Morris Hatton Remembers

By Morris Hatton and Friends

Besides a few moves to California and Florida, Morris Hatton has lived in Boone his entire life. An African-American, Morris shares some of his history with us while sharing some amazing insights into the history of the High Country. 

Growing Up in Boone

I was the last to be born in my family. My sisters, Hallie and Thelma, were 22 and 20 years older than me; my parents never expected me to show up! I was born in the Hagaman Clinic on Water Street in 1949, raised on Church and North Streets, and now live just below North Street, all in the Junaluska neighborhood in Boone. 

I’m not sure why Junaluska is located where it is. I think one reason may be that back in the day there were enough trees and coverage that you couldn’t see us back here. People never realized how valuable the land would become. Originally, most of our people were back up on the higher regions of the mountain and came down The Hill later on. 

When I was growing up, we felt blessed and protected. There were a lot of black folks—maybe three or four hundred—in the neighborhood. We had a good little community and we enjoyed ourselves. 

My family lived on the upside of the Mennonite Church on Church Street. We had a big lot and most of it was garden but there was a big house, too. We also had pigs and a cow which I learned to milk. We all helped by weeding the garden. Everybody had a patch of land back in that time; you had to have a garden if you were going to survive in the mountains. My mama made butter and sold that in the neighborhood for years because not everyone had a cow. 

My mom also kept boarders back in the day when black folks could work for hotels but not stay in them. Our house was always full of people. The boarders—usually black men who would come to work in Boone—paid for room and board and she would cook for them. Mom was kind of a business woman, an entrepreneur. When I was growing up, we had a little café downstairs with a jukebox where kids could hang out. Mom sold hot dogs and sodas. It was a way for my mom to keep an eye on me as it also provided a place for my friends and me to hang out since downtown Boone wasn’t integrated. Our café was integrated, though. One of the things about mountain people is that we had to be together because of the conditions up here. Everybody knew everybody. I mean, my cousins would play with Jim Holshouser, the future governor of North Carolina. Jim ran around the neighborhood with them and they went to the movies together. It was different up here but it still had that element of racism that kind of crept around.

I remember one boarder we had was a chauffeur and he would take me down to a place on South Depot Street. We had to go in the back door to the kitchen of the restaurant to place our order and we had to eat on the porch where the kitchen utensils were hanging. And one time, in Wilkesboro, I had to use the bathroom but there was a sign that said “Whites Only”. So, I do remember those times. 

And I’ve heard stories. The black people here lived off to themselves. Our folks worked hard and they saved, but once, before I was born, a group of white men came up The Hill looking for trouble. They thought the blacks had too much and they came to burn out the neighborhood and kill a bunch of people. The sheriff came and told them he’d arrest them all if they did it. Apparently, he backed them off. When the men on The Hill found out, they went and bought rifles and ammunition and sent the message that they were ready if anyone came up The Hill again. See, mountain people are different. Mountain people don’t put up with stuff. They tend to be independent and a little mean on top of it. But nobody came back up The Hill to disturb them after that. 

At the same time, whites and blacks had to work together most of the time to survive on this mountain. Slavery didn’t catch on as much here because there were no big fields, but, of course, there were slaves. In fact, the first courthouse in Watauga County was built by slaves. The few people who did have slaves had to work as hard as their slaves in order to survive.  But, also, the Underground Railroad ran through this county and in Jefferson. If black folks were escaping and could get here to the mountains, they’d survive. 

The Scotch-Irish people here did not like the people in the Piedmont, so they’d go to the Piedmont, buy slaves, and bring them here to set them free. They did it just to make the folks in the Piedmont mad which was such a blessing. 

School

Before they built a new school on Wyn Way (where the Western Youth Network is now), we had an old-fashioned, three-room schoolhouse on Church Street with three or four grades in each room. Our little school wasn’t that bad. We had hand-me-down books, but our teachers were good and when we integrated we weren’t that far behind. I was one of the five students who first integrated Appalachian High School in 1964; the others were Priscilla Goins Wade, Caroline McQueen Grimes, Rhonda Turner, and John Moore. 

We didn’t have any serious problems integrating because John was raised in the white community of Bethel while I always sang in white churches with Dad. But with school integration in a bigger setting, we tended to lose our identity. I could read music and play piano so I was able to stand out a little bit and not get lost. But a lot of our people from the neighborhood kind of got lost in the shuffle with kids from all over the county. 

The only real incident I had with integration happened on a band trip. Apparently, a man used the “N” word towards me but I didn’t hear him say it. I was a big guy and always hung out with the older guys in the band at Appalachian High. The guys I hung out with were not going to put up with that kind of attitude toward me and by the time they were finished with the man, he apologized.

