by D M Barrett
“What kind of money are we talking about?” the sheriff asked.
“I think that $20,000 at 6% interest would generate $1,200 per year without taking money from the principal. But we start out funding two students’ education at $1000 a year for four years. That need is immediate, too,” the preacher remarked.
“Your numbers are making my head spin. If someone waived a magic wand and delivered a pot of gold today, how much money would you need?” the sheriff asked.
“I need a total of $25,000 to be safe,” the preacher said.
“Preacher, there ain’t that much money in this whole area,” the sheriff remarked.
“Yes there is, and I know where it’s located,” the preacher said flatly.
“Where is it, pray tell?” Sheriff Hankins asked with an astonished look.
“It’s in the people’s pockets from Knoxville to Nashville and the Lord’s gonna pry it loose,” the preacher said firmly.
“I think you’re right about the location, but I want to hear about how the Lord’s gonna pry it loose,” the sheriff said with a large grin.
“I understand that under certain conditions Tennessee law permits charitable gambling for churches and legitimate charitable organizations,” the preacher remarked.
“It’s a very limited exception. There are a few large city churches that hold weekly bingo games for cash and prizes and several churches hold an annual raffle. But it has always been interpreted to be limited in scope and apply to non-traditional types of gambling,” the sheriff explained.
“Well, Community Church is opening a temporary Charity Casino with you and the county attorney as willing accomplices,” the preacher instructed.
“And I thought we’d reached our limit when we got involved with the Ferguson Fair Board and that Hoochie Coochie Show,” Sheriff Hankins gasped.
“Do you remember covering my eyes with your hand during the Midnight Rambler at the Roan County Fair?” the preacher inquired.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle it,” Sheriff Hankins opined.
“I may have to cover your eyes a few times in the coming weeks of the Charity Casino,” the preacher said.
The sheriff just shook his head and stopped the patrol car in front of Discount Grocery. The Preacher exited the patrol car, crossed in front of the vehicle, and walked to the driver’s side.
“Are you headed to arrest some lawbreakers?” the preacher asked.
“Actually I’m going to talk to the county attorney to aid and abet one,” Sheriff Hankins said as the patrol car pulled away from the store.
When the preacher entered the store, he noticed that Jack Wright was sacking some groceries for a customer. He pointed to the phone. The storekeeper nodded affirmatively and then carried the groceries to the patron’s car.
The pastor had planned on visiting the Woodens later in the week. Given the morning's turn of events, he came to believe that sooner would be better. He had the operator connect him to Henry Wooden and they made plans for the preacher to be in Lebanon by mid-afternoon.
* * *
The butler greeted the preacher with a smile and invited him into the Wooden residence. It wasn’t long until the Woodens appeared, greeted the minister, and invited him into the parlor for refreshments and business discussions.
“How’s business?” the preacher inquired.
“It’s the best it’s been in several years,” Henry Wooden exclaimed.
“The Lord has really blessed us in the past two years,” Lucy Wooden remarked.
“There’s hardly a day that passes that I don’t mention Henry Wooden in my prayers,” the preacher replied.
“Don’t you mention me?” Miss Lucy asked with a smile.
“You don’t seem to need as much prayer as your husband,” the preacher replied.
Both the preacher and Miss Lucy had a laugh at Henry Wooden’s expense. The preacher’s remark was humorous because it contained quite a bit of truth.
“Now, Brother Wooden, are you happy with the Lord’s blessings for the past two years?” the preacher inquired.
“Yes,” Henry Wooden replied as he taunted the preacher by pretending to reach for his wallet.
“I want both of you to know that I’m here today on the Lord’s errand,” the preacher explained.
“Say on,” Miss Lucy said.
“The Lord has blessed the creation of a college scholarship fund for students at the Ferguson School. There are presently two students with perfect grades that have been accepted in prestigious schools. One will be attending Virginia Commonwealth University to study art and the other will be attending Georgia Institute of Technology to study architecture,” the preacher explained.
