The Swamp Rabbit Trail is intertwined with my life

Well, this is my first post on this blog in almost five years. My, how time flies. I guess I didn't have anything relevant to say other than what I put on my baseball blog, PalmettoStateBaseball.com.

In the interim I've lost about 90 pounds (about 70 net), become a grandfather and taken an early retirement offer.

My weight loss came primarily through dieting and walking, mostly on the Swamp Rabbit Trail. That's the path of the old Greenville & Northern Railroad. It was nicknamed the Swamp Rabbit and was the inspiration for this blog's name. My exercise regimen got up to 10 miles a few days, primarily on temperate autumn Sundays as I walked and listened to NFL games on radio.

Walking when you're not trying to get somewhere is, to me, boring. So, it was pretty easy to lapse back into a sedentary lifestyle. A recent minor health scare motivated me to get back on the trail. I still hate it, but I want to improve my odds of living to see my granddaughter grow up.

Passenger service on the Swamp Rabbit was long gone by the time I came around.  The only part of the track I ever got to ride on was when the Echo Valley amusement park (think Tweetsie Railroad or Ghost Town of the North Carolina mountains) was open in Cleveland a few years in the 1960s.

But on a recent walk it hit me how much the Swamp Rabbit Trail intersects my life and my family.

My maternal grandparents both grew up within a couple of miles of the trail, but on opposite sites.

But wait; there's more!

Starting at 23-mile marker and working toward Greenville, here's are some connections. My wife's paternal grandparents are buried at Mountain View Memorial Gardens. I also own property there, but I hope I don't live to see it occupied.

As you come into downtown Travelers Rest, if you turn left off the trail onto Center Street, you'll go by Gateway Park. I went to elementary school on that site; my mother went to high school there and my grandfather was on the school board. That's where I heard President Kennedy had been assassinated.

If you keep going onto Poinsett Highway, you'll go by the old City Hall. That's where my wife's father worked as Police Chief.

Backtracking across the trail onto McElhaney Road, you'll go by Travelers Rest First Baptist Church, where two of my great-grandparents are buried. I've been told they left Reedy River Baptist Church (more on that later) to become charter members when TR First Baptist was established.

Heading back onto the trail, you'll pass Shortfield's Restaurant. Us longtimers remember it as Vernon's Drug Store. My wife, mother-in-law and great aunt all worked there at the soda fountain.

A little farther south you'll walk behind the Cafe at Williams Hardware. My wife's father worked there and my wife used to play there after school when it was Williams Hardware.

The trail soon passes behind the old Coleman Hospital, where my wife and my brother took their first breaths.

All through downtown TR are the sites of businesses owned by the parents of people I went to school with. Now, many schoolmates have businesses there themselves.

Take a detour of less than a mile down State Park Road and you'll go by where I grew up. I'm so old I can remember watching the earth movers scraping the path for what is now U.S. 25 in the late 1950s.

Back to the trail and continuing to head south, you pass the site of the former Travelers Rest High School (now Trailblazer Park), where I was as awkward and geeky as teenagers come. But it also was where I made my feeble first attempts at being a sportswriter and grew many friendships I still cherish today.

The school was also just around the corner from my grandparents' house, leading to one of my childhood traumas. After Mike Phillips struck me out twice in pitching a perfect game in church league baseball, I got bit by an unvaccinated dog while walking to my grandmother's house and had to take the rabies shots.

Good times.

My grandfather was a farmer. One of the folks who helped him work the land many years ago was my future father-in-law.

Back onto the trail. Just past Old Buncombe Road, there are the remains of a house. I've been told that's where my mother was born in 1922. I wish I had a chance to ask her.

Down the trail a little farther is Reedy River Baptist Church. There are at least six generations of my ancestors buried in the cemetery. It's the church where I was saved, baptized, married and attended the funeral for my parents, father-in-law and countless relatives and friends. It's the only church I've ever been a member of. It's also where I probably first laid eyes on my future wife. She was born nine days before me and she's attended Reedy River her entire life, too.

