NC Miscellany – Page 6 – Exploring the History, Literature, and Culture of the Tar Heel State

New in the collection: bicycle licenses

I’ve been stymied in unearthing the history behind these two bicycle licenses.

What mention of bike licenses I did find was in Charlotte: In 1954 the city enacted an ordinance requiring a 25-cent metal registration tag. “The move is designed to cope with widespread bicycle theft,” the Observer explained. By 1964 the metal tag seems to have given way to reflector tape, and after that the Observer archives yield not a single mention of the license ordinance. By the 21st century letters to the editor were calling for licensing not to thwart thieves but to crack down on cyclists seen as disrespectful of drivers.

How relevant is any of this to Raleigh and Rocky Mount? Maybe not at all — suggestions welcome!

‘Tacky’: A study in upward mobility?

“The tasteless meaning of ‘tacky’ originated in the American South, where the word originally referred to a scrawny or broken-down horse….

“Within a few decades, ‘tacky’ had extended to humans, serving as a self-deprecating label for poor white Southerners who were identified with their equine counterparts. As a North Carolinian wrote in an 1836 letter documented in Norman E. Eliason’s book ‘Tarheel Talk,’ ‘I tell them I don’t know any better for I’m a mountain tackey sartin [certainly].’

“The word then made the move from noun to adjective. A writer from Charleston, S.C., explained in 1890 that ‘tacky’ applied to ‘persons of low ideas and vulgar manners, whether rich or poor’ who exhibit ‘an absence of style.’ Clothing, he said, was considered tacky if it was ‘cheap and yet pretentious.’

“But that gaudy style wasn’t always a source of shame. Also in 1890, a Kentucky correspondent for the journal Dialect Notes reported that ‘recently we have had “tacky parties,” where the guests dress in the commonest and most unfashionable costumes.’ Such parties (often featuring awards for tackiest costumes) persisted throughout the South, particularly in Alabama, Georgia and the Carolinas, according to the Dictionary of American Regional English.”

— From “The Gauche Origins of the Word ‘Tacky’ “ by Ben Zimmer in the Wall Street Journal (July 18, 2014)

New in the collection: Randolph Scott cigarette card

“Randolph Scott left Charlotte in 1917 to serve in World War I. Returning home, he went to Georgia Tech with dreams of being an All-America football player until he suffered a back injury. He then transferred to the University of North Carolina, where he studied textile engineering and manufacturing for two semesters before returning to Charlotte to work for his father’s accountancy firm.

“In 1927 Scott traveled to Hollywood with a letter of introduction from his father to Howard Hughes. He was able to meet Hughes and score a screen test with Cecil B. DeMille….”

— From “Classics in the Carolinas: Randolph Scott.”

This German card, one of hundreds in a movie star series inserted in packs of Lloyd cigarettes, is circa 1936.

“If to collect cigarette cards is a sign of eccentricity,” Edward Wharton-Tigar commented after bequeathing his collection to the British Museum, “how then will posterity judge one who amassed the biggest collection in the world? Frankly, I care not.”

The Senate’s first filibusterer?

“The roots of ‘filibuster’ go back to a Dutch word for a pirate or privateer, ‘vrijbuiter.’ …. Dutch colonists of the 16th century used the term for pirates they encountered in the West Indies. In English it became ‘freebooter,’ in French ‘flibustier’ and in Spanish ‘filibustero.’

“In the mid-19th century, ‘filibustero’ became a key term in Latin America as soldiers of fortune, often hailing from the U.S., went on unauthorized expeditions to overturn Spanish colonial rule and take control of territories for themselves. These adventurers earned the ‘filibustero’ label, Anglicized as ‘filibuster’ in the American press….

“[In 1853] the word came up as the House of Representatives debated whether to annex Cuba. A North Carolina Democrat, Rep. Abraham Venable, broke with his party to denounce the idea as U.S. piracy, or as he put it , ‘now in our tongue filibuster, but still a freebooter.’ His fellow Democrat, Rep. Albert G. Brown of Mississippi, turned the label around on him — and began its transition to a new political meaning about hijacking the debate itself. ‘When I saw my friend standing on the other side of the House filibustering, as I thought, against the United States, surrounded, as he was, by admiring Whigs, I did not know what to think.’ ”

— From ” ‘Filibuster’: A Pirating Maneuver That Sailed Into the Senate” by Ben Zimmer in the Wall Street Journal (Sept. 25, 2020)

New in the collection: Galifianakis movie pinbacks

“To really enjoy The Campaign, it’s best to be a) a Will Ferrell fan; b) a Zach Galifianakis fan; or c) from North Carolina.

“It isn’t surprising that this comedy about small-town candidates battling to win a seat in Congress is set in the Tar Heel State (by way of Louisiana, with filming taking place before N.C. state lawmakers added $60 million in filmmaking tax incentives this year).

“Ferrell’s parents hail from Roanoke Rapids and he still has relatives living in Cary. Galifianakis was born and raised in Wilkesboro and attended N.C. State University. Moreover, Nick Galifianakis, Zach’s uncle, was a three-term North Carolina congressman who lost the 1972 election for U.S. Senate to a former television commentator named Jesse Helms, a campaign marred by slogans denigrating Galifianakis’ Greek heritage: ‘Jesse Helms: He’s One of Us.’ ”

— From “Zach Galifianakis settles some old North Carolina political scores with Will Ferrell and The Campaign” by Neil Morris in Indy Week (Aug. 9, 2012)

Blu-Ray discs had their day — even giving Blockbuster a moment of hope — but have faded fast since the advent of streaming video.

