Spoonville: The Forgotten Civil War Fight Near Hollywood, Arkansas

                Let's be honest. Most folks have never heard of Spoonville.

                In fact, if you pull out a modern map, you probably won’t find it at all. The small community once stood near the present-day community of Hollywood (Clark County), along what is now Highway 26. Today, there’s little to remind travelers that this quiet corner of Arkansas was once the scene of a Civil War skirmish. But on April 2, 1864, Spoonville found itself caught in the middle of one of the most important military campaigns ever fought in the state.

                The fighting that took place there is commonly known as the Skirmish at Terre Noire Creek. While it wasn’t a major battle like Pea Ridge or Prairie Grove, it was an important part of the Camden Expedition, a Union campaign that would ultimately end in failure.

                The story begins with Union Major General Frederick Steele, who had left Little Rock with nearly 8,500 soldiers. His mission was to move south and join another Union army in Louisiana as part of a larger effort to capture the Confederate stronghold at Shreveport. His route carried him through Arkadelphia and into Clark County.

                Confederate commanders knew they could not easily defeat Steele's larger force in a traditional battle. Instead, they chose a different strategy. They would strike when they had the opportunity, slow the Union advance, and force Steele's army to fight for every mile of ground.

                That strategy brought the two sides together near Spoonville.

                As Steele's army moved west, a massive supply train followed behind. More than 200 wagons stretched along the road, carrying food, ammunition, medical supplies, and other equipment the soldiers depended on. Confederate Brigadier General Joseph O. Shelby saw an opportunity and ordered his cavalry to attack.

                The roads through this part of Arkansas were already difficult to travel. Spring rains had turned many stretches into deep mud, slowing the movement of soldiers, horses, artillery, and wagons. Every delay gave Confederate forces another chance to strike, making the journey itself almost as challenging as the fighting.

                Throughout the day, Shelby's men launched repeated attacks against the wagon train near Terre Noire Creek. Union soldiers quickly formed defensive positions around the wagons while artillery opened fire from nearby high ground. The Confederates charged again and again, hoping to capture the valuable supplies, but the Union troops held their ground.

                By the end of the fighting, Steele's wagon train remained intact, allowing the army to continue its march toward Camden. Although neither side suffered the staggering casualties seen in some of the war's larger battles, the skirmish accomplished what Confederate leaders hoped it would do. It slowed Steele's advance and forced his army to spend valuable time and resources defending itself.

                The fighting at Spoonville was only one chapter in a much larger story. Within days, Union forces would suffer costly defeats at Poison Spring and Marks' Mills before eventually retreating back toward Little Rock. The constant attacks along the route, including the fight at Spoonville, played an important role in weakening Steele's campaign.

                Today, there is little to suggest that soldiers once fought across these quiet hills and creek bottoms. People drive through Hollywood every day without realizing they are passing near the site of a Civil War battlefield.

                One of the things I enjoy most about researching and writing about Arkansas history is discovering places like Spoonville. They will never appear in history books or attract crowds of visitors, but they remind us that history was not made only on famous battlefields. 

                These forgotten stories remind us that no matter how small the place, every corner of the Natural State has a story worth remembering and sharing. That’s what makes Arkansas history so fascinating, and it’s why I continue searching for the people, places, and events that helped shape the state we call home.

The Arkansas Factory That Helped Keep America on Time

                There was a time when just about every household in America had a Timex watch somewhere in the house. They were simple, affordable, and about as dependable as anything you could buy. As the old slogan promised, they could "take a licking and keep on ticking."

                What many Arkansans may not realize is that for more than fifty years, many of those famous watches began their journey in Little Rock (Pulaski County).

                Long before smartphones put clocks in our pockets, Timex operated one of the largest manufacturing plants in Arkansas. For thousands of families across central Arkansas, it was more than just a factory. It was where careers began, friendships were formed, and paychecks put food on the table.

                In July 1945, the United States Time Corporation, later known simply as Timex, opened its first Arkansas operation in downtown Little Rock. The company occupied the upper floor of the old Wrape Building at Capitol Avenue and Center Street, where workers assembled Ingersoll alarm clocks as America shifted from wartime production back to peacetime industry. Business grew quickly.

                By 1947, the company had relocated to a much larger facility on Crisp Drive, near what is now Clinton National Airport. It represented a different era in Arkansas history, a time when manufacturing plants provided steady work for thousands of families across the state.

                By the 1950s, Timex had become one of the best-known brands in America. Its television commercials became legendary. Timex watches were strapped to boat motors, frozen in blocks of ice, dropped, shaken, and subjected to all kinds of punishment, all to prove they could survive just about anything.

