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.