Picture made at a Sales Conference
I REMEMBER...
by
JOE BROWN LYNN
My first memories are some what hazy, therefore some of what I write may be stories I have been told by other relatives. My first memories of Cookeville, Tennessee are living on Willow Street. Dad was renting a house at 610 Willow Street. I remember the move across the yard to an adjoining house Dad bought. This house was on the corner of 6th street and Willow Street on the
northeast corner. Directly across the street lived Mr. Ligon, and to the North of him lived the Lacy family. On the southeast corner lived Estelle Gentry and his wife. On the corner south of the Ligon family lived Coy Chaffin. He had a daughter, Dorothy who was about my age. Next to him lived his father, “Uncle Clabe” and Aunt Alcie Chaffin, who were mothers Aunt and Uncle. I had two best friends at this time, “Spot” Ligon, so called because he had a big mole or birth mark behind one ear, and Dale Martin who lived up the street, on the corner of 7th and Willow Street. “Spot” was a few years older than me, and always seemed to be rebuilding bicycles from parts he scrounged. It was he that taught me to ride a bicycle. We had great fun playing cowboy, and war games with “Spot”, Dale, James and Alvin Lacy, and my brother Bill.

In the hot summer time, it was great to see the Ice Man coming down our street. If your family needed ice, you hung a sign near your front door, with the word ICE on it, and he would stop and double park in the street . Most families at this time had no refrigerators, only iceboxes. As I remember, ours held a 50lb. block. Ice was made in 100 lb. blocks, and had to be cut a part. It had indentations so that it could be quartered with and ice pick. It was fun to stand at the tailgate of the truck and feel the cool air coming out the back, and sometimes get showered by the chips from his cutting up a 100lb. block. If there weren’t enough chips for all the Kids, he’d chip off some extra ice to make sure we all had a big piece to suck on. Most of the time we only had on shorts, and no shirt, and of course we were bare foot. Shoes were shed as soon as school was out and not put back on until school started in the fall. I remember how stiff and strange they felt on my feet. You had to break them in all over again.
Dad was hauling chickens for a living at this time, I remember I hated to see him leave because we knew he wouldn’t be back for about a week. Mother had to take care of running the household until he returned. Mondays were normally wash days. Mother would fill the big old black kettle with water and build a fire under it, and when it was boiling she would put in the white clothes first. As I remember it took most of the day to wash. I knew what my job would be, watching the kids and keeping them out of the street while mother washed. “Spot” and Dale would come by and want me to go play with them, but it wasn’t to be on wash day.

Turpentine
I remember the day Mother and her friend decided to “Turpentine” Estelle Gentry’s old fox hound. He was always coming over trying to get into the diaper pail and mother was fed up with running him off. He was a gentle old dog, so it was easy to catch him by his collar. While mother held him, Edith went into the barn yard and got a couple of corn cobs. With mother holding the dogs head, Edith rubbed him raw around his anus, and then splashed him with “turpentine”. The old dog let out a bellow, started to run home, but the pain was too great, so he sat down on the ground, baying with every breath, and began dragging his hind quarters on the ground. Pulling himself by his front legs, he hit the blacktop street, scooted across it and ran under the house still bellowing. Mean while, Estelle, who was a sleep (he’d been out fox hunting the night before,) roused up and came running out of the house cursing at ever breath, wanting to know what was wrong with his dammed dog. Mother and her friend were doubled up laughing, but finally told him what happened. He went away muttering under his breath. That old dog never did come back into our yard. If he saw mother outside the house, he took off the other way.

