Jerry Wilson, Mountain View Chamber of Commerce president in 1995, Governor Jim Guy Tucker, and Bill Young, Folk Center general manager.
This Ozark Folk Center 50th Anniversary Legacy Photo is in memory of Bill Young.
With appreciation for making the Folk Center such a special place, Catherine Shoults.
“Hello Miss Catherine.” Those words meant I had arrived at my magical playground. General Manager Bill Young would smile down at me and give greeting in his deep, resonate voice. He’d remark I was always grinning or eating (the highest compliment my young self could receive) and I'd beam up at him.
After touring his extensive turtle collection, it was time to bound out into the park. I’d run through the doors and be transported: one step over the threshold and suddenly it was olden times. Kay Thomas, elegant in a flowing dress with the perfect cameo pin right at her neck. Dave Smith strumming by with a band collar on his old timey outfit. Arkansas Educational Television Network filmed an Ozark Christmas at the Folk Center and, in the photo at left, I am three years old and one of many who helped to set the scene--all dressed for the occasion.
Smells of wax would lure me to make rainbows in the candle shop. The clang of blacksmithing would remind me to breathe deep the smell of creosote. Costumes and sepia tones waited in Kenny Simmons' photo cabin.
But best of all: my pottery shop. In my mind, the Dahlsteds were my very own pottery teachers! I’d dig my hands into the cold, inviting mud and pinch together kitties and throw little pots, sure I was creating masterpieces. In the photo at right, I play with clay and years later apprenticed in the pottery shop with Judi Munn and John Perry while in college.
Situated in the Ozark Mountains, this magical world was filled with joy and song. Mary and Robert Gillihan sang of neighbors and the sound of the White River calling. Tina Wilcox was always there, caressing the earth and keeping blooms bountiful. I’d heard once that our Ozark mountains were like its people: made not from rough tectonic activity, but smooth and gentle, created through erosion sculpting the land. That made sense in my magical playground where everything was calm and creative, filled with love.
As I grew older, I realized that the park wasn’t in fact made entirely for me. I’d feel embarrassed that I once thought that way, but as I talk to others who were blessed to be a child at the Folk Center, it turns out my memories are reflected in their experiences too. One whiff of beeswax and we are back in the place that was just for us. One jig and we’d be ready to watch the dancers swirl. Time seemed to avoid our paradise; maybe that’s why everyone looked so fancy in their finery: time just didn’t realize it was supposed to come here too.
But alas, time found our playground. The crisp colors of the Marines who stood in honor of my dear Bill Young still look out of place in my mind’s eye. Their stern uniforms didn’t mesh with the countless bonnets and calico prints that I had seen over the years. I still don’t understand how Bill Young, so large and kind, can be gone. Every single time I walk through the front doors of the Folk Center, I expect to hear “Hello Miss Catherine” and be able to run my hands along the shells of all the turtles. That’s the thing about a home, it changes, and those we love move on to the heavenly skies. But the Ozark Folk Center represents the countless folks who created it and nurtured its growth. I can only hope that I do my part to make sure that other little Miss Catherine’s get to bound onto its grounds, nestled in the gentle Ozark Mountains, and experience their own magical playground.
Entry by Catherine Shoults.
The Committee of One Hundred Tribute Wall recognizes contributions to the preservation of Ozark folk culture.
If you would like to help preserve the folk culture of the Ozarks, consider a
The Committee is made up entirely of volunteers so, except for transaction fees, all of your donation funds music, craft, or the herb gardens and, as a 501c3 entity
your donation is tax deductible!
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