♪ MORRIS IRBY: And he said, "Son, I'd like for you to play ball for me."

I didn't know who he was, but I thought, "Oh Lord, my dreams have been answered."

HARRISON YOUNG: So now I realize I don't just have a mission anymore.

I have a legacy to uphold.

(laughter) SANDY LEWIS: And with that, she launched an all-out assault on the kitchen, because you see, when a southern woman is upset, she's going to cook.

(laughter) WES HAZARD: Tonight's theme is "Rocky Top Remembers."

ANNOUNCER: This program is made possible in part by contributions from viewers like you-- thank you.

DEMETRIA KALODIMOS: Tonight's theme is "Rocky Top Remembers," and it refers to a place in Tennessee that's rocky, tough to plant, what we call the Badlands.

In fact, we sing a state song about "Good Old Rocky Top."

Here in rural America, the land defines us.

The work is hard, the days are long, and at times the crops won't yield.

Yet it is fertile ground for great storytelling.

♪ IRBY: My name is Morris Irby.

I am a Cookeville native.

First eight years of my life, I went to an all-black school.

This was during segregation.

In 1963, our old school burned, and they decided that they weren't going to build another school for the, for the black kids, literally.

And so we integrated into the, into the white school system.

Was it smooth?

Yes and no.

There, there wasn't a lot of problems, in a sense.

Because, understand, a lot of times in the South, you know, things were the way that were, and, you know, people accepted how it was.

And so going into the school system, you know, it, it was a must.

And so... and people kind of accepted it.

Adapted.

IRBY: There were a lot that didn't want us there, and there were a lot of us that didn't want to be there.

But it was what it was, so.

Is this your first time on stage telling a story?

IRBY: This is my very first time on stage.

But, you know, being in front of the microphone isn't new to me.

In my work situation, I was always out doing public speaking, I was a human-resource executive.

And so I was always at some university, um, giving a speech at the high school, giving a speech to kids.

In my church, I'm a lay speaker, so I'll fill in for the pastor something.

- So no jitters?

No, not, not really, not really.

It's just the, the... this kind of audience, you know, I haven't talked to, but... and telling that story, it... kind of in a formatted, structured way, a little different.

It's 1967.

I'm a senior in high school.

I had started to wonder, "Where was I going to get the money to go on to school?"

I came from a poor family, and we just didn't have that kind of money.

In high school I was a two-sport athlete.

I played basketball, and I played baseball.

I was an average basketball player at best, but I was a better-than-average baseball player.

And I can remember playing in the district tournament in Tullahoma.

And I can remember after that series, this gentleman came up to me and introduced himself as the head baseball coach from Tennessee Tech.

And he said, "Son, I'd like for you to play ball for me."

I didn't know who he was, but I thought, "Oh Lord, my dreams have been answered."

So I can remember three or four weeks later, I went on campus, and I went in, and I signed my letter of intent.

And the coach looked at me, and he said, "Morris, you're the first black ballplayer in this program."

Well, some of my excitement went to a little bit of fear.

(laughter) Because I knew that being the first, my goodness, I was going to have to excel, and I was going to have to do well.

But I was ready, because this was my ticket.

My ticket had been punched.

Well, I went on the campus that fall, and lo and behold, the coach who had signed me was leaving to go to another university.

(crowd murmuring) Well, that was all right, because, hey, I was going to play ball.

And the assistant coach that was there had been elevated to the head coaching job.

I didn't know him, I hadn't met him, so that was all right with me.

My ticket was there.

Well, I got into fall practice, and I started to realize something wasn't right.

I couldn't seem to do anything right for this coach.

He was constantly on me for no reason.

I couldn't figure it out at first.

Understand, I was a young 17 year old.

I was eager, I was raring to go, but I couldn't do anything right.

I didn't get to travel with the team on travel, away games.

But it was a little strange because there were three other scholarship freshmen that came in at the same time I did.

They were white, but they got to make all of the away games.

Then I put it together, and I said, "This coach doesn't want me in the program.

This coach doesn't want a black player in the program."

But little did he know I needed that scholarship.

I need it to go to school.

So I worked hard.

I work that much harder, and I can remember going into my sophomore year.

Guess what?

They brought in a new baseball coach.

And I can remember being in the gym one day, we were working out because of inclement weather outside.

And the coach came up to him, and he said, "Morris, are you ready?"

Because we were getting ready to make a road trip.

And I said, "Coach, I don't travel with the team.

And he kind of looked at me surprisingly, and he said, "What do you mean you don't travel with the team?

Aren't you one of my scholarship players?"

I said, "Yes, sir, I am.

But I don't travel with the team."

He said, "I tell you what I want you to do right now.

