Manchester, Clay County, KY. I have never lived in Clay County, home of Richie Farmer, but I have a couple of stories to relate concerning the place. The geographic location of Manchester is roughly 20 miles east of London on the Daniel Boone (now Hal Rogers) Parkway. US 421 comes in from McKee to the north and goes south to Hyden and Harlan and on into Virginia.
A few years back I was trying to find sites to place natural gas electric generators. You had to be near a natural gas pipeline and near three phase power lines with an agreement to sell electricity to the utility. We found such a site in Clay County. It was owned by a gentleman whom we’ll call Roscoe. As we walked around his land looking for a flat spot, I noticed a pile of bricks that looked charred. I asked him what had been there and he said “My house, but hit burnt.” I pried a little further. He said “My old lady took up with a drug dealer and was living in my house. I told her to get shet of him, or else. She didn’t so I burned the house down with them in it, but they got out.” Roscoe’s property was quickly eliminated as a potential site for a generator.
My other Clay County experience took place in the late 70s. It was in January and I was staying at the Close the retreat center built by my parents. I was waiting for some buddies to show up for the weekend. On the way down I had been listening to WSGS and they said there was bluegrass music at Ernie Couch’s Family Entertainment Center in Manchester. So when my friends showed up, I said boys we’re headed to Manchester. We drove the 40 miles from the Close to Manchester but couldn’t find the place. Finally we noticed a steel building up the side of a hill where people were coming and going. We had to drive past several bulldozers to get there but when we stopped we heard music and knew we were in the right place. We stepped inside the door next to two kerosene jet heaters throwing fire right at our legs. The entrance was under bleachers and you couldn’t see what was going on until you cleared the bleachers. Bill Hall was the first to do so, and he looked back at me with a look that seemed to say what in the hell have you gotten us into. When I finally cleared the bleachers I noticed a wrestling ring. At the far end of the room the bluegrass band was set up and playing. In the wrestling ring there was a man wearing a tank top that said “Hot Stuff”. He also was wearing army boots. And a short skirt. He was clog dancing to the music.
There were lots of folks there so we took our seats to watch the band play, with the gyrations of Hot Stuff in the corner of our eyes. Finally the band took a break. After a couple of minutes, a lady came up to us and said “You all ain’t from around here, are you?” We said no. Referring to Hot Stuff, she said “He was in the Second World War. A bomb went off next to him and he never was the same when he got back home. We just let him do as he pleases and we look out for him.”
And then we understood. And suddenly, I wished that I were from there.