We knew her simply as the Leaf Lady. Not sure who gave her that name but that is what everyone called her. For well over ten years she wandered the side streets and byways of Buckhead during my elementary and high school years in the 1960s. All the kids knew about her and so did the adults. Even now, over 50 years later, if you mention “Leaf Lady” to anyone from that time and place they will immediately know who you are talking about. She was as much a part of the fabric of our lives as Jim Sallee’s Record Store or the milkshakes at Zesto’s.

Sometimes I would see Leaf Lady almost weekly and then months could go by without a sighting. She always wore the same dress and clutched the same flowered purse with a silver clasp. No one knew who she was or where she lived. Typically, she would either be seen walking at a fast clip or standing next to a bush picking leaves and putting them in her purse. Sometimes she would not pick the leaves but just stand there and touch them rapidly. No wonder we called her Leaf Lady.

I remember once my mom took pity on her and picked her up on Wieuca Road and tried to give her a ride. This must have been sometime in the early 60s. The trouble soon became apparent – she didn’t know where she was going. My mom kept asking “Where do you live?” and “Where can I take you?” Finally, futility set in and mom pulled over and let Leaf Lady out to continue her wandering. I always wondered how she got home every day. Did she live with anyone?

As the years passed her behavior became even more extreme. The last time I saw her I was in 10th grade at Dykes High School. I looked out the window and there was Leaf Lady on the hill above the parking lot. There were some pine trees up there and she started gathering all the pine needles into a giant pile. Before long she had created a giant structure that looked like a nest. She squatted down in the middle of that nest and appeared to be getting ready to lay an egg. Our teacher rushed to the windows and quickly pulled the curtains shut in a futile effort to protect us from what was about to occur.

I can tell you this, it wasn’t an egg she laid.

That was the last time I saw Leaf Lady. Later on, she was immortalized when the Hampton Grease Band recorded “Hey Old Lady” as an anthem to her.

There were more than a few of these characters that inhabited our world. There was Goat Man out on Highway 41, Brookhaven Bobby would answer the phone at the Bar B Que Kitchen, Birdman waved his arms furiously while riding his bicycle and Crazy Eddie could usually be found down at the clubhouse on the Chastain Park golf course. Buy Eddie a hot dog and he would give you a golf lesson. I saw him teach Bruce Hampton a golf grip that immediately took 7 strokes off his score. None of these folks ever went amok with a butcher knife and slashed their way through the mall at Lenox Square; they were accepted, even by our parents, and for the most part lived alongside us in harmony.

So, I’ve been wondering where are the Leaf Ladies and Goat Men of today? Have they all been medicated so they no longer wander? Are they in half-way houses where someone provides round the clock oversight? Has the underbrush of our society been cleared of all these fringe dwellers? I’m thinking something has been lost. I miss them. Oh, to just catch a glimpse of Birdman or hear Crazy Eddie whistle “Dixie” just one more time. I think we needed them to provide us a psychic balance to the left-brained world of duality, the Cuban Missile Crisis, and fallout shelters. I am pretty sure we have lost something important and I’m thinking it may not be not coming back, at least not anytime soon. My children have never been exposed to folks that live on the edge of the bubble and it is their loss.

They say people die two deaths. Once when their heart stops and once when they are no longer remembered. Leaf Lady, I remember you.


Jim Tate
Author, Buckhead Tales
jimtate@charter.net

Denise Starling addresses the tour. Photos by Isadora Pennington.

On Saturday, April 13, Livable Buckhead Executive Director Denise Starling hosted a tour of Path400’s latest progress. The one mile path begins at Miami Circle and runs along GA400, winding beneath train trestles for MARTA and Norfolk Southern, dipping down into a valley and nearly intersecting with GA 400. It ends at a park in the Peachtree Park neighborhood and will one day connect to the Gordon Bynum pedestrian bridge that crosses the interstate to Lenox Square.

Before starting our walk, Starling addressed the group and explained how relying on local and state, rather than federal, funds has allowed the project to move along more quickly. Though much of this section is today only razed dirt it is progressing quickly and slated for completion in October.

A Train Lover’s Delight

It’s rather surreal walking under the train lines that cross overhead. Occasionally a MARTA train buzzes through or a Norfolk Southern engine slowly rumbles by. The conductors seemed happy to see our little tour group as we made our way down the path, beeping a friendly hello as they zoomed through the scene.

Sterling explained that cooperation is key in the completion of this project, as the land that’s being transformed into a premiere metro greenspace belongs in part to Georgia Department of Transportation (GDOT), MARTA, and the railroad. A square brick building that sits about halfway down this stretch is particularly important because it is MARTA’s main power source, so locking gates and cameras have to remain in place for security and safety reasons. Nearby developments also need access which require the path to be able to handle vehicles coming through. “It’s not just a trail in the woods that we’re building,” said Starling, “it’s a road.”