"I want you to go down to the equipment room, "and I want you to get a travel uniform, "because as of this moment, you will be traveling with the team."

Well, hey, things were looking up.

As a sophomore, I got into a few games, I pitched a few games, and I was used as a pinch-runner sparingly.

Things were looking up.

And then I remember going on into my junior year.

I broke into the starting lineup as the starting third baseman and the leadoff hitter.

And then I could remember as we got to the end, toward the end of the year, in my, in my junior year, we were, we were in contention for the Eastern Division championship.

But we had an obstacle ahead of us.

We had to win five of six games on a trip through Eastern Kentucky and Morehead.

And if you know anything about Eastern Kentucky and Morehead, those were tough venues in which to play.

But we headed out.

And I can remember on that Friday we had a doubleheader at Eastern Kentucky.

I hit a home run in that series.

Oh, it was good.

It was good.

(cheers and applause) But let me tell you this.

We went on over to Morehead for a four-game series.

And I can remember in the very first game I hit a leadoff home run in that game.

And then I can remember the-the last game of the series.

I can remember I hit the home run to win the game.

Not only that, and not only that... (cheers and applause) I stole four bases in one game.

Let me tell you, at that time I wasn't just the black player on the team.

I was a ballplayer.

I was a ballplayer.

And as a matter of fact, at the end of my junior year, my teammates voted me MVP.

(cheers and applause) Not only that, they elected me to be captain of the team going into my senior year.

(cheers and applause) I had arrived, it was good.

What I had learned on the baseball field was that you've got to work hard.

You got to persevere.

And I brought that same mentality into the classroom.

Because, you see, I had promised myself that if I ever got to school, I was going to finish on time.

So at the end of that four years, I earned my degree in business management from Tennessee Tech.

That was a great moment.

I was the first African American to play baseball at Tennessee Tech.

I was the first to be voted MVP.

I was the first to be elected captain.

I was the first in my family to graduate from college.

Life is not always fair, but when you run into those obstacles, what you have to do is you got to work hard.

You got to persevere.

And you don't let anyone steal your dreams.

(cheers and applause) ♪ Going back, I really couldn't, couldn't think of how it could have worked out better for me.

Even the, uh, the obstacles that I had to overcome with the one coach that I had, it was good for me because it, it strengthened in me.

♪ YOUNG: My name's Harrison Young.

I grew up in Celina, Tennessee, I'm living in Cookeville now, and I work in the Upper Cumberland, helping show off a lot of different programs that we do to help people by day.

And I perform a lot by night with storytelling as well as acting and other things that keeps me at the arts.

If there's sort of a common theme in the stories you like to tell, what is it?

There's a touch of humanity in every story, and you got to go about finding it.

I feel...

I believe in truth in comedy, and so if you can find what the... what the human element is of that, that's what makes any story pop out to people so they relate to that.

Now, is this a tradition in your family?

I have storytellers in my family.

I don't know that they're professional storytellers, but I have some armchair storytellers in my family.

My grandfather should have been telling stories all of his life, and he has, but he's always told them under a shade tree, so to speak.

And then I've got a father as well who's always enjoyed talking with people and being able to get the word out.

But as far as storytelling events go, I guess I've been the only one brave enough or silly enough to do it.

I haven't ongoing rivalry with carnivals.

(laughter) And this rivalry runs two generations deep.

I was at the carnival one night, I was with my girlfriend.

We were holding hands, eating cotton candy, enjoying the rides, you know, what you do at the carnival, right?

And along the way, we came across this game called Stand the Bottle.

Has anybody ever played this game?

I see, like, three hands.

Let me explain for the rest.

So Stand the Bottle is this game where you've got this wooden platform, and it's kind of had an incline.

You lay this bottle on its side, and it's facing you.

And your job is to stand this bottle straight up.

And all you have in order to do this is this fishing-pole-looking thing.

Okay, it's a rod with a ring and a string that goes up.

If you can stand that with that fishing-pole-looking thing, you can win the biggest prize at the fair, okay?

And not only that, but the carnival worker makes it look so easy too.

And it's a fair price, you know.

It's five tries for five dollars.

Some with my girlfriend, I'm like, "Let's try this."

I put down five dollars, then ten.

(laughter) Twenty.

I spent $35 that night.

(laughter) My girlfriend then says, "Harrison, you know you don't have to win a prize for me.

Eventually, I put my pride aside, and I quit.

And I was like, "I can't let her go home empty-handed."

So there's another booth right beside this booth we were at where they sell wooden roses for one dollar.

So for $36... (laughter) she went home with a wooden rose.

Thank you.

(laughter) I was broken, that hurt me real bad.

And so sometimes in these moments of pain, I go home, and I share my experience with my family.

