Founder of Storytelling Center Plots New Opportunities for His Charity

It’s 7:30 a.m. and Jimmy Neil Smith is sitting in a booth at an IHOP restaurant here. Dressed in a casual suit topped by a bolo tie, he is meeting two longtime friends, businessmen who teach a course together in entrepreneurship at East Tennessee State University. The three are getting together at this early hour so Mr. Smith can ask their advice about something that has been nagging at him: how he can get his nonprofit group to implement new ideas more quickly.

Mr. Smith’s organization — the International Storytelling Center, in nearby Jonesborough — has been blessed with success and a steady flow of ideas for using stories to enrich people’s lives. But with a staff of just nine full-time and four part-time workers, he can do only so much. Already, the storytelling center holds a popular annual festival in October (scheduled for October 7 through 9 this year), runs a 22-week “Teller in Residence” program showcasing a different performer each week, and helps other groups to develop their storytelling skills.

Mr. Smith, who works seven days a week as the center’s president, is frustrated that he is not accomplishing more.

Yet in his 32 years of promoting storytelling, he has helped put Jonesborough on the map and lit a spark that has spread the art around the country.

Native Son

Back in 1973, Jonesborough, the oldest town in Tennessee, was a backwater, with crumbling sidewalks and decaying buildings.

Mr. Smith, a Jonesborough native, was then a 25-year-old high-school journalism teacher who volunteered on a committee that was trying to plan events to attract tourists and help rebuild the local economy.

One day, as he rode with his students to a nearby town to print the school paper, the comedian Jerry Clower came on the radio, telling a story about hunting in Mississippi.

“We were laughing and having a great time,” Mr. Smith says. “And I said, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if we could bring storytelling to Jonesborough?’ The idea just kind of floated away and pulled me along.”

He presented his idea to his colleagues on the event-planning committee. “They said, ‘Why don’t you do it?’” he recalls. “So, without any manual, we rolled an old wagon into the shadow of the courthouse. We had 60 people in the audience.”

People loved the event, he says, and an annual tradition was born. Two years later, in 1975, the nonprofit National Storytelling Center, as it was then called, opened its doors.

As the years rolled by, the event grew large, and as it did, the town got spruced up, in part because of the tourists who came to the festival. The streets were repaved with bricks, Victorian buildings were restored, and telephone wires were buried underground to enhance the old-fashioned look. New restaurants and shops opened their doors. Mr. Smith served as Jonesborough’s mayor from 1978 to 1984.

These days, the annual festival brings 10,000 people to the town of 4,168 in early fall, when the surrounding Appalachian mountains are vivid with the changing leaves. The town sprouts giant, colorful tents that seat audiences of up to 1,600, who soak up stories from the likes of 87-year-old Kathryn Tucker Windham, who tells of her Southern childhood; Bill Harley, a raconteur and musician who has been nominated twice for a Grammy Award; Gayle Ross, who recounts her grandmother’s tales of the Cherokee Nation; and Bil Lepp, five-time winner of the West Virginia Liars Contest.

The storytelling center’s reach has stretched beyond its tiny hometown. It is a partner with the Smithsonian Institution’s Center for Education and Museum Studies, in Washington, through which Mr. Smith helps museum staffs use storytelling in their work. And the Library of Congress is archiving the storytelling center’s massive collection of stories, for future generations to experience.

This year, the National Trust for Historic Preservation listed Jonesborough as one of America’s Dozen Distinctive Destinations, citing the storytelling festival as one of its assets.

‘Things Keep Bubbling Up’

But on this morning at IHOP, Mr. Smith is frustrated. Since 2002, he has been trying to start a program called Stories for the Soul, which would create a storytelling channel on closed-circuit television networks in hospitals. “The stories would be about hope and promise and healing, but by everyday people,” he says.

He also wants to write a book about storytelling for families. He wants to use stories to teach kids about science. And a financial planner has asked him to create a program to help him and his colleagues use stories to sell their products.

The ideas just keep coming, says Mr. Smith.

“Things keep bubbling up, and I need to figure out how to take advantage of these opportunities,” he says. “People say, ‘Do just one thing at a time,’ but that’s not in my nature.”

