by Stanley Peele

In Chapel Hill there is a small stream which starts in a marshy spot north of the western end of McCauley St. It then meanders down between Merritt Mill Road and Westwood Drive and then runs on down to Morgan Creek.

In 1942 when I was eleven years old, I decided that nothing would do but that I would fish this stream, catch a fish, and eat it. So I borrowed a frying pan from my mother, got some lard, matches, bamboo fishing pole, fishing hook, string and a scout’s knife. Then I set off with a pack on my back and the fishing pole in my hand.

I walked down the hill behind my home to the stream. We called it the "crik" and never knew it had a name. In those days, once you got to the stream, you were well into a forest. To the south the forest went on for miles without any houses. (Remember, Hwy. 54 by-pass had not been built.)

The stream was fresh, clear and clean. I followed it until it got close to Morgan Creek, where there was a little backwater spot that you could catch fish sometimes. Cedar bark was plentiful, so starting the fire was easy. Now it was time to look for bugs or worms for bait. I must have turned over a hundred rocks before I found a beetle. Gah! Too small! It didn’t work. So, I looked for worms and found a couple.

At last, it was time to fish!! Voila! I hooked a fish; a little one. Any real fisherman would have thrown him back. Not me. I had my fish, and I was excited!! My scout’s knife had a fish-scaler on the back, so I scaled the fish and cut off the head. At that point, the fish did not look appetizing. Hmmm. Now what do you do? Do you gut him or eat him whole, like a shrimp? I decided to clean him. By this time you have figured out that I knew nothing about cooking fish, and you are right.

So I cleaned it. At this point it began to occur to me that in Cub Scouts they had not taught me a thing about cleaning a fish. They taught about camping, making fires, hiking, poison ivy, snakes and knots. Yes, I knew about knots! All kinds of knots. But this fish was a puzzlement.

So I proceeded to clean the fish. In that process two things happened: First, I learned a lot about fish anatomy. Second, I plum lost my appetite for eating that fish.

I decided it was time to give up. I packed up my gear, including the frying pan, which was clean and unused. I carefully put out the fire, dowsing it with water about 9 times. (Yes, at least I knew how to do that.) Then I went home and fixed a delicious peanut-butter sandwich. Yum! My mom never asked me what I did with that frying pan.

For years afterward, I lied to my friends, bragging, and telling them the story of how I landed, fried, and ate a fish down at the ‘crik." So, this article is a confession. I never ate that fish.

Today, the crik is called Pritchard Branch. Its northern part is now much like it was 66 years ago. Its southern part passes through Chase Park. That, and the by-pass, have changed it.

Years ago I was presiding as judge in Chapel Hill. A man pled guilty to trespass. After hearing the facts of the case, I asked him where he lived.
"Chase Park," He replied.
"What part of Chase Park?" I asked.

He told me. He did not know that when he sat in his living room watching TV, he was in the exact spot where-- 52 years before then,-- a young boy had built a fire and tried to fry a fish.

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by Charly Mann

For most of its history the core of Chapel Hill thinking meant questioning the politically correct ideas of the day. This critical thinking is rooted in two debating organizations formed in 1795 which at one time every UNC student had to belong to. Members were expected to be able to speak extemporaneously and persuasively for five to seven minutes on any side of an issue. These groups also required students to spend several hours every day reading political speeches and editorials in newspapers, and then writing a weekly composition in support or opposition to something they had read.

In the early 1960s, when I was a young teenager, I came to know several popular Carolina professors who followed in this tradition. They all taught that one should be skeptical of people and ideas that were dogmatic or ideologically driven. These individuals influenced not only me and their students, but many others in the community to try to see and understand other people's views and beliefs. They emhasized that controversial subjects were almost always complex and that people who tried to make them simple should always be questioned.

Dr. Bernard "Bunny" Boyd was a professor of religion at the University of North Carolina for many decades. Throughout that time he was the most popular and inspirational teacher on campus.

Over the years I engaged in countless hours of conversation and letter writing with many of my Chapel Hill mentors. Early on I noticed they would not only engage in critiques of my ideas, but do the same of their own. UNC religion professor Bernard "Bunny" Boyd  took me aside when I was 17 after I had spoken at length about my opposition to the war in Vietnam and asked me how many people I knew well who supported the war. When I told him all my current friends shared my views he told me if I really wanted to test my beliefs I should spend time with people who supported the war and try to understand their perspective before I became totally intransigent in mine. He said otherwise I would become like most other people he knew whose opinions were sacrosanct and would not really listen to anyone else. I also remember when local record store owner Kemp Nye told me that I would never grow old if I was always open to new ideas. He told me, for example, that most people he sold music to were stuck with the tastes they had since they were in their mid-twenties. That statement still resonates with me more than 40 years later, and as a result I spend several hours every week listening to new music.

