Here's a little bit more recycled material from feature writing. I had hoped to have this finished before Halloween to make it timely enough to be published but that passed. A big thanks goes out to Miranda Griffin and the residents of Rural Hall for cooperating! (Professor Spainhour, if you see this, I know this didn't go through the 2nd round of the gauntlet).

Oh well, another good blog piece I figured.

More to come, I'm sure...

Focus Statement: This is the story of Payne Road and its legacy in Rural Hall, N.C.

A North Carolina Haunting

           

            If you looked at a map it would be easy to overlook Rural Hall, N.C.

            It's tucked away in the backwoods in the Piedmont of North Carolina. The town of roughly 3,000 rests at the very beginning of where the rolling Appalachia mountains reside. "A lot of people like [Rural Hall]," boasted a prideful Miranda Griffin who has spent all her life in this innocent little town.

            Miranda is the vice-president of the Rural Hall Historic Society and gathered a small group of citizens together at the Historic Museum to regale the unique stories that pervades from this small area of the world. With a medium build and whitening hair, Miranda lets slide a soft smile as the reminiscing begins.

            "Years ago it was a lot more close-knit. There's a lot of new people that's moved in and a lot of old people that's moved out," says Marvin Morris, who has been living in Rural Hall since 1949. Despite the new faces around town, much of Rural Hall has maintained the same features. Broad Street, which cuts right through the heart of the community, gives Rural Hall its soul. Old, classic-style homes stand comfortably next to each other. Each yard is modest in size and neatly kept. Small fences line the road and humongous trees cast a gentle shade over the land. The right gust of wind can easily send scores of red, yellow and brown leaves cascading to the earth in this fall season. Old brick buildings are inhabited by simple shops and remind one of what a convenience store used to be.

            If you continue far enough down Broad Street it will eventually lead to Edwards Road on a sharp right turn. This quiet and lonely stretch of road holds its own history and its legacy is stamped on Rural Hall forever.

            When the roads of Rural Hall were finally given names in the 1950s, those in charge apparently did not ask the people who lived in the area for input. "If anyone asked me where Edwards Road is I'd say 'well, I don’t know.' If they asked me where Payne Road is I'd say 'oh it's right over there,'" comments Morris on the road's identity confusion.

            In keeping with current tradition, Edwards Road will be known as Payne Road.

            Even this remote corner of the earth was unable to escape inevitable changes ushered in by time. What used to be dirt is now paved; what used to be narrow is now widened; what used to be old and wooden is now brick and contemporary. The wooden, creaky bridge has been replaced and the old church and white Payne manor burnt down. All that remains of 150 years of a rural farm and homestead is a foreboding chimney standing in the middle of thick woods, its fireplace long grown cold. Thick woods on either side of the road and tall trees provide a canopy which blocks light from the road's first curve. Griffin says "where else can you go around here with no lights, no cars, no houses?"

            Is Payne Road haunted? Stephanie Priddy says it "depends on who you ask." Priddy is in her 40s and has long brown hair pulled back from around her face.

            For decades, rumors have swirled up in replace of the smoke from the Payne house chimney. "I can give you my experience down that road that is not unlike many others," says 55-year-old Glenn Tuttle. Grey hair, glasses and a salt-and-pepper colored beard, Tuttle began retelling his version of Payne Road history. As a teenager, he and his friends heard the Payne Road legends and wanted to see for themselves. "From everything you hear, you already get goose bumps," he adds.  When the group located the large white Payne House, Glenn swears candles were burning in the window. As they were leaving the road they were passed by a slow-moving 1920s style pickup truck. After the truck passed their car, it turned around and began to ride the teenagers' bumper. When they ran a stop sign trying to escape the truck they were pulled over by a sheriff who assurred the frightened teenagers he never saw another car.

            The rest of the reported ghostly activity includes: a lady spotted in a tree overhanging a bridge, cars have been said to stop while driving across the old wooden bridge and handprints have been found on the outside of cars after leaving the road.

            What sparked the spooky nature of Payne Road is believed to be traced back to the 1929 Lawson family murders. On Christmas day of that year Charlie Lawson, who lived less than 10 miles up the creek from Payne Road, killed all but one of his family members and then himself. A series of murders from people living on the road in the following decades gave the road an unwanted character. Peggy Toller, 80, who has lived in Rural Hall all her life, remembers Payne Road when she grew up as "just another road." While no one could provide a specific time when Payne Road began to draw interest, everyone agreed that is was around the 1960s or 70s. "It was a touch of truth embellished with a lot of other things and people's input," adds Tuttle. He tells of his father and grandfather, who both grew up in Rural Hall, always stating they never knew Rural Hall to be haunted either.

