The Late Great Professor Perrow
By Chris Feldt
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.“ - Henry David Thoreau
Eber Carle Perrow, grandfather of Pickens County residents Janet Vardaman and Margo Austin, was born on December 7th, 1880 in Tye River, Virginia. When he was eight-years-old, he moved with his parents to Tennessee and quickly became fond of folk tales. A brilliant student, he became the class valedictorian of the class of 1903 at Duke University and graduated with a doctorate from Harvard University in 1908. Like J.R . Tolkien he was an able polymath (one who can speak fluently in several languages) and was easily able to complete his doctorate in Philology. Philology is the study of language in oral and written historical sources; it is the intersection of textual criticism, literary criticism, history, and linguistics. One of his philological observations about the influences of the railroad in developing our unique brand of language in Appalachia is excerpted below:
Railroads have forced their way through these regions, but their influences have touched the people only superficially — given them something to sing about, or possibly caused some of those living near the stations to take up the custom of wearing collars instead of the standard red handkerchief. The man back in the ridges, however, they have left unchanged.”
Professor Perrow also chronicled American folksongs during early 20th century. His collection, Songs and Rhymes of the South is considered a landmark book on the subject matter.
Taken from it, his brilliant description of Appalachian people:
“Since their settlement in this region, there have been few enough influences brought to bear to keep this isolated people in line with the growth of the outside world. For a long time commerce left the territory unexploited: "What sholde it han avayled to werreye? Ther lay no profit, ther was no ridiesse." The rude log cabin of the mountaineer, with its stone-stick-and-mud chimney; the bit of truck garden near the house, tilled by the women-folk; the hillside, with its scant cover of Indian-corn, with now and then a creek-bottom in which weed and crop struggle on equal terms for the mastery; the cold, clear limestone water breaking from the foot of the ridges; the noisy trout stream, now clear as glass, now swollen by the almost daily thunderstorm; the bold knobs rising steep from the valleys and covered with blackberries or huckleberries; and in the background wave after wave of mountain forest, with its squirrel, wild geese, 'possum, coon, "painter," rattlesnakes, and an occasional bear, — these constituted the wealth of the country.
In 1910 he married Bertha Lillig, a former singer/concert pianist at the Met, in Boston, Massachusetts. Then in 1919 Professor Perrow, upon learning of his nervous indigestion from his physician, left his position at the University of Louisville teaching English literature and decided to move to his 500 acres of land that he had bought in Talking Rock. He arrived by train with his wife, two sons, a daughter, some cattle and his belongings.
His first few years in Talking Rock were arduous ones. Living off of a mere $15 dollars a month, he lived in rickety old cabin. The leaky roof and the cold were challenging. The cabin at one time had a loft. The previous tenant had taken the lumber of the loft with him. According to Perrow, in those days, the cabin lumber was highly prized as it was the only lumber not nailed down in case you needed a coffin.
The land itself was formidable and difficult to cultivate. His neighbors, as few as there were, would come around once and a while and say something discouraging. Professor Perrow was keen on describing them as “prophets of evil”, as they had nothing but doom and gloom to pass on.
However, over time and with much hard work, he was eventually able to build a much larger home consisting of eight rooms, a living room with a great chimney that would hold a six-foot log, and a sliding door to allow a truck through to deliver the log. There were many bookshelves built into the interior walls and naturally, they were all full.
At first, he had worked his own land and in 1924 became the surveyor of Pickens County. Eventually he became Colonel Sam Tate’s personal surveyor, working on the development that came to be known as Tate Mountain Estates. In what would become a lifelong trend, Professor Perrow built a cabin near his surveying site near Burnt Mountain. It was located on the south side of what would later be highway 136.
Later in 1933, the professor became the Camp Superintendent of CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) Camp 1449, P-77. He taught about 200 men from rural Georgia varying subjects like mathematics, French, English composition, history, sociology, civics, engineering and forestry work. What a blessing that must have been for these men! To be paid to be taught from a Harvard graduate in the middle of the Great Depression!?
During his stay at the CCC camp (in the land that is now the sixth hole of Bent Tree Golf Course) he constructed a small cabin near the Twin Oaks building, a guest house of the former Whittington house (also the former location of the Dude Ranch – one of the only Dude Ranches located east of the Mississippi River.)
Perrow's handdrawn map showing the location of the Dude Ranch.
According to Thomas Faircloth, one of his students, a camp medic named Henry Jordan (pronounced Jerdan) was part of the Jordan family, the force behind the Koinoia Farm, which later helped form Habitat for Humanity. Clarence Jordan, the founder of the farm had a writing shack similar to Perrow’s (read more on the mailbox house later). His family farm in Americus, was known by those closest to him to have a place where people could come and live off of the land and learn about the Lord.
In 1953, Professor Perrow attended Duke University‘s Class of 1903 50th anniversary. Half a century before, as class valedictorian, he had been voted most likely to succeed by his peers. Undoubtedly, he had possessed the most unique life experience of his entire class. Having abandoned a career in academia long ago, he was able to share the trials and rewards of over three decades of rugged mountain living with his fellow classmates.
In the professor’s last decade, he led a regular Sunday afternoon class at Jasper Methodist after his Sunday morning discussions at Jasper First Baptist. He also continued surveying to earn money and spent leisurely hours in his mailbox house, a quirky and utilitarian structure, where he would light a small fire and write letters to his former colleagues and relatives.
One such letter to his niece Carolyn, written on Christmas Eve of 1963, a month after the assassination of President Kennedy, reflected on his life, his work and family:
“I guess it will be another quiet Christmas for me. The weather has been so cold for the last month I haven’t been able to get over to Jasper often….I’ve done very little surveying this fall, and before long, I’ll have to give up this work….but I’m thankful for such health as I have. You will write to me soon and tell me how Santa fared in the warm Florida Sunshine. He still had on his arctic boots when he passed there! Love to you all.
Uncle Eber
And finally, after reflecting upon his many years of living in North Georgia, he wrote the following words: (taken from his book Unto The Hills)
In my … years in North Georgia I have seen the “worser country” become the better. I have seen bare fields, once the unprotected target of winter rains, now covered with green pastures. I have seen the half-starved “outside” calf give place to fine registered cattle. I have seen forests once black with the ravage of fire now producing good timber and pulp. And I have seen almost impassable trailways become fair roads or even surfaced highways. We have today better schools with better teachers; our religious life, if not more deeply devotional, is, at least characterized by more of the greatest of the three virtues.”
Professor Perrow passed away on December 20th, 1968 and is buried alongside his wife in Ball Creek Baptist Cemetery in Northwestern Pickens County. Before he died, the professor had built a final small shelter, equipped with his typical fireplace and bookshelves, with an adjoining room for a bed and table near downtown Jasper, located not too far behind First Baptist Church of Jasper. It still stands there today as the last accessible structure created by the late professor. It should be, like his words, preserved as a testament to a man – protean in his scope – a father, husband, friend, teacher, philosopher, surveyor, builder, scribe, and more. A man than not only read Thoreau, but a man who lived as Thoreau did.
What a blessing it was for a man of such immeasurable genius to settle in Pickens County – earnestly sharing his wisdom, grace and knowledge with us for over half a century. What a blessing indeed.
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