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The Copperhill Story
“The copper bosses framed you Joe
They shot you Joe said I;
Takes more than guns to kill a man,
Said Joe I did not die.
Joe Hill ain’t dead he says to me,
Joe Hill ain’t never died;
Where working men are out on strike,
Joe Hill is at their side.”
— excerpt from “The
Ballad of Joe Hill”
written by Alfred Hayes and Earl Robinson, 1925
Note: A lot of you have been dropping by this page lately. I'm not sure how you found it, but you should know... This is a brief history in relation to my historical fiction story "A Bird on Water Street" which has yet to be published. Some of the names in parenthesis are fictional names from my book (i.e. New Cornwall, Tohachee River) based on real places/things. If you get the chance, I'd love to hear how you found me. Email at elizabeth at dulemba dot com. Thanks for the visit.
While my novel, “A Bird on Water Street,” is fiction, Jack’s story weaves through a real time and place in American history. Copperhill, Tennessee (New Cornwall) is located where Georgia, Tennessee, and North Carolina meet at the base of the Appalachian Mountains. (The town is called McCaysville on the Georgia side.) The Georgia, Tennessee line really does cut through the parking lot of the local IGA grocery store, and I’ve stood with a foot in each state many times.
Copper was discovered there in the early 1840’s not long after the Cherokee Indians were forced out on the “Trail of Tears.” Tin miners were brought in from Cornwall, England to apply their expertise to copper mining.
Life was crazier than the wild west in those days. The remote area was cut off from most civilization by rocky terrain and terrible roads. Before the railroad, wagons (pulled by teams of oxen or mules) typically took weeks to haul supplies and copper in and out of the mountains. Therefore, miners turned to the locally available fuel to keep the smelters running — wood.
By the 1870’s over 50 square miles of land had been stripped completely bare of trees. All the remaining vegetation was killed by the toxic fumes expelled from the open roasting pits. And although the smelters were enclosed in 1904 to trap and produce sulfuric acid, the area remained completely devoid of vegetation for over a hundred years. Without vegetation, nothing held the soil in place and erosion drastically pitted the landscape, making it look much like a wrinkled brown paper bag.
During my research I heard amazing stories of what it was like growing up in such a strange environment. For instance, the wind was too corrosive for tin roofs (everybody had asphalt shingles) and could eat up a pair of nylon stockings hanging on a clothesline in a matter of minutes.
Unions didn’t come easily to the mining industry, as evidenced in “The Ballad of Joe Hill,” but they did come. They helped improve health and safety standards for the workers, but cancer was apparently still rampant. The Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) did put limitations on the amount of toxins a person can legally be exposed to while on a job, but some exposure is legally okay. Add to that, the Union was constantly complaining that the regulations were not being followed — I was told about three men from the same mining crew who all died from pancreatic cancer in the same year.
Other than making arguments through the Union, there wasn’t much the Miners could do about it. The entire town’s economy relied upon the Company, from the mines, to the grocery store, to the schools. Mining did provide a decent, although not extravagant, lifestyle for the workers and their families, but it was often the only job in town. Miners felt stuck.
While the closing of the Company occurs quickly in “A Bird on Water Street,” in real life it happened more slowly. In 1985 the Company announced copper mining would be phased out and thousands of men were laid off over the following years. The underground tunnels were flooded with water to prevent collapse when mining operations halted completely in 1987, although acid production continued. Laid off workers ended up striking for a very long time, some as many as ten years.
Sulfuric Acid production also finally ended in 2000 and the plant was sold to a company in South America. Out-of-town contractors were brought in to start tearing the plant down just before my husband and I moved away in 2005. It seemed to be yet another slight against the local people who so badly needed the jobs.
But not all the news was bad.
In the 1930s efforts to re-vegetate the 32,000 acre area began, although it was an uphill battle at that point. Tree planting efforts continued through President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps (the CCC) in the 1940s, and aerial seeding in the 1980s. Even with all the environmental efforts, the region didn’t start making a comeback until the early 1990’s.
Copperhill experienced a small boon in 1996 when the Olympic White Water Competitions were held downstream on the Ocoee (Tohachee) River. It was a shining moment for the residents and changed the focus of the town which now relies on tourist dollars to survive. Visitors enjoy the scenic railway, the vacation log cabins, and what is now a beautiful vista.
By the time my husband and I moved to the region in 2001, most of the area had
been reforested, although signs of the previous damage was still visible
in some places, especially around the tailings ponds. Much of the local history
is preserved at the Ducktown Basin Museum where visitors can see truly shocking
photos of the once denuded landscape and schedule tours of the tailings ponds
to observe reclamation efforts first hand. Ironically, much of the region
is
now wetlands. Reeds and grasses act as nature’s filtration process and now cover
the once polluted area. Wildlife is slowly returning, even frogs.
Links to more amazing photos:
EPA - historic photos
EPA - more recent images
Glenn Springs Holding Company Photographs
(the company in charge of the clean-up)
To sample "The Ballad of Joe Hill" sung live by Joan Baez, go to the iTunes Music Store.
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All Artwork © Elizabeth O. Dulemba, 2001 -
Y'all play nice, Okay?
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