            A drop of mystery added with a remote and foreign location breeds intrigue for a young and curious mind. People who had grown up hearing all of these horrible actions happening in a certain area began to view Payne Road as dangerous and a thrill. "Teenagers will find something down that road," explains Morris, adding that the road is "more like entertainment."

            Keeping the fun and adventure of their childhoods alive, the teenagers who likely began the myths surrounding Payne Road pass the tales on to their children. It is the old tradition of storytelling. "Well, I've got four teenagers and all four of them have heard about it," says Priddy.

            "I've heard more about Payne Road at this table than I ever heard living in Rural Hall," adds Toller at the end. To her, Payne Road was just a dirt road not even named until the 1950s. The small path darting into the thick woods never was known to the citizens of Peggy's time as a haunted place.

            For some though, the legacy of Payne Road, still to this day, illuminates the spirit of Rural Hall, much liked a carved pumpkin with a flickering candle around Halloween season.

            The youth of Rural Hall and its surrounding area know the road as a place that adds excitement. "To me, that's the biggest draw in Rural Hall is Payne Road," says Griffin. This Halloween season Payne Road will see many courageous and youthful visitors. They will want to test the legacies themselves and see things they never thought possible. What they see can only be confirmed through the imagination of one who dares to listen.

This started out as an assignment for my feature writing class. The one assignment we get to use 1st person all semester is creating a podcast about something we're passionate about. 

I've been wanting to start blogging for awhile, I hear it's all the rage. But I figured this would be a good 1st piece to add to a blog...why da f not?

A Reasonable Plan, I Think

     My favorite author is John Steinbeck and my favorite book is his last; Travels with Charley: In Search of America. It's a short and personal tale of Steinbeck's last journey, his last chance of discovering something new. He had no expectations; only pen, paper and his darling dog, Charley. The parallels I find in John Steinbeck's waning career and my cresting own gives these words inspiration.

     Steinbeck says, "I was born lost and take no pleasure in being found." 

     This is a reality I have learned to accept after many years of stubborn resistance. By no means do I turn away from the norms of popular culture or other influences completely. I have simply come to the realization that I am my own being. My beliefs in moral, political and religious views differ from my family. My friends and I sometimes have our interests and priorities arranged differently. I have come to the acceptance of Jordan Stutts and am eager to see what he can be.

   Steinbeck says, "When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch." 

     My dream is to be a foreign news correspondent. I believe that if I strongly assert this statement, it WILL happen; along with the work that goes with it. It WILL be accomplished. But the dream I hang my hat on at night is a fear both my parents refuse to realize. Not that they don't want me to succeed or be happy. For them, I believe it is seeing the living proof of their success that makes them happy. Leaving this place is a topic that is quickly dropped at the dinner table for easier to swallow subjects about their baby's big boy life. All three of us know that one day this subject will be handled with one big gulp of goodbye. 

   Steinbeck says, "I saw in their eyes something I was to see over and over in every part of the nation." 

     It has long been my opinion that every single person on this earth has a story to tell. I want to hear every single one. This obviously isn't possible but should relate my intense desire to meet new people, hear new stories, experience new things. My father, a veteran and witness to the bloodbath of Vietnam, constantly reminds me that the world is not like North Carolina. He is saying this to make me realize how nice of a place we have to live. I've already realized the world isn't like North Carolina. It would be foolish to think otherwise. What he doesn't understand is when he's telling me stories of foreign and strange places he is only fueling my fire more.

   So as you can see, John Steinbeck's Travels with Charley has truly been an inspiration to my ambitions. I know what I want to do. The tricky thing will be how to get my own loyal, floppy-eared and furry companion to come with me. Copper, buddy, I'm still working on that part. 

     Right now, I'm sure I want to go, just unsure of where 'where' is. But I am confident that the right gust of wind will eventually get me on my way.

   I'll end with one last quote about my future plans. Something I ponder every morning when I wake up and every night when I go to sleep.

   Steinbeck says, "My plan was clear, concise and reasonable, I think."