The Run Prince and Lucy were a troublesome team, given to rebellion, at times taking the bit and running away. My father, fractious as they were, enjoyed a contest. One day they bolted into a mowed but rocky field, while Daddy, with wicked glee, urged them on with slapping checklines and raucous yells. We flew in narrowing circles, the wagon bucking, wheels throwing spumes of dirt, while I clutched the sideboard, my hat long gone in the breeze. When the commotion wound down, the same dark and wild look was in the eyes of my father and the beasts. And I, shaken, pieced together my courage—and laughed. —Loyal Jones Appalachian Religion Dear Editor: Deborah McCauley's lengthy response to the four reviews of her book, Appalachian Mountain Religion: A History, in the Spring 1996 issue of Appalachian Heritage deserves a response from me on behalf of the other reviewers who evaluated her book. I suspect that my comments will not end discussions of the very challenging issues that her book raises. As I tried to say in my review, one of the major accomplishments of her book is to raise significant questions regarding the nature of the American Christian missionary movement. Yet even McCauley admits that there have been various kinds of missionaries, some paternalistic, some insufferably narrow-minded, and others who themselves were influenced profoundly by those they missioned unto. McCauley rightfully points out that these reviews had little to criticize about her major insights regarding the unique religious culture of Appalachia. True, Larry Shinn raised the legitimate point that much of the religious culture in rural areas that surround Appalachia shares many ofthese same characteristics. And McCauley's own comments about my criticism of the Mills-Schermerhorn (1814) evaluation of religion in the "West" make clear that the boundaries of Appalachia remain very fuzzy. 12 But because McCauley draws a convincing picture ofAppalachian mountain religion, this principal part of her book drew little comment from the reviewers. It is, however, McCauley's comments on President Shinn's review regarding Berea College and its relationship to AMERC, and Berea's relationship to the Appalachian mountain region itself, that deserve a particular response. In Shinn's effort to show that Berea and AMERC are separate organizations , McCauley claims that "to deny Berea College's historic mission stance in the region through higher education is patent revisionist history." And she continues, "such a denial creates more problems than it solves," for "history is more than just about the past. It shapes the present and informs the future." In response, Berea College has been a most complex institution, and scholars have frequently revised former views concerning Berea's mission and meaning. When I first tried to understand Berea, Dean Louis Smith's point about Berea having an ancient, a medieval, and a modern history—thus three quite different eras—has proven most helpful to me. Berea's ancient history was begun by John G. Fee, J. A. R. Rogers, and Edward Fairchild, establishing Berea as an abolitionist witness in a slave state. It started with a church, then a college, and finally they built a community. After the Civil War, Berea became a radical and harmonious biracial educational experiment that succeeded to a remarkable degree. Berea's medieval period was the era ofWilliam G. Frost, who saw the college (then a complex of five schools including Vocational, Foundation , Academy, Normal, and a small classical College) as a vehicle for the uplift of the entire Appalachian region. In order to make a regional impact, Frost felt he had to modify Berea's biracial commitment; thus he lowered the black proportion of the student body even before Kentucky's Day Law prohibited biracial education. Berea's modern era began with William Hutchins's presidency in the 1920s, when the focus of the college changed to emphasize the college and its quality of liberal arts instruction, service to the Appalachian region , and "the Christian commitment" as President Hutchins understood it. The college's first charter committed the institution to "serve the cause of Christ." Yet the Christian commitment has always been elusive in all of Berea's eras (just as it has in American...
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