Path400 plan & this route in outlined in green oval

Another challenge is the deepest valley where water runoff from the neighborhood has been steadily flowing in, bringing with it silt and mud. There’s an area in the hook of one bend that has been transformed into a bit of a swamp. Though it is a challenge for the Path400 design team to work around, wildlife seem to appreciate it. While on the tour a couple of neighbors spotted snakes in the reservoir below the path and a few geese flew through the trees landing cheerfully in the water beyond. Starling shared that the contractors have reported seeing skunks and during phase 1 they came across a huge snapping turtle! They gave him a wide berth to find his own way off of the path.

Looking Ahead

Soon this still wild and rough route will be transformed and will serve as an important connection between disparate legs of the 5.2 mile Path400 greenway. When the construction of GA400 cut through Buckhead in the 1970s it effectively divided entire communities. Path400 will not only provide much needed greenspace to local neighborhoods but will also facilitate easy access for walking and biking trails to Sandy Springs and north Fulton County as well as the BeltLine to the south. Similar to the BeltLine, the design will incorporate art installations and murals framed by the natural beauty of the area. As the design comes together it becomes easier to envision a future where Buckhead neighborhoods can reconnect in a more meaningful way through healthy outdoor activities and time spent in nature.

On the weekend of March 28 a resident black bear made local news when it stopped by a Buckhead backyard to pilfer the bird feeders and play with a trash can. Resident Franklin Smith captured the late night shenanigans on his security camera and posted the clips to YouTube, where the videos caught the attention of neighbors and local news agencies.

While sightings of black bears are certainly uncommon in most Buckhead neighborhoods, it would be a fallacy to believe that they never venture through our community. Leaving food out, even something as innocent as bird seed, is enough to entice hungry wildlife to wander through backyards in search of a meal.

“I like this clip where the bear plays with the trash can,” said Smith in a comment. “He is like a mouse rolling a spool of thread.”

This was not Smith’s first encounter with this particular four-legged friend on his property located about ¾ of a mile from the West Paces Ferry Shopping Center, and he notes that this instance was likely the bear’s sixth or seventh visit to the yard. While Smith says he doesn’t appreciate having to bring in the bird feeders at the end of the day, he also doesn’t mind the visits and has enjoyed watching the bear grow up in these late-night videos.

A few times each year neighborhood message boards light up with a resident shocked to find security camera footage of a bear on their back patio, one such neighbor even created a Twitter account for the Buckhead Bear. Resident Jaye Watson recently posted to Nextdoor.com: “While grilling out, I was reading on the patio and my husband walked out to tend to the grill and said In a calm, holy sh$& tone, ‘Honey, there is a black bear in our yard,’ and I whipped my head around and it was HUGE, right in our yard and was looking our way and then went into the woods in our yard. We agree he is three to four times the size of our 75 pound golden retriever.”

Should Buckhead residents be concerned about black bears in the neighborhood?

The short answer is probably not. Most of us will never see or encounter a bear in our communities, and when we do it is usually under the cover of nightfall when humans are not around. That being said, there are some tips to keep you and your pets safe when bears are active.

There are six “BearWise Basics” that will help to prevent conflicts between humans and bears.

1 – Never feed or approach bears. Though this should go without saying, if you feed bears or have food on your property, it will teach the bears to approach homes in search of a meal. If and when a person gets too close to a bear the animal may react defensively which is dangerous for both human and animal. This is especially true for mama bears with cubs nearby as they are especially protective of their young cubs and will take on animals much larger than themselves to defend them. They may be cute and it might be tempting to approach them but for your own safety it is best to observe from a safe distance.

2 – Secure food, garbage, and recycling. What is simply food scraps and other waste to us is a tempting treat to a scavenging bear. Remember that bears have a stellar sense of smell, and are thought to have the best sense of smell of any animal on earth! According to the National Park Service, the area inside a bear’s nose is about 100 times larger than ours. Yes, their capacity for smell is even better – approximately 7 times – than that of a bloodhound.

3 – Remove bird feeders when bears are active. During the warmer months, from March through early December, bears are at their most active. Black bears are generally skittish around humans but an unattended birdfeeder is a temptation that is often too much for these wild creatures to pass up. If bears become accustomed to visiting your property and being rewarded with food they will continue to come back, so it’s generally a good idea to bring your bird feeders and seed inside at night.

4 – Never leave your pet’s food outdoors. We get it, some of your furry friends might spend a lot of time outside in your backyard, but consider the message you are sending to bears when you allow pet food to remain outside for extended periods. It is highly suggested to conduct any outdoor pet feedings in single portions so there are no leftovers – not even a dirty bowl which could still smell like food – after your pets have finished eating. Remember that bears are excellent climbers and will have no problem scaling your fence to get to that tasty leftover kibble.

5 – Clean your grills! As if your backyard barbecues need yet another task, it’s important to remember that the bears’ impressive sense of smell will pick up on even the faintest of residues left on your grill. When possible bring your grill back inside closed doors when not in use, and be careful to remove fat, grease, and food residue from the surface of your grill once you’ve finished cooking. On the plus side? Your grill will be perpetually ready to use!

6 – Alert your neighbors to bear activity. Just as Smith did with his now viral YouTube video, it’s a good idea to keep your neighbors in the loop when you witness bears on your property or see evidence of their presence. This will ensure that the whole neighborhood is on the lookout for bear activity and can appropriately prevent unpleasant bear-human encounters. When all your neighbors are taking precautions to deter bears they will eventually conclude that this neighborhood is no good for foraging and move on.