And as I'm telling them this story, my dad had this really sly kind of smile going on, and I asked him, "Hey, what's up with that?"

And he tells me he also had a rivalry with the carnivals.

We're going to time warp to the 1980s.

It was my dad, it was my dad's friends, and it was my older brother who was a kid at the time.

They go to the local carnival, and as they're there, they find Stand the Bottle.

(laughter) They go, they play, and the carnival worker is happily taking their money, laughing at them, pointing at them, just talking that trash, takes all their money.

My dad and his friends go home pretty angry.

But let me tell you something about my dad and his group of friends.

They're a slick bunch.

They decide that they were going to recreate Stand the Bottle.

They got some blocks of wood.

They screwed them together, you got the platform now.

You got a shower rod and a shower ring with some yarn they just found around the house.

You got your fishing pole, and they came home with a case of beer so they had plenty of bottles.

(laughter) And for the next year, they trained at this game as best as they could.

One year later, that carnival came around.

They walk in there, they feel like they're in slow motion, ready to rock, right?

And the carnival worker is there, it's the same guy from the year before.

Can you imagine?

And so he recognizes this group of... idiots that came training for this game.

(laughs) And they... that guy immediately starts talking trash, and he keeps talking that trash until they lay their money on the line.

They all went home with prizes.

(cheers and applause) And by that I mean, my brother went home with all those prizes.

Can you imagine how awesome a car ride that must have been, door to door with huge animals in the back?

Aw, man.

Super jealous of my brother.

And so my dad tells me this story, and I'm like, "Cool."

I thought that was it.

But then he takes me to the garage, and he shows me he still has the tools from the time he played and trained this game.

So now I realize I don't just have a mission anymore.

I have a legacy to uphold.

(laughter) So for the next year, I'm training on Stand the Bottle.

And this is a fair game, I want to be real clear.

This isn't like the water-gun game, where you're trying to find the gun that shoots the water just a little harder than the rest or anything like that.

This isn't like the warped basketball hoops, where it's trying to trick you.

Like, you know, if you know how to do this, it's fair.

And so I got to where I really knew how to do this.

I got to where I started setting up carnival-like situations at home to get the environment right, because I didn't want to be fooled or out of my element.

I started training with carnival music playing.

(laughter) And so that next year rolls around, carnival is back in town.

I go there; my girlfriend's now an ex-girlfriend.

Pro tip, everybody: don't spend $36 on a wooden rose and think she's going to be happy for the night.

She won't think you're fiscally responsible.

(laughter) But I went with two friends who didn't care about that, Jonathan and Tara.

And we went over there, and they didn't know I knew how to play this game, that I had my own little quest going on.

So I found this booth, Stand the Bottle.

And I walk over, I was like, "Oh, "check out this game.

"What can you tell me about this fine establishment?

How do you play this here?"

As the carnival worker is stepping back to show his technique, I get my super-focused Terminator eyes on, right?

I am gauging the situation with intensity.

I am gauging his stance to see how he does it, to compare with my technique.

I'm gauging the lengths of his string compared to the lengths of the string that my dad used, and how that might change the follow-through on the situation.

I'm starting to worry about that.

And I hadn't thought about the incline being different on the platform.

Like, I don't know about the stability of the bottle when it stands.

And as I'm thinking about all this, I don't know if I'm becoming my dad or the carnival worker anymore.

I'm just trying to win, and I want to become a winner that night.

So I go up there, and I get it my second try.

(cheers and applause) Ooh, it felt good.

We whooped, we hollered, life was good.

And I let my friend Tara pick the prize.

And Tara got this purple monkey.

It was so big, she and Jonathan had to take turns carrying it on their back for the rest of the night.

(laughter) So in my mind, mission accomplished.

And I'll close on this note.

If there are any third- generation carnival workers here tonight, I will be teaching my children how to play Stand the Bottle.

(laughter) Thank you.

(cheers and applause) ♪ LEWIS: I'm Sandy Lewis.

I'm from Sparta, Tennessee, and I each high school in Sparta.

I've taught for about 25 years, I teach theater and just anything else that's left over.

Do you remember the first time you were in front of people telling a story?

LEWIS: I do.

So I was taking some aerospace classes one summer at MTSU, and they offered a theater class in storytelling.

So I walked in, and they were all telling stories.

So without even thinking about it, I just got up and told my first one.

And it was such an addictive rush.

I've been doing it ever since.

Do you remember the first story?

Can you summarize it quickly?

I don't have to.

I'm actually telling a version of it tonight.

Really, it's that good?

It's that dear to my heart.

(Kalodimos chuckles) What do you hope people take home from your storytelling?

My ultimate goal for them to take home would be an appreciation for the people in their lives and maybe a little more understanding for the people in their lives.

I always say, if I could teach my students anything, it would be tolerance.

