Appalachian Figures On a cold December evening in 1863, a young woman in Wayne County opened a package from Frankfort. Inside was a new photograph album and, tucked among the cartes de visite, a promise from her brother-in-law, Ephraim L. Van Winkle. When he could get to Louisville, he wrote, he would have his own portrait taken and place it “in front” for her.

Appalachian Figures In the bourbon world the Van Winkle name usually calls up images of velvet bags, waiting lists, and impossible prices. Pappy Van Winkle has become a legend, and his face on a label now stands in for a whole story about Kentucky whiskey and American nostalgia.

Appalachian Figures On a June morning in 1914, readers in Barbourville picked up the Mountain Advocate and saw a single large photograph staring back at them from the front page.

Appalachian Figures Appalachia has produced generals, governors, and nationally known reformers, yet some of its most influential figures left their mark through business ledgers and charity board minutes instead of stump speeches. One of those quieter figures was Ben Mitchell Williamson of Pike and Boyd Counties.

Appalachian Figures On a summer night in 1964, the United States House of Representatives rushed through a joint resolution that would change the course of the Vietnam War. The Gulf of Tonkin Resolution sailed through the chamber with a recorded vote of 416 to 0. Yet the roll call did not tell the whole story.

TipHey, I’m writing a book about this! I’m actually writing a book about this stuff. It turns out there isn’t a lot of literature on how to do post-training at the level too big for single-GPU laptop-sized hobby projects and requiring enterprise reliability on one hand, but not quite at the scale of multi-team distributed post-training you’d get in foundation labs.

Since I last wrote, I have had a few more thoughts on Samuel Moore’s book. Again, these are not necessarily things that he does not discuss or things that he should have discussed. They are merely thoughts that occurred to me in response to reading his work.

Roy “Dixie” Walker’s story begins a long way from Heinemann Park and the old Southern Association box scores that sometimes still list him only as “Walker, p.” It starts in Lawrenceburg, Tennessee, in 1893, with a boy who grew up between a small county seat on Jackson’s Military Road and the industrial neighborhoods of East Nashville, then spent the next three decades trying to control a fastball that had more life than he did.

Appalachian Figures High above the traffic in downtown Hazard, a small hillside burial ground still looks out over the bend of the North Fork of the Kentucky River. Locals know it as Graveyard Hill.

Appalachian Figures On the edge of the main academic quad at Washington College in Chestertown, Maryland, a glass fronted performing arts complex carries a Kentucky name. The Daniel Z. Gibson Center for the Arts began life in 1967 as a new Fine Arts Center, built with a six hundred seat theater and practice studios. When the college president who had championed it retired in 1970, the trustees renamed the building in his honor.

Appalachian Figure When the 1990 Tony Awards broadcast cut to the cast of Grand Hotel, viewers saw a small, balding man in a rumpled tuxedo fling himself across the stage in a frantic Charleston. As Otto Kringelein, Michael Jeter turned a dying bookkeeper into the emotional center of a big Broadway musical.