I've probably held most roles in the church other than pastor and director of the Women's Missionary Union. If you're looking for a warm, friendly church, we'd love to have you visit.

Across the highway (it used to be a two-lane road) is the church fellowship building. That's where I learned Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. had been shot. Only later did I come to appreciate what Dr. King did.

Just past the church is a side trail leading up to Foothills Road. Go a little ways and you'll reach where my wife grew up and where we started housekeeping in a mobile home after we got married.

Back on the trail. After you go under the U.S. 25 bridge, you'll go by the site for Zonelite. Both my father and father-in-law worked there. I think my grandfather spent some time as a groundskeeper there. I can remember seeing a picture of him with some flowers outside the plant office.

Stay on the trail a ways and you get to Furman University. My brother won the Western Carolina Science Fair (held in the old gym) a couple of times by developing a programmed toy train. My son graduated from Furman.

Some of my best times as a sportswriter came covering Furman events. My only first place award in a South Carolina Press Association contest came for my coverage of the Paladins' 1988 NCAA Division I-AA championship game.

Moving on down the trail a ways: if there were a dry path across the swamp, you could walk to my current house in less than 15 minutes. That's where Doris and I learned we were going to be grandparents.

Keep going down the trail and turn right onto Sulphur Springs Road. You'll come to what used to be Oakmont Nursing Home. That's where my parents took their final breaths five days apart in  February, 2001.  Mother had been diagnosed with a brain tumor and was already in a coma-like state by the time my dad died of a heart attack. Neither ever knew the other was gone.

There's a bit of a lull for a few miles until you get near downtown. Not far away is the depot for what used to be the Southern Railway. That's the stepping off point for another of my childhood traumas. The Greenville Police Department used to take school crossing guards to Washington, D.C. via train each year as a reward for their service. I went in the spring of 1964, got lost in front of the White House for an hour or more (don't ask) and cost the group a trip to the National Zoo. After my rescue, I was the subject of a lengthy  chorus of "Rudy, Tooty, Fruity" from my bus mates. Just what every self-conscious youth needs.

Continuing on the trail, you go past the site of Meadowbrook Park, former home of Greenville minor league baseball teams.  I saw Dizzy Dean make a promotional appearance there, although I recall him riding off in an Ol' Diz Charcoal truck before the first inning was complete. I saw Nolan Ryan strike out 19 batters on a game in 1966 and got his autograph afterward.

The ballpark burned down on Valentine's Day, 1972, but the team played there that season. During a summer internship at The Greenville News I frequented the shell of a ballpark on my supper hour  to watch the Greenville Rangers. It's where I developed a friendship with Charlie Dayton, now an executive with the Carolina Panthers. A retrospective on that traumatic season was the subject of my final (officially) award-winning story in 2012.

Another slight detour takes you to the spot where Greenville General Hospital stood. That's where my son was born. Not far away is St. Francis Hospital. I was born in a since-replaced building.

The Swamp Rabbit's tracks ended near Academy Street, just a few blocks from several spots where my wife worked during her career with Southern Bell.

Go on a few more yards toward Main Street and there's The Greenville News building, where I spent all of my adult working career. I got to work for, and with, a lot of great people and meet or write about many prominent sports figures from the 20th century.

Up Spring Street a ways is the former location of Ryder Rental. My father was working there as a mechanic one night when the facility caught on fire. My father and another co-worker were hailed as heroes -- on the front page of The Greenville News -- for being able to get several trucks out to safety.

Up Spring Street a little more is the site of the Cigar Factory, where my grandmother worked when she was young. She was as devout a Christian as I've ever known. I know the attitude toward smoking has changed in recent years, but it still surprises me she ever worked in a facility involving tobacco.

Several of these items popped into my mind as I was writing this. The Swamp Rabbit Trail may not be in my blood, but it runs smack through my life.