Fiddler in Hell

McCreary Countians of my generation are fond of using colloquial language in conversation. “Slower than molasses in January,” is one of my favorites as it harkens back to the days before central heating was available in homes. Some continue to make no sense to me, such as “Tighter than Jack’s hatband.” Who was Jack and why did he wear a hat that didn’t fit?  The origin of most of the colloquialisms has been lost to the ravages of time and most are harmless in nature, but one expression caused me much anguish throughout my childhood. “Thicker than fiddlers in Hell,” was a colloquialism that was tossed about with abandon. It was used, most frequently, to describe the number of people present in one place and at one time, such as a political rally at the courthouse or at the annual carnival in Stearns.

Not being an especially bright kid, I did not understand the relationship between fiddle players and that fiery place that preachers warned us about on Sunday mornings.  However, based upon what people were saying, it did seem to be that within that abode of those followers of the Evil One, there was a super abundance of people who loved to scratch out Billy in the Low Ground and Fire on the Mountain on that four-stringed instrument called a fiddle. That was disturbing to me, as I knew that within my own family there were several fiddle players and I, certainly, did not want to see any of them consigned to that place of eternal torment from which there is no return.  One of them was Leamon Perry, who lived at Honey Bee, some five miles west of Cumberland Falls.

Leamon’s grandfather was my great-great grandmother’s brother, so that made us cousins, of the distant sort. He was an insurance agent and when he purchased the Honey Bee General Store from his brother-in-law, Thomas McLeod, he became not only a grocer, but the postmaster of the Honey Bee Post Office as well, since the post office was located in the store. After buying the store, writing insurance policies, selling groceries, and sorting mail occupied most of his time, but none of them detracted from his first love, which was playing the fiddle. He picked it up at every opportunity, and, in time, became quite good.

Leamon wasn’t the only musician living in northern McCreary County, though. Every family seemed to have one, or more, members who could play an instrument and front porch gatherings of neighbors to play music were commonplace. Two musicians who became close friends to Leamon were Virgil Keith and Garland Owens. Keith was an accomplished banjo player; Owens played the guitar. Since both were frequent customers at the Honey Bee General Store, it was inevitable that they and Perry would meet and find common ground in their love of mountain music.

With voices that harmonized beautifully with each other, it was not long before this singing trio began attracting customers who made it a point to do their shopping when it was known it would be playing music, either around the coal burner in the store or on the front porch. When Leamon’s seven-year-old son, Leamon, Jr., learned to play the banjo, he, too, joined the group and the trio became a quartet. Soon, the musicians, who had named themselves The Honey Bee Ramblers, were receiving invitations to perform at pie suppers, family reunions, and church services throughout McCreary County. Word spread of the amazing sound coming from these talented musicians and it soon reached the ears of Espie C. McCarty, who was emcee of a radio program on WCTT radio in Corbin. McCarty invited the Honey Bee Ramblers to join him, as guests, on his program. The rest, as they say, is history.

The response of the listening public to the Honey Bee Ramblers was overwhelmingly positive. People loved the sound of this front-porch quartet, and, especially, that of the “little boy with the big banjo.” Leamon Jr.’s Gibson Mastertone banjo was almost as big as he was, but he could run his nimble fingers up and down the neck of the instrument as well as any player, with the exception, possibly, of Earl Scruggs.

In 1954, the manager of the radio station offered the Honey Bee Ramblers a place on his lineup of Saturday morning programs. This program was so well-received that two shows on Wednesday mornings were also offered. Soon, an all-gospel music program on Sunday mornings was on the schedule.  Within months, the Honey Bee Ramblers became the sound of WCTT radio and the group’s music was piped into homes and businesses throughout Eastern Kentucky and Northern Tennessee. Leamon Perry, Virgil Keith, and Garland Owens became as well known to local audiences as any of the big-name stars, including Bill Monroe and Lester Flatt. Little Leamon was turned into a folk hero to young boys wanting to “take up,” the banjo.

By 1965, however, the frequent trips from Honey Bee to Corbin had taken their toll on the Honey Bee Ramblers and the group disbanded. Virgil was not well and would pass away the following year. The other members of the band were weary, and Leamon Jr. needed to find a more secure source of livelihood. So, he did as so many of his contemporaries have done over the years and went up north to find gainful employment. Moreover, like so many others of his generation, he eventually found himself wading through the fetid rice paddies of Vietnam, but he was one of the lucky ones and came back home with a Purple Heart and a head full of traumatic memories. Sadly, the little boy with the big banjo would pass away in 1999 at the too young age of 53. For Leamon, Sr. and Garland Owens, however, life would go on and both would be graced with old age. Both would receive their eternal reward in 2003.

By the time the Honey Bee Ramblers had disbanded, I had learned enough to know that not all fiddle players go to Hell. In my studies of world history, I learned that when the four-stringed instrument, known throughout Europe as the violin, was taken to the British Isles and incorporated into the culture of the Scots and Irish, it became a fiddle. In an unintentional affront to their continental neighbors who had used the instrument as a backdrop for symphonic melodies and orchestral compositions, the Celtic people of Scotland and Ireland used it to accompany raucous and high-stepping dance tunes that had survived the conversion efforts of Christian missionaries. This refusal to surrender their music to that of the Church resulted in players of “fiddle” music being branded as individuals who frequented taverns and engaged in behavior outside the accepted norms of Christian society. Thus, the “Thick as Fiddlers in Hell,” label. When, beginning about 1715, those peoples began migrating to the New World, they brought their cultural values with them, including the lowly fiddle and its associated stereotypes.

So, when Leamon Perry picked up his fiddle and started playing, he was just being true to his Scots-Irish heritage. The idea that he might be endangering his eternal salvation by doing so was simply preposterous. However, it may be true that there will be fiddle players in Hell. If so, it is because they have refused to accept the Good News and not because they have learned to play an instrument that is loved by so many. At any rate, I am willing to bet the shirt off my back that Leamon Perry will not be numbered among them.