Nearly a million tourists a year are now coming to see the wonders of the Great Smoky Mountains. But I’ll bet not one in 1000 ever finds out anything about the greatest wonder of all—and that is the people of Gatlinburg.

Gatlinburg is unique, there’s no question about it. Ten years ago it had a population of 75, and the mountain people just scraped along from one meal to the next.

Today Gatlinburg, thanks to tourists, has a population of 1300 and is rolling in wealth. And what is unique about it—and delightful too—is that the money is going into the pockets of the old original families here, who for so long had almost nothing.

There are now approximately 40 business establishments in town. At least half of them are owned within four families. They are families that have been here for generations. And of the other half, not more than half a dozen are owned by outsiders.

Many a slick fellow has arrived here, expecting to buy out these easy marks for nothing or sign them up on a trick lease. But in every case, they say, the smart fellow has left town without his own shirt.

The surprising thing about this whole evolution is two-fold:

1—That the local people had the shrewdness to hold on to things.

2—That they had the ability themselves, with almost no experience, to do the necessary job of building for and satisfactorily serving a million tourists a year.

The answer to the first is fundamental. It lies in the mountain man’s absolute refusal to give up his land. Money as such doesn’t mean much to a mountain man. It is land that he values, and craves. Once he has land, he won’t give it up.

As a consequence, outsiders can’t buy land in Gatlinburg. No matter what they offer, the mountain man says, “I don’t want to sell. I wouldn’t have no place to pasture my cow.”

The answer to the second is simply that the mountain men of Tennessee are smart. You can’t make anything else out of it. They’re just natively smart, that’s all.

FIVE FAMILIES DOMINATE

If you go up into the old graveyard on the hillside just back of town, you’ll find at least half the names on the gravestones divided among five families. Those families are—Ogle, Whaley, Maples, Reagan and Huff. The first four have been here for generations. The Huffs came 40 years ago.

Four of these five families control Gatlinburg. They reap most of the profit, and they likewise take the responsibility and do the good deeds.

There are four key business establishments in Gatlinburg. They are the three big hotels and the huge general store. The Ogles own the store. And the Huffs, Whaleys and Maples each own a hotel. And every one of the four, in addition owns numerous tourist courts, filling stations, gift shops, saddle-horse concessions, restaurants.

These four families, working together, competing but friendly, have been almost super-wise in their development of Gatlinburg.

Their building has been tasteful. Largely inexperienced in running hotels, they have created three delightful places.

And wisest of all, they haven’t taken unfair advantage of the flood of tourist gold which has descended upon them. They aren’t killing their golden geese. They have deliberately agreed among themselves to keep prices down.

Hotel rates in Gatlinburg are amazingly low. At such prices you’d expect shoddy service and poor rooms. But everything is modern, clean and pleasant.

HAVE SENSE OF HONESTY

The hotels are staffed by local mountain people, and they have pride and friendliness, clear down to the lowliest charwoman, that wouldn’t permit them to do a shoddy job.

Tourists support almost every one of the 1300 people in Gatlinburg. Nobody is out of work who wants to work. Even the people out in the hills live off the tourists, through their weaving, basketry and woodwork.

We have been in most of the “faddy” places and big tourist centers in America. In not one of them have we seen the plums fall into the laps of the old-time residents of the place. Gatlinburg is the only exception.

Why, it’s just as though fame and millions of people were suddenly to descend upon our crossroads in Indiana. And instead of financiers from Chicago grabbing everything, my Dad would put up a fine hotel, and Harry Bales would build a three-story gift shoppe, and Doc Sturm would create six big tourist courts, and Claud Lockeridge would own all restaurants, filling stations and sight-seeing busses. And we’d all get richer than hell.

Fame, please come to Indiana and make us farmers rich.