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Kttjj ui«, or “Ilie KDn" as the natives call it, Is much Uke other Southern- hamlets. But then again, it. has its own piquantness.
The nnnw» itself is interesting to note.
In the late 1900s the men ot the community built tar kilns an the banks of the Jordan River. The men would haul «hnnpi and logs to the edge oI the river, bury them and set them afire. The pitch would run off into the huge kettles bdlt to catch the molten liquid as U flowed down the ai the river. Residents of the community sold the pitch they didn't use. The residue charcoal of the buried ^111111^ was salvaged, shipped to the Gulf Coast and so'd there.
So. what else about Kiln?
Since there are few written records about the area, we have to depend on the inhabitants' memories for a brief history.
Hie piooeer families who first settled in the Kiln area were probably looking for virgin timber which was abundant in this region. It is believed they arrived in the mid-19th century.
TTie settlement grew and several small lumber ^mpanlM were established.
MANY of the residents will tell you that The KQn used to be “quite a fashionable resort area—even more 90 than Bay St Louis, Biloxi, Gulfport and Pass Christian.” There were dance h«n« where name bands played every Saturday night, elegant hotels, many friendly gatherings and various sort: of entertainment during the warm months when the “summer” people were at their i cottages.
"That was oar heyday, I suppose.” reminisces John Mauffray, a lifelong resident of Kiln. “But that was a long time' ago and there’s not too many of us who remember those days.”
Probably the height of Kiln’s prosperity came during the days of the Edward Heins Lumber Co. The era began in 1912 and lasted until the early 193th.
Joseph Rod die. Uncle Joe to everyone, seems to be the expert on this particular subject. According to Uncle Joe. who still lives in one of the old company houses. Edward Heins put a lot of money into The Kiln.
Heins came in and bought out several smaller lumber companies. He bought just about all the yellow pine there was in the southwestern part of the state.
Uncle Joe, a native of Arkansas, was hired by Heins in 1912 and sent to The Kfln to supervise the construction of the huge sawmill operations. Company homes were built. Hotels, a meat market, drugstore, general store, hospital, theater, and barber shop sprang up. And in time approximately 2,000 people had invaded the community.
“Heins spent over J1 million initially on the business. We had our own railroad to bring timber from all over Hancock County, as well as from neighboring Pike and Lamar counties. We had our own barges to ship the cut lumber down the river to the coast," recalls
UDDC JUC.	a.w*
(Mauffray points out that at that Hnw the lumber was sold to the growing West Coast and to Latin America.
DIXIE, March 29, 1770
“Yes sir, thU place was ahead of all the neighboring towns. What with all the salesmen, visitors and workers, we had to keep up with the times. And we did. 1 knew because I helped build lt all,” continued Uncle Joe.
ACROSS the narrow road from Uncle Joe’s house is an open area “where the grounds used to be something Uke Audubon Park in New Orleans. That’s how Mr. Heins liked things—pretty and neat"
That same narrow road still leads to the old sawmill site on the Jordan River. One can still see the huge con* crete foundation and some walls half hidden by brush and undergrowth. Even the old concrete payroll vault still stands in the middle of a clearing. • ________ ____
Now the Sam Whitfield Umber Co. makes use of the site. They load barges with pulpwood there to be sent to Moss Point and other ports along the Coast.
The prosperous period came to an end with the depression and the depleted forest
The sawmill folded. The workers were forced to leave in search of work. Company businesses closed. Houses were sold to the natives for a pittance.
Only the permanent residents of Kiln remained. And they still stay on. Why?
Mauffray answered the question quite simply:
“Because we like it here. That's a good enough reasoo, isn’t it? The serenity here is something you don’t come by easily these days. We’re in a good location. We’re not far from the Coast and
places like Picayune where many of us work.”
And so the community still exists. There’s a new, modern post office, a supermarket, gas statioo, churches schools.
One of the churches, Annunciation Catholic Church, dates back to 1888. The parish it serves was organized in 1847. Down the road from this church is the Annunciation School. And seven miles away is the Hancock North Central High.
ITie Kiln may not appeal to everyone. But the people who live there like it and many families from r^ni«nnn^ go back there every year to spend warm, summer days (and some winter weekends) at their cottages on the Jordan.
*	•	——
Hancock
County
streams
During the hey-day and hum-drum when the Works Progress Administration of the Franklin Delano Roosevelt leadership attempted to find honest work for honest pay, a History of Hancock County was published. The history was compiled by the WPA and in cooperation with the Hancock Chamber of Commerce.
Under the heading WATERSHEDS, the history relates some interesting information on names given several streams which flow through our county and eventually empty into the Gulf stream.
Pearl River flows into the Mississippi Sound, was said to be so named by Indians who supposedly found pearls in the water.
Wolf River flows across the northeast part of the county for some 20 miles and empties into the Bay of St. Louis. “Wolves roamed these woods in the early days and cattle owners who lived in the vicinity (wolf River) dug pits or wolf traps baited them with beef heads and thus captured many wolves.”
Mike River, named for Michael Beck, a pioneer landowner. This stream empties into Pearl River.
Bayou LaCroix, translated “The Cross" empties into the Jourdan. No record was given as to why the stream was so named.
Rotten Bayou flows south and empties into the Jourdan. The Indian name “Ban-shawah" means decayed stream. It is reported the stream was tainted with putrid matter and foul-anelling refuse from Indian butchery stations.
Jourdan River, named for early land owners empties into the Bay of St. Louis and is navigable for 24 miles with small boats.