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By Lloyd Albritton

Columnist

I am an old man now, but I have memories of this place going back to my early childhood. Little River State Park is located off State Highway 21 about a dozen miles north of Atmore, Alabama. Families from Escambia and Monroe Counties and neighboring counties as well used to gather here to camp, picnic and swim. As a small child I swam in the shallow end of the lake below the dam where the water flowed rapidly over a poured concrete bottom. Because the flow was shallow, little children could play in the water there. Some people even drove their cars out into the water to wash them. There were not so many rules to follow in those days. Life seemed more about having fun than following rules. I remember venturing out into the deeper water with my older teenage cousin, Bob Hollingsworth, on one occasion. Bob was a big boy, a star athlete on the high school football team. He carried me on his back out into the deep water and brought me safely back to shore. In my mind I can still hear Bob’s steady, deep breathing as he labored valiantly with the task. I never feared. I knew Bob was big and strong and I felt completely safe as I clung to his back with my skinny arms and legs wrapped tightly around his neck and waist.
Bob Hollingworth later drowned in a Mississippi River tributary in 1962 while fishing with his older brother, Junior, on a cold, dark winter night. It was said that the boat sank and the brothers, both bundled up in heavy winter clothing, were unable to make it to shore. A third man, a friend and regular fishing companion of Junior’s, was with them that day and was able to make it to shore and tell some of what happened. He said Junior was a strong swimmer and could have survived the incident, but Bob called for help and Junior returned to help his beloved younger brother without hesitation. Both brothers were subsequently pulled underneath the cold dark waters to their deaths. Their bodies were not recovered until several days later. At the time of his death Bob Hollingsworth was in his early twenties and was married to his high school sweetheart. They had one baby boy. Bob had become a preacher, a powerful public speaker with a growing reputation as a man of God. It was said that Bob had agreed to go fishing with his brother that day as a trade-off. Junior, a professed unrepentant sinner, had agreed to attend one of Bob’s upcoming sermons if Bob would go fishing with him. The sad deaths of the two brothers became legendary in family lore in the ensuing years. Some folks said Bob was a poor swimmer and the icy waters and heavy winter clothing were too much for him. I never believed that. I have never forgotten those strong shoulders which carried me to safety at Little River State Park on that fun sunny day back in the early 1950s. I don’t believe God took Bob because he was not strong, but because he was strong.
The park featured several large pavilions, each with large stone grills where people could gather for family cookouts, reunions and school and church social gatherings. A large wood-frame building with foldout wood shutters hosted a jukebox and a dance floor at the water’s edge where teenagers often gathered to dance and court. The wood pier at the edge of the large lake was always crowded with swimmers. The temperature of the water was neither too cold nor too hot, but just perfect. Young people frolicked in the invigorating water for hours and hours on hot summer days. Narrow dirt roads wound throughout the two-thousand-acre pine tree forest, leading to little cabins constructed along the edges of the lake where people camped and fished.
The Little River State Park project was built in 1934 by the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC), a voluntary government work relief program commissioned by President Franklin D. Roosevelt during The Great Depression years. The CCC ran from 1933 to 1942 and employed unmarried men ages 18-25 who earned a monthly wage of $30.00 plus food, clothing and shelter, $25.00 of which had to be sent home to their families. During the course of its nine years in operation the CCC employed over three million young men in a gargantuan human endeavor to conserve and develop rural lands owned by federal, state and local governments across the United States.
Little River State Park does not just represent fond personal memories and a beautiful slice of our local history here in this region of Alabama, but it also stands as a classic piece of our national legacy. Virtually everyone who lived during those years of terrible tribulation known as The Great Depression is now dead and gone. Little River State Park is a memoriam to those people and those times.
I spoke to my brother, Alabama State Senator Greg Albritton, a year or so ago regarding my concerns about the decline of this grand old family playground, the site of so many pleasant memories for so many of our citizens. Greg assured me that my concerns are shared by Alabama lawmakers and that a plan was in the works to restore the Park. How surprised and pleased I was then when I made a recent follow-up inquiry about the progress of things at Little River and learned from Greg that the work is finally in full swing. Not that I questioned the veracity of my beloved brother’s word, but just out of curiosity, I took a little drive up that way the other day to see what kind of activity was going on. I parked across the highway and my grandson and I walked down the gravel road that leads from the main highway to the lake, a distance of about a half mile. And, Lo and Behold, large excavators and backhoes and road graders were sitting idle everywhere, just waiting for their skilled operators to take command on Monday morning following the weekend. The little ragged bridge had been torn out and was in the process of being replaced with a bigger, stronger bridge. We crossed the creek on rocks, getting our feet well soaked, and made our way on down to the lake Signs of improvement were all about the huge lake, which was as lovely as ever. Greg said these improvements are advancing posthaste and will include new cabins and campsites and pavilions and all sorts of other great improvements that will return this lovely property to its former glory and beyond.
Now I know I was trespassing, so I certainly did not take my fishing pole along with me on this little adventure, and if I had taken my fishing pole with me, which I didn’t, you know there is no way that I tossed my line into the water and reeled it in with a beautiful 3-pound large-mouth bass on the end of it. No way! Still, it was so exciting to see the old Little River playground coming back to life. I can hardly wait to get back onto the newly restored swimming pier and frolic in the water with all my friends again. I think I will leave the fishing to the old folks.