Black bear density (shown in blue) in the southeast, graphic courtesy BearWise.com

As of 2017, BearWise reports that Georgia is home to about 5,100 black bears, comprising around 7% of the total population of 70,000 black bears that live in the southeast. BearWise is a black bear program dedicated to providing accurate and sound information to help bears and humans coexist without issue. The organization was developed by bear experts in the southeastern states and is supported by the Southeastern Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies.

If you spot a bear and have questions, visit the BearWise website, reach out to the Georgia Department of Natural Resources, or email the staff at AWARE Wildlife Center.

Under a grey sky, clouds swollen with rain, I found myself in a creekside park looking up at the underside of GA-400. Cars zoom overhead, punctuated occasionally by the rumble of a semi as it crossed over the cement overpass that spans Little Nancy Creek and Mountain Way Park. The stark contrast of the monumental structure against the wildness of the park’s meandering trails provides a compelling juxtaposition. Little Nancy Creek is a perennial waterway originating from Nancy Creek and winds through the North Buckhead neighborhood, splitting off to meet the Brookhaven Country Club Lake to the east and ending just beyond Peachtree Dunwoody Road in the south.

A number of young saplings are planted beside the path which leads to a footbridge that crosses the creek. Birdhouses on posts dot the landscape between tall, hollow cylinders that act as ventilation for the Atlanta Combined Sewage Overflow Nancy Creek Tunnel that runs under the property. A few lovingly cared-for planters are located at the north end of the park and bright red park benches can be found at scenic spots along the creek’s edge. Old growth trees dominate the park’s northern half while the southern portion is populated by younger trees, not yet providing a canopy to the fresh trails underneath.

Mountain Way Common wasn’t always a park. In 1990 when construction of GA-400 and MARTA cut a track through heavily forested neighborhoods in North Buckhead, this site served as a staging ground of construction materials for the roughly 100’ tall overpass overhead. Later, the city of Atlanta used the area as an access point for the sewage system that was run under the property and is the reason for those tall cylindrical vents. The land was not tended by the City and became a harsh tangle of invasive species that were so overgrown the area was inaccessible. Everything changed when a jogger was violently attacked by someone hiding in the bush, a shocking act that prompted the community to bind together and take measures to clean up the park.

Mountain Way Common Master Plan

Grassroots efforts to consolidate land began in 2008, and since then the park has earned a Legacy Grant from Park Pride, a Kendala Fund Grant, and Waterfall Foundation Grant. The master plan includes paved trails, splashpad, playground, treehouse, climbing rock, swing, picnic shelter, fire pit, amphitheater, restrooms, and Path400 trailhead. Most recently the park was awarded a Trees Atlanta Neighborwoods Grant and National Environmental Education Foundation Grant to plant the Hornaday Forest thanks to the efforts of one dedicated young man, Matthew Keagle.

Matthew Keagle explains how to remove English Ivy which has been slowly choking many of the trees in the park. Photo by Isadora Pennington

Keagle is a high school junior at Holy Innocents’ Episcopal School and an Eagle Scout with Troop 370. He has been in the Scouts since he was in 2nd grade when he joined the Cub Scouts, and has dedicated 1300 hours of service to tending Mountain Way Common. Of those, 300 hours were personal and the other 1000 were completed as part of his Eagle Project and Hornaday Initiatives. Keagle first volunteered at the park during a workday when he was only 8 years old. In 8th grade he led his first cleanup effort there with about 50 Georgia Tech fraternity brothers, a team of neighbors, and Boy Scouts.

“It was interesting leading with that age gap when I was really young,” said Keagle, who had help from Park Pride in coordinating the effort. “I think that workday really taught me a lot about leadership more than anything else just because it really forced me to get out of my comfort zone.”

Matthew Keagle directing a cleanup effort. Photo courtesy Shelli Keagle.

He has partnered with a number of local organizations including Livable Buckhead, Trees Atlanta who provided $9000 towards new saplings for the site in 2018, renting tools and gear from Atlanta Community Toolbank, and collecting samples for water testing with Georgia Adopt-A-Stream. “I got certified in chemical monitoring and bacterial monitoring,” he said, explaining his theory about why the creek’s E.coli levels are elevated in the summer, “what I think is the culprit for that is probably Canadian geese and golf course fertilizers. That’s been a pretty cool thing to figure out.”

No Substitute For Hard Work

The work itself is strenuous, tedious, and challenging especially during bad weather and warmer months when the bugs return in full force. The area was once packed full of invasive species of plants that are difficult to remove without chemicals that could pollute the waters of Little Nancy Creek.

“My least favorite thing was probably dealing with the invasive species. It’s really important to deal with them because they will just spread like crazy, so you have to pull them. The annoying thing is they will grow back very soon after you’ve pulled them and you’re just thinking, how does this happen? But the whole reason why they are invasive is because they can survive a lot of different things, privet especially. You have to pull privet by the roots and you have to keep on pulling it over and over and over again, and eventually it just gets weakened enough. That’s the most difficult thing.”

