Wolverton Mountain

This song was a hit record on the Country and Pop charts back in 1962. And this was the year my Uncle Clyde passed away, and I can vividly recall the day of his burial.

Woolverton Mountain, Arkansas 

I was 10 years old, and Mom had lathered my hair up with Vitalis to make it lay down. It was a hot summer day, and a long drive from northern Kentucky to the cemetery in Augusta, Kentucky in a car that was built before air conditioning was a feature. It seemed like we were at the graveside for hours, with Mom, Dad, my grandmother, siblings, my Aunt Margaret, Clyde's wife, and my cousin Peggy.. My head felt like it was on fire from that oily hair tonic. This was the first funeral I had been to in my young life, and I was scared. When we left, I was ever so glad.

Dad liked to have the radio on during the drive to a back, and I appreciated that. I knew a lot of songs at a young age. We stopped for dinner at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and Dad put a couple of nickels in the jukebox above the table. One song was call Put another Nickel in the Nickelodeon, which I had heard many times. The other song was called Wolverton Mountain. It peeked my interest.

"They say don't go on Wolverton Mountain if you're looking for a wife.
Cause Clifton Clowers has a pretty young daughter,
He's mighty handy with a gun and a knife.

Her tender lips are sweeter than honey and Wolverton Mountain protects her there.
The bears and the birds, tell Clifton Clowers, if a stranger should enter there.
All of my dreams are on Wolverton Mountain I want his daughter for my wife.

I'll take my chances and climb right up that mountain,
Though Clifton Clowers, might take my life.
Her tender lips are sweeter than honey and Wolveton Mountain protects her there.
The bears and the birds, tell Clifton Clowers, if a stranger should enter there.

I'm going up on Wolverton Mountain it's too lonesome down here below.
It's just not right to hide his daughter from the one who loves her so.

And I don't care about Clifron Clovers I'm gonna climb up on his mountain I'm gonna take the girl I love.
I don't care about Clifron Clovers I'm gonna climb up on that mountain and I'll get the one I love."

The song was about a mean old, overly protective father, that would not let his young daughter out of his sight, for the selfish reason that he needed her companionship, and he needed her as a farm hand.

I was fascinated by the singer's deep baritone voice, and the story. It would not be until 50 years later I found out more about it, so here is the real story behind that song.  I found this story on a Facebook page by a person identified only as JH.

Songwriter Merle Kilgore

Songwriter Merle Kilgore often said that, although he was born in Oklahoma and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana, his real roots were planted in the Arkansas Ozarks. His mother and grandmother had been born in those mountains, and most of his relatives called those wooded lands home.

Kilgore started playing guitar at a very young age, and began writing songs as a teenager. By the time he turned eighteen in 1954, one of his songs made it into the hands of Webb Pierce. “More and More” became a #1 hit for Pierce, and reached #7 when Charley Pride covered it in 1983.

Obtaining a spot on the Louisiana Hayride in Shreveport, Merle not only sang, but became the top accompanist for many of the show’s best-known acts. A master showman, he was a crowd favorite. Very outgoing,

Kilgore made friends easily, and soon found himself on the road with the likes of Faron Young, Webb Pierce, Jim Reeves and Elvis Presley. He continued to work the Hayride through the fifties, but by the end of the decade was contemplating taking a big chance and changing the course of his career.

In 1959 Kilgore took some time off and drove up to Arkansas to visit his uncle and aunt. He wasn’t sure if he should give up the career that he had built thus far. He had just to move to Nashville and was trying to make a career there. Merle wondered if that was too big a risk. He trusted his Uncle Clifton a great deal and wanted to discuss his predicament with him. Merle’s

Clifton Clowers plowing on his farm

Uncle Clifton lived on the same mountain where Kilgore’s mother and grandmother had been born. There was a peace as well as a sense of belonging that Merle felt when he walked the long trails and studied the picturesque vistas of Woolverton (the mountain’s actual spelling). Here, the pace was slow and the people were honest. It was the perfect setting not only to reflect on life, but also to gain insight and inspiration.

As Kilgore spent time at the old place, he began to think about the mountain and his uncle’s simple, but rewarding life. Grabbing his guitar and a pen, Merle wrote a song that he called “Clifton Clowers” (his uncle’s name). When he finished the piece, he went looking for his uncle, finding him out in a cane field making sorghum molasses.

