JF Ptak Science Books LLC Post 682 Blog Bookstore
Looking for 412 State Street, Bristol, Tennessee.
A History of Blank, Empty & Missing Things, #50
Driving through Forks of Ivy, topping Sam’s Gap, crossing the Nolichucky, passing through Unicoi County and into the Watauga watershed, I found myself in Bristol, Tennessee, in the north-east part of the state at corner of southwest Virginia. Bristol is actually on the state line, with half of the city in Tennessee and the other half in Virginia. The dividing line is the main thoroughfare, State Street, a tight avenue lined with early-ish building that hint of the age of the place, but not nearly so. This used to be frontierland, the area surrounding being largely found in the 1750-1775 or so, at a time when the Blue Ridge and the Southern stretches of the Appalachians were the Far Western frontier.
I was after a different sort of frontier adventure on State Street today—a musical one. State Street was the home of the “recording studio” for the renowned “Bristol Sessions”, which is recognized far and wide as the veritable Big Bang of country music.
Ralph Peer (of Okeh Records fame), an entrepreneur/musical spelunker, came to Bristol in July1927 looking for local music played by its hidden talent. There was a large interest in original American music—gospel and blues--from the far reaches of the country at this time, and Peer sought those genres in addition to secular music tat fit neither category--that would be “country music”. He was alerted to the area by his friend, the musician Ernest Stoneman (of an equally musically-rich area in Galax, Virginia), guided by the assertion that the Bristol/Johnson City/Kingsport area was a magnet for the musical talent of the region. He set up a temporary recording studio, renting the top two floors of the Taylor-Christian Hat Company (seen in the postcard image below, just beyond the Tip Top Hotel) at 412 State Street. The initial react to his advertisement was underwhelming, but when an article appeared in the local newspaper in the second week of his two-week stay touting the $3600 that Stoneman received in royalties in 1926 for his recorded music, the floodgates opened, and suddenly Peer was completely booked.
The recordings that Peer made at 412 State Street were spectacular. Among those who showed up was the young Jimmie Rodgers. And Uncle Eck Dunford and Ernest & Hannah Stoneman. And A.P., Sara and (Mother) Maybelle Carter, who recorded their oh-dear-god-beautiful “Single Girl, Married Girl” (and "Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow”, “Little Log Cabin By the Sea”, “The Storms are on the Ocean”, “The Wandering Boy”) there on the second floor.
There were 19 performers who recorded 76 songs in an altogether singular moment.
And so, being near Bristol today I went looking for 412 State Street. I must say that it looks as though Bristol was prosperous at some pre-WWII point in the past, the city looking like it needed a scrubbing, with lots of store-front vacancies on its most famous street. Also there seemed to be no 400 block. Having the postcard image of where the hat factory was, I started comparing the buildings on the 500 block to those in the picture, and I had half-convinced myself that the city must’ve changed the numbering system for the street to accommodate what my brain was telling me was the missing building. The match looked pretty good, except for the number of windows.
There were only a few businesses open that I could see, and I popped into one—a music store, its open door allowing the loud rock music from the inside, out—and asked the young woman where the Bristol sessions building was.
She instantly looked sad. “Come with me, I’ll show you” she said, as we walked out to the sidewalk. It was not a good feeling. She looked north on the street, towards the open area of State Street that seemed to have been urban blighted, and I tried to get her to look south, to where I hoped the building was.
“No, no, I’m sorry to say. She pointed north, to a bad 1970’s brick single-story building about 20 0feet away. “That’s it. Or that’s where it used to be. Actually that’s the second building that got built on the site. The one that replaced Taylor-Christian got torn down too.”
She had told the story before, a lot of times. I think that she watched my eyes closely as I tried to focus on the foul building—maybe she saw my eyes get smaller and smaller, trying to size the three story hat factory down to this speckly brick thing. She had to have seen the disappointment, and then the wincing reaction to the building that replaced the iconic structure. I wondered to the woman if it was hard for her to break the news to the folks that came to finds the building. “Used to” she said, “but now I’m used to it”.
It’s a sad end. Especially when I found the little monument erected by the Oddfellows nearby, commemorating the Sessions. It sits on a funny little piece of land, badly overgrown. For some reason there’s a half-dozen sign-less traffic sign utility poles haphazardly placed bizarrely next to it. There’s a parking lot ten feet away. It looks hot and unwanted, like a small graveyard scooped out of its pleasantness and surrounded by traffic (like the Fitzgeralds up in Maryland).
As I drove out and away from the city, I took a few pictures of buildings that were probably once happy and visited. I should point out that once Peer was done, so too was the recording business. The fact that this music was recorded and brought out to the world from Bristol left no real shadow on the city, until recently.
Fitting, unfortunately, tightly with the end of 412 State Street is the street named for Mr. Peer. It has a lovely, old-timey street sign (off State), but the street itself, well... This is just not right.
I was shocked by the unbearable beauty of this little business:
One of the three movie theatres in a two-block span:
Thank you for this piece of history. I have driven through Bristol many times over the last several years on my NC to NY and back treks with my Grandmother. I have wondered about the lonely and empty buildings, seen the theater, the used tires building and the small overgrown green spaces. I never knew Bristol's role in the birth of country music recording. I will drive through Bristol less now, but when I do, thanks to your narrative and pictures, there will be a connection to a sense of place and I might now be able to hear the lonely and vacant buildings sing... if just a little.
Thank you John.
Posted by: Kimberly Joris | 13 July 2009 at 09:28 AM
The dentures business looks refreshingly third-world. It looks real, and if the service is good, what a joy to go to a place like that. I hope I never have to avail myself of this particular service, but I can easily imagine it as a tea shop or bicycle repair or a purveyor of books of haiku.
Posted by: Jeff | 13 July 2009 at 10:57 PM
Thanks for your kind and elegant words, Kim. I don't know much more about Bristol than this. I did have an enjoyable time tooling around town for an hour. It seems to me that there were quite a few businesses on that main street--lots of doors with very narrow storefronts. It is a curious place.
Posted by: John Ptak | 14 July 2009 at 07:11 PM
As always, Mr. Dr. Jeff, an enjoyed comment. It DOES look refreshing and third world, all at the same time. And yes it would be a dream to have a store where you didn't have to get up to reach for anything at all. More suited to someone writing haiku for the passersby for 10 bucks a poke, or a teahouse denturama. I wonder about this place: there is SO much parking. IT is, actually, almost entirely devoted to parking. Maybe the guy treats you carside. Or the place is on wheels. Sumpin'.
Posted by: John Ptak | 14 July 2009 at 07:15 PM