Keagle was initially inspired to work at Mountain Way Common because of his appreciation for playing outdoors, and when he was a child his home was just down the street from the park. He saw the property as a sort of blank slate where his Scouts work could really make a significant difference. Since the park has been restored wildlife has gradually returned to the area, and Keagle says he has seen turtles, snakes, frogs, blue herons, and even a spot along one trail where a deer slept for a period of time. Neighbors in one of the most greenspace-deprived sections of Buckhead frequent the park’s benches, trails, and a Little Free Library at the Ivy Road entrance.

While Keagle isn’t sure what his plans are after he graduates from high school next year, he says he hopes to incorporate environmental science into his life either as a minor or through ongoing volunteer effort.

“It is really rewarding when you look back and realize, man I really changed this area. That’s what I like about it, I’m going to try to keep doing that in the future.”

In days of old, in a time before video games or the internet, a strange phenomenon existed. Lost now to the passage of time it was known simply as “backyard sports.” Now this is not what you see on the well-marked playing fields of today. This was a time before uniforms, before coaches, and yes, even before parents lined the sidelines screaming for little Johnny to knock the crap out of some other 7-year-old. No leagues, no playoffs, no trophies, and thank God, no end of season award banquets. What I am talking about is sandlot baseball, backyard badminton, and hide-n-seek which we would play until darkness fell and the fireflies came out. Then parents all over the neighborhood would start screaming for the kids to come home and we would, out of breath and all sweaty.

Now I must confess I am guilty of playing on several of the organized Buckhead teams back in the day. There was no way I could call myself an athlete but I somehow managed to convince Coach Portis I should be on his Post 140 Little League baseball team with James Gibson and Joey Carone. I also played a year on the Pop Warner football team, the Colts. During scrimmage Marvin Jackson would usually mop up the field with me. I started faking injuries so I wouldn’t have to dress out. Organized sports were not for me, but boy did I love backyard sports. It didn’t matter whether it was wiffle ball with Bob Barnwell on North Stratford or basketball in Jack Pritchard’s backyard on Wieuca Road, it was all the same to me.

When I was in 7th grade my family moved from Wieuca Terrace to Millbrook Drive over near Chastain Park. It was there I experienced perhaps the highwater mark of backyard sports and the ultimate street athlete I ever encountered, Bruce Hampton. Now later Bruce would receive acclaim as a dada musician and become revered as a Living Art Object. He was indescribable, and we were blessed that he walked the streets of Buckhead and brought color to this tired and pale planet. If you don’t believe me then google his name. But, all that was much later. The time I speak of was before he ever picked up that first guitar.

Bruce Hampton was above all else a true sportsman and a natural athlete.

Living near him in the 1960s I was able to witness many of his exploits in this domain. Whether he was physically involved or just diving deeply into the history, strategy, or statistics of any sport, Bruce was 100% there. Didn’t see him do too much with tennis or swimming but everything else was up for grabs. Football, basketball, baseball, and golf down at Chastain Park were among his favorites. On a regular basis he would slaughter me in ping pong on a table in my parent’s basement. He claimed he had perfected a spin that would go clockwise as the ball approached the net, then reverse the spin to counter-clockwise before it bounced on my side. We had a regulation shuffleboard court in our backyard and Bruce was able to adapt the ping-pong double reverse spin to that sport.

When he would get bored he would invent a new sport. Bruce’s little brother, Jimmy (AKA “Face”) was younger and smaller than us, so Bruce modified football to something he called Trodderball. Not too sure where that name came from. Anyway, the rule that was everyone but Jimmy played on their knees. Try running up a hill on your knees a few times and tell me what that feels like.

Bruce could be a player, a manager or a coach. Once I saw him become all three. It was the summer of 1964 or ‘65 and everyone in the neighborhood was bored silly. We had read all the available comics, drank up all the Kool-Aid, and were reduced to hanging around in the woods trying to avoid our parents. Suddenly Bruce appeared on the scene with news that jarred us out of our summer doldrums. He claimed he had been at the Pot o’ Gold, the neighborhood convenience store at the corner of Roswell and Powers Ferry, and had been insulted by some kids from a nearby street. Now this was in the days when street loyalty meant something. It may not mean anything now but back then everyone was loyal to their street. There were the kids from Statewood, the ones from Lake Forrest, and we were the ones from Millbrook. You could have friends on another street, but the DNA was just a little bit different. You get the picture.

Well, Bruce said the kids from East Conway had flat out, and to his face, told him that our group the Millbrook boys were just a bunch of “pantywaists.” We didn’t know what that meant but it hinted at congenital cowardice or something perhaps even far worse. They had crossed the line of civility and had simply gone too far. The honor of Millbrook had been besmirched. A cry for vengeance rang through the air. Nothing short of spilt blood could right the wrong that had fallen upon our shoulders. A challenge must be immediately issued. A delayed or half-hearted response could impact our reputation. The word would quickly spread to other Buckhead neighborhoods that we had not risen to the challenge.

This was a crisis. It must be nipped in the bud.