Doris Betts was a distinquished novelist who taught creative writing at UNC. She inspired many people with her wit and charm. She hated small talk and speaking to groups, but loved talking one on one in depth about almost any serious subject.

In 1969 I had the pleasure of getting to know UNC law professor Dan Pollitt. I remember him telling me I should never be too idealistic to compromise. He said wise people usually see much more grey than black and white. Pollitt also warned me that open-mindedness is one of the first things that is crushed in life. He said we are indoctrinated by our parents, friends, and culture, and are rarely ever mature enough to realize this.

Former UNC law professor Dan Pollitt on the right with his wife, State Senator Ellie Kinnaid, and one of his many admirers.

As I was preparing this article I went through a trunk full of letters from many of my Chapel Hill friends. I was surprised to find that many were practically essays on subjects as friendship, ambition, mental improvement, and the benefits of adversity in life. They also discussed current events or some work of literature in detail. Today the number of letters I get from friends is a small fraction of what it once was. Most communication is now through e-mails that rarely exceed a few sentences. Discussion and debate on issues have now been reduced to links to articles or videos by other people espousing views the sender claims to support. I wish there was a way to rekindle interest in the art of open discussion and thought-provoking letter writing, but I am afraid those days are over. Most of the people I know now seem comfortable attaching a label to themselves such as "conservative", "liberal Democrat", "libertarian", "Christian", or "atheist" and do not want to discuss their opinions in detail or show much interest in other points of view.

Contents of my 1968 letters file. From 1964 to 1995 each of these files contains at least two hundred letters averaging three pages in length. Since then, I have received fewer letters each year, and now very few are even a page long.

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by Charly Mann

Throughout my childhood, and well into my teenage years, Chapel Hill was one of the safest places to live in the world. Few people in town ever locked the doors to their home or cars, and I remember the owner of a local clothing store saying he often left his store door unlocked after closing. By the mid 1960s Chapel Hill was no longer a crime free village and stores, cars, and houses were usually locked when unattended.

The primary reason for Chapel Hill's lack of crime in these days went back more than eighty years to 1878. At that time less than 1000 people lived in town, yet the community was the victim of a series of burglaries. Six houses in different parts of town, which were occupied by young women, were robbed when they were asleep in their beds. In one case a woman woke up when she heard men in her room and screamed so loud that the thieves fled. Soon after that the home of the widow Mrs. Margaret Hendon on the corner of Franklin and Columbia Street was broken into. It was rumored that she had recently received a large inheritance, and at least two men broke open both the door to her house and her bedroom. She was awoken by the intruders and told to give them her money, but instead she rushed to the window and screamed for help. As she did one of the men hit her on the head with the blade of an axe which gave her a deep scalp wound. She was then hit with more blows from a small club. Fortunately, her screams were heard by nearby neighbors, Mr. John Mallett and his father, Dr. William. P. Mallett. The Mallets along with several black men who they allowed to sleep in their outhouse at night rushed into Mrs. Hendon's house and the robbers fled without obtaining any money. Mrs. Hendon's wounds were very serious, but she fortunately made a full recovery.

This is the Laura Battle House on East Franklin Street in 1877. It was one of six houses inhabited by single women in Chapel Hill that were robbed in 1878.

Chapel Hill at this time did not have any real law enforcement, so the male residents of the town set up night patrols throughout the village. The community also hired a detective from Richmond to help find the culprits. Several of the leading merchants and professors in town took to amateur sleuthing and soon arrested a black man, Albert Atwater, as a suspect. While in the town's makeshift jail he was intensively questioned by local citizens and eventually confessed, but said three local white men had also been involved. He said one man always kept watch outside while the others entered the woman's house. The three white men he implicated were arrested, and then all four were tried in Orange County Superior Court in Hillsborough. They were all found guilty, and all except for Atwater were sentenced to be hanged.

What is especially interesting is that at this time blacks, then referred to as "colored" in Chapel Hill, were truly second class citizens with few rights. There was even a state law that said a white man should not be hanged on the evidence of a Negro. Nevertheless Chapel Hill citizens believed Atwater and urged the judge, and then the Supreme Court of the State to which the white defendants appealed, to accept Atwater's word. On April 16th, 1878 all three of the white men convicted were hung in front of a large crowd of Chapel Hill citizens. Atwood served time in jail, but was released after several years.

Three white men were hung for a series of burglaries in Chapel Hill in 1878. The lone black member of the gang only served time in jail for the crime.