“And the Lord sent you to shake me down for a donation,” Henry Wooden said.
“Actually, I’m here to collect a large donation and an annual commitment thereafter,” the preacher responded.
“How much do you want?” Miss Lucy asked.
Before the preacher could respond, Henry Wooden exclaimed, “Don’t ask him that! Ask him how much he needs!”
“We need $1000 this year and a firm commitment for $1000 for the next three years,” the preacher said bluntly.
“Jefferson! Jefferson! Call the hospital and tell them we're headed there. This preacher has caused me to have a heart attack,” Mr. Wooden exclaimed.
“Oh, Henry, don’t be so melodramatic,” Miss Lucy said as she winked at the preacher.
“Brother Wooden, the Lord has said, ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shall find it after many days,’” the preacher reminded.
“I understand the concept, Brother Mann. But he didn’t say throw the whole truckload in the ocean! What you are asking truly takes my breath,” Henry Wooden replied.
“You are witness to the Lord’s hand in your life. He has provided you with remarkable opportunities. If you sow the seed for the future, the Lord will send the sunshine and the rain to bless it,” the preacher exhorted.
“Preacher, I have determined that you are God’s racketeer. You use him as the silent strongman to get what you want out of me, and you inject enough fear and promise to loot my pockets,” Henry Wooden said sternly.
“If you’re not satisfied with. . .,” the preacher said before he was interrupted by Mr. Wooden.
“I’ll say this: You run the best protection racket in the country. You should go to Chicago and teach those gangsters some of your tricks,” Henry Wooden said as the pitch of his voice increased.
“Henry! You need to hush! This man’s not getting a dime of this money,” Miss Lucy said pointedly.
“That’s the ironic part of this. He’s robbing us and he’s not getting a cut. His gangster talent doesn’t even benefit him,” Henry Wooden exclaimed as Miss Lucy handed him the checkbook.
Henry Wooden filled out the check to Community Church and marked it scholarship fund. He thrust the check toward the preacher who accepted it gladly.
Jefferson, the butler, entered the room and announced that a Mr. Charles Sumner from F.W. Woolworth’s was on the phone. Henry Wooden grabbed his chest and pretended to experience another cardiac episode.
“I should let you talk to Sum and try to shake down that old skinflint. He wouldn't pay a nickel to see a snake ride a bicycle. I’ve never been able to transact any business with him,” Henry Wooden remarked.
“He’s asking for the preacher,” Jefferson explained.
The preacher pointed to the parlor phone. Jefferson nodded and turned to transfer the call from Mr. Wooden’s office to the parlor.
“Mr. Sumner it’s good to hear your voice . . . Yes, he is here but he’s overcome with emotion right now . . . He had just written a check for the church’s college scholarship fund for some Ferguson children . . . I’d rather not reveal the amount as the size might embarrass him, but it is very substantial . . . $5000 is sizeable and it will be greatly appreciated . . . Yes, he’s committed to a yearly donation, too . . . $2500 would be more than eno
ugh to mete out the remaining yearly needs,” the preacher said as Henry Wooden listened in astonishment.
“I have worked out the figures with the people at the Ferguson garment manufacturing plant and I have gone over them with Mr. Wooden’s cost accountants, too . . . Well, I was here primarily to have him give final approval . . . It will just take a moment,” the preacher continued while removing the folding papers from his coat pocket and handing them to Henry Wooden.
Henry Wooden’s hand shook slightly as he looked at the figures. His face produced a huge smile and he nodded excitedly to the preacher.
“Mr. Sumner, he just handed the approved figures to me . . . Yes, there is one more thing, but I hate to ask . . . Brother Sumner, due to Mr. Wooden’s large donation at the end of the year, his business will be cashed strapped. Is it possible for you to prepay your first month’s orders? That will be so helpful to Mr. Wooden and I know that the Lord will bless your company. . . I’ll be praying regularly for your continued success, Brother Sumner. Goodbye,” the preacher concluded.
