Seems the biggest news lately in our little corner of the world has been the implosion of the nuclear cooling tower once located at what came to be known as the Hartsville Nuclear site. Although the tower was located across the county line in Smith County, it was given the name “Hartsville” as Hartsville was the nearest incorporated township. For almost 50 years the tower stood tall and foreboding - a reminder of a failed attempt to bring nuclear power to our part of the world in the decade of the 1970’s.
Most everyone in these parts has a story to tell about “the nuclear plant.” If you didn’t work there, you knew someone who did. It was a boom-or-bust time. Fast food establishments flourished. Busloads of craftsmen came from far away. High wages and high waste were the order of the day.
And then one day the work came to a halt. Left behind were empty apartments and abandoned trailer parks. One cooling tower was finished, another aborted leaving only its base behind. Erie memories of the ghost towns of the old West came to the minds of some. Economic aftershocks were felt for years. But the cooling tower remained. Like a tall, strong, sleepy giant standing guard over our hills, fields and beloved Cumberland River, the tower became an oh-so familiar part of the landscape. And now, it’s gone.
I was there to see it fall. In eight seconds, it disappeared like the wicked witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz – as though the very ground that once gave it footing swallowed it up.
Our three grandsons wanted to see it. I was brave and offered to let them spend the night before. A granddaughter asked to go along (with a friend) in the early morning hours. The boys arrived at my house around 8:30PM. To say they were “pumped” is an understatement. One’s father threatened his life if all three were not in bed by 9:00. His parting words were: “I’m going to call back when I get home (five minutes away) and you had better be in bed!” That put the fear of God in them. They were in bed before 9:00 – a small miracle. The next morning one asked, “Did he call back last night?” I have yet to answer his question.
They were up by 4:30 AM - raring to go. We picked up granddaughter, Jane, and her aunt, Kloe (of similar age) and were parked in a lot on the Power Com/Core Civic side of the TVA site by 5:30AM. As we sat in the dark, I remembered I had been placed on a list of public officials who would be given access to the TVA property at the main entrance.
“Let’s go!” I said.
I wheeled out of the dark parking lot and headed for Highway 25. When I entered the TVA property I could see three checkpoints. I made it through the first two without incident. When I arrived at checkpoint three, a young lady holding a clipboard smiled and asked, “who are you?”
“I’m Mayor McCall. I think I’m on your list,” I said.
“Jack McCall? she asked.
“Yes ma’am,” I answered.
As she highlighted my name, she looked to the passenger seat and asked, “who is she?”
“Oh, she’s, my granddaughter!” I said, proudly.
“You can’t go in here!” she said rather sharply.
“No problem!” I said with a smile. “I’ll turn this buggy around!” Daylight was coming fast!
Back to Highway 25 we went. And back to the original parking area. This time I took a gravel road to a higher vantage point. It turned out to be fortuitous.
The boys counted down the last minute, and the tower disappeared from sight. Gone!
Gone like so many things which you see slip into the past if you are around long enough.
But I have a feeling one of these mornings when I am driving through Hiwassee or cruising down Highway 25 – one of those days when the morning mist is hovering softly over the surrounding hills – I will look and see the ghost of that old tower standing tall and majestically like the tired old friend it became to be.
Copyright 2025 by Jack McCall