Kilgore sat down right there and played him the new song. When he finished, Uncle Clifton smiled and told Merle, “Son, you just wrote yourself a hit.”

Johnny Horton

Confident that everyone else would have the same reaction as Uncle Clifton, Kilgore raced back to Shreveport and played it for one of his best friends, Johnny Horton. Johnny listened to “Clifton Clowers,” shook his head and said “that is probably the worst song I have ever heard.” Kilgore was taken aback by Horton’s response. Usually Johnny loved his material. Still, Merle didn’t give up on his latest composition.

George Jones

The songwriter simply went looking for someone else with a recording contract. The next singer Merle ran into was George Jones.

He started playing it for Jones, but this time Kilgore didn’t even finish before George cut in. “I hate mountain songs,” he said. Again and again Merle tried, but no one wanted to take a chance on “Clifton Clowers.”

In 1960, Merle finally took the plunge and moved to Nashville, bringing along his guitar, his songs and his uncle’s blessing. Quickly landing a recording contract at Starday Records, Merle managed to chart with three releases. One of those records even landed in the top ten, but none of them established Kilgore as a solo act, so Merle went back to songwriting and opening for better-known performers.

He also began to dabble in acting. One day Kilgore received a call from Tillman Franks. Franks had previously managed Johnny Horton, but after Johnny was killed in a car wreck on November 5, 1960, Tillman had picked up another young singer from Shreveport named Claude King.

Claude King

Merle was familiar with King, as he had been a local sports star while Kilgore was still in high school. After college, King returned home and had become a fairly popular folk singer in the area. He was a solid performer who had even scored a couple of Top Ten hits in 1961 on the Columbia label: “Big River, Big Man” and “The Comancheros.”

Tillman Franks told Merle that he was planning to do a folk-style album with King. Folk music was really hot at the time and with the right songs, he was hoped that a top-selling album might be produced. Franks asked Kilgore if he remembered a mountain song that he had once played for Johnny Horton.

Merle fabricated the story somewhat and said that not only did he remember it, but Johnny had loved it! So Kilgore dug up “Clifton Clowers” and took it over to Franks. Claude King listened to it and thought it had some potential, but he wanted to make a few changes. Merle gave King the authorization to proceed.

After Claude adjusted some of the lyrics, he decided to record the number. When Kilgore found out that he was going to cut it, Merle gave Claude half of the songwriting credit because of the changes he made. One of the most noticeable changes King made was the song’s title. No longer was it “Clifton Clowers.” He had retitled it “Wolverton Mountain,” (removing one of the o’s from the mountain’s actual spelling).

1962 45 RPM of Wolverton Mountain

Released in mid-spring of 1962, it grabbed the top spot in June, holding it for nine weeks on Billboard’s country chart. On the pop listing, the record also made a strong showing, peaking at #6. Not only did “Wolverton Mountain” become the most important country folk song of its era, but it captured the imagination of thousands of people worldwide.

Suddenly the state of Arkansas was being flooded by calls from people all over the world wanting to know how they could get to Wolverton Mountain. It was a media frenzy and the reporters made the most of it.

Kilgore’s Uncle Clifton was not only receiving scores of phone calls and letters, he did interviews with correspondents from all over the world. He had his picture taken with literally thousands of tourists. The song made him a celebrity and created a rush of traffic on U. S. Highway 65 for years afterward.

"Mike" singing for
Clifton Clower's 102nd Birthday

The mountain is located just north of Morrilton, Arkansas in Conway County. Clifton Clowers would continue to live on Woolverton Mountain for the rest of his life. When he died at age 102 in 1994, newspapers all over the world ran his obituary.

Merle Kilgore singing
Ring of Fire on Hee Haw 1987

His nephew Merle Kilgore toured the globe, singing, acting and lecturing. He wrote another country classic soon afterward – Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” in 1963, in which he shared songwriting credit with June Carter, although it’s generally known that Kilgore composed the song himself, written about the burgeoning romantic relationship between Carter and Johnny Cash. As a favor to his friend Cash, Merle authorized June’s name to be placed on “Ring of Fire” as co-writer because of her strong link to Johnny’s career.