“This has to be of the Lord. Nobody in this world could have shaken down old Sum. He’s so tight he squeaks when he walks,” Henry Wooden exclaimed.
“I found him to be tough but fair,” the preacher replied.
“What’s best about it is you shook him down for the scholarship as well as the margins on the clothing. It couldn’t be any better. You even got him to prepay thousands of dollars in orders,” Mr. Wooden said commending the preacher.
“Would you like to add to your donation?” the preacher asked in stoic fashion.
“Preacher, let me quote you a proverb from the book of Henry, Chapter 1 and verse one: ‘Pigs get fat but hogs get slaughtered,’” the wholesaler instructed.
“Have a great Thanksgiving,” the preacher said as he turned for the front door.
“You too, Brother Mann,” Mr. Wooden said with a chuckle.
“He’s a good man,” Miss Lucy said to her husband.
“He needs to get a wife. That would tone him down,” Henry Wooden replied.
“That hasn’t worked for you, Henry,” Miss Lucy said as he headed for the kitchen.
* * *
The preacher’s first stop in Ferguson was at Sheriff Hankins’ office. He was interested in finding out what the sheriff had worked out with the county attorney.
“Are we in or out of the charity casino business, sheriff?” the preacher asked upon entering the sheriff’s office.
“We have Friday and Saturday nights till midnight each night for four weeks with all profits going to the Ferguson Scholarship Fund,” Sheriff Hankins replied.
“We’ll be shaking loose a few shekels this month!” the preacher explained.
“The county attorney wants us to submit a list of non-traditional gambling games or activities that will be used,” the sheriff added.
“Get your pen ready. We’re having nightly pick three numbers for $10 cash prizes for 10 cents a ticket. We are having bingo for cash prizes. We’re having marble shooting with entry fees, prizes, and side betting. We’re having mice racing,” the preacher reported.
“How much do you think we’ll make?” the sheriff queried.
“I hope we’ll clear $100 a night, but my expectations may be too high,” the preacher responded.
“I think you should get Finis Martin to paint a large 4 foot by 8 foot checker board with black and red squares. You can have the players pitch pennies at the squares. If they get a penny perfectly inside a red square, it pays 10 cents. If they get a nickel perfectly inside one of two white squares, it pays $1,” the sheriff opined.
“That’s a great idea! What else have you got?” the preacher asked excitedly.
“Collect prize donations from all the local merchants – even She Mammy and that radio boy, Jeremy Ford. Auction some off every night near the close of the evening,” the sheriff recommended.
“You should have been a casino manager instead of a sheriff,” the preacher said.
“Henry Wooden told Jack Wright that you missed your calling as a Chicago gangster for the way you shook him down for the college fund,” Sheriff Hankins said with a chuckle.
“If you’re dealing with Henry Wooden, he expects you to earn your donation,” the preacher replied with a smile.
“Where are you headed now?” the sheriff inquired.
“I’m headed to The Mountain Gazette to get the news out,” the preacher said.
“I’d rather hear you tell about what happened than have been there myself,” the sheriff remarked.
* * *
Charity Casino month provided much needed entertainment, as well as significant profits for the college scholarship fund. The few weeks of fun and frivolity took a lot of folks’ minds off the hardship of the Great Depression.
One of the principal benefactors of the Ferguson Scholarship Fund, Henry Wooden, remarked, “That preacher minted money with that Charity Casino. I was there every weekend in November and never won anything. I don’t think there was an honest game in that town. But, like every gambler in Las Vegas says, I’ll be back.”
19: The Christmas Miracle
It was 8:00 am sharp when the preacher walked into J.B. Oakley’s Barbershop for his monthly haircut. Since it was Christmas Eve and he was tasked with speaking at the Ferguson Community Christmas Service, he planned on getting a barbershop hot shave, too.
“Come in preacher! We’re gonna treat you so many different ways that you’re bound to like at least one of them,” Mr. Oakley invited.
“I have no doubt about that,” the preacher replied.
