After the recent death of my brother Sam McClung, a cousin of mine – Betty Smith, who lives in Knoxville – suggested I write a story about growing up with Sam.
All four of us children were born at home and delivered by a midwife. Sam was five years old when I was born. When it was time for me to come into the world, he said that he was sent to the barn. When he was allowed back in the house, he discovered that he had a baby brother.
I am sure that he wondered how that happened and where I came from.
Most of our playtime as young children was spent in the woods. We played a lot of Cowboys and Indians. Our neighbors across the ridge were Cherokee’s and played with us. Sometimes the Cherokee children were Cowboys and we were the Indians.
We got wooden rails from and old fence and constructed a fort on top of a rock outcropping. It was attacked many times, with only one casualty. Sam sharpened a nail to a fine point for an arrow head and with his homemade bow and arrow, he shot me in the leg with it.
We built wooden wagons and had wagon roads cleared to the top of the mountain. We were joined by Ray Eller and Gerald Phillips on these escapades. There were lots of wrecks. I ran my wagon through a growth of what is called “running briars.” I looked as if someone had attacked me with a knife from all the bloody scratches from the briars. Another time, I struck a hickory tree and tore the entire front end out of my wagon.
We climbed trees a lot. My older brother Lewis fell out of a tree and knocked himself out. Sam and I thought he was dead and started to get our mother. Lewis came to about that time – urging us not to go, but just let him recover a bit and he would be all right.
On another tree-climbing episode, Sam fell out of a tree and fractured his arm. I never fell out of a tree, but did manage to run off an embankment on a “store-bought” wagon, struck the side of the house, and knocked myself out.
Gerald Phillips’s parents had an old car frame that the engine and most everything had been stripped from, leaving the wheels and steering wheel. Gerald, Ray and Sam pushed it as far up a steep hillside as they could to ride it back down.
For once a little common sense prevailed, somewhat. They told me I was too little and couldn’t ride. The old car frame got up so much speed that it began bouncing into the air. It threw Ray off and ran over him, went through a fence and landed in Atoah Creek.
We swung on grapevines a lot. One grapevine swing put us several feet high over Atoah Road. If we had fallen, we probably wouldn’t have survived. We went to swing on it one day and it had been cut off so high that we couldn’t reach it.
Years later – after we were grown – we found out that our father Clyde McClung had discovered it, saw how dangerous it was and probably prevented a tragedy.
Many years have passed since those times. With the passing of my brother Sam, I am the only one left of my immediate family. Sam was gone so quick, that it is difficult to accept that he is gone.
But there is a better day coming.
Marshall McClung is the historical columnist for The Graham Star.