Later, Kilgore also became the longtime manager of Hank Williams, Jr., receiving the “Manager of the Year” award from the Country Music Association in 1990.

The song which Kilgore wrote about his uncle warned, “They say don’t go on Wolverton Mountain.” Yet, it seems few people took those words seriously. “Wolverton Mountain” was revisited several times after Claude King first took listeners there.

Dickey Lee had a record on it just weeks after King’s version came out. Bing Crosby also cut the song, as did Nat King Cole and Louis Armstrong. Hank Williams, Jr. included a reference to it in one of his own hits (paying homage to writer Kilgore).

And, before his death in 2005, Merle often went back there to reflect, find a little peace and a lot of inspiration. – JH

The Autumn leaves, 

  they make me sneeze. 

The Autumn leaves, 

  of red and gold. 

My allergies,

 I cough and wheeze, 

and constantly, 

 I blow my nose. 

The Summer's gone away. 

 the Fall is here, 

My eye's are watery, 

 and filled with tears. 

And I miss you most of all, 

 the sunshine, 

when autumn leaves, start to fall.

Life in Black and White

Television in the 1950's

Black and White,  Black and White (Under age 45? You won't understand) You could hardly see for all the snow, Spread the rabbit ears as far as they go.

Huntley and Brinkley

'Good Night, David. Good Night, Chet.'

My Mom used to cut chicken, chop eggs and spread mayo on the same cutting board with the same knife and no bleach, but we didn't seem to get food poisoning.

My Mom used to defrost hamburger on the counter and I used to eat it raw sometimes, too. Our school sandwiches were wrapped in wax paper in a brown paper bag, not in ice pack coolers, but I can't remember getting E.coli.

Almost all of us would Have rather gone swimming in the lake instead of a pristine pool (talk about boring), no beach closures then. If we didn't have a swimming suit with us...well we went skinny dipping.

The term cell phone would have conjured up a phone in a jail cell, and a pager was the school PA system.

We all took gym, not PE.. and risked permanent injury with a pair of high top Ked's (only worn in gym) instead of having cross-training athletic shoes with air cushion soles and built in light reflectors. I can't recall any injuries but they must have happened because they tell us how much safer we are now. Flunking gym was not an option... Even for stupid kids! I guess PE must be much harder than gym.

Speaking of school, we all said prayers and sang the national anthem, and staying in detention after school caught all sorts of negative attention. We must have had horribly damaged psyches. What an archaic health system we had then. Remember school nurses? Ours wore a hat and everything. I thought that I was supposed to accomplish something before I was allowed to be proud of myself.

I just can't recall how bored we were without computers, Play Station, Nintendo, X-box or 270 digital TV cable stations Oh yeah... And where was the Benadryl and sterilization kit when I got that bee sting? I could have been killed! We played 'king of the hill' on piles of gravel left on vacant construction sites.

When we got hurt, Mom pulled out the 48-cent bottle of Mercurochrome (kids liked it better because it didn't sting like iodine did) and then we got our butt spanked. Now it's a trip to the emergency room, followed by a 10-day dose of a $99 bottle of antibiotics, and then Mom calls the attorney to sue the contractor for leaving a horribly vicious pile of gravel where it was such a threat.

We didn't act up at the neighbor's house either; because if we did we got our butt spanked there and then we got our butt spanked again when we got home. I recall Donny Reynolds from next door coming over and doing his tricks on the front stoop, just before he fell off. Little did his Mom know that she could have owned our house. Instead, she picked him up and swatted him for being such a jerk.

It was a neighborhood run amuck. To top it off, not a single person I knew had ever been told that they were from a dysfunctional family. How could we possibly have known that? We needed to get into group therapy and anger management classes. We were obviously so duped by so many societal ills, that we didn't even notice that the entire country wasn't taking Prozac! How did we ever survive?

LOVE TO ALL OF US WHO SHARED THIS ERA; AND TO ALL WHO DIDN'T, SORRY FOR WHAT YOU MISSED. I WOULDN'T TRADE IT FOR ANYTHING!

Silent Night is 200 Years Old

One of the world’s most famous Christmas carols, “Silent Night,” celebrates its 200th anniversary this year.

Over the centuries, hundreds of Christmas carols have been composed. Many fall quickly into obscurity, but not “Silent Night.”

