Metro Pulse/Gamut/Jeff Bradley

Jeff Bradley's Tennessee tour guides drive his mission to introduce residents of different parts of the state to the rest of it

by Scott McNutt

Thin and wiry, as befits a fellow who spends a fair amount of time walking and hiking, Jeff Bradley sports a thick mustache over constantly smiling lips. He wears glasses, and wispy sprigs of hair sprout atop an almost-bald pate. Despite the casual shorts and shirt that are no doubt his frequent work uniform, Bradley has something of the professorial air, which probably isn't a holdover from his years as a journalism student at UT or as a Tennessee correspondent for the New York Times, Time and Newsweek in the '70s. Perhaps he gives this impression because of the eight years he spent teaching at Harvard in the '80s at the behest of his mentor, the late Richard Marius. Or maybe it's his native inquisitiveness, which benefits his secondary occupation, that of travel-book writer for Moon Handbooks.

It's that last role that brings Bradley to the Metro Pulse offices one steaming July day. Two books by Bradley, the first edition of Moon Handbooks: Smoky Mountains (cowritten with Mike Sigalas) and the third edition of Moon Handbooks: Tennessee (which, according to Bradley's publisher, is the best-selling guidebook to the state), have recently been released. Bradley sat down to talk about them. And about how New Englanders have no snake stories. And how Richard Marius, who taught at UT before moving up to Harvard, hated the UT sports program, but hosted parties at Harvard whenever the Vols were in a bowl game. And how Tennessee's tax woes are making it a laughingstock to the rest of the nation. It turns out Jeff Bradley can hold forth on many topics, and make all of them entertaining.

Though Bradley pokes fun at his travel writing as having become "an expensive hobby, rather than an income-producer," it's clear from his tales of the characters he's met, the history he's uncovered and the detailed information he's provided to tourists, that he dearly loves his avocation. "In West Tennessee, people know what a 'fiddler' is. Now here, in East Tennessee, people think of a fiddler as a guy making music; there, a 'fiddler' is a catfish that you eat, which still has the head on it. I never knew that until I went there....

"I grew up in East Tennessee, and, like most East Tennesseans, I'd been to Nashville, but I hadn't been any further west than that. You'll find East Tennesseans who might make it to Memphis, to Graceland, but they'll not get out into the country. And then West Tennesseans, they'll come to a UT ball game and maybe go to the Smokies, but that's it, they won't get any further. So if I have a purpose in life, it's trying to show Tennesseans [the state they live in]."

He lives in Colorado now, but Bradley's parents still live in Kingsport, so the family connection frequently draws him back. And the allure is stronger than mere family bonds. "Tennessee is where I am from. At my very base, I am a Tennessean. So to come back here is to get recharged."

Proud though he may be to be a Tennessean, a question about the state's financial status brings a rare sneer to Bradley's lips. "The taxation situation is an embarrassment to Tennesseans....there was an image in the New York Times of some legislator speaking in the House, and he had his vest unbuttoned and his big belly hanging out, and it's like, 'Oh God, how can they embarrass us any more?'

"And, as a graduate of the University of Tennessee it depresses me to see what this budget is doing to a great university. The ill fruits of these decisions will be felt for a long time. It's sad.... [The sales tax increase] just taxes the living hell out of the people who can least afford it, and that's not right. That's not right."

Bradley explains that after he spent his eight years teaching and writing at Harvard, he "worked for three years in Harvard's money-raising office and learned to write things that make people write checks...That is what I make a living doing, doing fund-raising writing for nonprofit institutions. I tell people I do that to support my book habit. And that is how I can do these books."

Being the author of a well-respected tour guide doesn't pay the bills, says Bradley. "You don't make a lot of money doing something like this. [Moon Handbooks: Tennessee], in its second edition, sold about 9,000 copies. Now that's a lot for a book. There are fiction writers who would die to sell that many.... People sometimes think because they see an $18.95 book [the author must make a lot of money on it]; I walk home with $1.71 [from that sale]. If a Barnes & Noble buys 1,000 copies, the publisher might discount it to $6 or $8 per copy. And I get 15 percent of that. So you do it for love."

