struggling plants in an interesting variety of tin cans are the devil’s and even has he planted flowers alongside the building and facing an alley! But a devil is a devil, always. There was a devil in the old Hustler office, on Main Street in the building owned by Mrs. Forrest. The power there was a gasoline engine of uncertain temperament at best and the devil experimented with the engine and there was no paper for several days.

But this is about all the Merg will be able to stand. This, therefore, is the last issue of The Hustler with which M.L. Shipman and T.R. Barrows will be connected. They were connected with it years ago, went apart and came together for a few weeks pending this final change. Mr. Shipman is the Commissioner of Labor and Printing. Mr. Barrows will be connected with the paper in dim sort of way for awhile, when, sometime in the fall, probably, he will assume his duties as publicity man for the Asheville board of trade.

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