Local News

CLAY COUNTY — Rivalry has memory that lasts generations. Some Clay County stories only live in memory — like the time Lineville students left dynamite on the Ashland principal's lawn. It shook the foundation of his house and jolted him out of bed — along with the rest of the neighborhood.

Most say the younger stories have cooled off in recent years.

But the Ashland-Lineville rivalry is alive and well — and a new boundary that splits the district may affect how future generations see and live the competition.

School superintendents already have their plates full, but as leader of the district that oversees both Clay County and Lineville high schools, Ben Griffin has an extra challenge.

“Last year I spent the first half on Ashland's side and the second half on Lineville's side,” he said, referring to Clay Bowls past. “You try to be neutral, because there are real deep feelings among the residents.”

Despite serious loyalties — and even dangerous pranks — most Clay County residents see the game as pure fun.

In 2003, federal Judge C. Lynwood Smith, Jr. finalized the ruling that redistricted Clay County. That decision shut down two of the county's four schools — Bibb Graves and Mellow Valley- leaving just Lineville and Clay County schools. In 2002, the previous school board voted to close schools in order to cancel out an $800,000 budget deficit. It was that board that actually drew the new district line.

The change has caused much debate within the community since the original proposal surfaced in 2002. Students, teachers, community members and the present school board under Griffin petitioned the court to reject the old school board's plan in order to save the schools, but Judge Smith eventually ruled to uphold the decision.

Griffin laid out a map of the county in the school district's boardroom on Ashland's central square. Leaning over it, his finger traced a thick red line that runs midway through the five or so miles that split the two towns.

He pointed to a road that runs right along it, then dips to one side and crosses over. “Here's a situation where this side goes to Ashland, and that side goes to Lineville. This little church here, their congregation is going to be about 50-50.”

Griffin said that's the way it used to be all over the county, since people basically went where they wanted before the district line was drawn. He and his father grew up on that midway point — although he played for and taught at Lineville.

“When I was in ninth grade, I snuck over to Ashland with a little spreader, and took turnip green seeds and spelled LHS out on their field,” he said. “About six months later, around their Spring Jamboree, you could look out there and you could make out that 'LHS' there on the field.”

Like seeds sprouting “LHS” from the field, the district line now pops out from Clay County's map. The line runs right over the spot where Griffin's childhood home stands. Among 10 aunts and uncles, half went to either school — depending on which bridge was washed out and for how long.

From their living room couch, Paula Yates and her family also get a view of both sides of the borderline. They have an Ashland address and a Lineville telephone number. “In other words if — Lord forbid — if I have to call the cops, they don't know which one to send, because I'm right dead smack on the line,” Yates said. “And because of that, I get to see both sides.”

Yates is among the residents who feel that football still colors life both on and off the field — and can create a divide that leaks into both communities and becomes a value that Clay County's young people absorb.

“Personally I think it's extreme,” she said. “What gets me the most is how harsh the parents are about it.”

Yates explained that kids are raised from birth to be against the other side. Even though the competition can be lighthearted, it's also a way of life — like the stories that last generations.

“You're not going to see a bunch of Lineville kids dressed in their uniforms go over to McDonald's in Ashland, because it's going to start a fight. That has happened before.” Yates's niece, Lyndsey Suggs, agreed that anyone wearing Lineville's black and red colors into Ashland during game week was asking for a fight.

Yates felt this unrelenting stress on football — on who's in and who's out — was a value she did not want her children to live by. Although her son played for Ashland through fifth grade, he opted not to play in high school.

“He caught a lot of flak,” she said. “I just don't have any respect for football anymore. I seen what it did to my son, and they treated my son like an outsider because he wouldn't play football. If they're going to treat their students like that — because they won't play their sport — then I don't want my child in their school.”

So she pulled her kids out of the district altogether. Now they attend a Christian school.

The competitive spirit has been alive much longer than the district line, and Yates's experiences with the Clay County rivalry are not just because of her home's location on top of it. But the thick red line through Clay County's map is a reminder of how strong a divide can be — strong enough to squeeze some residents right out of it.

And it brings up questions.

How will the line change Clay County's rivalry? Griffin said the whole county used to be mixed. Will they grow more distinct, now that two sides are drawn on the land? Maybe it won't matter at all. That is what most people on the borderline now say.

Yet already the balance of the game has shifted. Ashland's 45-7 victory last Friday night was an example of how. The district line changed enrollment numbers at the schools. Ashland is now in the AHSAA's 3A division, while Lineville plays in the smaller 2A.

According to Brother Dan Keith, chaplain at Clay County Hospital and a member of Lineville's Band Booster Club, Lineville is not getting more kids, while Ashland continues to grow. “When there's a 40 or 50 point spread, it's not a game anymore,” he said. “You may be seeing the beginning of the end.”