I spent part of my summer in 1964 with my leg in a cast. One night while I was lying in the hospital bed at Vanderbilt an announcer came on the air and gravely intoned that Sergeant Alvin York had died. They immediately broke away from their regular programming to play the movie about his life. You remember it. It starred Gary Cooper. When the studio contacted the Sergeant about making this movie he only had one demand – that Cooper play the lead. Even at the age of 13, (being a budding historian) I knew that this was a special night. Sergeant York was something of a household name in those days and I was aware of his exploits. The movie was full of wonderful characters and familiar names. The train that brought him home from the war arrived under a sign that said `Crossville, Tennessee'. It seemed that I knew lots of the people in that movie – or, at least, their counterparts back home. It was a story of wasted youth, redemption and final triumph in the face of terrible odds on the bloody fields of Flanders. It was also the story of an unlikely hero who, upon discovering his new found fame, disdains all attempts to let people cash in on his name – including himself. That sort of thing happens so rarely that it is notable for that, if for nothing else. Alvin York had a hardscrabble nobility about him conveyed by the mountain culture that birthed him and molded him into a man. His story is one of an unremarkable man thrust unwillingly into momentous times to go forth and perform unbelievable acts and earn undying glory for his nation. Most uncommon of all, he then faded gracefully back into the hills of his birth to marry his sweetheart and live simply and honorably within his mountain fastness. Sergeant York and his sweetheart, Miss Gracie raised a gaggle of children there on the Three Forks of the Wolf River at Pall Mall. They farmed and ran a grist mill but he was always a favorite among his mountain people – and to the people of Tennessee. As a young boy who marked the night he passed beyond the unseen gates, I had always wanted to visit Pall Mall to see what kind of place made such a man – and I was not disappointed. Up in the Cumberland Mountains, on the plateau and to the north of Crossville, is Fentress County and its county seat of Jamestown – or `Jimtown' as the locals call it. As we drove into town, we arrived quickly at the public square. Jamestown is a small town with a generally `scrubbed-clean' appearance. While the area has never been known for great wealth, it is attractive and well tended. The courthouse itself is an interesting building. Built of crab orchard stone, it stands like a fortress in the middle of the square. The building is not merely covered in this stone – it is built of it – great hewn blocks of red-brown stone set and mortared together like a castle of old. Other buildings in town are also constructed with this native material. Jamestown is also famous for its connection to Mark Twain. While he was not born here nor did he ever "live" here he was, apparently, conceived here. His parents lived here before they moved on to Missouri and, from reports, his parents arrived in Missouri just in time for his birth. Stop in on the square at the Mark Twain restaurant and they will tell you all about it. Travelling north toward the Kentucky State line, you will begin to wind down the highway into a valley. Tall, exposed limestone outcroppings will begin to define the edges of the plateau as you descend. As you near the bottom, you will spot the course of a clear running river and you will be in the Valley of the Three Forks of the Wolf. The poor soil and scraggly trees of the plateau give way to the verdant farmland of the river bottom. It is easy to see why plateau-dweller York coveted for himself a "piece of that bottom ground". It was the difference between living on the edge of starvation and a life of relative abundance. We had made arrangements to stay at a bed and breakfast owned by the Pyles Family Orchards. Everybody in these parts was kin to the Sergeant and the Pyles name is very prominent hereabouts. He warned me that there would be no breakfast and that we should be prepared. I asked him about a key and he said he would leave it open for us along with a bill on the counter. "Just leave a check on the kitchen counter when you leave", he told me. "Should I lock up when I leave?" I asked. He chuckled and admitted that they had lost the key years ago! We liked Pall Mall before we ever arrived. Within the valley you are surrounded by the rocky skeleton of the mountains. Sheer cliffs rise up to the plateau on every side. You can see mountains with names like Frogge Mountain, Sawmill Ridge, Tater Hill and Arion Mountain. They stand like brooding and unmovable guardians to this sheltered valley. Driving on the valley floor you notice the streams converging on a point just ahead of you. A bridge stands in the distance with big, old fashioned iron trusses framing the roadway. Just this side of the bridge on the right is the York home. On the other side on the left is his gristmill that is still preserved as the focal point of the Alvin C. York Historical Site. Set within a lovely, shaded park on the bank of the Wolf River, the old Gristmill transports you back to a time long gone in Tennessee history. It is quiet here – very quiet. Few cars travel the road and the noisyest thing is the rush of the river as it flows over the mill dam. Most of the old families have left the valley looking for work in the cities and the Pyles family is the largest landowner with their orchards spreading across the valley floor. The best surprise was to find that the park ranger on duty was Andy York, youngest son of the Sergeant. We chatted for quite awhile in the office of the old wooden mill – not about the war – but about life in the mountains and here, in this peaceful valley. One burning question I wanted to ask was how to properly pronounce the name of the village. "Is it Pell Mell or is it Pawl Mawl?" Andy York smiled and told us that we could pronounce it either way and it would be alright. Undeterred by his agreeablilty, I pressed on. "Well then, how do the locals pronounce it?" I asked. Andy York gave me a sly grin and drawlingly said, "Pai-yul Mai-yul". Eureka! After 30 some odd years of wondering I had finally discovered the secret! I slept soundly that night. That evening we wandered from the house down to the bridge in this community of unlocked doors and learned why. Absolute quiet and peace reined in the valley. Not a car passed for the entire time we were walking and our only companion was the sound of the river tumbling over the great boulders that sought to bar its passage. This and the sounds of the countryside as crickets chirped and frogs bellowed and night hunters stalked their prey. The next morning we were up early and paid a visit to the cemetery where the Sergeant and Miss Gracie are buried and, here, with the sun rising above the line of the plateau, we learned the secret of Sergeant York. We found out what had made him shun the pleasures of the big cities and made him come back, back to his home in the valley. The cemetery lies in the center of the valley off the road a piece. With the early morning sun sparkling off the dew and the valley floor still in deep shadows we knew that we were in one of the most peaceful spots on God's green Earth. This was what Alvin C. York had left home to fight for. This place is what he was defending. He and his family are rooted to this place as surely as the mightiest oak but yet he left it for a time "a deadly time in a horror house of blood and suffering." But he returned here with the modest stillness that befits a man of great character and quickly faded from the world stage. Today Alvin York's mountains stand guard around his grave and his memory stands guard and Tennessee stands with them both. Back to Dispatch Jul. 99 Table of Contents Back to Dispatch List of Issues Back to MagWeb Master Magazine List © Copyright 1999 by HMGS Mid-South This article appears in MagWeb (Magazine Web) on the Internet World Wide Web. Other military history articles and gaming articles are available at http://www.magweb.com