The Dream, The Challenge, The People
by Bob Kranich
(Excerpt 3)
“The Lodge Called Folkestone”. You may wonder why the first half of the book is about my many adventures throughout the USA. Well, this first part explains just why my interests changed from hot rodding cars to backpacking. How the idea of a lodge came about, and just how the lodge came to be in North Carolina and next to the Smoky Mountain National Park, Deep Campground to be exact.
(Excerpt 3)
“The Lodge Called Folkestone”. You may wonder why the first half of the book is about my many adventures throughout the USA. Well, this first part explains just why my interests changed from hot rodding cars to backpacking. How the idea of a lodge came about, and just how the lodge came to be in North Carolina and next to the Smoky Mountain National Park, Deep Campground to be exact.
-----
“What do you recommend?” I answered.
“Well, an easy one is just go up this dirt road next to the creek, and in a short distance you will see Tom’s Branch Falls across the creek. If you go about a half mile farther up the road and cross the creek, you will see a sign, Indian Creek Falls. It is just a short walk to it.”
“Thank you sir.”
“You’re welcome, and if’n you want to cool off, just try that tubing.”
He got in his truck and drove off. I decided to take his advice, walk a little, and see the sights. A short distance up the dirt road it was gated. That was nice because then I didn’t have to look out for cars. The road to the gate was only wide enough for a car, and at the gate there was a turnaround.
The ranger was correct. There was Tom’s Branch, dropping from high up, through the laurels, and cascading down into Deep Creek. As I was sitting there enjoying the view, here come three tubers, young boys having a great time.
The road continued on. The vegetation consisted of very high trees with thick mountain laurel on both sides, but much thicker next to the water. Once I crossed the bridge, the road started to climb. I came to an open area, which had many old downed trees. I figured that this must have come from a strong windstorm many years ago. The narrow road was very high above the creek. I guessed that it was about eighty feet from where I was on the road to the water. I have been told that in the old days there was a small dam here that made electricity for Bryson City.
When I got to Indian Creek, because of the quick drop, the water from it was cascading down into Deep Creek. There was a trail sign and a trail going to the right along Indian Creek. I took it. Shortly, I came to a sign which read, Indian Creek Falls. The trail was very steep down to the bottom of the falls. When I got there, the sound of the waterfall was very melodious and restful. I lingered for a while just sitting there on a large rock. I contemplated what I experienced this last week, and just how beautiful it had been. I also realized that I had a sample of what was here in this Smoky Mountain National Park. I didn’t know then just how much more I was to experience of this beautiful creation the Lord had made.
Time Moves On
Early in 1963 I changed jobs, and started work for Honeywell Corporation in the area between St. Petersburg and the Clearwater, Florida, area. I was really excited about this job. It was a mechanical drafting job. We were involved in a government contract developing a space vehicle to return astronauts back to earth. It was called Dyna-Soar which really meant dynamic soaring. I was hired for a permanent position. After I had been working about a half a year, our nation experienced a tragedy. Many people will say that they can remember where they were when special or unusual events happen. I know where I was when President Kennedy was assassinated at 12:30 pm Friday, November 22, 1963. It was lunchtime, and I was eating a sandwich at my drafting board. It was a shock to us all!
Less than a month later on December 10, 1963, our Dyna-Soar government program was cancelled by Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara. Two weeks later, a bunch of us were called into the conference room and given a two-week notice. So much for my permanent job. I wasn’t happy, and did not even take the two-week notice. I quit and decided to go to school.
It was the end of the year, and the perfect time to enroll in college. The University of South Florida, Tampa, had really just got off to a good start with its inaugural commencement ceremony that month. Its three new buildings were located in the northeast part of the city on East Fowler Ave. I went over and applied, was accepted, and before I knew it, I was a student.
My time there was short. I took three classes, which included speed reading, an environmental class, and a math class. The only thing I remember about the environmental class is that the professor said, “The best kind of grass is Buffalo grass because you don’t have to cut it!”
