09/21/2025
The Mountain View Hotel — Gatlinburg’s First Great Gathering Place
Before more than 20 million people came here every year… before Parkway was lined with attractions and busy sidewalks… Gatlinburg was just a small mountain town, tucked beneath the Smokies, where life moved a little slower and the mountains were the biggest thing on the horizon. And in the middle of it all stood the Mountain View Hotel.
The Mountain View wasn’t just a hotel. It was the kind of place where people lingered—to sit on the porch, share a meal in the kitchen, or settle by the fire. A place where the air smelled like fresh pie and the sound of laughter drifted through the lobby doors. For decades, it was Gatlinburg’s heart.
It all began with timber man Andy Huff. In 1916, Huff opened a small boarding house for his lumber workers. It was practical—roof, bed, and meal—but Huff believed this quiet mountain town would one day draw visitors not for its wood, but for its beauty.
By 1919, he was expanding his boarding house, and by 1924, it had become a three-story, 100-room hotel, complete with broad porches and mountain views.
When you walked into the Mountain View, you found a wide wooden lobby, warmed by a massive stone fireplace. On cold mornings, the smell of burning wood mixed with the aroma of coffee drifting in from the kitchen. Rocking chairs lined the walls, checkerboards waited on small tables—and off to the left, the front desk greeted travelers from valleys and cities alike.
Upstairs, the guest rooms were small by today’s standards, but welcoming and full of quiet charm. Each one had a window that opened to the Smokies. In the wintertime, you could sit by that window and watch the snow falling gently on the trees beyond. In the summertime, you’d open it wide and let the breeze blow through, filling the little room with the scent of pine and mountain air.
But the favorite spot wasn’t inside. It was out front.
The Mountain View’s wide stone porch stretched the entire length of the building, lined with rocking chairs that faced the street a wide green lawn where children played and families rested beneath the trees. On summer afternoons, or rainy mountain mornings, guests would sit for hours in those chairs, watching the world wander by.
Guests could rent horses from out front and ride those trails all afternoon, winding their way along the ridge behind town. The same ridge where today, the Baskins Creek Bypass cuts through the hills. The trail’s gone now, replaced by a road, but the mountain remembers.
But the real story of the Mountain View wasn’t just about where you stayed. It was about who you met along the way.
The kitchen was the heartbeat of the hotel. And in that kitchen stood a big round table—wide enough to seat a dozen people, and somehow always full.
That table wasn’t just for the kitchen crew. It was where policemen sat down for a bite between shifts. Where firemen stopped by to catch up on the day’s stories. Where the maintenance men and bellhops and waitresses all gathered like family, helping themselves to a plate of whatever was hot off the stove.
And oh, what came out of that kitchen. Homemade pies that filled the halls with cinnamon and apples. Rolls so soft and buttery, folks swore they’d never tasted anything better. Three meals a day, every day.
Breakfast and lunch were warm, casual, and filling. But when dinner rolled around, the dining room took on a little extra shine. The staff changed clothes for the evening meal. They traded their work clothes for hand-woven green skirts and neat blouses. Dinner wasn’t fancy—but it felt special. Like a Sunday supper, even on a Tuesday night.
And the people who worked there weren’t just coworkers. They were family.
So close, in fact, that long after the Mountain View closed, they gathered once a year at Greenbrier to hold a reunion. They came to laugh, to share old stories, and to remember what it felt like to be part of something bigger than themselves. That kind of love doesn’t fade with time.
In 1984, the Mountain View Hotel was placed on the National Register of Historic Places.
As one person remembers, a crowd gathered outside the hotel late that night, standing beneath the porch lights and waiting for midnight. Because at midnight, it would become official—the Mountain View Hotel would be added to the National Register.
When the clock struck twelve, they hugged, they laughed, and they believed the Mountain View had been saved.
But time has a way of changing things.
In 1993, despite its place on the Register, the Mountain View was torn down. The building was gone. But the stories were not.
If you stop across the street from where Ole Red stands, that’s where the Mountain View Hotel once stood. Maybe not in bricks and boards anymore, but still right there in the heart of Gatlinburg.
And if you walk along that stretch of town on a quiet morning, you might still feel it. You might hear the echo of footsteps on wooden floors that aren’t there anymore. You might smell rolls baking somewhere just beyond reach. And if you stop long enough, you might hear the creak of a rocking chair on a wide stone porch, waiting for someone to sit down again.
The Mountain View Hotel was more than just a building. It was a gathering place. It was home. And for the people who knew it, it still is—maybe not in bricks and boards anymore, but still right there in the heart of Gatlinburg.
Gatlinburg Roots | History, Culture & Heritage
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