Late one night as I drove out of the hollow and onto the county road along the top of the ridge, my vehicle’s headlights swept what I first took to be a very large black dog. Then something clicked and I realized that I was seeing my first wild Arkansas black bear. It wasn’t that big, as far as bears go, about the size of my old dog, Frost, who weighed 160 pounds. I was amazed at how quickly the bear could move as it leapt the little ditch along the road and disappeared. I stopped and backed up, looking for it in the headlights, but couldn’t find it again.

Arkansas’ first nickname was “The Bear State” and if you read early accounts  you’ll understand why. It’s estimated that the state had 50,000 bears at one time. Local 19th-century pioneer, John Gaskins, said he killed more than 200 here. Overhunting decimated the native bear population, but after decades of careful management, the population is now in the 4,000 – 5,000 range.

Because of the small size of the bear I saw, it might have been a female or a young male. Arkansas has some prime bear habitat and black bears here grow larger than in some other states. There have been boars killed in the annual Arkansas bear hunt that topped 600 pounds. That is a lot of bear.

Although there were only three bears killed by hunters in Carroll County in 2009 (the last year for which I found statistics), we do have several here. I’ve only seen the one myself, but I’ve heard about bears looking in kitchen windows near Hillspeak and getting in the dog food near Holiday Island. For comparison, there were 48 bears killed down in Madison County that same year.

Which leads my thoughts to this: did you know that the United States Census Bureau decided that Madison County is part of the Fayetteville–Springdale–Rogers Metropolitan Area? That means that, according to the federal government, Madison County is an urban area. Don’t get me wrong, I like Madison County, but not because of her big city ways.

If you have seen a bear, let me know at steve@steveweems.com.

During the last world war, there was an army base two counties over from Eureka Springs that covered more than a hundred square miles and housed 45,000 soldiers at any given time, including the largest WAC contingent in the United States. This post, Fort Crowder, was also the inspiration of the Beetle Bailey comic strip. After the war, it was drawn down and vast portions of it no longer used. Around 1950, surplus gear was being sold, including the equipment out of the post movie theater.

That’s where Eureka Springs comes into the picture. Cecil Maberry operated the movie theater at 95 Spring St. and needed to update his equipment. The antiquated projector system he used often broke the film being shown, resulting in anger-causing delays as the film was spliced together. Mr. Maberry purchased the equipment from the US Army and hired McKinley Weems to haul it. McKinley borrowed Cleo Hull’s new truck and drove the 70 miles to Fort Crowder, and helped install the upgraded system upon returning.

McKinley Weems also installed the first air conditioner in the theater – a 20 horsepower unit that during the hottest part of summer kept the movie crowd temperature down to 90° instead of 110°. The old fan system he tore out of the theater had been built by a blacksmith in eastern Arkansas.

Some find it hard to imagine that Eureka Springs ever even had a movie theater, but, especially before television, it was an integral part of the town. For nearly 60 years the movie theater was open for business under various names. It opened as “The Commodore” and McKinley Weems remembers seeing silent films there before he was in the first grade. For the longest time the movie tickets were only 10 cents each and the line waiting to get in would sometimes stretch down to Pendergrass Drug Store.

I’ve asked people what they remember seeing there. My wife saw Bambi when she was four years old. My brother saw Bonnie and Clyde there with my mother and Brenda Evans. Aunt Terri saw Sandpiper starring Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor. The night of the attack on Pearl Harbor, my grandparents attended a movie there. I saw movies there but have no recollection of it, though my mother remembers because I wouldn’t stop crying.

For many years it was the “New Basin Theatre” and when the last movies were shown in late 1976 it was called “The Gaslight.” When it was sold, the new buyers were supposed to keep operating it as a movie theater so the kids in town would have something to do, but instead it was turned into even more retail space.

I was recently reminded of my father’s story of when he worked at Onyx Cave as a kid in the early 1950s. He was a tour guide and had a group of people deep into the cave when the lights went out. He left them in absolute darkness while he ran up the path behind the glow of his official tour guide flashlight to see what the problem was. The generator had stopped and he had to get it running again before returning to the huddled mass of bewildered tourists.

What reminded me of my father’s small adventure was finding the story of the discovery of Onyx Cave in an old email from Lee Mathis-Fancher. Her great-grandfather, Will Robbins, found Onyx Cave on his property while searching for lost treasure left by Spaniards of long ago. After using dynamite to blast away rock in his search he found a cave in the hillside. He wasn’t as happy with a cave as gold and jewels, but he was able to charge admission for people to explore his cave. It is said to be the oldest show cave in the state of Arkansas.

In the 1920s, my grandfather, Jack McCall, would ride by horseback with friends over to Onyx Cave to look around. He said they knew it was time to get out when there wasn’t enough oxygen for their pine knot torches to burn properly.