Within minutes a plan was hatched. We would challenge those teenage gangsters on East Conway to a football game. Street versus street. A clash of Titans. This would not be flag or touch football but full out tackle. No pantywaists we. Our banner of honor would once more fly freely. By unanimous consent Bruce was chosen to deliver the challenge. Before the sun set he had thrown down the gauntlet to one of the toughs on East Conway and it had been accepted. Two weeks hence, a whistle would blow, a coin would toss, and the struggle would commence. There was only one problem. We didn’t have a football team.

Of course, Bruce assumed the role of manager, coach, and trainer. In one uncharacteristic gesture of generosity he agreed to share the quarterback duties with my older brother, Steve. Drills began early the next morning to get us in shape. Bruce concocted some weird shoes that had trailing jump ropes that were tied to cement blocks. He assured us that if we wore these contraptions for only an hour a day we would “fly like the wind” on game day.

“From pain would come pleasure,” according to Bruce. After several days of intense training he suddenly disappeared into his bedroom only to emerge the next day with a sheaf of papers. These dog-eared and voluminous documents contained a series of what appeared to be a mish-mash of unrelated random lines, dashes, and squiggles. With great fanfare Bruce announced that these were the plays we would employ against our East Conway enemies. I must correct one thing at this point. While all members of our team constantly cursed the opposing team with great vulgarity and general nastiness, Bruce did not participate in this activity which he felt demonstrated a certain coarseness of character. He took the high road and when he needed to mention our opposition he would refer to them only as “those people.”

My parent’s basement wall became Bruce’s blackboard when he announced the time had arrived for a “chalk talk.” I was not aware of what that meant but I soon found out. He requested the shades to be closed and only then did he begin to reveal the plays and our various assignments. Under the artistry of Bruce’s black magic marker, the wall was soon covered with an intricate chicken scratch of planning. I now know that some of the plays we were shown had been outlawed back in the 1930s and others were almost impossible to execute even if we knew what we were doing, which we didn’t.

There was the “Flying Vee,” the “Flea Flicker,” and the infamous “Wedge to Nowhere.” Some of the plays were designed to create psychological distress in an opponent and some bordered on the non-rational. Bruce had it all covered. He knew we were outmatched on a man to man basis and only a transcendental strategy could carry the day. Hour after hour Bruce instructed us in the details of what we should do, when to do it and the delicate nuances of how not a “fake out” but a “fake in” could fool any opponent. One minute he would berate us for a lack of comprehension of what he called the “grand plan” and the next minute he would be building us up saying we were champions who would go down in street history. We were putty in his hands. The pitch of his voice gradually grew higher and higher, veins started popping out on his neck, and his face turned beet red. I wasn’t sure how long this fevered sermon could last when, with one last gasp of energy, Bruce exclaimed, “Every play is designed to score.”

The natural talent on our team was almost non-existent but Bruce developed a plan to take maximum advantage of what we did have. He and Steve would alternate as quarterback. All offensive plays would be run from the shotgun formation. Bruce claimed that gave him a split-second advantage to search downfield for a receiver. We did have two receivers. One was Bruce’s little brother, “Face.” Face was much younger than any of us but was very quick and only about 4 feet tall. The other receiver was my cousin Tommy Shaw who topped out at 6’ 6”. He was tall and skinny. Bruce’s plan was to have Face and Tommy run to the same area of the field and have Face stand in front of Tommy. From a functional point of view, he had created a receiver with 4 hands. It was like having an octopus downfield with 4 tentacles. He would then launch the ball in that general direction and chances were it would be caught. “A vertical flooding of the zone,” Bruce called it.

For a defensive strategy Bruce devised one simple plan. This involved a bit of deception, but we were assured that “sometimes you have to do what you have to do.” Bruce wanted John Durham on our team but there was one problem. John did not live on Millbrook, so he was technically ineligible. However, as Bruce told us, since John could stand in his side yard on a neighboring street and crane his neck, he could see our street. That was good enough for us and Bruce built the defense around John. I don’t know much about the private instructions John received but here is what I saw.

Bruce told John he had to play barefoot. Don’t ask me why. Bruce would not use John’s name but only referred to him as “Monster Man.” Don’t ask me why. John played as a defensive back and received some type of coded instruction from Bruce just an instant before the other team hiked the ball. It was some form of non-verbal communication I never understood but the outcome would be “Monster Man” either running directly toward the ball carrier or directly AWAY from the ball carrier. In addition, John was to emit the terrifying sound of the Rebel Yell as he ran careened barefoot across the field. Now is not the time for a full discourse of the actual sound of the Rebel Yell, nor the impact on those who heard it, but it was a sound that one could imagine came when the banshees of hell were let loose to bring havoc on this gentle earth. This was a scary thing to witness, even for those on our team.

