Drought days disappeared below a deluge last week at our hometown, but like summer's cyclical cicades heat reappeared for those who missed its hot embrace.

As for me, I am drawn to the idea of hours in cool caves along the Pigeon River's edge, yet I have never visited anyone of them. They remain haunted by the many visits of Newport boys of decades past and we return to their stories. We have been talking with retired county circuit judge J. Kenneth "Ken" Porter, who was born in 1934 at 1000 Lincoln Avenue. Since last week's column I've chatted with Betty Poe, Louise Taylor, and others about the tragic death of Billy Gregg at Rattlin' Cave.

One of young Ken 's dearest friends who remains so today is Bobby Parrott, of Knoxville, a grandson to former county clerk Walt Cureton. Bobby's mother was a well-known educator, Lagretta Parrott. Other friends included Johnny and Dickie Carson, sons of R.H. Carson, who moved to Newport to manage Parks Belk. Clyde Driskill Jr. was also older than Ken and one of the gang. "I always wanted to be one of the big boys," said Ken, referring to his older playmates. Art Fisher, Jr. was about three years older. The boys had an easy stroll from Lincoln Avenue to grammar school because it was mostly empty fields before World War II. Art's father had retired from the Navy and is credited with constructing the stone buildings near the courthouse of which Smith's Repair Shop remains. Others have been razed. Art Sr. even gave Ken haircuts. "He was so kind to me." Mrs. Art (Nita) Fisher and Ken's mother, Bessie, were dear friends. Nita was a Murray, who was raised not far from the French Broad River, he said. The Fishers lived across College Avenue from the Campbells and just down hill from the Porters at Iris. There was a chicken coop at the Fishers that the young men converted to their first clubhouse where they spent many a night with lantern. "Everybody had victory gardens and chicken houses," said Ken, recalling the war years and after 1944 when he was old enough to go cave exploring with the big boys, including the Poes, Greggs, and others. (Give me a call if you were one of that group.) With no cellphones, autos, computers, TVs, motorcycles, and other toys of today, the boys entertained themselves by walking, running, swimming, riding, tree climbing, cave playing. These were inviting during hot summer days because of their cool, dark innards.

Now, Billy, or Bill, Gregg was Art's age. Ken was about 12, the others 13 to 16 years old. "He was lanky with bushy red hair, blue eyed and fair skinned. He was Art's good friend," said Ken. "We explored all over, the bluffs, the river caves, and hiked." It was not uncommon for boys to hike for miles on a summer day. Once, long ago, Bob Parrott and Ken decided they would climb English Mountain and hiked to the area where Lowe's is to gain access to the steep mountain. They got to the top and returned through Carson Springs Creek, a mighty cold walk. But, Ken admits that bicycles were a big improvement over walking.

"We had all been to Rattlin' Cave," except for Billy Gregg. Ken explained that you cross the 25/70 bridge, now lined with pink petunias, turned left and took the Jimtown road up hill to a gate, now locked by Newport Utilities. It was an open field for grazing cattle with some woodland. Boys often flew kites in the field and knew the paths. "You wouldn't notice it," the cave, until you were upon the ground where the earth creased, turned in revealing the small opening of the vertical shift. It was a collection point for water and debris. Ken had been within three feet of the opening, which was surrounded by leaves, sticks, debris. They would toss rocks into the cave and listen as they rattled down the shift for what seemed like forever. Ken guesses it was at least 300 feet deep.

That fateful day, perhaps in 1946, Ken said Art was going to show Billy the caves at the Burnett place, across from the Dr. Jack Clark house off Edwina Highway. Ken refers to it as the Quarry Cave, and we visited the area on a hot morning a week ago. The old steel Ed Burnett Bridge has been gone for decades. On the Sunday of the accident, Ken, J.M. Poe, Billy, Art and Dick Carson all went to the Quarry Cave. "I didn't much like it because of the dirt and red clay," said Ken. He recalled that Art climbed to the top but slipped and fell narrowly missing the sharp protruding rocks, but he was OK. The boys started talking about going to Rattlin' Cave; Ken and Dick were not interested so Art and J.M. took Billy there. What Ken remembers next is that he went home to Iris to find parents very upset. They knew Billy had fallen into the cave. "I remembered how distressed mother was."

Action began almost immediately to rescue the victim, and Ken said that Johnny Farmer at Stokely Brothers was head of personnel and took the lead on the rescue joined by Earl Rhodes, Robert Hickey, and many others. Farmer was an uncle to Ken's close friend, Bob Parrott. "He was fearless and ready to go down a rope," said Ken of Johnny, a big man over 6 feet tall and 200 pounds. Johnny went down one of at least two ropes dropped into the cave; one rope lowered a lantern so the body could be spotted on a ledge. Ken said something happened, perhaps a rope broke, but Johnny began to fall and grabbed the lantern rope. "He hit bottom but was not severely hurt." Rescuers tied a rope around Billy's body and pulled him out with help from Art Fisher Sr.'s big silver tow truck.

Betty Poe has been following our story and was married to J.M. Poe, who rarely spoke of the tragedy. He did mention it in later years to Gene Branam that Billy fell quickly without making a cry or sound. J.M. told Betty, she said, that Billy "brushed him" as he lost his balance and fell in. J.M. was about 16 at the time and left with Art Jr. to get help. There is still one of the Poe brothers alive, if you knew the family. Bill Poe died young of cancer, followed by Tom Poe, former ambulance service director and great supporter of the Newport Rescue Squad. I recall him well and could tell you a few stories when he was county coroner in the 1970s. Bert Poe Jr., the oldest of the four boys, is still alive and lives on Long Island, NY. Betty said they grew up behind Lincoln Avenue Grocery off 7th Street, just a stone's throw from where Ken was born.

I learned more about the rescuers from Louise Taylor, who lives not far from the WNPC Radio offices and Hawkins Drive.