Today, I donated my dad's medicine show wagon to the International Storytelling Center in Jonesborough, TN. The following is my letter.
June 22, 2010
Dear Jimmy Neil,
As you well know, Doc McConnell’s Old Medicine Show brought joy, laughter, humor, foolishness, and of course, “healing” to thousands of folks across our country for more than 35 years. It became an icon at the National Storytelling Festival and Jonesborough Days. The medicine show provided me the opportunity to “be on stage”, to travel, to meet new friends, and to make a little gas money. But most of all, it provided a way to share life experiences with my best buddy ~ my dad, Ernest Randolph McConnell ~ aka~ “Doc”.
While my precious mom, Gin, stayed home and kept the home fires burning, Dad and I, along with his brother, Cecil (“Steamer”) and anybody else we might pick up, would often leave home on Friday evenings. We would travel through the night to our destination and be somewhat bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for 2 days of performances and then on Sunday evening load the wagon and make our trek back home. The experiences I had as Dad’s “Not-Registered Nurse” are the very best memories of my teenage and early adult years.
During those years, there were occasions when our talk would turn to ‘the time’ when he would not be able “to do” the medicine show any longer due to the complications and complaints of aging. (He did realize that there were actually some maladies that his copper bracelets and rootin’ tootin’ tonic just could not cure.) Deep down, I think he would have liked for me to carry on the show.
He dreamed of hosting a medicine show institute for those interested in learning more about the history of the old medicine shows and learning the hawker’s spiel in order to preserve what he had worked (and had fun doing so) diligently to perpetuate. Sadly, his dream did not come to fruition due to his fight with Multiple Myeloma in the spring of 2008 and his death as a result of a stroke in August ’08.
Dad passed along a rich, glowing legacy of stories and the medicine show spiel to me. I know all the show’s lines by heart and can deliver them with accuracy. But I lack his precision timing, his zest and those twinkling blue up-to-something eyes. My heart tells me that there can be only be one person to fill those black and beige shoes and it’s he. Dad loved storytelling and its people ~ tellers and listeners alike. Therefore, believing it’s fitting and proper; it is with honor and pleasure that I donate the Doc McConnell Old Medicine Show wagon to the International Storytelling Center in Jonesborough, TN for display and safe-keeping for future generations. If at any time the Center no longer desires to house, display, and use the wagon, I ask that Dad’s family be contacted and consulted as to the next placement/location of it.
Hopefully, every first weekend in October for many years to come, when Jonesborough morphs into the “Storytelling Mecca” and after the trains rumble through, maybe, just maybe, the cool autumn breeze will carry a whisper of the chant of the ole pitchman saying, “Come one, Come all…..” for all to hear and remember.
Going down this road feelin’ good,
Hannah McConnell Gillenwater ~ Doc’s daughter
Dear Jimmy Neil,
As you well know, Doc McConnell’s Old Medicine Show brought joy, laughter, humor, foolishness, and of course, “healing” to thousands of folks across our country for more than 35 years. It became an icon at the National Storytelling Festival and Jonesborough Days. The medicine show provided me the opportunity to “be on stage”, to travel, to meet new friends, and to make a little gas money. But most of all, it provided a way to share life experiences with my best buddy ~ my dad, Ernest Randolph McConnell ~ aka~ “Doc”.
While my precious mom, Gin, stayed home and kept the home fires burning, Dad and I, along with his brother, Cecil (“Steamer”) and anybody else we might pick up, would often leave home on Friday evenings. We would travel through the night to our destination and be somewhat bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for 2 days of performances and then on Sunday evening load the wagon and make our trek back home. The experiences I had as Dad’s “Not-Registered Nurse” are the very best memories of my teenage and early adult years.
During those years, there were occasions when our talk would turn to ‘the time’ when he would not be able “to do” the medicine show any longer due to the complications and complaints of aging. (He did realize that there were actually some maladies that his copper bracelets and rootin’ tootin’ tonic just could not cure.) Deep down, I think he would have liked for me to carry on the show.
He dreamed of hosting a medicine show institute for those interested in learning more about the history of the old medicine shows and learning the hawker’s spiel in order to preserve what he had worked (and had fun doing so) diligently to perpetuate. Sadly, his dream did not come to fruition due to his fight with Multiple Myeloma in the spring of 2008 and his death as a result of a stroke in August ’08.
Dad passed along a rich, glowing legacy of stories and the medicine show spiel to me. I know all the show’s lines by heart and can deliver them with accuracy. But I lack his precision timing, his zest and those twinkling blue up-to-something eyes. My heart tells me that there can be only be one person to fill those black and beige shoes and it’s he. Dad loved storytelling and its people ~ tellers and listeners alike. Therefore, believing it’s fitting and proper; it is with honor and pleasure that I donate the Doc McConnell Old Medicine Show wagon to the International Storytelling Center in Jonesborough, TN for display and safe-keeping for future generations. If at any time the Center no longer desires to house, display, and use the wagon, I ask that Dad’s family be contacted and consulted as to the next placement/location of it.
Hopefully, every first weekend in October for many years to come, when Jonesborough morphs into the “Storytelling Mecca” and after the trains rumble through, maybe, just maybe, the cool autumn breeze will carry a whisper of the chant of the ole pitchman saying, “Come one, Come all…..” for all to hear and remember.
Going down this road feelin’ good,
Hannah McConnell Gillenwater ~ Doc’s daughter
