In Search of Carl Mumpower

Much has been written about Carl Mumpower lately, mostly concerning his political stances, some of which may have been written by us, but very little has really been revealed about him as the man behind the political persona and rhetoric. There are a few facts that can be gleaned from the bio on his official website (for instance, his educational background leading up to his Ph.D in clinical psychology; three years in the USAF, including a tour in Vietnam; his various licenses, credentials, seats on various commissions and boards including the John Locke Foundation – things that we were mostly familiar with), but there was one little factoid mentioned in his profile on the News & Observer’s Under the Dome web site that caught our attention:

Trivia: Although he is a Baptist, he owns The Church of the Little Flower, a Catholic church in Sodom, N.C.

After reading that, we had no choice – we had to check it out for ourselves. We gassed up the car with some high-quality petroleum product (for $2.99/gal, it had to be good) and set the controls for the heart of Madison County. Join us after the jump for details of our recent journey to Sodom (not to mention the complete absence of any obvious jokes that can be made about a Catholic church located in a town called Sodom).

Sodom Laurel (it’s still called “Sodom” by the locals; letters and packages need to be addressed to nearby Hot Springs) is a small and historically rich community located an hour’s curvy drive – roughly 35 miles – from Asheville. I can understand why folks who live in secluded areas only make it into town once in a while to stock up on necessary goods – I wouldn’t want to make that drive every day, especially in the wintertime, when I’m almost certain that Sodom Laurel could be one good ice storm away from being cut off from the rest of the world. There is a very strong sense of community there, where people pitch in and help those who are less fortunate, where everyone’s keeping an eye on each other – something that only exists in scattered pockets in the more urban areas, and something that seems to have gone by the wayside once life became more workaday.

As we got closer to Hot Springs on 25/70, we weren’t entirely sure if we had gone too far and missed that right turn that we were supposed to keep our eyes open for (it was only called “NC-1319″ on Google Earth, and like a fool I’d even written down “NC-1316″ on the sheet of notebook paper I used for directions. Oops.), but once we got to the intersection where 25/70 cuts left at the Laurel River, we stopped in at the Steady Eddy coffeehouse for a quick cup of Joe and a little bit of clarification from our very helpful and friendly macramé-clad barista, who expanded upon our shaky, computer-generated directions. (If you’re one of those corporate conspiracy theory buffs who thinks that Google knows everything about everyone and everywhere, you can rest easy. They don’t know everything.)

As we continued onto Highway 208 (not the Google-specified 25/70), we stood caffeinated and corrected, and after what seemed to be at least 761 twists and turns that at one point had Gordon offering his kingdom for a Dramamine tablet, we arrived at Chandler Cove Road. As we drove, we weren’t able to see any churches at all. We wound up at the end of that road, where we saw a large and well-kept private cemetery where all of the headstones – some dating back to the 1800s – had fresh flowers placed by them. As we stood outside the car trying to get our bearings straight, a large group of people approached us on ATVs and dirt bikes, all waving “hello” as they veered off to the right up a steep dirt road that I wasn’t about to attempt in my Saturn. (Thank goodness they were friendly – I guess you could chalk it up to an unfortunate prejudgment on my part but my initial thought was that they were members of some local survivalist militia who’d been off the grid since Y2K.)

Heading back the way we came, we tried a right turn onto an unassuming state-designated road that I swear looked like someone’s driveway, reaching another dead end about a quarter-mile away.

Faced with the reality that we may never actually find the place, we turned around and headed back to the beginning of Chandler Cove, only to run right into it. There it was, as clear as daylight – The Church of the Little Flower. It was obscured by a blind curve as we headed onto Chandler Cove, and unless I had happened to look in the rear-view mirror at precisely the right time, there wouldn’t have been any way for me to see it during our initial approach. Coming back the other way, though, it was impossible to miss.

Excited, we pulled the car over and hopped out, making our way up a steep stone and railroad tie stairway into a small courtyard at the back of the church. There were windows open, which gave us the impression that there was someone there recently. We peeked inside one of those windows and saw that the inside of the church was bathed in a yellowish light from the stained glass. We walked around to the front of the church to be greeted by a rather intimidating and uninviting sight – a huge hornet’s nest that was abandoned by its original inhabitants. For a second I was thinking that knowing our luck the nest would have been full of genetically engineered insects trained to sense and attack Socialist intruders, but that quickly went away upon closer inspection.

We didn’t think to check whether or not the front door was locked. Personally, I wasn’t sure whether we were crossing some sort of line or not at that point. After getting a few pictures, we were thinking that it was probably time to head back to Asheville. After we made our way back down the stairs to the car, we noticed a group of locals walking towards us. We said hello and introduced ourselves. One of them, an extremely friendly fellow named Vince, said that he was taking a couple of his friends up to see the church and invited us along for a brief tour. It turned out that he was well-versed in the history of the area and of the church, and he shared a few things with us.

As the story goes, Mumpower purchased the forty-acre plot that The Church of the Little Flower was built upon approximately thirteen years ago. According to property records, the church itself was built in 1965, but judging from the look of the building I’d say it was a good sight older than that – 1925 would be closer to the truth, possibly even earlier. The initial plan was for Little Flower to be converted into a place to stay for weekend getaways, but his grandfather, a Baptist minister, insisted that he keep it consecrated, and that it should remain a house of God. He then began restoration, spending a good deal of time and money fixing the place up. He has let many different people use the Church and the surrounding property for free – up until recently there were bi-weekly services held in the church, and a troop of local Boy Scouts have used the surrounding acreage for camping trips.

Many things were said about Mumpower’s character during our visit, and while many folks in the area don’t necessarily see eye-to-eye with him politically, they say he’s a good man with a good heart. They love him up there.

They were really happy to see us as well – in fact, Vince invited us back to his place for a cup of coffee – we respectfully declined due to time constraints, but hopefully we’ll be able to take them up on the offer someday. With that, he bid us goodbye, but not before giving each of us a great big bear hug.

All in all, the journey up to Sodom was worth it. Not only were we privy to some gorgeous Fall colors on one of the last warm Saturdays we’ll likely have for a while, but we were very fortunate to have a small group of complete strangers welcome us into their community, show us around a little and tell us a couple of stories. If not for making their acquaintances, we would have had little to show for the journey, save for a few pictures.

Most importantly, we were able to catch a brief glimpse into a side of Carl Mumpower that tends to get overlooked by the local media, his many detractors, and possibly even a few of his many supporters – the human side.

We can respect that.