As Game Day approached Bruce decided it was time for a live scrimmage with full uniforms. We had mismatched helmets, jerseys, and pads. Some of us wore tennis shoes. Bruce was outfitted with a motorcycle jacket in which he stuffed towels, was wearing bowling shoes and he topped it all off with a baseball catcher’s mask. I was adorned with my father’s golf shoes and 3 layers of winter coats. We were instructed to present ourselves at the lower field at the nearest school, Dykes High School, for the “full contact” practice. Bruce had maintained relationships with some of the Dykes players who were now playing football on the Junior Varsity at Georgia Tech. He had somehow convinced them to show up and play against us. I’m pretty sure he had told them it was some sort of charity event which it wasn’t. They had that figured out in about 10 seconds but since they all knew Bruce there were no hard feelings.

Those guys were totally unprepared for what we threw at them. They expected some type of competition based on traditional logic and rational expectation. They could not adapt to the concept of our double receiver concept which basically was like having one player with four hands catching Bruce’s passes. The frightful image of a barefoot Monster Man shrieking a Rebel Yell while running away from the ball was just too unnerving. After only 15 minutes Bruce called it quits before any of us got hurt. He had seen enough to know that we were indeed ready.

Game day dawned clear and dry.

The game was set for noon, High Noon as they say in the deserts of the West. We were calm and ready. Mounting our bikes, we rode down the long hill to the field at Chastain Park, arriving early. We were totally prepared. Hell, if we had another week we could have organized a cheering squad with a few pom-pom girls. Noon arrived, then 12:15. By 12:30 we still had not seen the whites of their cowardly eyes. Something was amiss. Perhaps they were simply too afraid to show. Had word reached East Conway at the way we had dispatched the college boys?

Finally, we sent Tommy down to their hangout, escorted by Pete Terrell and Face. Always good to have a little back up in case trouble should arise. They were back in ten minutes with the news. Those no-good kids from East Conway were not coming. In fact, they never had any intention of coming. They were just a bunch of loose lips shooting off their mouths at the Pot o’ Gold. All talk and no substance.

We were furious.

There was much muttering and spitting on the ground. My brother channeled his anger by hammering my shoulder with his rendition of the deadly “knuckle sandwich.” Only Bruce remained calm amidst the chaos and fury.

“Boys,” he said, “let not your hearts be fiery. You have shown strong intention and that brings honor to Millbrook. We can lift our heads high.”

We rode our bikes home in silence, and you better believe we took the long way home. The way that took us down East Conway. We pedaled slow down that road with more than a little pride. The Millbrook Marauders never played a game, but never lost. Unvarnished, our reputation would go down in the history book of our street. All hail Millbrook Drive, the home of the only Buckhead team to never know defeat.


This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is Jim-Tate-Headshot-150x150.jpg

Jim Tate
Author, Buckhead Tales
jimtate@charter.net



As temperatures rise Atlanta History Center staff must be proactive in preparing the grounds and livestock for warm weather ahead. One such vital task is the shearing of the resident sheep whose coats have grown thick, matted, and dirty through the cold winter. On Saturday, April 6, crowds gathered around the split rail fence surrounding the sheep pen and watched as shearer Scott Fuss demonstrated the tools of the sheep-shearing trade. He held aloft a manual cutter, essentially a giant, rusty pair of scissors, and explained that in days past they would have to use manual force and precision to trim the wool. Luckily, modern advancements now allow him to use electric trimmers which he kept lubricated with motor oil.

Impatient baas echoed out from inside the barn as sheep waited for their turn under the blade. Though the sheep are resistant to the act of shearing it is necessary as these domestic breeds of sheep have been bred to grow thick, fluffy wool coats which can impede their movement and cause painful mats if left untreated. “The first step is to get him off balance,” explained Fuss as he used his weight to carefully maneuver the sheep onto its back. The large sheep – who weighed in at more than 100 pounds – tolerated the ordeal, his funny little legs sticking out all akimbo and occasionally flopping about as he tried to right himself. Kids asked questions as the shearer methodically worked his way from snout to tail on either side.

After all was said and done, the sheep, having lost its winter coat as well as its dignity, found its footing and proudly paraded around the pen showing off its summer trim. This annual event is a rare opportunity for children who may not have had many experiences with livestock or farming techniques to see what goes into preparing wool for use in cloth and linens elsewhere on the property.

“I was crazy when it meant something. Now, everybody is crazy.” That was what Charles Manson told us, and he would have known. He just might have been the biggest bogeyman in my lifetime. He wasn’t just your typical garden variety of nut. He wasn’t like those who pretend they are a clown at some kid’s birthday parties while at the same time stacking them up in the basement like cordwood. No, those creeps are all too familiar to us now with their dungeons and torture shacks. Not a week goes by we don’t see about it or hear about it, on the TV it is just like the weather report. Charlie was bad, bad to the bone.

I was 14 years old when Mary Shotwell Little went missing at Lenox Square. It was 1965 and Lenox was the happening place for us all. It had opened in the summer of 1959 and soon became the town square for north Atlanta.

Everyone wanted to “go to the mall.” There were the two giant department stores, Rich’s and Davidson’s, plus a Colonial Stores supermarket and a bowling alley. My buddies and I used to swing by the Kresge Five & Dime for sandwiches. There was a bowling alley and an indoor driving range if you needed to work on your golf swing. In ’63 they opened a movie theatre and that is where I sat transfixed as James Bond cavorted on his spy adventures. By the way, Sean Connery is the one and only James Bond, the rest of those later actors are pale imposters. My mom worked at Rich’s in the drapery department and for two weeks I worked at Milton’s Clothing Cupboard until my general incompetence sent me back to the ranks of the unemployed.

