There is a concrete tunnel under the railroad tracks on the road winding through Old Dora.
Growing up it was the only passage from Sloss Hollow into town, unless you wanted to drive several miles on a red rock road to the new highway. Which even in the ’60s after the new highway had been completed in the ’50s was still called the new highway.
These days not much is left of old Dora, except for bricks, mortar and fallen timbers. Privets, kudzu and time have eaten away on the sites where bustling businesses once stood.
Every now and then I drive down through the old town.
Recently I went to Davis Cemetery to check on the graves of my mom and dad.
On the way back home, I decided to swing through the old tunnel. Midway through, without thinking, I honked my horn like I had done thousands of times before. Hearing the sound of that horn in the tunnel triggered a memory buried in my brain. I thought of Mr. Arwine whose small house was just on the other side of the tunnel. I’m not sure how he kept his sanity because EVERYBODY tooted their horns as they passed through the tunnel.
The acoustics of the tunnel were like a giant megaphone; when cars with busted mufflers roared through they were louder than a Phantom Jet at takeoff. I went to see Mr. Arwine one fall afternoon; he was a master craftsman in rebuilding generators for old cars. When the generator on my old 1946 Plymouth died, I knew it was time to visit Mr. Arwine. I got up early that Saturday morning and took the generator out of the Plymouth.
I borrowed my mom’s car and headed down to Mr. Arwine’s shop. As I stood talking with Mr. Arwine in his shop, one of my friends came through the tunnel, revving his engine on his souped up Ford.
The sound echoed out of the tunnel bouncing off the hills around the town and of course before he made his exit, he blew his horn.
According to Mr. Arwind, it was a ritual repeated ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT every day and night. After about an hour, he pronounced my generator fixed, I paid him five dollars and headed home to put my Plymouth back together. It worked like a champ and was still working in 1971 when I got drafted. Mr. Arwine was a genus.
After that afternoon, I did try to limit how often I blew my horn going through the old tunnel…after all I wanted to stay in Mr. Arwine’s good graces. Even now, I hear about people honking their horns as they drive through the Old Dora Tunnel. Some things never change.