When the North Carolina sank the Maine

“In February 1912 the commander in chief of the Atlantic fleet ordered two of his proudest battleships, the North Carolina and the Birmingham, to steam to Havana so that ‘a suitable force of men under arms’ could transfer the bones retrieved from the wreckage. The two vessels would then escort the Maine to her resting place amid 21-gun salutes and white-uniformed splendor.

“The Navy meticulously orchestrated the event. It was important that the Maine perform well, but there was no guarantee she would sink gracefully. She might capsize, air pockets could make her wallow and refuse to go down, and it all would be recorded in photographs and moving pictures. As a precaution the Army wired the hull with dynamite so that if the ship needed to be blown up again, the job would not have to be done with American guns.

“The dynamite was unnecessary. The uneventful trip from the harbor to international waters took two hours. At five o’clock a gun on board the North Carolina signaled the opening of the Maine’s sea valves, and a military band began playing a funeral march. Her deck covered with flowers and her jury mast flying a huge American flag, the Maine began to ship water. For 10 minutes the hull pitched heavily on the rolling seas, with no apparent change. Gradually, the forward end began to dip; the stern rose until the ship was almost vertical. There was a flash of spray and color as the American flag slid under the surface, snapping briskly until it hit the water. ‘The Maine then quickly disappeared to her last rest,’ said a witness, ‘leaving no trace, save flowers on the surface of the sea.’

“The escorting battleships fired three volleys from their big guns; a lone bugler played taps. The radiogram from the captain of the North Carolina to the Secretary of the Navy read simply: ‘MAINE sank 5:23 P.M. Whole function successful and impressive.’ And in his final report the captain specified that… a ‘wonderful crowd’ of about 100,000 people stood silently along the waterfront and on balconies and housetops.”

— From “The Second Sinking Of The ‘Maine’ ” by Carmine Prioli in American Heritage (December 1990)

New in the collection: Chick Shack flyer

“[Angela] Bryant, 63, a North Carolina state senator [2007-2018], grew up in the Little Raleigh neighborhood of Rocky Mount.

“Her grandparents, Wright Parker and Nannie Barnes Bryant Parker, owned Wright’s Chick Shack, a restaurant/motel combination [listed in the Green Book 1956-1967].

“ ‘It was an intersection of the black and white community,’ she says. ‘It was a place where white vendors and leaders and business people would come to engage my father and other black community leaders.’

“After earning her bachelor of science degree in math and juris doctor degree in law from UNC Chapel Hill, Bryant came home to help develop the Wright’s Center, an adult day health care facility. The center, a tribute to her grandfather, is located in the building that once housed the Chick Shack.”

–– From “Bryant’s roots run deep” by Brittany Jennings (Nov. 8, 2015)

On the back of this 5.5- by 7-inch flyer: verses 1, 2 and 4 of the Star-Spangled Banner.

Anti-vax movement goes way back

“The Carolina colony initially tried to battle epidemics by restricting imports. Passage of the ‘Distempered Act’ in 1755 also barred immigrants who suffered from ‘malignant infectious distempers.’ But these actions proved detrimental to the commercial interests of those seeking settlers to inhabit their lands, and the act was repealed in 1760.

“The Moravian settlement was probably first to adopt inoculation against infectious diseases. When Continental troops arrived in Salem in 1779, bringing with them several cases of smallpox, the town’s inoculation program drew the wrath of ‘ignorant and malicious’ individuals in the surrounding countryside, who threatened to destroy the settlement.

“In 1800 Calvin Jones unsuccessfully attempted to open a vaccination hospital in Smithfield. His failure was due in part to his charge of $10 per vaccination but largely the result of public fear of the procedure…. When, in 1801, a well-to-do citizen of Fayetteville returned from Europe with smallpox vaccinations for his family, public outcry forced him to halt his treatment and move his kin to a ‘remote and private situation.’

“The legislature eventually passed laws for compulsory vaccination. A 1957 law required children to be vaccinated against diphtheria, tetanus and whooping cough before their first birthday and against smallpox before enrollment in school. In 1959 North Carolina became the first state to initiate compulsory inoculation with the Salk [polio] vaccine.

“Despite the availability of vaccines and the mandatory vaccination laws, preventable diseases continued to appear in North Carolina. As late as 1962 not even one-half of its children were getting the required immunizations before their second birthday….”

— From “Infectious Diseases” by William S. Joyner at NCpedia (2006)

This tragic episode certainly didn’t encourage vaccination acceptance.

New in the collection: Sunbury High pennant

When students at Sunbury High School tacked these 8-inch felt pennants on their bedroom walls, they likely couldn’t imagine that just a decade later their tiny, rural alma mater would be merged into the new Gates County High in Gatesville.

The SHS building, circa 1937, became an elementary school, which survived until being abandoned in the late 1960s. It was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2009.

The Kingfish encounters (again) Our Bob

“One day in 1932 two newly elected U.S. Senators met socially for the first time in the Washington hotel room of a mutual friend. One was North Carolina’s Robert Rice Reynolds, the other Huey P. Long, the Louisianian Kingfish. After the introduction, Huey looked at Reynolds attentively and said, ‘Don’t I know you from some place?’

” ‘Not to my remembrance, Senator,’ said Reynolds.

” ‘Ever been to Baton Rouge?’ persisted Huey. Reynolds had.

” ‘Why then sure I know you,’ said Huey. ‘You use to run that roller-skating rink down there.’

” ‘That’s right,’ said Reynolds. ‘And now I know you. You used to come in and win all the prizes for fancy skating. That’s when you were down there sellin’ snake oil.’

“The two shook hands again in fond recollection….”

— From ” ‘Our Bob’ Reynolds” in Life magazine (Sept. 8, 1941)