IN DEVELOPMENT - "The Bogard House" by Steve Orr

The Bogard House
By Steve Orr

On a warm day in the spring of 1970, four of us set out for an adventure. We had no idea what kind of adventure; just an adventure; any adventure. Mike and I had been doing this kind of thing since the eighth grade. Paul and Bruce were newer additions to our outings. Not that Paul was new to adventure. The kinds of things he usually did left most of us quite envious; were, in fact, the kinds of things that one would find hard to believe were I to write them here; but those are for other stories.

Paul had been suggesting, for a while, that we go see some of the sights he had found in the Land Between the Lakes. The LBL is about 100 miles of land situated between Kentucky Lake and Lake Barkley in the far western reaches of Kentucky and Tennessee. It is what was left above the water line after the Tennessee Valley Authority dammed up the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers to create hydro-electric plants, and, as byproduct, two magnificent recreational lakes. All of the people previously living in this area had been relocated, sometimes against their wills. What remained were a few empty cemeteries cum islands and the LBL. Much of the lakeside land, including the LBL, had been set aside as state parks and wildlife refuges; there was a limited amount of camping, mostly primitive. Paul had been tooling around in the LBL on his motor scooter, had found some abandoned houses, ruins mostly, but was quite taken with what was revealed about pre-TVA life. He lobbied us all the time to go.

I probably should tell you that every student in the Paducah school system makes multiple trips to the LBL over the course of their twelve years of public education; mostly biology related. We were not especially inclined to view another such trip as an adventure. There was another reason we were hesitant to go exploring in the LBL. Some friends of ours had camped out next to one of the few “active” cemeteries remaining in the LBL; had been rousted from sleep, accused (falsely we believed) of desecrating the cemetery, and arrested by the Lyon County Sheriff. The headline in the Paducah Sun-Democrat screamed “GHOULS!” in 72 point Helvetica. Consequently, we were a bit skittish about poking around in the LBL.


First Incomplete draft:

There was this house.

As teens, we sometimes heard of this house. There was all sorts of mystery surrounding it. Supposedly, it was a mansion sitting out in the middle of nowhere. Rumor had it the place had been the home of the "King of Moonshiners" during Prohibition. Tales of clandestine transactions with Al Capone; single engine aircraft landing at nights, loading up with hooch, and then winging their way back to Chicago. We'd all heard the stories.

Then, one day, we found it.

It was common for us to spend Saturdays, or even Sunday afternoons, exploring the area near our town known to us as "The Land Between The Lakes." It was a strip of land, several miles long, wedged between Lake Barkley and Kentucky Lake. In earlier times, such as during Prohibition, this same area was known as "Between The Rivers" (TVA didn't dam up the rivers until the early 1960's).

And that's where we were the day we topped a rise and found ourselves staring at a large, multi-story home situated on the banks of the Lake Barkley. It had seen better days, but even then it was impressive. In an area that, before TVA, was known for its poverty, this house would have been a mansion. Someone with some money had lived there.

But, why? Why would someone with money want to live all the way out there in the boonies? As it turned out, many of the stories we had heard were true. Joe Bogard, revered among his neighbors as the "King of Moonshiners," had lived there with his family. Moonshine was produced there and WAS sold all over the Midwest, including to certain folk up Chicago way. The airplane rumor? Well, we could never find any evidence of that.

But we did find four secret rooms.


AUTHOR’S NOTE: MEMORY AND THE CRAFT OF WRITING MEMOIRS
In 1969, I graduated from high school at the age of seventeen and, with the foresight of many teenagers, suddenly realized I needed a job. Through a series of fortunate events, and the kindheartedness of a truly good man, I was hired into a part-time position at a local bank. I say “part-time job,” but should clarify that I averaged over 40 hours per week by working afternoons, evenings, and weekends; sometimes having three or more different supervisors in the course of a week. Because of the multiple assignments, including customer teller, vault teller, parking attendant, switchboard operator, and bank statement mailer, I was able to continue working there for over two years, paying my way through the first two years of college.

I relate this little story to you in order to make a point about memory and memoirs. I wrote THE BOGARD HOUSE based on my memories of the events. You may think this an unnecessary statement, wondering how else I could have written it. What I need to emphasize here is that it is based on MY memories of the events. My friend, Mike Ramage, has also written about that day in the LBL and our experiences there. We remember things differently. I doubt there is a way at this great remove for us to determine the exact order of events, locations, building descriptions, etc. We must depend on our memories; and memories are famously undependable. So undependable, in fact, I’ve often thought Memoirs should be classified as fiction.

If you compare our stories about that day, you will find some differences; some of significance. Probably the most significant difference is the date. Mike recalls it as taking place in 1967. I believe it could not have been sooner than spring 1970. Mike and I shared many adventures over the years, having started them in the eighth grade and continuing through our sophomore year in college; prime years for doing things that would scare the living daylights out of adults. There have been plenty of opportunities for us to get our wires crossed about what happened when.

In the matter of dating our Bogard House adventure, I submit the following as an indication of why I believe we did it three years later that Mike recalls. It doesn’t prove anything, but it does illustrate a small bit about my writer’s craft. I try to place the dating of my memoirs by orienting them to non-related events where I DO feel certain about the timing. In this case, I recall driving to the LBL that day in my VW Beetle (as does Mike). We both also recall he was driving a Ford Econoline van that he and his father had restored. Now, I’m NOT certain when Mike and his dad worked on the van, but I do know that I bought the VW in the fall of 1969, after I had begun working at the bank. My parents were supportive of me having a car to drive, but not beyond co-signing the note and putting me on their insurance as an additional driver. I thought this was VERY generous at the time, and still do. The point is that I could not have owned the VW before I had a job from which I could make the payment son the loan. That moves my clock to fall of 1969. In theory, I could have driven the VW to the LBL in the fall of 1969, but I recall it being a sunny day, and I don’t recall being cold. That suggests to me we went there in the spring of 1970. Also, as added support of my theory, I did not take my driver exam until late December of 1967, and so could not have driven anywhere in the spring of 1967.

It’s not a perfect system. But, it is the best I could come up with to help me pin down what facts CAN be pinned down. For the rest of it, we memoirists are dependent on less than dependable recollections in which WE are the heroes and WE are the primary actors. But then, how could it be otherwise. They're our OWN memories.