“Brother Mann, I’ve got an offer for you today for a free haircut and a hot shave,” the barber offered.
“The banker in Ferguson says that when I call him brother that he grabs his wallet and holds it tightly,” the preacher said with a chuckle.
“Here’s the deal. I’ve got a young barber that’s been apprenticing here for the past year. He’s taken the barber test in Nashville and he has just become a Master Barber,” Mr. Oakley explained.
“I’m waiting for the catch, Brother Oakley,” the preacher said with a smile.
“I want him to cut your hair and give you a shave free of charge. If it’s done to your liking, I’d like for you to consider helping him get established in Ferguson,” J.B. Oakley replied.
“If he’s good, why don’t you keep him here and take a shop fee from him?” the preacher inquired.
“Well, I intended to retire this year but with this depression, I need to work another couple of years. Also, he can’t make any real money competing against me in my own shop. He needs a start in a town large enough to support a barber,” Mr. Oakley responded.
“Are you convinced that there’s enough barbering business in Ferguson to support a full-time barber?” the preacher asked.
“We’ve both done some ciphering. It may take him a few months to get up to full-time, but that’d be the case anywhere,” J.B. Oakley said.
“There’s one empty storefront left on Main Street downtown. I’ll talk the banker into a good deal for the first year. What’s his shop fee here?” the preacher asked.
“He pays one third of his revenue. I supply the shop and he provides his own equipment and supplies. It’s a common arrangement in this business,” Mr. Oakley said.
“Bring him out and let him demonstrate his talent. But I’m giving him one dollar. That’s 50 cents for the cut, 25 cents for the shave, and 25 cents for the gratuity,” the preacher stated firmly.
“Damn! I should have worked on you today,” Mr. Oakley said with a chuckle.
After I leave, tell him to be at the Ferguson Community Christmas Service at 6:00 pm at Rosie’s Bed & Breakfast. I will introduce him and tell him where we stand on getting him started.
* * *
When the preacher rolled into Ferguson at 9:00 am in his old Ford truck, he parked at the Harriman Bank. He wanted one more negotiation with George Hickman before the year ended.
Once in the bank, the preacher bade Drusilla Hickman good morning. She explained that her father was in the vault and she would retrieve him.
“Are you counting all the profits you’ve made this year?” the preacher asked with a smile.
“Yes, but I would have made a lot more if you had been a reasonable man, preacher,” George Hickman responded.
“You are sure wearing a lot of cologne today for a preacher,” the banker remarked.
“I went to Cookeville early for a haircut and a shave,” the preacher said.
“Have you got a heavy date with that county nurse tonight? Are you going to ask for her hand in marriage?” the banker asked excitedly.
“You’ve been spending too much time around Jack Wright. If you’re not careful he’ll turn you into a busybody, George Hickman,” the preacher said gruffly.
“I just want to be in the loop, preacher. If that budding romance is in full bloom, I want to tell Jack Wright and not the other way around,” the banker responded.
“Brother Mann, you need to change the subject. My Dad is already an old busybody and heading directly into being a gossip,” Drusilla opined.
“I will make you a promise, Brother Hickman. If I ever ask for Nurse Bilbrey’s hand, and she agrees, you’ll be the first in Ferguson to know,” the preacher said.
“Now that’s fine business, preacher. It just demonstrates how close our relationship has become. In fact, I knew when you said Brother Hickman, you were transitioning the conversation to get into my wallet one last time this year,” Mr. Hickman opined.
“I heard a proverb from none other than Henry Wooden a few weeks ago. It was a truly wise saying,” the preacher said.
“If it’s from that old tightwad Henry Wooden, I can’t pass this up. Say on,” the banker implored.
“Pigs get fat. Hogs get slaughtered,” the preacher said.
“I knew it! I knew you had some sort of deal up your sleeve. You’re trying to pick my pocket on Christmas. You have no shame, preacher,” the banker responded.
“It’s actually just Christmas Eve. Nevertheless, I have you a Christmas gift,” the preacher replied.