                But behind those famous advertisements were thousands of Arkansas workers quietly building the parts that made those watches possible.

                For many families, the Timex plant was more than a place to work. I know because my own family was one of them.

                When my mother graduated from high school in 1960, she left Bald Knob (White County) and moved to Little Rock, where she went to work for U.S. Time. Like so many young people starting out, she was beginning a new chapter in a new city with the future wide open in front of her.

                Over the years, she often talked about the friendships she made there. Long shifts and assembly lines have a way of bringing people together, and many of those friendships are still going strong more than sixty years later.

                One of her supervisors was a man named Darrell Barnett. He and his wife, Phyllis, became close family friends, and in time, I would be named after him.

                For decades, the Little Rock factory remained one of Timex's most important facilities. At its peak, thousands of Arkansans walked through its doors every day. Those jobs helped pay mortgages, raise families, and support communities throughout central Arkansas.

                As the years passed, production expanded beyond watches to include cameras, electronic components, and other consumer products.

                But like so many American manufacturing stories, change eventually came.

                During the 1980s and 1990s, overseas competition reshaped the industry, and production gradually moved to places where labor costs were lower. Even so, the Little Rock plant remained remarkably productive.

                When the closure was announced in 2001, Arkansas workers were still producing watch cases and components for approximately twenty-two million watches each year, accounting for roughly eighty percent of Timex's worldwide production. Final assembly happened elsewhere, but in many ways the process of making time itself still started in Arkansas.

                When the factory closed in June 2001, it marked the end of much more than a business. For many people, it felt like the closing of an important chapter in Arkansas history, one measured in lunch breaks, shift whistles, friendships, and decades of honest work.

                Timex continued operating a distribution and service center in North Little Rock (Pulaski County) for several more years, but that facility also closed in 2017, bringing the company's Natural State story to an end.

                Today, it is easy to drive past the old factory without giving it a second thought. But for those who remember, the building still means something.

                It was where people met lifelong friends, started careers, raised families, and spent their working lives.

                And for some families, including mine, it remains something even more personal.

                It was where a young woman from Bald Knob started her first job in a new city, where friendships were formed that never faded, and where a supervisor named Darrell Barnett became part of our family's story in a way that continues to this day.

The Road That Helped Build Benton

                If you’ve lived in Benton (Saline County) very long, chances are you’ve driven down Military Road hundreds, if not thousands, of times. It’s one of those street names most of us rarely stop to think about. We know where it is and where it leads, but have you ever wondered how it got its name?

                The answer takes us back nearly 200 years to a time when Arkansas was still a rugged frontier.

                Long before Arkansas became the 25th state in 1836, a rough route known as the Southwest Trail cut across the territory. It was one of the busiest roads leading into Arkansas, carrying settlers, merchants, preachers, mail carriers, and adventurers searching for opportunity and a new beginning in the West.

                As more people poured into the region, the federal government recognized the need to improve the trail. In 1831, Congress approved funding to upgrade sections of the route, allowing the United States Army to transport troops, supplies, and mail between Missouri, Little Rock, and military posts farther southwest. From that point forward, it became known as the Military Road.

                The route passed directly through what would later become Benton. There were no traffic lights, restaurants, shopping centers, or subdivisions then. Instead, travelers found a small frontier settlement where they could rest for the night, repair wagons, purchase supplies, and prepare for the next leg of their journey.

                With so many people traveling the road, it quickly became vital to Benton’s early growth. Businesses emerged to serve those passing through, and the community slowly developed around this important transportation corridor. In many ways, Military Road helped put Benton on the map long before the arrival of modern highways.

                The road would take on a different role during the Civil War. Both Union and Confederate troops traveled portions of the route as armies moved across central Arkansas. What had once carried hopeful settlers and pioneers now carried soldiers marching toward one of the darkest chapters in American history.

                Just a short distance from the road stood the historic Shoppach House, built in 1853 and still recognized as the oldest surviving brick home in Saline County. During the Civil War, the home found itself at the center of events unfolding in Benton. In 1861, local residents gathered there to present a handmade Confederate flag to Company E of the First Arkansas Infantry as the soldiers prepared to leave for service in Virginia. Two years later, Union forces occupying Benton used the house as headquarters and officers' quarters. Its location near Military Road placed the Shoppach House along one of the primary routes used by troops moving through the area, making it a firsthand witness to the war as it passed through Saline County.

                As the years went by, railroads became the preferred means of travel, followed later by automobiles and modern highways. Much of the original Military Road either disappeared or was absorbed into newer roads and streets. In Benton, however, the name remained.

