by D M Barrett
“Are you applying that verse to me or yourself?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
“Both,” the preacher remarked before stuffing his mouth with a country ham biscuit.
* **
When Preacher Mann opened the door to Scott’s Apothecary for Nurse Bilbrey, the couple was immediately met by Sheriff Hankins. He had a stern look upon his face.
“What’s the problem?” the preacher inquired.
“There’s an old quarry west of town at the foot of the Cookeville side of Brotherton Mountain. It has been abandoned for decades. Johnson Construction used it to upgrade Highway 70 and the Tennessee Central tracks from Crossville to Watertown,” Sheriff Hankins said.
“I know the location exactly,” Nurse Bilbrey added.
“The Tennessee Central trains, both freight and passenger, have to slow down for an ‘S’ curve at that location. Since this depression began, hobos hop trains there. For years Johnson’s Quarry has been a resting place for them or a ‘Hobo Jungle’ as it’s called,” Sheriff Hankins continued.
“Who owns the property?” the preacher inquired.
“It’s abandoned. Putnam County has tried to sell it for back taxes but they can’t get a single bid,” the sheriff responded.
“What’s happened there that brings us to Dr. Whitman’s clinic?” Preacher Mann asked.
“The railroad sent some thugs to clear out the half dozen hobos last night. They were beaten, kicked, and told that they’d be killed if they were still there tonight,” the sheriff reported.
“What’s Tennessee Central’s authority to clear Johnson’s Quarry?” the preacher queried.
“None, they haven’t bought it. I checked with the county this morning. The tracks are 150 feet to the left of the quarry. It sits another 100 feet past the highway and against Brotherton Mountain,” Sheriff Hankins said.
“You’re right. It is 500 feet or more from the railroad right of way,” Nurse Bilbrey added.
“What goes on there, other than beatings?” the preacher asked.
“It’s a resting point for hobos. In the early days of the depression, young folks hopped freight trains and went from place-to-place trying to find work. It has a small spring for a water supply. It’s enclosed on three sides by rock and the entrance is protected by trees and brush,” the sheriff replied.
“Why do you let it exist? Why don’t you cordon it off?” Preacher Mann inquired.
“The hobos have been good about self-policing the quarry. They wash clothes before looking for jobs in Cookeville or going east. They share food and information. They don’t beg or steal from locals. It keeps them from being on the streets of Cookeville, Ferguson, and Crossville,” Sheriff Hankins explained.
“Let us see the victims,” Nurse Bilbrey said as Dr. Whitman approached.
“There’s not much to see. There were five old men beaten by the railroad detectives. I released three after minimal treatment of their cuts and bruises,” Dr. Whitman remarked.
“What about the other two men?” Nurse Bilbrey questioned.
“One has a broken left arm and the other one has some internal injuries. I kept them both here for observation,” Dr. Whitman explained.
“What do you expect from us?” Preacher Mann inquired.
“I need you to speak with that station manager in Knoxville. He needs to call off his railroad dicks and leave the poor fellows alone,” Sheriff Hankins said.
“Absolutely,” Nurse Bilbrey said.
“‘Railroad dick’ is a slang term for detective or policeman, ma’am,” Sheriff Hankins said apologetically.
“It won’t work. They will say the hobos got in a fight and blamed it on the railroad,” the preacher opined.
“Tom, what do you recommend?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
“I need you to go to Cookeville with Deputy Thomas Kelly. Take this $100 bill and buy Johnson’s Quarry for Community Church. Sheriff Hankins will make the appropriate call,” Preacher Mann explained.
“What do you want us to do?” Sheriff Hankins inquired.
“How many deputies do you have available?” the preacher asked.
“Without out Tom Kelly, I’ve got four, plus myself,” the sheriff reported.
“Can you deputize Louis Barrett and Jack Wright?” Preacher Mann asked.
“No problem. Why?” Sheriff Hankins asked with a confused look.
“We are going to dress up like hobos and spend the night at Johnson’s Quarry in the place of Dr. Whitman’s patients. When the railroad dicks show up to beat the hobos, we’ll arrest them,” Preacher Mann responded.