Lenox was where we hung out. It was a safe place and the only trouble I ever personally encountered was when Joey Carone dared me to pocket some golf balls as part of some initiation process for a club he invented. Of course, security had me by the back of my neck within seconds and marched me to the bowels of the mall for a good talking to. They said they would call my parents and so I rode my bike home as fast as I could and unplugged the phone. My sister would plug it back in and I would unplug it again as soon as she left the room. After a few days of this I figured the case had gone stone cold and I didn’t need to worry anymore about my criminal history. My parents never found out.

This all goes to show that Lenox Square was the safest of the safest. Parents would drop their kids off and they would find their way home. This all ended on October 14, 1965 when Mary Shotwell Little disappeared. She had eaten dinner with a friend at the S&S Cafeteria at the mall. We all knew this spot well. Each Sunday at the stroke of noon when the service concluded at the Wieuca Road Baptist Church every family would race to their cars and speed down Peachtree Road to be first in line at the S&S at Lenox Square.

Our church was nearest to the destination, so we had a built-in head start. Also, we were Baptists, and as everyone knows that when the dinner bell rings you better not be standing between a Baptist and the food. I’m just giving you fair warning.

You can google up the weird details of Mary Shotwell Little’s disappearance to your heart’s delight. There are all kinds of red herrings that lead anyone astray who tries to take a stab at this still unsolved case. Her car was not in the parking lot, and then it was. There was conflicting evidence about every aspect of this case. She had received strange phone calls. There may have been a connection to her place of work. Those who have tried to make sense of this event have chased down one false trail after another. The case was confusing and 50 years later it remains unsolved.

There was something about this event that caused it to be deeply imprinted in my mind. I was young and the world was a safe place. A week later I was still young, but the world was not a safe place. Bad things could happen, even where I had once felt safe.

Years later a family that had been very close to my family at church and school experienced a tragedy at Lenox. A family member working security happened upon a burglary in progress, and the worst thing that could happen did happen. I was living in Florida by then, but my parents called me to tell me what went down. A tragedy beyond understanding or belief. I still wonder how his family members could get up every morning and put one foot in front of the other. Out of the blue. Could happen to anyone. But it happened to them so it could happen to me.

There are a lot of bogeymen in this old tired world. Some of them are real but I guess quite a few are just figments of our imaginations. Sometimes it is hard to tell them apart. I have a lot of good memories of Lenox Square, but a few bad ones. Living in North Carolina I only make it back to Buckhead once a twice a year. I might find myself driving past Lenox, but I don’t turn into the parking lot. I haven’t since 1985. It is the shadows. Too many shadows.


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Jim Tate
Author, Buckhead Tales
jimtate@charter.net


At Standing Peachtree Park a sliver of grass runs down a path bordered by a wooded cliff and the banks of Peachtree creek. The path opens up to a small greenspace that extends to the edge of the Chattahoochee River. Tracks of deer and raccoons can be seen in the muddy path and a cacophony of birds sing in the trees above. The underbrush is overgrown and paths poorly defined along the sandy banks, but with careful footing one can reach the corner of the park where the Chattahoochee and Peachtree Creek meet. The site offers unique views of the Marietta Boulevard bridge to the south and an island in the middle of the river to the west.

Photos by Isadora Pennington

The entry off Ridgewood Road is surrounded by a chain link fence that displays signage pertaining to the Atlanta River Intake facility located within the park’s grounds. A few parking spots, a modest greenspace, and a recently restored stone pavilion with picnic facilities and fireplace occupy the space between the gates at the street, another interior fence, and the security gate encircling the intake facility. Large trucks rumble down the park’s main entry on and off throughout the day.

Could this be the original “pitch” tree?

Despite its appearance and odd size, Standing Peachtree Park is one of Buckhead’s most significant historical sites. In the rush of development of the area it is worth paying respect to what these places used to represent. Long before the first white man ever moved to Buckhead, this area was the home of a Creek village by the name of Standing Peachtree. There is some debate as to the origin of this name, but historians generally agree that the term was actually “pitch” tree which referred to pine trees that were used for their pitch, or sap. That initial tree for which all Peachtree streets and companies are named was located on this very spot and was a popular meeting location for Native Americans in the area.

Artifacts found on the site can be dated back to the Archaic period around 8000 BC, which goes to show just how historic this land truly is.

In the early 1800s the Chattahoochee river represented the division from the neighboring Cherokee nation. The Creek village which was situated at a high point near the mouth of Peachtree Creek offered vital trading opportunities between tribes and later with the colonies.

Map courtesy Buckhead Heritage Society

During the war of 1812 tensions were high between the Creek nation who aligned with the British and the Cherokee who sided with Georgians. In the summer of 1813 the Governor of Georgia, David Mitchell, sought to reinforce the border of Georgia against the Creeks. He assigned Lt. George Gilmer, 22 soldiers, and a group of workmen to push forward 30 or 40 miles beyond the frontier to Standing Peachtree. There, straddling Peachtree Creek, they began constructing Fort Peachtree.