The execution of the three burglars had a chilling effect on crime in Chapel Hill. For more than 50 years, there was not a single reported burglary or violent crime in town, and people felt safe enough to keep their houses unlocked at night until about 1964.

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by Charly Mann

Ann Long inside her house on McCauley Street in Chapel Hill on Easter Sunday, April 18, 1954

In the 1950’s what I best remember about Easter Sunday was that every female in town was attired in a new and elegant outfit to wear to church. My family attended the Chapel of the Cross, and  for Easter services there were scores of shiny brass vases around the alter overflowing with Easter lilies and daffodils. After church the women paraded in their new finery down Franklin Street looking marvelous and catching the eye of many young men. like myself, watching them walk by.

Linda Cheek on Easter Sunday March 25, 1951 outside the Chapel of the Cross on Franklin Street in Chapel Hill

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Chapel Hill Elementary School photo

Let me start of by saying I am a University of North Carolina sports fan. I also enjoy the UNC-Duke rivalry as much as the next fan. Passionate loyalty is just part of the fun of being a Carolina fan. However, many instances suggest that this rivalry sometimes goes too far. I feel Tarheel fans need to draw a line on how much passion is too much.

photo courtsey of Dr. Harold Kushner

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by Charly Mann

Davy Jones of the Monkees sings "Daydream Believer" at Chapel Hill's Dean Smith Center in 1986

I have probably been to nearly 1000 concerts in Chapel Hill, but the one I am least likely to talk about is seeing the Monkees at the Dean Dome on October 17th,1986. That is because the Monkees' music has always been my one guilty musical pleasure. They were a totally manufactured group created by the Hollywood audition process to portray a television sitcom band that would resemble an American version of The Beatles. Worse than that, their songs were written primarily by Brill Building songwriters from another era, and none of the Monkees even played any instruments on their records. Nevertheless they did have a handful of memorable songs, and I especially loved the Neil Diamond-penned I'm A Believer, as well as Daydream Believer written by one of my heroes, former Kingston Trio member John Stewart.

Peter Tork of the Monkees singing harmony on "Pleasant Valley Sunday" at Dean Smith Center October 17th, 1986

I have always been careful to hide my attraction to the Monkees, but somehow fate always exposes my feelings. While attending high school in Southern California I spent countless hours at the world famous record store Wallach's Music City on Sunset and Vine where they had listening stations, and would just rip the shrink-wrap off and let you hear any album you wanted. It seems like every time I was there in 1967 and 1968 one of the Monkees would come into the store to listen to music at a booth near me, or look at musical instruments in the back of the store. In February of 1968 Mickey Dolenz invited me and a friend over to a Monkees recording sessions a few blocks away at the RCA studios at 6363 Sunset Boulevard. The album they were recording was calledThe Birds, The Bees & The Monkees, and was their answer to the recently released Sgt. Pepper’s album by the Beatles. That album yielded two great songs, Valleri and Daydream Believer.

 
The Monkees, left to right: Mickey Dolenz, Peter Tork, and Davy Jones in Chapel Hill 1986

When it was announced that the Monkees were coming to Chapel Hill in 1986 I had no intention of revealing my love of the Monkees by buying tickets to the show, but again fate stepped in. I had always enjoyed listening to Ron Stutts' morning show on WCHL. During the show he had a trivia contest called Dollar Scholar which I almost always knew the answer to. As luck would have it, instead of a silver dollar prize one day in early October 1986 you would win four front row tickets to the Monkees show, and I rapidly called in the answer. (The question was what is the real name of Fats Domino, and the answer was Antoine Domino Jr.) The Monkees show was great and the opening acts included The Grass Roots, Gary Pucket and The Union Gap, and Herman's Hermits (minus their lead singer Peter Noone). I took my wife Mickey as well as my best friend Fred Castrovinci and his wife to the show.

Charly Mann and four front-row tickets to October 1986 Monkees concert in Chapel Hill

The Monkees set list at the Dean Smith Center show on October 17th, 1986 was:

Last Train To Clarksville
A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You
(I’m Not Your) Steppin' Stone
Cuddly Toy
Goin' Down
I Wanna Be Free
Your Auntie Grizelda
She
That Was Then, This Is Now
Shades Of Gray
Randy Scouse Git
Valleri
I'm A Believer

Official Program for the Monkees 1986 Reunion tour which played at the Dean Smith Center 

Then the encore was:

Listen to the Band (This is a Michael Nesmith song – the only Monkee who was not part of the Reunion)
Pleasant Valley Sunday

Mickey and Charly Mann in front row at Dean Smith Center for the 1986 Monkees Reunion Concert

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