“Do you need to be deputized?” the sheriff asked.
“I’m the caretaker of the property. I can defend the property against trespassers. Other than deadly force, I can use any force necessary to neutralize the threat. I’ll authorize the arrest of the felons that you and your deputies apprehend in the commission of their crimes,” Preacher Mann instructed.
“What time do we want to be there?” Sheriff Hankins asked.
“About an hour before dark so we can have some hobo stew cooked on an open fire,” the preacher replied.
“Who’s going to cook the stew?” Nurse Bilbrey asked.
“Deputy Jack Wright and he’s furnishing the beans and wieners,” Preacher Mann said with a chuckle.
“I’ll tell him to bring some potatoes, onions, and green peppers to go in it, too,” the sheriff responded.
“Sheriff Hankins, I didn’t realize you could cook,” Nurse Bilbrey said with astonishment.
“It’s less grief than having a wife,” the sheriff opined.
“Don’t say a word, Tom Mann,” Nurse Bilbrey said with a stern look.
“Yes, dear,” the preacher replied.
* **
Sheriff Hankins transported the eight men in two patrol cars to Johnson’s Quarry at sundown. Except for being clean-shaven, the men looked like actual middle-aged hobos.
“Let’s start a fire and get that stew cooking,” the sheriff announced.
The men looked around for some dry wood. Louis Barrett furnished an old pot and a small grate with legs to hold the pot. Jack Wright put the ingredients in the pot to cook the meal. It starting having a pleasant aroma as soon as it got warm.
“Preacher, this is the second time I’ve been pressed into service by you this week,” Louis Barrett said.
“Your statement is incorrect,” Preacher Mann replied.
“You have me serving as a deputy and a Sunday School teacher,” Louis Barrett said with slight irritation.
“Sheriff Hankins deputized you for this assignment this week. The Lord called you to teach on the first day of next week,” the preacher said.
“Well, you had a hand in both,” Louis Barrett replied.
“Let us be not weary in well-doing,” the Preacher quoted.
“Indeed,” the newspaper editor remarked as he sat on a log near the fire.
About an hour past sundown, as the men were enjoying their meal of hobo stew, the Tennessee Central freight train stopped on the tracks parallel to Johnson’s Quarry. They were carrying clubs that resembled baseball bats.
“We told you tramps that if you were here tonight that we’d finish what we started,” the largest and meanest looking railroad man said.
“What do you intend to do?” the preacher asked in a mumbled voice.
“We’re gonna kill a pack of tramps and haul their dead bodies off in that train parked over there,” the man replied.
“Are you with the railroad?” the preacher asked in a trembling voice.
“Tennessee Central,” the thug said as he raised his club and started toward the preacher.
All the deputies pulled their pistols simultaneously. In fact, they all heard the click of the hammer on Sheriff Hankins’ weapon.
“I recommend that you drop those clubs, drop to your knees, and put your hands behind you. I’d hate for this cocked pistol to go off accidentally,” Sheriff Hankins instructed.
The six railroad dicks did a
s they were told. They were cuffed and transported to the Putnam County Jail.
Once the prisoners were removed, Sheriff Hankins asked, “What are we going to do now?”
“We’re going to finish that hobo stew and then we’re going to call the district attorney,” Preacher Mann said.
The next morning began with Jack Wright beating on the door of the Community Church building. It was obvious that he was more than a little excited.
When Preacher Mann opened the door, Jack Wright blurted out, “It’s the president of Tennessee Central and he wants to talk to you. He said it’s an emergency!”
Jack Wright and Preacher Mann crossed the two-lane road that separated Discount Grocery and Community Church. The preacher walked slowly but Jack Wright far outpaced him.
When the pair reached the store, the preacher reached for the telephone receiver and said, “This is Preacher Mann.”
“This is Tom Phillips. I’m the president of the Tennessee Central Railroad. I desperately need your help,” the gentleman on the phone announced.