And that's something we need in the world right now.

♪ I grew up in Sparta, Tennessee, on a little dead-end road just two houses from my grandma.

And I kept that road hot.

We were always at Grandma's, especially in the summer, my mama and my sisters and my uncle's girls.

Grandma could make anything fun, even putting up food for the winter.

I learned a lot about pecking order putting up corn.

You see, when we put up corn, we didn't put up just a little corn, we used assembly line, and there was a hierarchy.

My mom and my grandma, they had the butcher knife and they cut the end off the ear, where it used to attach to the stalk, and then they'd lay it aside.

And then the older girls would take it, and they'd peel off the shucks, and then they'd lay it aside.

And then the younger girls would take it, and they take a brush and start removing those silks that were stuck down between every little kernel of corn.

And no matter what you did, you knew you could never get them all, no matter how many you pulled, but you still had to try.

(laughter) I don't guess you have to ask which group I fell in.

(laughter) The best part about putting up corn, though, was you got to take the shucks and silks over to the neighbors and feed him to his cows.

And we loved his cows.

They were in this most amazing field.

You see, in the early spring, there were dozens and dozens of buttercups that came up their volunteer.

God watered them, the cows kept them fertilized.

(laughter) Mama and Grandma would not let us pick their flowers, but the neighbor didn't care if we picked every flower in the field.

The only problem was the cows were surrounded by an electric fence, and somebody had to test to see if the fence was on, because it was only on about half the time.

And that's when pecking order came right back into play.

(laughter) Because the older girls always decided who it was that got to test the fence.

To this day, I believe I should blame about half my crazy on electric shock delivered in my youth.

(laughter) (sighs) But Grandma was wonderful.

She taught me how to cook all kinds of stuff.

She taught me how to sew, she taught me a lot of things.

A few of them, she had absolutely no intention of teaching me.

For example, it is my grandma that taught me all about "a hussy."

(laughter) Now, my grandma was not prone to call people names, but I remember distinctly that day, and how our voice kept going up in pitch as she said, "That hussy, that hussy," And she told us girls to get away from "that hussy."

And she told my mama to get us into the house and keep us away from "that hussy."

Well, once we were safely inside the house with the door shut, I had three problems.

My first problem, I had no idea what a hussy was.

(laughter) My second problem, I was pretty sure you shouldn't be hussy at Grandma's, and best I could tell, being a hussy took quite a bit out of you.

And that left me to be kind of afraid that it might be terminal.

(laughter) And in my last and worst problem was I had not yet learned that when your grandma's face turns that special shade of high-blood-pressure red, and everybody else gets real quiet, to keep my big mouth shut.

So I walked right up to her, and I was worried.

Now, I didn't use the word hussy, I just called her what we always had.

And I said, "Grandma, is the yellow cat going to die?"

(laughter) My cousin said, "No, she's not going to die.

She's having kittens."

Kittens!

The words set my grandma off again.

"That hussy come down here in front of all these little girls "to have kittens, that hussy.

It is unnatural, she's a barn cat, that hussy."

And with that, she launched an all-out assault on the kitchen.

Because, you see, when a southern woman is upset, she's going to cook.

And you can tell how upset she is by what it is she cooks.

And this was not no little minor tiff, biscuit kind of upset.

This was a full on scratch cake upset.

(laughter) And when she had all those ingredients in the bowl, she beat the devil out of 'em.

By the time the cake got done, she'd calmed herself down a bit.

They sat us around the kitchen table to eat hot ooey-gooey cake, as we called it.

And her and my mama went into the living room to watch their soap opera.

And we decided we'd sneak outside and check on the yellow cat.

So my older sister and cousin ease that squeaky door open just an inch of the time, and they let us all slide out, and then they eased out.

And we gathered around the yellow cat, and, oh, she looked awful.

She panted, and she flexed her claws.

And then she pooped out these little snot-covered kittens.

(laughter) It was disgusting.

(sighs) It was several years before I figured out that disgusting and hussy were not synonyms.

(laughter) It was even longer before I got my nerve up to tell my grandma that we had snuck out and watched.

I was in college, actually, and had seen live childbirth on film.

Well, me and Grandma actually laughed a lot about that.

And she said, "Honey, back in my day, that was all private."

Back in her day, that was unacceptable.

And we talked a lot about how times change and you have to too.

You know, that next generation, they rise up, and that next generation decides what's acceptable and what's not acceptable.

That next generation sets the tempo, and you can either learn a new dance or get off the floor.

You know, basically, the end of your life looks an awful lot like the beginning.

It's all a pecking order.

(laughter, cheers and applause) ANNOUNCER: This program is made possible in part by contributions from viewers like you-- thank you.

♪ ♪