                That is one of the things I enjoy most about Arkansas history. Some of the best reminders of our past are hiding in plain sight. We pass them every day without realizing the stories they hold.

                The next time you find yourself driving down Military Road, picture what it might have looked like in the 1830s. Imagine wagons pulled by oxen, horseback riders carrying the mail, families heading west with everything they owned, and soldiers making their way across the Arkansas frontier. The pavement beneath your tires follows a route that has witnessed nearly two centuries of Arkansas history.

                Over the years, I have learned that the most interesting stories are not always found in famous landmarks, museums, or history books. Sometimes they are found along an ordinary street that most of us travel every day without giving it a second thought.

                Military Road is more than a name on a map or a street sign. It is a reminder of the people who came before us and of the route that helped shape Benton, Saline County, and Arkansas itself. The next time you drive that familiar stretch of pavement, remember that you are following a path that helped build our state long before the Natural State ever had its own star on the American flag.

The Forgotten Frequencies of Little Rock

                Radio once played a much bigger role in everyday life than it does today. Before streaming services, smartphones, and endless entertainment choices, people across the Natural State depended on local stations for music, news, companionship, and connection. Unfortunately, many of those stations have long since disappeared or changed beyond recognition, but for the people who grew up listening to them, their voices remain tied to certain moments in life.

                One of the most memorable frequencies in Little Rock radio history has been 102.9 FM. Older listeners remember when it was Q102, a station that carved out its own identity on the Little Rock airwaves during radio’s golden era. Like many stations of the time, it evolved as trends changed and the industry shifted. Over the years, 102.9 evolved into several different stations, including Kix 103 and KEZQ, before eventually becoming 102.9 K-Love — a name that should not be confused with the nationally recognized Christian radio network that later adopted the same moniker.

                For many Arkansans, K-Love became the soundtrack of daily life. It offered the softer side of radio with adult contemporary music, familiar personalities, and songs people could leave playing for hours at a time. It was the kind of station you heard while driving home from work, cleaning the house on a Saturday afternoon, or relaxing in the evening after a long day.

                By the 1990s and early 2000s, the radio industry itself was changing. Corporate consolidation began reshaping stations across the country. Playlists became tighter, formats became more calculated, and local programming slowly gave way to larger national strategies designed to compete in a rapidly changing media world.

                Eventually, 102.9 became NewsRadio KARN FM, replacing music with talk radio, news, and information programming. The songs disappeared, but another kind of tradition took their place.

                Of course, 102.9 was only one chapter in Little Rock’s rich radio history.

                The city was once filled with legendary stations and unforgettable personalities. Few carried more mystique than KAAY 1090 AM, “The Mighty 1090,” which I recently wrote about in a column that generated an overwhelming response from readers across Arkansas. KAAY was more than just a radio station. For many people, it was part of the culture itself.

                Then there was KSSN 96 FM, which became a country music institution for generations of Arkansans, myself included. Growing up, if you were a country music fan, KSSN was THE station. I can still remember hearing Bob Robbins in the mornings, Jay Smith during midday, Don Moore in the afternoons, and Gail Daniels at night. Their voices became as familiar as old friends.

                Listeners from the 1980s and 1990s also remember stations like KKYK 104 and Magic 105, both of which built loyal followings across central Arkansas. KKYK became known for its larger-than-life personalities, including the legendary Craig O’Neill, while Magic 105 had its own iconic voice in Tommy Smith. KKYK filled the airwaves with the rock and pop hits of the 1980s, while Magic 105 leaned more toward harder rock music that appealed to a different crowd of listeners. For many Arkansans, simply hearing the names of those stations is enough to unlock memories from another time.

                Other stations came and went, each leaving behind memories of call-in contests, morning shows, weather reports, and songs that can instantly transport listeners back to another place and time.

                That may be the most powerful thing about radio. A single song can bring back a summer vacation. A station jingle can transport someone straight back to their childhood bedroom. The sound of a familiar deejay’s voice can remind people exactly where they were and who they were with decades ago.

                Today, the radio industry looks very different. Many stations are centralized, playlists are carefully researched, and listeners now have thousands of entertainment choices available at the touch of a screen. Yet despite all the changes, there is still something uniquely special about local radio because it was never just about the music. It was about feeling like somebody behind the microphone understood your town, your community, and your everyday life.

                Maybe that is why these old stations continue to fascinate so many people all these years later. They were never simply frequencies on a dial. They were pieces of our state’s history. And though many of them have faded from the airwaves, their memories continue to broadcast in hearts and minds.