While I was in high school, the new high school, Watauga High, opened. I graduated from Watauga High in 1968 and went to Tabor College in Kansas where I majored in music and voice. After two years, I came back to Boone and married my sweetheart Alma Greer. We were married 42 years until Alma went to be with the Lord in 2014. 

Roots in Ministry

At one time there were 12 little black Mennonite churches around here. The missionaries who started Boone Mennonite Brethren Church also helped establish a private school and orphanage for blacks in Elk Park in Avery County. At one point, the Mennonite school and orphanage got shut down from pressure from the white community because the blacks could read and write better than the white people and they couldn’t handle that. Eventually, however, the school was reopened as the only black school in Avery County until the 1960s. 

My mom was a student at that school in Elk Park. Her family lived in the Junaluska neighborhood in the house I live in now and she and her six brothers and sisters would catch the Tweetsie train down at Depot Street early in the morning and ride it to school in Elk Park. Then, they would ride back home late in the afternoon. 

My father was born in the Elk Creek area of Wilkes County and eventually came to Boone. He was about 33-years-old when he walked up the Elk River to Boone and met my mother. She was only 16 when they met and she used to tell us that when she first saw him she thought he was the most handsome man she had ever seen! 

Daddy was always a preacher even though he was never formally trained. I’m not sure how he came to the Mennonite Church. The Methodists were very strong here in the mountains and down in Wilkes County. There was exposure to the things of the Lord even during slavery times. The slave owners would expose the slaves to Christianity not knowing that Christianity talked about being free. Paul said if you can get free, get free. [I Corinthians 7:21]

Daddy didn’t drive, so people would pick him up to go preach for a week here and a week there. He’d do the revival circuit. People just loved him. His influence changed a lot of attitudes of whites towards blacks. They would hike for miles and come out of the woods to hear him speak. He would often travel with Rev. Horton who had a business going to the mines from Virginia and Kentucky to get coal and bring it back to sell it. People depended on him to keep them warm, so he had a major influence as well. 

Daddy was unique. He had the power of the Holy Spirit that you read about in the scripture. That’s what made him who he was. I’m very proud of him. I remember one time in Ashe County, Daddy was preaching and this man became so convicted in the power of the Holy Spirit that he ran up the aisle and slid into the altar like he was coming into home base! He couldn’t help himself. He was saved; his life was changed. And Daddy was just getting started. He didn’t have a sing-songy kind of style like you find in the black community these days. He was just a solid preacher with a dynamic style. 

Daddy’s preaching helped the family because even though he didn’t necessarily get money, he’d come home with chickens and stuff like that. Back then, people in the mountains didn’t have any money. They paid for groceries and all kinds of things with chickens. Seeing my father’s example of dedication to ministry and service influenced me greatly. 

My Call to Minister 

I was born again in 1968. I can take you to the house right here in the neighborhood where I knelt. We’d had a missionary who had been with the church for about a year and I received Jesus with him. It was like a world of pressure was lifted off my shoulders. That Mennonite missionary is why I ended up at Tabor College, a Mennonite school.

In 1974, I felt a call to the ministry. I moved my family to Fresno CA where I attended Mennonite Brethren Biblical Seminary. I was ordained the following year and began a journey of pastoring a handful of churches as well as traveling, singing, and speaking all over Canada and the United States.  I’ve always incorporated music into my services, playing piano and leading worship. I used to play in a band during high school and after college. We played in all the clubs in the area including at Beech and Sugar Mountains. I had the chance to do a lot more than a lot of kids from my neighborhood did because I had the music. My mom wanted me to play music, and she made me practice because she paid for the lessons. Even though I didn’t want to, I’m glad she made me because music took me all over the United States and Canada. It still does. If I had stopped playing when I wanted to, you probably never would have heard of Morris Hatton. 

I used to pastor at the Boone Mennonite Brethren Church in the Junaluska neighborhood but I don’t anymore. Right now I lead a Bible study in my own ministry, High Country Bible Fellowship. It’s growing, I believe, because I can teach the Bible to people in a way they can understand it and make it practical. We teach unconditional grace and mercy. People need to know that God loves them not matter what mess they’re in. We meet at Western Youth Network on Wyn Street in Boone, where the old school used to be. 

Morris’ Current Ministries 

High Country Bible Fellowship: Western Youth Network (Wyn Street, Boone NC) on Sundays at 10am and Thursdays at 6:30pm.

For more info, email Morris at highcountrybiblestudy@yahoo.com

Online Services: http://highcountrybiblestudy.webstarts.com

Facebook Live Broadcast at 7pm daily:  www.facebook.com/morrishatton.73  

To send support: give2mhm.org

This information was compiled by Morris and contains information gathered during interviews conducted by Jim Casey and Susan Keefe. 

This article was originally written for the Summer 2018 Edition of The Journey magazine.