That love also allows Bradley to keep current on happenings big and small in Tennessee, and keep tabs on its many colorful characters. "In Tracy City, Tennessee, I found a guy who makes scythes. Well, we have these American ones that are really heavy, and it just kills you to use it. There's an old colony of Swiss immigrants down there, and this guy is German, so he manufactures German scythes for them that are so much easier to use. This thing would outdo a weed-eater on an open area or a bank, and he said a lot of organic gardeners are now buying these. Well, that's the kind of thing I'm looking for. He steams hickory handles and he has a 100-year-old press that he restricts these things in until they fit the shape he wants. He gets his blades from Austria. That's fascinating to me.... I drove through a town the other day, Kelso, Tennessee. They're putting a rum distillery down there. It's very small right now, and there's nothing for tourists to see. But I'm watching that. This may be up there with Jack Daniels someday, you never know.... It's really a never-ending quest. And I just love it."

Trying to balance the obvious pitfalls of including outdated information with providing as completely detailed a book as possible offers Bradley the chance for another anecdote. "The curse of a book like this is the more stuff you put in, it the more chances for error you have, because things change...I got an irate email from someone who wanted to know, 'For $18.95, and this book is only three months old, how come it has some wrong numbers in Memphis?' I told her I was planning a trip to Nashville, and I was trying to get a hotel reservation. Well, that hotel had changed too." Bradley takes the opportunity to add a cautionary note about depending on travel guides. "For anyone who reads a travel book, you have to check ahead. Big things, like the Knoxville Museum of Art, they're not going to go anywhere. But little ones, little curiosities, and [things like hotels and restaurants], they need checking.... I do get people who send me information and point out if I've gotten something wrong, and I wish I would get more. I've got my email address in the book, and I'd like to get more [information and corrections]."

Perhaps Bradley accepts criticism from readers so good-naturedly because he isn't afraid to dish it out. He's willing to talk (and write) about places he finds less than appealing. Gatlinburg, especially, comes in for some pungent attacks. "I just roast that place. Don't get me started on it." Despite his own admonishment, he continues, quoting from the Gatlinburg section of his book: "'H. L. Mencken once said it best: No one ever went broke underestimating the taste of the American public. That statement belongs on the Gatlinburg town seal.' Having Gatlinburg in front of the Smokies is like having the Mona Lisa smoking a cigarette."

It cheapens the natural beauty, he argues. "And it doesn't have to be like that." Again quoting from his book, Bradley says, "'Gatlinburg could have been the Aspen of the Appalachians, the Nantucket of the national parks, or the Saratoga of the Smokies,' but they chose the low road, with hucksterism...this is the most-visited national park in the country...and what impression do [tourists] get of Tennessee? [Gatlinburg] makes Hee-Haw look sophisticated. And that just kills me."

Bradley's vehemence on the subject (and his contributions to the Smoky Mountains guide book) arises from yet another of his passions: hiking, backpacking, and just generally getting out into nature. "When I get back to Colorado, I'm leaving for Alaska. I'm going backpacking and sea-kayaking up there. Someone once defined 'wilderness' as something out there that can eat you, where you are not at the top of the food chain. It just kind of recalibrates your dials to get out in a place like that." He camps with his sons' scout troop whenever he can. He has camped in Utah, swum rivers in slot canyons with a backpack and explored an 800-year-old Kiva (a ceremonial room of the Anasazi). "It just blows your mind," he exclaims with obvious enthusiasm.

As the interview comes to a close, the conversation turns to Knoxville. In his guide book, Bradley is mostly complimentary of the Scruffy Little City. He describes Krutch Park as "the most delightful downtown park in the entire state," and recommends Gay Street's Yee-Haw Industries as "the most remarkable printshop" in the state. However, he prefaces his description of Knoxville nightlife with, "it's a city that sleeps a lot." But that is the harshest criticism he offers of Knoxville. In the book, at least.

Asked about Knoxville's tourism opportunities, Bradley's reply at first seems tangential: "Knoxville is such a wonderful journalism town. Adolph Ochs, the guy who made the New York Times into the newspaper we know today, learned everything he knew about journalism right here. I tell people that he brought the Times up to Tennessee journalism standards. Knoxville's tourism bureau would never think to say something like that. But that fact knocks people out away from here. So we don't always emphasize the things we could, and then we let the hucksters [take over]. You know, there are enormous numbers of people out there that are hungry for something real and genuine, and Tennessee is full of that. Sometimes you have to wrestle it away from the tourism people, who go to bed every night praying that a Dollywood will come to their town next week...that's what they think of as success."