I still use the speed reading when I have to read something that I don’t want to. Lastly, the math class taught you how to round off, and get to totals real fast. It comes in handy for estimating. I ultimately dropped all three of these classes because as with everyone who is not independently wealthy, I needed some money to exist. Consequently, I started my progression of three, two-month short-term jobs: dock hand for a trucking company, helper for a box making company, and lastly, second shift foreman for a PVC pipe manufacturing facility. The bad part of this was my 1936 Ford was having some problems. I didn’t have any money, and couldn’t fix it. I had to walk the three miles coming and going to these jobs. Interestingly, they were all in the same general area, an industrial area north of West Hillsborough Ave, northwest of Tampa, Florida.
Then I got my big break: combination draftsman, field inspector, and parking lot troubleshooter for the City of Tampa Traffic Planning Department. I was working for a legend in his own time, Woody Hiller, (I hope that I spelled his name correctly). I had to keep ahead of him with any intersection drawing or project he might need. He would run in from a city council or project meeting and say, “Bob, quick, I need a copy of fill in the blank, and I had to quick give him a set of prints. Sometimes it was fast-paced, and other times slow and real fun.
I have three memories from this job. First one, the time I thought I was correcting some traffic lanes on a city curve. I evened them up on my drawing. The striping crew laid the new lines, and I found out that “even” wasn’t what Woody wanted. He had proven that what he had now on the street was correct. So, the crew had to go back and remove the new lines. I got a vocal reprieve.
Second, a time I was making a left turn. I got out under the traffic light waiting for the traffic. When the light finally turned red for them, I proceeded to finish my turn. I guess it was because I was driving my Ford hot rod, a motorcycle cop gave me a ticket. At work, I had all of the traffic intersection drawings, so I went to court with my easel, drawings, and proof that I was in the right to finish my turn. The judge took my drawing and said, “Not guilty, case dismissed!”
Third, since I was a troubleshooter for a city remote parking lot, I had the key to the gate. I naturally was parking there, but I still had to pay. One evening, as I was leaving the parking lot, I put my money in the slot, and as luck would have it, the gate would not go up. I got out of my vehicle, took out my key, and opened up the door to the machine. I tripped the lever, and the gate went up. A policeman was watching me from across the street. He put on his light and roared across the street blocking my way out. He wanted to know what I was doing, and when I had him call my office, he had to apologize.
As we all know, some say, that good things do not last forever. On December of 1965, I got my greetings letter from the United States Selective Service.
“What do you recommend?” I answered.
“Well, an easy one is just go up this dirt road next to the creek, and in a short distance you will see Tom’s Branch Falls across the creek. If you go about a half mile farther up the road and cross the creek, you will see a sign, Indian Creek Falls. It is just a short walk to it.”
“Thank you sir.”
“You’re welcome, and if’n you want to cool off, just try that tubing.”
He got in his truck and drove off. I decided to take his advice, walk a little, and see the sights. A short distance up the dirt road it was gated. That was nice because then I didn’t have to look out for cars. The road to the gate was only wide enough for a car, and at the gate there was a turnaround.
The ranger was correct. There was Tom’s Branch, dropping from high up, through the laurels, and cascading down into Deep Creek. As I was sitting there enjoying the view, here come three tubers, young boys having a great time.
The road continued on. The vegetation consisted of very high trees with thick mountain laurel on both sides, but much thicker next to the water. Once I crossed the bridge, the road started to climb. I came to an open area, which had many old downed trees. I figured that this must have come from a strong windstorm many years ago. The narrow road was very high above the creek. I guessed that it was about eighty feet from where I was on the road to the water. I have been told that in the old days there was a small dam here that made electricity for Bryson City.
When I got to Indian Creek, because of the quick drop, the water from it was cascading down into Deep Creek. There was a trail sign and a trail going to the right along Indian Creek. I took it. Shortly, I came to a sign which read, Indian Creek Falls. The trail was very steep down to the bottom of the falls. When I got there, the sound of the waterfall was very melodious and restful. I lingered for a while just sitting there on a large rock. I contemplated what I experienced this last week, and just how beautiful it had been. I also realized that I had a sample of what was here in this Smoky Mountain National Park. I didn’t know then just how much more I was to experience of this beautiful creation the Lord had made.