Mr. Smith turns to his breakfast companions. Louis Gump and Andy Czuchry toss out a variety of ideas: Ask a storytelling-center board member to take charge of a project; find a business student who will map out the steps needed to start Stories for the Soul; hire a student for a part-time assistantship.

“You don’t have the luxury to do just one thing at a time,” agrees Mr. Gump. But he cautions Mr. Smith not to take on too much: “If you don’t have a plan, you’re like a fly that darts all over the place, wherever there’s honey.”

Mr. Czuchry says Mr. Smith’s problem is to be expected. “When you’re an entrepreneur, you’re going to be inundated with ideas — a lot of them out of the mainstream,” Mr. Czuchry says. “That is especially true when the topic is something as broad as storytelling.”

If the organization just used storytelling as entertainment and ran the festival every year, that would be a smooth operation, he says. “The challenge is, can we take storytelling and use it in other ways?” he asks. “When you do that, you have some very complex problems to solve. But if you do solve them, you can make a revolutionary step forward.”

Spreading the Word

Back in Jonesborough, just after 9 a.m., Mr. Smith climbs the carpeted stairs to his second-floor office in what was, in the 1800s, an inn. The cozy room, with a fireplace, rocking chair, and floor-length lace curtains, boasts an eclectic décor, including drums Mr. Smith and his wife brought back from their trips to South America.

From his windows, he can see the sparkling yellow clapboard storytelling theater, built two years ago. On his large desk, amid stacks of papers, books, and videos, sit four overripe bananas, his favorite snack. His computer is missing, out having a faster processor installed. The central air-conditioning is broken; Mr. Smith opens a door and a warm breeze floats in, bringing with it the chirping of songbirds and the distant sound of traffic.

He hunkers down for a conference call with members of a committee charged with setting policy for the festival’s sponsors. Mr. Smith wants to give the sponsors visibility without overcommercializing the festival. Sponsors’ signs are acceptable, he says, but “we want to guard against the big banner at the back of the tent.”

Last year, the storytelling center’s budget was $2.2-million, $500,000 of which was donated to build the theater. The rest comes from proceeds of the festival and the Teller in Residence program.

At 10:30, Mr. Smith returns to Johnson City to meet with a committee that wants to use storytelling to encourage bequests and other types of planned gifts for various charities in the community. Committee members want to dispel the notion that only people with high profiles make planned gifts, so they are inviting 25 to 30 prospective donors to come listen to the stories of past donors, in hopes that they will inspire them to offer support.

Mr. Smith’s work often calls him to travel around the country. He recently returned from a trip to Lincoln, Neb., as part of his efforts to promote Stories for the Soul, and in a few days, he is heading to Mobile, Ala., where he has been invited to talk at a conference of the Southern Growth Policies Board, which will use storytelling to discuss ways to create prosperity in the rural South.

“I’m only speaking for five minutes,” he says. But he is making the trip because the conference will explore several issues related to another project he is pursuing, called Story America.

The concept, he says, is to help people who live in poor neighborhoods reflect on where they’ve been and where they’re going, by telling “now” stories about their present-day communities and then “new” stories — stories they would like to tell about themselves 10 years hence. Some people call this “scenario planning,” he says, and it can become a first step to the storytellers’ building better lives.

Building Relationships

After the planned-giving meeting breaks up, Mr. Smith grabs lunch and arrives at the Johnson City Barnes & Noble, where he and Susan O’Connor, the storytelling center’s director of programs, will meet with the store manager, Jennifer Starnes, about taking over the sale of books and CD’s at the festival — a deal that ultimately fails to resolve in time for this year’s festival.

Mr. Smith likes to draw independent contractors into the storytelling center’s work. “I’m big on building relationships you sustain over time and how that enhances efficiency,” he says. “People have been with us over 20 years. Makes it like a family that works well together.”

Back in Jonesborough, at 1:45 p.m., Mr. Smith drops in at his office, hoping his computer is back and the air-conditioner is on, but he is disappointed on both counts. He feels lost without e-mail, which he uses as much as the telephone.

