Gatlinburg and the Great Smokies

In the autumn of 1940 a celebrated reporter trekked into the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, penning a series of columns that capture the spirit of Gatlinburg at a moment when the town was just beginning to blossom for tourists. He paints the streets with vivid detail—handicraft shops, stone cottages, horse‑drawn wagons, and the riot of red, gold and green foliage that sets the mountains ablaze. His voice is warm, wry, and full of genuine wonder at the scenery that surrounds the little village.

The writer also turns his eye to the people who have called these rugged hills home for generations, describing their self‑reliant ways, old‑world dialects, and the quiet pride of a community that once seemed untouched by modern progress. He recounts how the park was created—state purchases, Rockefeller’s matching funds, and federal stewardship—to preserve the wild beauty for all. Listening to his observations feels like a guided stroll through pine‑scented paths, where history and nature intertwine.