“Like I told the Knoxville Station Manager two years ago I’m not familiar with the railroad business,” the preacher proclaimed.
“I know that you’re a mover and shaker in Putnam County. That’s exactly what I need,” Mr. Phillips replied.
“How can I help you, Mr. Phillips?” the preacher asked with a smile.
“Look, there’s been a bad mistake west of Ferguson and east of Cookeville. About a half-dozen hobos got into a gang fight and they’re trying to blame it on the railroad. Your sheriff has got six of my employees locked up in the Putnam County Jail,” the railroad president responded.
“How did you learn about this?” the preacher asked.
“The district attorney called my office this morning. He’s pressing charges against my innocent people,” Mr. Phillips said with a raised voice.
“Sounds like you need a lawyer. In fact, you need at least seven lawyers: one for each of the six men and a couple for the railroad,” Preacher Mann said.
“Why would the railroad need a lawyer?” Mr. Phillips queried.
“As soon as this hits the newspapers, there will be lawyers crawling out of the woodwork to represent the hobos in a civil suit,” the preacher opined.
“I need a lawyer that’s a preacher. I mean a preacher that’s a lawyer. Oh hell, I need you, Preacher Mann,” the railroad president explained.
“I’ll talk to Sheriff Hankins and the district attorney. I’m being an ambassador of reconciliation. I’m not anyone’s lawyer,” Preacher Mann explained.
“You get it handled. We’ve got money to buy out of this thing. We’ll pay you handsomely,” Mr. Phillips promised.
“I work strictly for the Lord. I will see what I can find out and call you in a few hours,” the preacher said.
“Well, he’s got his drawers in a wad,” Jack Wright said with a hearty laugh.
“Since you are still deputized, I need you to call Sheriff Hankins and have him to bring the district attorney and meet me at Scott’s Apothecary in an hour,” Preacher Mann instructed.
“It’s tough being a public servant,” Jack Wright said as he reached for the telephone receiver.
Preacher Mann decided to have his breakfast at the lunch counter at Smith’s Apothecary. He didn’t realize that there was only a limited lunch menu.
* **
When he arrived at Smith’s Apothecary, the preacher seated himself at the lunch counter. He picked up that small menu and noticed just how limited the selections were.
“If you’re looking for breakfast, it’ll have to be brunch,” Joe Scott said.
“It’s a hamburger, soda, and chips,” the preacher replied.
“How do you want it fixed?” Joe Scott asked.
“Walk it through the garden and walk it through the barn,” the preacher replied.
“That’s a cheeseburger with the trimmings and cooked medium,” Joe Scott said as he walked toward the grill.
“Where’s your help?” the preacher queried.
“I cover the breakfast crowd,” the pharmacist replied.
“I thought you didn’t serve breakfast,” the preacher remarked with a puzzled look.
“We serve brunch to unmarried preachers who want to eat before Sarah gets here at 10:00 am,” Joe Scott said with a chuckle.
The door opened and it was Sheriff Hankins and District Attorney Doug Jones. They were surprised to see the preacher eating a cheeseburger at 9:00 am.
“What’s got you out so early?” Sheriff Hankins asked.
“It’s Doug Jones’ early call to Knoxville,” the preacher replied.
“Now I can explain that . . .” Doug Jones said before being interrupted by Preacher Mann.
“I was already up and dressed before Jack Wright was pounding on the meetinghouse door,” the preacher said.
“Was it the Tennessee Central President, Thomas Phillips?” Doug Jones asked.
“Yes, and he fouled himself a couple times during the conversation,” Preacher Mann said as he, Joe Scott, and Sheriff Hankins burst into laughter.
“He better buy some new drawers. The best is yet to come. I’ve planned to . . .” Doug Jones said before being interrupted by Sheriff Hankins.
“Listen, Doug, we need to hear what Preacher Mann says before we start a war with the Tennessee Central,” the sheriff instructed.
“I’m the district attorney and it’s up to me to . . .,”
Doug Jones said before he was more rudely interrupted by Preacher Mann.