Upon its completion on July 14, 1814 the fort was host to a boat yard, five boats, two large block houses, six dwellings, one store house, agriculture, and livestock. The fort represented the first non-Native settlement in present-day Atlanta. Proximity to the river facilitated supplying forts further south via boats stocked with ammunition and goods during the war. Hostilities continued between the Native American communities nearby, and Gilmer wrote of his success in diffusing one such revenge plot between the groups not long before he left the fort.

The first post office in Atlanta opened at Standing Peachtree on April 5, 1825.

James McConnell Montgomery, a soldier who had been stationed at Fort Peachtree, remained at the site after the fort was abandoned and built a white wooden structure there which served as the area’s first post office. His family ran the office for the next 17 years until it closed in 1842, and Montgomery then invested his money in a ferry, known as Montgomery’s Ferry, which became a mainstay for members of the local community.

For nearly two centuries nothing much changed at Standing Peachtree. The fort and post office were eventually abandoned and later the Atlanta Waterworks company set up shop on the grounds, pulling from the swift flowing waters of the Chattahoochee. John Beach, president of Buckhead Heritage Society, thinks that the main fort building was likely positioned up high on a hill where the facility now stands as references indicated the fort had views that spanned several miles.

Preserving History

In 1976 the city revisited Standing Peachtree and constructed a replica of Fort Peachtree. They outfitted it with display cases full of artifacts, a large diorama of the site from above, and cannons that sat proudly out front. For decades the site was a popular stop for school groups and field trips. In the years leading up to the 1996 Atlanta Olympics heightened fears of terrorism led to the decision to enclose the waterworks facility and fort as well as closing off the entrance from the street. Sometime during that time vandals broke into the small cabin and broke the display cases, stealing the priceless artifacts inside.

Today the small building is mostly hidden behind a tall wooden fence just beyond the gate to the Waterworks facility. Cobwebs and a thick layer of dirt and dust cover every surface. The door hangs ajar, a broken lock attached to the handle. Shattered plexiglass rests on top of empty displays. Plaques hang akimbo from the log walls of the cabin. At one end of the structure is a fireplace with an iron arm that swings out to hold cast iron pots above the fire. A hollow gourd above the mantle has at some point become home to a family of birds. A broken spinning wheel lies in pieces in the corner.

At first glance the large table in the middle of the space appears to be nothing special, just a dusty workspace. On the day that I visited I was accompanied by chemist Hetal Choksi. Curious, we used a few towels and water to wipe down the surface removing years of dirt. Much to our surprise, we discovered that the thick plexiglass top of the table had succeeded in protecting a large diorama within. This 44 year old rendering includes hundreds of trees crafted by hand and water made of poured resin. Apart from some figures that have tipped over and a few pockets of dust that have made their way under the glass, the display is still in remarkably good shape.

Access or lack thereof

Visiting to the replica of Fort Peachtree is complicated. I gained entry only after weeks of phone calls and emails during which I tracked down and got approval from the management of the River Intake and the Atlanta Parks Department. Choksi explained that to her knowledge the public could actually visit the replica during business hours as long as they have permission, but the process for gaining said permission is not easy or widely known.

These days, the once-forgotten and neglected park is at the center of the conversation around waterway parks in Buckhead. Standing Peachtree represents one of the few greenspaces in the upper westside of Buckhead, and neighbors rejoiced when former City Councilwoman Yolanda Adrean convinced the city to reopen the park to the public back in 2014. Dog owners enjoy walking the trail down to the river, some locals bring their fishing poles and cast a line into the water, while others come to the site to birdwatch or scour the grounds for Native American artifacts.

One proposal that would impact Standing Peachtree Park is the Chattahoochee River Greenway, a plan to implement trails along the river which has gained significant momentum in recent years. In the summer of 2018 the city committed to a $100,000 donation towards the $1.5M master plan budget for the project which would eventually connect a 100 mile trail linking the Chattahoochee Bend State Park in Coweta County all the way to Lake Lanier. The route, set to act as a sort of waterfront BeltLine, would also connect Proctor Creek Greenway to the Silver Comet Trail via pedestrian bridge. If the plan moves forward, the site is likely to see better access to the waterfront and paths that connect to nearby parks. Adrean explained that she hoped the future plans would incorporate a boat launch for kayaks and canoes, especially considering that the site was utilized for training during the Olympics.

John Beach is optimistic about these plans to revitalize Standing Peachtree but notes that the design does not currently incorporate any historical displays or references to the park’s long history. As of now the fort replica is the only remnant of what once was at this odd little park, still sitting neglected and forgotten within the waterworks property. The future is uncertain and what impact the site has will depend on those with the power to tend to this historic park’s needs.

Will organizations continue to develop this area without regard for the historical significance of Standing Peachtree Park? Will anyone step up and manage the practical maintenance and needs of this quaint little cabin? Is the Buckhead community dedicated to acknowledging and honoring the Native Americans who called this land home before colonization spread and the Indian nations were exiled? Only time will tell.