I’m helping my littlest bear work on a project for school that involves learning the history of Oak Ridge and its origins as the "Secret City."

We ran across this poem from the son of the Oak Ridge "prophet" John Hendrix. You can access it by linking here. As you may know already, Oak Ridge was rural farmland prior to the Manhattan Project. Through eminent domain, farms were seized for the purpose of ending the war.

Today, Anderson County is a great political barometer for statewide races. The right mix of city folk versus county folk usually produces a vote that mirrors the statewide results. You still find a bit of division in Anderson County today that goes back to the eminent domain days.  While the creation of Oak Ridge certainly contributed to the end of the war and the saving of many lives, we can still see the unhealed wounds when property rights, a cornerstone of civilized society, are upended.

Curtis (Curt) Allen Hendrix
September 4, 1909 – July 9, 1944

The son of John and Martha Jane Whitehead(Gregory) Hendrix

Planned and Organized Society (sponsored by Elinoir)
- A Poem by Curt Hendrix -

Come listen to me people,
And hear my tale of woe,
And if you find it tiring,
I’ll shut my mouth and go.

I had a home in Robertsville,
They call it Oak Ridge now,
T’was home for all my younguns
and their chickens and the cow.

One day a bunch of men rode in
With papers in their hands
And great big shining badges,
They came and took our land.

They read a lot of great big words
I couldn’t understand
But when it was all over
I didn’t own the land

I had seen the revenooers
Come search and take the stills,
But I didn’t think the government
Would ever seize our hills.

Of course, we had to get right out
And start to paying rent
But now, what can poor folks do
Against the government?
Just sixty acres t’was all I had
Some rich land and some poor.
But the check they sent me
Wouldn’t buy a pure bred bore.

Now see I ain’t complaining,
It’s just my blamed bad luck,
On any deal I ever make
I’m always getting stuck.

Of course, the government was right,
They always are, you see.
T’was just the land looked worse to them
Than it ever did to me.

I moved to Union County,
Once famous for its stills,
And bought another cabin
And a bunch of slaty hills.

For I couldn’t keep my younguns
And their chickens and the cow
Without a little pasture
And a piece of land to plow.

But I’ve done seen me a vision,
And it’s one I understand.
In the none to distant future,
Working folks will own no land.

There will be a bunch of planners.
Everyone will live by plan.
Plan our work, plan our religion,
Plan our schooling and our play,
Won’t even have to study,
"Now what must I do today."

The thing to do is win the war
And when we end that strife,
Stop electing Presidents
For longer terms than life.

Well I guess I’d better hush,
I could have said some more,
But here just let me whisper!
I’m skeered of Elinoir.