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Dream-come-true
is a love letter
to Moore County

Among the first Cunninghams to own land in Moore County were my grandparents, Lawrence and Martha Jewel. They had three children: Richard, Jackie, and Rebecca, whom everyone calls “Tootie.” I’m her son – and the fella who decided to start a newspaper.

Mom and Dad married in March 1966. I was born in April ’67, and a month later, we moved to a small town in Northeast Mississippi. My brother rounded out the family three years later. We trekked back to Tennessee for holidays and summer vacations. All the while, Lynchburg always felt like home.

Grandaddy passed away when I was 7. Granny and I were at the back of the tobacco patch on the point that overlooks Tims Ford a year later. Mother Nature (and squirrels) had scattered acorns everywhere, and I grabbed a handful while I explained to her why this was the best view of the lake.

“One day, I’m going to build my house here, and you can sleep over anytime you want to,” I boasted. She suggested I plant one of the acorns, “You’ll always have a shade tree.”

This ridge has many memories, from bouncing across the ground while riding the tobacco planter to tossing hay into the barn, romping across the hillsides, and eating blackberries from the vine. The most vivid is Sundays under the long-gone mimosa tree, eating pimento-and-cheese sandwiches, drinking ice-cold Sun Drops, and listening to the voices of Ken Squier and Barney Hall booming from Uncle Richard’s car radio with the call of NASCAR races from exotic locales such as North Wilkesboro, Darlington, and Talladega.

Then, we would head to Uncle Jackie’s house in Tullahoma. To say the man was our larger-than-life Bobby Allison is an understatement. Could ol’ Bobby hold the line buzzing across Lost Creek, Chestnut Ridge, and Ridgeville? Indeed, he could not with a slew of kids flailing around the backend of a low-slung 1970s Pontiac station wagon. (It would be years before I discovered that a seat belt was more than decorative.)

One day, I’m going to build my house here, and you can sleep over anytime you want to.

I cherished the times we returned to Moore County. It was home – but I still had a lot of living to do before putting up a house. I followed many dreams and realized that life isn’t about chasing but living.

After 11 years with newspapers, I surfed the World Wide Web for 15 years with CNN/Turner Sports. I have covered corrupt small-town sheriffs, uncovered wrongdoings by a prominent college football coach, and 9/11, plus NFL drafts, Super Bowls, World Series, NBA Finals, the Stanley Cup, NASCAR, golf majors, NCAA championships (nothing compares to the CWS) – a well-traveled career for a kid who grew up among farm fields. ... Nonetheless, my heart was in Moore County.

Granny passed away in March 2007, and we came back to Lynchburg for the funeral. The small-town feel was comforting, and the folks who came through the visitation line were salt-of-the-earth, each with a hug and genuine words of sympathy.

The sheriff’s department stopped traffic as the hearse departed, allowing cars to single-file onto the highway. We rolled through the one traffic light and toward Hurricane. When the funeral procession reached Goodbranch, the baseball team stood respectfully, hats over their chests. They did not know who was to be buried, but they showed the heart of Moore County with a familiar, small-town gesture.

In 2017, our younger son graduated from the University of North Georgia, our older daughter was in her first year at the University of Tennessee, and The Caboose was transitioning from elementary to middle school.

At the same time, other family matters allowed us to consider moving from Atlanta to Lynchburg – and we did. I spent weekends at my grandparents’ farmhouse preparing for Mandy and Reily to move in. We became the latest “you ain’t from around here” family. (I told Granny I would be home before I was 50 and made it by four months.)

LEFT: Mid-’80s, standing on the point, with the 10-year oak over my right shoulder.
RIGHT: Today, the oak tree, planted almost 50 years ago, has withstood time (and other trees taking root) atop the point overlooking Tims Ford Lake.

Mandy has always supported our next adventure from Baton Rouge, La., to Jackson, Tenn., to Atlanta. When we moved to Lynchburg, Michael Bublé’s words seemed apropos: “That this was not your dream, but you always believed in me.”

A few years later, after a farmhouse makeover, we built a house where I’m standing in the top photo on the left; that’s about where the kitchen is. The then-10-year-old oak tree is in the distance over my right shoulder.

Still, it took a little while for the dearth of local news to get me thinking about getting back into newspapers. An old-school, hold-it-in-your-hands paper can be a bridge between neighbors.

The people have left an impression regardless of where I’ve lived, worked, or visited. Our families and friends have stories to tell and share. There are also community events where we gather as neighbors to celebrate each other or the next generation.

I love news, and I’m in love with newspapers. Digital media has a role, but newspapers remain imperative for visual storytelling and, most importantly, informing the public. The Observer will connect you to others, make you think, and bring a greater sense of pride in the best community in Tennessee.

Old No. 7 may be our most well-known export, but Moore County’s reputation transcends Southern Middle Tennessee. Many locals have left their fingerprints on history; this newspaper will highlight those stories.

Hopefully, EMS will take me out of the newspaper office toes-up. After a suitably raucous and joy-filled Irish wake, Mandy and the kids know what to do. ... I’m home – and I’m not leaving.

My great-grandfather, Andrew Jackson Cunningham, gave his life to Moore County (dynamite accident at Jack Daniel’s). I’ve chosen to do the same, though much less dramatically! I look forward to meeting y’all through this weekly love letter.

Granny, this one’s to you. And happy birthday, Mom.

Duane Cross is the publisher and editor of the Moore County Observer.