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Fountain Hill’s Heap of Scraps By K. Brad Barfield The history of a small town is rarely a clean, linear narrative bound in leather and shelved for display. More often, it survives as what Frank E. Denson once called a scrapbook—a loose assembly of polygenetic bits and pieces, stitched together by memory, necessity, and stubborn care. Nowhere is this truer than in Fountain Hill, where history did not arrive fully formed, but was salvaged, page by page, from misunderstanding, illness, and urgency