I grew up in Chattahoochee, on the east bank of the Apalachicola River. There is always a question about the origin of these two names. Here is the truth, as I understand it. A white man asked an Indian what the name of the river was. He replied “Apalachicola”, which means “I don’t understand your question”. The white man then asked about the high bluff overlooking the waters. The Indian replied “Chattahoochee”, which means “I still don’t understand your question”.
My father owned a Ford dealership there, opened by him in 1923 and operated by our family until 1971. This era stretched through the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean police action and most of the Cold War.
The construction of Jim Woodruff Dam brought in a time of prosperity. Men came to work, and their families followed. After completion of the dam and the lake in 1956, the town settled down.
I returned home after four years in college and five in the Navy to work at the dealership and later in other professions. I learned about barges and ports, not only on the Apalachicola but on many other waterways, gaining enough knowledge so that one day a lady who was writing a book about the river called me for an interview. We agreed to meet in a local cafe. Faith Eidse arrived with her tape recorder and a lot of questions. I began by telling her how it was to grow up in this small town.
And then I saw Dave coming. Dave hung around his wife’s shop across the street, but made several trips a day to the café. He would step out, pause, look both ways, study the sky, and then amble across to the other side. He always had a toothpick in his mouth. He was one of the few men that I knew who picked his teeth before he ate.
Dave was full of knowledge about kinfolk. If you hung around him for long, he would manage to make you kin to almost anyone who was from Jackson or Gadsden Counties. Once he announced that “Robert” and I were kin. He arrived at this by reasoning that since Robert was once married to the elder daughter of a local man and I had dated the younger daughter for a time we were “almost brothers-in-law”. I did not mind this convoluted thinking, but Robert did not speak to him for over two years.
Dave strolled up and asked “What’s going on?”, eying both Faith and her tape recorder. I quickly explained. “Has he told you that he owned the last house of ill repute in town?” he asked. (Only he used the “w” word.)
“Why, no, he hasn’t” said Faith, shocked. “Well, he did”, Dave went on, and described an establishment that would rival the glory of the infamous Mustang Ranch. He explained that this was puzzling to him, since I drove around in a Thunderbird, and was not bad looking, and could have been successful with “most of the single women”, thus implying that I patronized my own establishment. He sidled away, watching my expression, which radiated pure hatred.
As soon as he left I explained quickly. During the construction of the dam two couples moved into a very small frame duplex apartment just behind our dealership. The men worked the night shift, and the women soon decided that there was money to be made in the evenings, so they began “accommodating” men. One of the husbands asked his wife about her sudden affluence, and she explained that she and her friend were bored and were taking in sewing to earn some money. He was impressed and, on the next shift, bragged to his fellow workers about his industrious mate and probably recommended that their wives follow suit. Hence the name “Sewing Circle”.
There was quite a range in their customers. Dave’s own father-in-law was known to frequent one of the duplexes. A man who would be known today as a “little person” had been seen there. But the construction ended, the workers moved away, the Sewing Circle served its last customer, and the duplex was abandoned.
When I came home I worked in the dealership as something of a jack of all trades, doing my father’s bidding. One day he called me in and said he would like to expand our service department. The need to buy and move the duplex was obvious. He had already negotiated the price. I understood all of this, but I could not see why I was being involved. It soon became clear.
My father, who was chairman of the county commission, felt that his owning the “Sewing Circle”, even if it were for just a few days, would not be appropriate. But I, as a young man, would probably outlive any taint.
And I almost did. But I was the owner of the last brothel in Chattahoochee. On the day of the interview I had truly hoped that no one else in town would recall this fact. Dave remembered.
Ms. Eidse left, and later sent me the verbatim interview transcript, in all its detail. Mercifully in Voices of the Apalachicola she edited that part out. I recommend that you read her book. It is well done and part of this region’s history.
But I have the real transcript. Just try to get that!
(Note: I have changed all names except Ms. Eidse’s. The other characters in this article are very real.)
My father owned a Ford dealership there, opened by him in 1923 and operated by our family until 1971. This era stretched through the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean police action and most of the Cold War.
The construction of Jim Woodruff Dam brought in a time of prosperity. Men came to work, and their families followed. After completion of the dam and the lake in 1956, the town settled down.
I returned home after four years in college and five in the Navy to work at the dealership and later in other professions. I learned about barges and ports, not only on the Apalachicola but on many other waterways, gaining enough knowledge so that one day a lady who was writing a book about the river called me for an interview. We agreed to meet in a local cafe. Faith Eidse arrived with her tape recorder and a lot of questions. I began by telling her how it was to grow up in this small town.
And then I saw Dave coming. Dave hung around his wife’s shop across the street, but made several trips a day to the café. He would step out, pause, look both ways, study the sky, and then amble across to the other side. He always had a toothpick in his mouth. He was one of the few men that I knew who picked his teeth before he ate.
Dave was full of knowledge about kinfolk. If you hung around him for long, he would manage to make you kin to almost anyone who was from Jackson or Gadsden Counties. Once he announced that “Robert” and I were kin. He arrived at this by reasoning that since Robert was once married to the elder daughter of a local man and I had dated the younger daughter for a time we were “almost brothers-in-law”. I did not mind this convoluted thinking, but Robert did not speak to him for over two years.
Dave strolled up and asked “What’s going on?”, eying both Faith and her tape recorder. I quickly explained. “Has he told you that he owned the last house of ill repute in town?” he asked. (Only he used the “w” word.)
“Why, no, he hasn’t” said Faith, shocked. “Well, he did”, Dave went on, and described an establishment that would rival the glory of the infamous Mustang Ranch. He explained that this was puzzling to him, since I drove around in a Thunderbird, and was not bad looking, and could have been successful with “most of the single women”, thus implying that I patronized my own establishment. He sidled away, watching my expression, which radiated pure hatred.
As soon as he left I explained quickly. During the construction of the dam two couples moved into a very small frame duplex apartment just behind our dealership. The men worked the night shift, and the women soon decided that there was money to be made in the evenings, so they began “accommodating” men. One of the husbands asked his wife about her sudden affluence, and she explained that she and her friend were bored and were taking in sewing to earn some money. He was impressed and, on the next shift, bragged to his fellow workers about his industrious mate and probably recommended that their wives follow suit. Hence the name “Sewing Circle”.
There was quite a range in their customers. Dave’s own father-in-law was known to frequent one of the duplexes. A man who would be known today as a “little person” had been seen there. But the construction ended, the workers moved away, the Sewing Circle served its last customer, and the duplex was abandoned.
When I came home I worked in the dealership as something of a jack of all trades, doing my father’s bidding. One day he called me in and said he would like to expand our service department. The need to buy and move the duplex was obvious. He had already negotiated the price. I understood all of this, but I could not see why I was being involved. It soon became clear.
My father, who was chairman of the county commission, felt that his owning the “Sewing Circle”, even if it were for just a few days, would not be appropriate. But I, as a young man, would probably outlive any taint.
And I almost did. But I was the owner of the last brothel in Chattahoochee. On the day of the interview I had truly hoped that no one else in town would recall this fact. Dave remembered.
Ms. Eidse left, and later sent me the verbatim interview transcript, in all its detail. Mercifully in Voices of the Apalachicola she edited that part out. I recommend that you read her book. It is well done and part of this region’s history.
But I have the real transcript. Just try to get that!
(Note: I have changed all names except Ms. Eidse’s. The other characters in this article are very real.)
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