Translated into at least 300 languages, designated by UNESCO as a treasured item of Intangible Cultural Heritage and arranged in dozens of different musical styles — from heavy metal to gospel — “Silent Night” has become a perennial part of the Christmas soundscape.

Its origins — in a small Alpine town in the Austrian countryside — were far humbler. As a musicologist who studies historical traditions of song, the story of “Silent Night” and its meteoric rise to worldwide fame has always fascinated me.

Fallout from war and famine The song’s lyrics were originally written in German just after the end of the Napoleonic Wars by a young Austrian priest named Joseph Mohr.

In the fall of 1816, Mohr’s congregation in the town of Mariapfarr was reeling. Twelve years of war had decimated the country’s political and social infrastructure. Meanwhile, the previous year — one historians would later dub “The Year Without a Summer” — had been catastrophically cold. The eruption of Indonesia’s Mount Tambora in 1815 had caused widespread climate change throughout Europe. Volcanic ash in the atmosphere caused almost continuous storms — even snow — in the midst of summer. Crops failed and there was widespread famine.

Mohr’s congregation was poverty-stricken, hungry and traumatized. So he crafted a set of six poetic verses to convey hope that there was still a God who cared. “Silent night,” the German version states, “today all the power of fatherly love is poured out, and Jesus as brother embraces the peoples of the world.”

The original handwritten text of the poem Silent Night

Mohr, a gifted violinist and guitarist, could have probably composed the music for his poem. But instead, he sought help from a friend.

In 1817, Mohr transferred to the parish of St. Nicholas in the town of Oberndorf, just south of Salzburg. There, he asked his friend Franz Xaver Gruber, a local schoolteacher and organist, to write the music for the six verses.

On Christmas Eve, 1818, the two friends sang “Silent Night” together for the first time in front of Mohr’s congregation, with Mohr playing his guitar.

The song was apparently well-received by Mohr’s parishioners, most of whom worked as boat-builders and shippers in the salt trade that was central to the economy of the region.

The melody and harmonization of “Silent Night” is actually based on an Italian musical style called the “siciliana” that mimics the sound of water and rolling waves: two large rhythmic beats, split into three parts each.

In this way, Gruber’s music reflected the daily soundscape of Mohr’s congregation, who lived and worked along the Salzach River. But in order to become a worldwide phenomenon, “Silent Night” would need to resonate far beyond Oberndorf.

According to a document written by Gruber in 1854, the song first became popular in the nearby Zillertal valley. From there, two traveling families of folk singers, the Strassers and the Rainers, included the tune in their shows.

The song then became popular across Europe, and eventually in America, where the Rainers sang it on Wall Street in 1839.

At the same time, German-speaking missionaries spread the song from Tibet to Alaska and translated it into local languages.

By the mid-19th century, “Silent Night” had even made its way to subarctic Inuit communities along the Labrador coast, where it was translated into Inuktitut as “Unuak Opinak.”

The lyrics of “Silent Night” have always carried an important message for Christmas Eve observances in churches around the world. But the song’s lilting melody and peaceful lyrics also reminds us of a universal sense of grace that transcends Christianity and unites people across cultures and faiths.

Perhaps at no time in the song’s history was this message more important than during the Christmas Truce of 1914, when, at the height of World War I, German and British soldiers on the front lines in Flanders laid down their weapons on Christmas Eve and together sang “Silent Night.”

The song’s fundamental message of peace, even in the midst of suffering, has bridged cultures and generations. Great songs do this. They speak of hope in hard times and of beauty that arises from pain; they offer comfort and solace; and they are inherently human and infinitely adaptable.

Sarah Eyerly is assistant professor of musicology and director of the Early Music Program at Florida State University. This column was first published by The Conversation.

Literal Translation of German lyrics (blessed boy in curly hair)

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, 

Alles schläft; einsam wacht 

Nur das traute hochheilige Paar. 

Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar, 

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh! 

Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh! 

 Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, 

Hirten erst kundgemacht 

Durch der Engel Halleluja, 

Tönt es laut von fern und nah: 

Christ, der Retter ist da! 

Christ, der Retter ist da! 

Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, 

Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht 

Lieb' aus deinem göttlichen Mund, 

Da uns schlägt die rettende Stund'. 

Christ, in deiner Geburt! 

Christ, in deiner Gebur