Years later, Grandpa would drive cattle over the mountain to pasture he rented near Onyx Cave. Along the way was a hole in the ground that if you dropped a rock in it there would be a splash. He said it was rumored Jesse James had put a raft down there so he could float to a shelf of rock where his gold was hidden.

Worried a cow might fall in the hole, Grandpa built a heavy wooden platform and covered it up. He planned to take me up there and show me that hole in the ground, but time got away from us and it’s too late now.

If you have a comment or story, write to me at P.O. Box 43, Eureka Springs, AR 72632.

McKinley Weems missed school March 21, 1932 because of a broken nose, the same day the Thach Hotel burned down, but he saw the fire. He watched from the comfort of his tree house in a big oak on Magnetic Mountain as strong winds spread the flames. From his high vantage point, he could see sparks shooting into the sky and rolling smoke so thick it was impossible to know which direction the fire would go.

The fire is thought to have originated in the hotel attic, possibly due to faulty wiring. With 100 rooms, the rambling Thach Hotel was the largest in town and was known for its home-style food. Otto Ernest Rayburn said it was popular with Texans.

Fire Chief Sam Riley, an expert carpenter when not fighting fire, arrived on the scene and quickly called for help from neighboring towns. Located on the ridge top at the corner of Ridgeway and Prospect Avenues, the Thach Hotel was unsheltered from the driving wind. In later years, after the rubble had been removed, some considered it the best spot in town to fly a kite.

At the old Red Brick School senior class boys stood on the roof knocking off burning debris, while younger children watched the fire until they were sent home carrying all their books in case the school burned down.

Fire trucks arrived first from Berryville, and then Fayetteville and Harrison. The fire was brought under control but not until the fire had spread enough to burn down the First Christian Church, an apartment building, and damage or destroy several houses.

At the time, there was a baseball field located on what would now be Passion Play Road. It was a popular place, especially on Sundays, with crowds of people walking up from Mill Hollow or up Magnetic Road. The day before the fire, McKinley Weems, a fifth grader, had played baseball with the grownups and was hit square in the nose by a ball.

He doesn’t remember the name of his teacher that year, but he remembers she paddled the backs of your calves if you misbehaved. And the Thach Hotel fire is the type of thing a fifth grade boy with a broken nose remembers, too.

After we bought our place down in the hollow, I found a “Bill Clinton for Congress” bumper sticker stuck to a barrel in an outbuilding. Back in 1974, he ran for the House of Representatives in this district against the popular incumbent, John Paul Hammerschmidt, and lost by only a few thousand votes. Not bad for a 28 year-old lifetime student and law professor.

I saw Bill Clinton twice in Carroll County before he left Arkansas for greener pastures. In 1984, I skipped school and attended the famous “Super Cow Clinic” in Green Forest with Grandpa Jack McCall. The place was overrun with politicians, including Bill Clinton campaigning for reelection as governor. His opponent that year was businessman Woody Freeman, the clear favorite among old cattlemen and farmers.

One of the contests at the cattle show was the always popular buffalo chip throwing contest. The announcer asked the governor to come up and give it a try. When Bill demurred, the announcer started ribbing the governor pretty good. So Bill stepped forward, chose a buffalo chip and let it fly. It didn’t hardly go anywhere at all. Some in the watching crowd let their displeasure be known. The opponent in the governor’s race eagerly came forward and threw the buffalo chip like he was a professional. The crowd cheered.

A big attraction at the “Super Cow” was the free barbecue lunch. There was a long line waiting to get their plates filled and Bill Clinton started at the end and worked his way up the line shaking hands and talking to people. The governor just wasn’t in his element that day. When he was near us, I saw that he was pale, sweating and clearly nervous. He did look Grandpa in the eye, though, as he shook his hand and then he came to me. Excited to meet the Governor of Arkansas, I stuck out my hand. Well, Bill studied my face, apparently noting that I was not yet of voting age and withdrew his hand before it touched mine and moved on down the line looking like he wished he could get out of Green Forest, Arkansas.

The last time I saw Bill Clinton, I was driving east on Highway 62 from Eureka. I knew Bill was around for something or another, so when I came up behind one of those Lee Iacocca K-car specials with an Arkansas government license plate, I wasn’t too surprised to see the governor in the car. I was a bit surprised that he was alone. I followed him into Berryville and he turned onto Highway 21/221 north. I’ve always wondered where the governor was going.

A couple of years ago on a whim, I sent a copy of my book to Bill Clinton’s New York office and received a very nice reply. That more than made up for him not shaking my hand that miserable day in Green Forest. Like him or not, excluding Johnny Cash, Bill Clinton would certainly be considered our greatest native son.

I’ve long been fascinated by stories of wolves in Carroll County. I can recall sitting with my grandfather, Jack McCall, on cold winters’ nights asking about wolves. He would spit tobacco juice into a coffee can at his feet, feed the stove another stick of wood and patiently answer my questions.