“Son, how long have you been the district attorney?” the preacher inquired.
“Three weeks,” Doug Jones said sheepishly.
“I’ve known your Attorney General longer than you’ve been alive. It would upset me greatly to have to make a call to him about what’s going to happen about last night,” Preacher Mann said.
“What are you recommending?” Doug Jones asked sheepishly.
“Don’t interrupt me while I’m talking. The charges against these men will be reduced to misdemeanors. They will pay the maximum fine and serve no time or probation. As part of the plea agreement they are never to be off railroad property in Putnam County,” Preacher Mann said.
“I can accept that,” Sheriff Hankins said.
“The railroad will pay each of the six injured hobos a civil settlement of $500 each. Additionally, they will build two large concrete shelters with benches and tables at Johnson’s Quarry,” the preacher announced.
“What have you got in mind for that?” Joe Scott inquired.
“One of these days this depression will end. Folks will be traveling up and down Highway 70. They can have a picnic meal or take a brief respite at Johnson’s Quarry. Until then, it’s still the Hobo Jungle,” Preacher Mann explained.
“You think the railroad will agree to those terms?” Sheriff Hankins asked.
“We’re going to find out if Doug Jones is as good as we all hope that he is,” the preacher said.
“Me? Why are you expecting me to negotiate the plea arrangement and restitution?” the young district attorney asked.
“It’s because you’re the district attorney. You made that clear from the beginning,” Preacher Mann said followed by laughter from Sheriff Hankins and Joe Scott.
“If you think that’s the right way to handle it,” Doug Jones replied.
“I’ll get him on the phone. Tell him that you are tough as nails and you wanted to hang his guys when you found out Sheriff Hankins had replaced the hobos with deputies. I’ll tell him that it’s the best deal I could cut with you and he had better take it,” Preacher Mann said.
“What do you think he’ll do?” the young district attorney inquired.
“Son, after the preacher sets him up, you’ll have him at hello,” Sheriff Hankins remarked.
“I guess I’ve got a lot to learn,” Doug Jones replied.
“You’ve gotten your first lesson today,” Joe Scott said.
* **
> By lunch, Tom Phillips had called Discount Grocery three times hoping that the preacher had returned. At 1:00 pm the preacher, the sheriff, and the district attorney made their call to the Tennessee Central Railroad president.
Eventually, the Great Depression ended and the hobo jungle became a very beautiful roadside picnic area. It was later named Doug Jones Park in honor of Putnam County’s Attorney General, Douglas R. Jones.
16.
Wedding Bell Blues
It was very early on Thursday morning. The preacher stood on the porch of Discount Grocery awaiting Jack Wright’s arrival. He kept impatiently checking his pocket watch.
“You’re out early and I know why,” the storekeeper said as he approached the entrance with the store’s keys in his right hand.
“What is your hypothesis?” Preacher Mann asked.
“I don’t know what that means,” Jack Wright replied with a puzzled look.
“It means a supposition or proposed explanation,” the preacher responded.
“You’ve got Brother Josh preaching on Sunday and Louis Barrett teaching the Sunday school class,” the merchant said.
“How do you think that equates to me being out early today?” Preacher Mann queried.
“You’re not studying or preparing sermons for the week,” the storekeeper speculated.
“Why wouldn’t I just sleep in?” Preacher Mann said challenging Jack Wright’s assertions.
“You are used to a schedule. There’s nothing for you to do, so you’re here to kill a couple hours until you can start making visits,” the storekeeper asserted.
“That is pretty good reasoning, Sherlock Holmes. But, I’m taking a trip to Cookeville in a bit,” the preacher replied.
“Why are you going to Cookeville? Why are you going so early?” Jack Wright asked in rapid succession.
“Will my answers be on the record or off the record?” the preacher queried.
“I get it. You’re still on that cub reporter stuff,” Jack Wright said rolling his eyes.
“That’s not an answer,” Preacher Mann said sharply.
“Whatever you tell me about your day’s activities will be strictly confidential. I won’t tell a living soul,” the merchant promised.