Time Moves On
Early in 1963 I changed jobs, and started work for Honeywell Corporation in the area between St. Petersburg and the Clearwater, Florida, area. I was really excited about this job. It was a mechanical drafting job. We were involved in a government contract developing a space vehicle to return astronauts back to earth. It was called Dyna-Soar which really meant dynamic soaring. I was hired for a permanent position. After I had been working about a half a year, our nation experienced a tragedy. Many people will say that they can remember where they were when special or unusual events happen. I know where I was when President Kennedy was assassinated at 12:30 pm Friday, November 22, 1963. It was lunchtime, and I was eating a sandwich at my drafting board. It was a shock to us all!
Less than a month later on December 10, 1963, our Dyna-Soar government program was cancelled by Secretary of Defense, Robert McNamara. Two weeks later, a bunch of us were called into the conference room and given a two-week notice. So much for my permanent job. I wasn’t happy, and did not even take the two-week notice. I quit and decided to go to school.
It was the end of the year, and the perfect time to enroll in college. The University of South Florida, Tampa, had really just got off to a good start with its inaugural commencement ceremony that month. Its three new buildings were located in the northeast part of the city on East Fowler Ave. I went over and applied, was accepted, and before I knew it, I was a student.
My time there was short. I took three classes, which included speed reading, an environmental class, and a math class. The only thing I remember about the environmental class is that the professor said, “The best kind of grass is Buffalo grass because you don’t have to cut it!”
I still use the speed reading when I have to read something that I don’t want to. Lastly, the math class taught you how to round off, and get to totals real fast. It comes in handy for estimating. I ultimately dropped all three of these classes because as with everyone who is not independently wealthy, I needed some money to exist. Consequently, I started my progression of three, two-month short-term jobs: dock hand for a trucking company, helper for a box making company, and lastly, second shift foreman for a PVC pipe manufacturing facility. The bad part of this was my 1936 Ford was having some problems. I didn’t have any money, and couldn’t fix it. I had to walk the three miles coming and going to these jobs. Interestingly, they were all in the same general area, an industrial area north of West Hillsborough Ave, northwest of Tampa, Florida.
Then I got my big break: combination draftsman, field inspector, and parking lot troubleshooter for the City of Tampa Traffic Planning Department. I was working for a legend in his own time, Woody Hiller, (I hope that I spelled his name correctly). I had to keep ahead of him with any intersection drawing or project he might need. He would run in from a city council or project meeting and say, “Bob, quick, I need a copy of fill in the blank, and I had to quick give him a set of prints. Sometimes it was fast-paced, and other times slow and real fun.
I have three memories from this job. First one, the time I thought I was correcting some traffic lanes on a city curve. I evened them up on my drawing. The striping crew laid the new lines, and I found out that “even” wasn’t what Woody wanted. He had proven that what he had now on the street was correct. So, the crew had to go back and remove the new lines. I got a vocal reprieve.
Second, a time I was making a left turn. I got out under the traffic light waiting for the traffic. When the light finally turned red for them, I proceeded to finish my turn. I guess it was because I was driving my Ford hot rod, a motorcycle cop gave me a ticket. At work, I had all of the traffic intersection drawings, so I went to court with my easel, drawings, and proof that I was in the right to finish my turn. The judge took my drawing and said, “Not guilty, case dismissed!”
Third, since I was a troubleshooter for a city remote parking lot, I had the key to the gate. I naturally was parking there, but I still had to pay. One evening, as I was leaving the parking lot, I put my money in the slot, and as luck would have it, the gate would not go up. I got out of my vehicle, took out my key, and opened up the door to the machine. I tripped the lever, and the gate went up. A policeman was watching me from across the street. He put on his light and roared across the street blocking my way out. He wanted to know what I was doing, and when I had him call my office, he had to apologize.
As we all know, some say, that good things do not last forever. On December of 1965, I got my greetings letter from the United States Selective Service.
From the Author:
This is a new book. It is about the Lodge I built in the Smoky Mountains, near Bryson City, and Deep Creek campground, North Carolina. Having been from Florida, I know that a lot of Floridians love to visit the Smoky Mountains National Park. Therefore hopefully you will enjoy my story of the building of “A Lodge Called Folkestone”.
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