Early pioneers recounted wolves as being abundant in the Ozarks. The wolves were often described as large and either reddish-gray or black in color. Biologists say it was the Red Wolf that was found in Carroll County (or Canis rufus for you Latin talkers.)

I’ve heard the opinion that Carroll County never had any actual wolves, that the old tales were of coyotes. I’ve no doubt that Jack McCall would have been surprised by this argument as wolves and coyotes not only looked different, they sounded different. In his day he killed wolves for the bounty and because they killed sheep. Later he killed coyotes because they preyed on his chickens and ducks. In his mind, the two types of animals were not the same. Wolves were bigger and carried themselves differently when they moved.

In John Sealander’s A Guide to Arkansas Mammals, he recounts an Arkansas Red Wolf specimen tipping the scales at 90 pounds. Out west coyotes seldom weigh more than 35 pounds.

The Arkansas Game & Fish Commission says that in the 1940s Carroll County had one of the largest populations of wolves left in the state, the reason being that the small farms and woodlands made for good habitat. Each year the number of pure wolves dwindled, though, as they were hunted by man and interbred with coyotes.

In 1965, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service listed the Red Wolf as endangered. In 1966, Carroll County still offered a $15 bounty on wolves. By 1980 Red Wolves were officially extinct in the state of Arkansas.

Late in life, Jack McCall, not one for giving a predator an even break, was wistful about the disappearance of the wolves from Carroll County. He wondered if it was man’s place to annihilate an entire species.

We recently drove the length of the Florida panhandle. After observing thousands of hermit crabs on the beach at a state park, we decided to drive to the small town of Carrabelle to eat at the Fisherman’s Wife Restaurant. We pulled up just as the open sign was switched off. At the next restaurant, a barbecue place, the owner let us in though it was also her closing time.

Inside the restaurant were three customers, two of whom were cops. We traipsed in sunburned and trailing sand and headed to our table. I was wearing my Arkansas Razorbacks t-shirt and one of the cops said, “The only problem with you coming in so late is that you’ll have to call the hogs before we let you leave.” Woo. Pig. Sooie.

Off in a corner was the weatherworn third customer, a man in the middle of a 13-month journey circumnavigating the lower 48 states on a bicycle. He planned to set up his tent by the restaurant that night despite the alligators.

One of the kids commented later that it was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. The cop turned out to be a nice guy with the goal in life of living on Beaver Lake part of the year so he can attend Razorback football games. He told us that before we told him where we’re from. Small world.

That is my point, the word is out that this is an interesting place to live and the numbers prove it. While Eureka Springs proper has only had modest growth the last few decades, the population in Carroll County west of the Kings River has more than tripled. In 1960, it was only 2,844, while today it is 8,728. A large portion of that is the Holiday Island boom, but all those houses edging Beaver Lake have people in them, too.

And as I was told by a local Realtor, they’re not making land anymore. The best I can figure, Carroll County west of the Kings River covers 103,101 acres. At the present population, that comes out to 12 acres per person. Tend it wisely.

Below is the “Notes from the Hollow” column from the August 15, 2013 edition of the Eureka Springs Independent newspaper.

It may also be accessed here: http://issuu.com/esindependent/docs/esi_vol_2_no_7/17?e=0

I was behind a man in line at a local convenience store one day and a tourist asked him if he was a Eureka Springs native. The man answered, “I’ve lived here five years, I think that makes me a native.”

That’s a curious statement. Is it really that easy to become a native Eurekan? It only takes five years?

Not all Eurekans are native born, of course, so who qualifies? I don’t know exactly. My children are sixth generation Weemses here, and yet we actually reside outside the city limits. Does that disqualify us as Eurekans? Just how does one prove one’s bona fides? To be honest, I was born in the Eureka Springs Hospital, but I’ve only clocked half my life here. Is that good enough? Home has never been anywhere else, but maybe I don’t make the cut.

Certain hard-boiled natives, long-term residents and ex-pats see Eureka Springs as being occupied by foreign forces. That’s a bit harsh. Their view of Eureka Springs is much different than that of someone who optimistically cashed in their 401k to move here and buy a business. And that person’s view is much different than the one selling out, leaving town bankrupt and bitter.

Some say Eureka Springs isn’t a real town anymore. Sure, some locals only go downtown for the post office or to eat at Local Flavor, but that just means the town has changed. Whether for better or worse is for you to decide. I’ve heard it both ways.

What of the many Eurekans who have moved away for a living wage, to be near children or just to experience the real world? Are their passports confiscated on the way out of town?

I think a true Eurekan always comes back, whether it be for short visits, to retire or maybe just to be buried.

I once read in the newspaper that a city leader said something along the lines that we are all here because of tourism. That makes a nice rallying cry, except for those here despite the tourism. Some are here simply because it’s home.