Today’s Teller in Residence performance — featuring Peninnah Schram, who recounts Jewish folk tales — begins at 2 p.m. Tellers, who each give daily afternoon performances, come from all walks of life, and many have other jobs, says Mr. Smith. Ms. Schram is an associate professor of speech and drama at Yeshiva University, in New York.

One of Mr. Smith’s favorite storytellers — and still the “icon” of the festival, he says — was the late Ray Hicks.

“He was 6-feet, 7-inches tall, a true mountain man,” recalls Mr. Smith. “He was born on the slopes of Beach Mountain in western North Carolina, in his father and mother’s home, and never left that home until he died. Most of those years, the house had no running water or electricity.”

Mr. Hicks’s stories were handed down from Scotland, Ireland, and England over many generations, Mr. Smith says. Many of them were “Jack tales.”

“We all know a Jack tale,” he says. “‘Jack and the Beanstalk.’ But there’s a whole series of Jack tales that he learned sitting on his grandfather’s knee.”

In one of Mr. Hicks’s tales, Mr. Smith says, Jack caught Death and hung it in a sack from a tree. With Death unable to do its work, nobody could die — which turns out to be an alarming prospect for the sick and aged. “Ray always thought of himself as Jack,” says Mr. Smith. “Jack was a clever mountain man who could outwit the devil, outwit the giants.”

Learning to Let Go

Mr. Smith doesn’t have time to attend all of the Teller in Residence programs, but this afternoon he introduces Ms. Schram. About a half hour after her performance begins, he ducks out and heads back to his office.

He settles in a downstairs parlor with his assistant, Sheila Houser, to plan his schedule. Their conversation turns to a recent Nascar fund-raising event at Bristol Motor Speedway, a sold-out event that netted $12,000. Darrell Waltrip and Junior Johnson, two race-car drivers, told stories about their Winston Cup championships in the 1980s. “Darrell Waltrip is a natural-born storyteller,” Mr. Smith says, “and Junior Johnson was his straight man.”

It was the first of what Mr. Smith hopes will be an annual event — but next year, he says, he thinks he can make twice as much money: “We’ll be smarter about sponsorships and increase the ticket price.”

Just past 4 p.m., Mr. Smith sits for a coaching session with Jeff Brunson.

Mr. Brunson has been his leadership coach for about two years now. “He did some free work for me, and got me sucked in,” says Mr. Smith. “I want to learn more about myself. I want to be better.”

Today they go over the results from a personality profile test Mr. Smith took. The test shows, among other things, that Mr. Smith is a visionary and an objective thinker, but he needs to get other people to carry out his ideas. “You need to set up clear expectations upfront, then get out of the way,” says Mr. Brunson.

Mr. Smith, 58, plans to continue heading the organization for many years, but he has his eye on a day down the road when he will need to hand the reins to someone else.

“I want to build an infrastructure and staff as I begin to phase out and change my relationship with the organization in 10 or 12 years or whatever,” he says.

It’s hard for him to let go, he says. “How can I turn the festival over to Susan and not worry about it?” he asks. “I’m tempted to be tinkering with it.”

Soon it’s nearly 6 p.m., Mr. Smith’s usual quitting time. But tonight he is expecting a couple from a nearby town for dinner. He would like to hire the wife to implement some of the center’s programs.

He gives the couple a tour of the headquarters, including the room that he would turn into a large office for her. Right now it is filled with supplies and stacks of paper. “Pile, don’t file,” jokes Mr. Smith about his organizing philosophy.

Over dinner at a nearby restaurant, the candidate’s husband asks Mr. Smith if he is proud of all that he has accomplished.

“I can’t sit back and celebrate,” he replies. “I move on to the next challenge. I do look back sometimes and marvel at how far we’ve come.” But then, he says, he starts thinking about tomorrow, and all the work he has to do.

After they part company, around 8:30 p.m., Mr. Smith returns to the office one more time. He loves to work when the phone isn’t ringing and nobody else is around, he says. But he won’t be there long. He needs to get home, because at 5 the next morning, as every morning, he will get up, have coffee, read the paper with his wife, and begin another long day.

But working seven-day weeks doesn’t dampen his spirit. Quite the contrary, he says: “I get chills when I think what storytelling can do. And the older I get, the more passionate I feel about it.”