Jacks Fork Memories and a Treasure Trove

I often say I need to visit the Jacks Fork River to restore my country soul. Each spring on the way back from my annual Montier pilgrimage to visit the graves of the Casey side of the family, I typically detour up Highway 17 to Buck Hollow. The blessing never fails.

 

I get an instant flashback to a chilly Sunday afternoon in March 1958 when Reverend Fuller, pastor at the Church of God of Prophecy in Montier, baptized me and several other unchristened converts. The timing of the event was in part caused because I asked if baptism was a “condition precedent” to salvation. [I did not use the legal term back then, but it works today]. 

 

I never got a specific answer, but after hearing Brother Fuller’s fiery sermons, I did not want to take any chances. Apparently, neither did he. A sidenote, which I have previously mentioned, after I moved to Willow Springs and joined the Baptist Church, Pastor Floyd Gentry apparently did not think the Jacks Fork dunking was sufficient and dipped me in the baptismal behind the choir loft. Perhaps, he was not taking any chances either.

 

Most of my memories of Jacks Fork are secular: swimming, camping, and float trips in the homemade fiberglass canoe Royce Yardley (WSHS 1966) and his dad constructed. As reckless daredevils, we often jumped from overhanging trees or ridiculously high bluffs. Now, in the sections of the river that are part of the Ozark National Scenic Riverways and governed by National Park Service, the Code of Federal Regulations (CFR) prohibits tree-jumping and highly discourages bluff-jumping. See 36 CFR §1.5.

 

This revelation got me wondering about religious baptisms. Apparently, baptisms are generally allowed without a permit, unless the event is too large or is being filmed as a documentary. An “amen” for progress and regulations? Perhaps, not.

 

Unless my family was camping at Alley Springs, our favorite swimming hole was upstream from the Highway 17 bridge at Ratliff Ford (or is it, Rat Cliff?). I had never heard of Rat Cliff, until I saw it on a U.S. Department of the Interior topographic map a couple decades ago. I only the knew it as Ratliff. My first thought when I saw Rat Cliff on the map was that my mother, who occasionally had quirky pronunciations, had gotten it wrong and I learned it from her.

 

A well-researched article last April in the Howell County News about the upper Jacks Fork by historian Lou Wehmer mentions the Ratliff/Rat Cliff confusion. The local pronunciation, “Ratliff,” for the area designated on the Department of Interior map as “Rat Cliff,” is derived from the Radcliff family, who owned land in the area. In times past, the location was known as Radcliff Ford.

How “Ratliff” morphed into Rat Cliff and was officially put on the Department of the Interior map is unclear. However, the National Park Service regulation, 36 CFR §3.8 (a)(2), designates the location as “Ratliff Ford.” 

 

The Feds should have consulted Mountain View resident Jean Sharp Gaddy, the maven of all things Jacks Fork. I did. About the Ratliff/Rat Cliff confusion, Jean says, “Our cabin is at Rat Cliff and is pronounced Ratliff.” That settles the issue for me. Perhaps, a resolution from the Missouri House to set the matter straight would be appropriate.

 

With my appreciation for Jacks Fork, I was pleasantly surprised when Ernie, a college fraternity brother, sent me several books about the Ozarks he thought I could use for my column. One, immediately got my attention: Three Ozark Streams—Log of the Moccasin and the Wilma, written by Ward Allison Dorrance, published by The Missouri Press in 1937, and signed by the author. 

 

The book chronicles the author’s experience floating three Ozark streams: Black River, Jacks Fork, and Current River. Interestingly, the text only designates the time by months, but it is reasonable to infer the journeys took place sometime in the early to mid-1930s, prior to the book's publication. 

 

I began reading the 1937 account of floating Jacks Fork and was soon impressed by the quality of the writing and the beautiful descriptions: “The river is personal, trusting, chatty. It romps—but like a Mozart quintet, with learned grace, with heady melody, with consummate, conquering charm.” 

 

I was unfamiliar with the author and did some research. Ward Allison Dorrance (1904–1996) was an American writer and professor. Born on April 30, 1904, in Jefferson City, Missouri, he taught at the University of Missouri from 1926 to 1953 and later in Washington, D.C. Dorrance was known for his creative writing, particularly novels and short stories, and received a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1940 for his work in fiction. 

 

Walter A. Schroeder, Ph.D., professor emeritus of geography at the University of Missouri–Columbia, provides more information about Ward Allison Dorrance in his blog: http://munichburgmemories.blogspot.com/2022/05/.

 

What impressed me most was Dorrance’s interaction (and appreciation for) the residents he met. The following anecdote captures the essence.

 

“Occasionally, in some barely accessible spot, we find an unspoiled frontier family. Today, walking some distance along a ridge in search of a chicken for supper, I come upon a cabin …. At my step a brood of children scurries from sight, leaving the place deserted, yet eloquent of peeking eyes. The man and wife come forward, jovial, curious, and welcoming. The children are called out, sent like so many terriers among the squawking pullets.

 

“Great embarrassment when I ask the price …. ‘Give the money to my father-in-law, down the river.” Who, and precisely where? ‘Aw, jest give it to the first feller ye meet with a peeled head,’ The charming part of it is that I shall find him, and that he will find the transaction in no way remarkable.”

 

These were the folks of my mother’s and grandparent’s time. The kind of folks I knew. Folks who might plow your garden with a tractor and refuse payment, but would later receive a freshly baked blackberry pie at their house.

 

Three Ozark Streams is considered one of his notable works, and a signed, first edition copy in good condition is considered rare and highly collectable, with an estimated value of $750 or more depending on condition and authenticity. I informed my unsuspecting friend and told him I would keep it safe for him.