Polk Salad
The following incident occurred while we were living on Willow Street. Joe, Bill,”Spot” Ligon, and Dale Martin were playing in the alley behind Spot’s home. Wild Polk was growing in the alley. We decided to cook some Polk salad, as we had seen our mothers do. Some one found an old half gallon syrup can, and it was filled part full of water and Polk plant, and the lid sealed on. A small fire was built, and we started cooking it. About this time our mother yelled for us to come home. Joe took off home, an on arriving was ask were Bill was. Told that he was still playing in the alley, he was send back to get him. ATell him he better get home quick!, when I call you I mean now.@
As both boys arrived home, an explosion and screams, were heard coming from the alley they had just left. The polk can had blown up. Both “Spot” and Dale suffered second degree burns over most of their bodies. No one went to the hospital in those days, the doctors were summoned to the homes.
I went to visit Dale later that day. They had him in a Net Tent stretched over his bed to keep flies away. He was covered with a white salve, and moaning and groaning with every breath he took. When his mother had to touch him he screamed in pain, you could hear him a block away. Spot too, had salve on his burns, but was not suffering as much as Dale. Mr. Ligon was sitting in the living room, cussing those Dam fool boys for their stupidity. Both boys did fully recover. It wasn’t long after this that the Ligon family moved to another area. Hollie Birdwell, a brother to Coy Birdwell, moved into the Ligon house.
First Christmas
The first Christmas I can remember was a magic time for me. They told me we had to put out a treat for Santa Claus, so mother baked some cookies and I insisted that we also put out a glass of milk. The next morning I saw the milk had been drank, and all that remained of the cookies were crumbs, I knew Santa had been there, but I couldn’t see any tracks outside. The only gift I can remember receiving was a pearl handled six shooter, belt, and holster with the Lone Ranger imprinted on it. I must have received other toys, but this one was so special. Later Uncle James and Aunt Daffo came by and brought me a replica of a gas pump, complete with a lighted globe on top. I remember crawling under the bed so I could turn on the light and see it glow. It later disappeared and I was heart broken.
The most disappointing Christmas was during the height of World War II. I remember getting out of bed and looking under the Christmas tree and seeing all the wooden toy trucks and cars that bore little resemblance to the real thing. The only bright spot was a wooden Thompson submachine gun that was a fateful copy. All the metal had gone to the war effort.

Pedro
We had a small dog named “Pedro” that we all loved. A Boston Terrier. One day he came up missing, and we never knew what happened to him, until we were grown. Dad was getting ready to make a trip to New York City and it was in the fall and cool outside. Old “Pedro” had a habit of laying against the rear wheels in the winter time because they were warm from road friction. Dad had loaded the truck and had driven by the house to say goodby. He had parked on a slight incline, and when he put in the clutch to start the motor the rear wheels ran over the dog. Without saying anything to us children, he took the body with him and disposed of it along the way. He couldn’t bare to tell us about what had happened. He brought home a new dog, who as I remember was dubbed Trouble by Mother. In the years that followed, several other dogs bore the name “Trouble”. The last one when we were living at Flynn’s Lick, Tennessee.

Bicycle
After I learned to ride a bicycle, thanks to Spot Ligon, I wanted one of my own. None were to be found. Bicycles were only made on a priority basis, and to obtain one you had to go before the war rationing board and prove a need. Dad went and applied and told then I was going to carry a paper route. A permit was granted and we then ordered one from a hardware distributor in Cookeville. We had to wait for one to be built, which took about four months. It seemed like years to me. I was the proudest boy in Cookeville and the envy of the neighborhood. Little did I know that I only had a few short months to ride it. I got hurt playing sand lot football, and developed Osteomyelitis in my right leg.

Crisis
It was decided that my leg had to be operated on, or I was in danger of losing it. The operation was to take placed in the Cookeville Hospital. I was admitted and was only in my room a short time when Dr. Thurman Shipley showed up at the door. He asked if I was ready, I said I was, he said AGet out of bed and follow me. We went down the hall to the operating room. While he and the nurses scrubbed up, I walked around the room looking at the various instruments and asking questions as to their use, which he readily answered. Finally he asked again, if I was ready, I answered in the affirmative, crawl up on the table, he said. They slapped what looked like and over sized tea strainer over my mouth and nose. The ether started being poured over the cotton part of the mask. I remember the terrible smell and tried to hold my breath. No use, I had to take a big breath, and started slipping away. They cut down to the bone and scraped away the bruised bone area, filled it with a sulfa packing and sent me to recovery.
There followed weeks of visiting the doctor's office to see why the leg wasn't healing. Some time later the infection got out of control. My whole body became sore all over, to the point that a mere touch brought me terrible pain. I was told my total body was infected, The doctor told my parents there wasn't anything more he could do for me. I was running a very high fever. After a couple of days, Dr. Shipley called Dad and said there was a new drug out that was still experimental, and if he would give written permission, they would try it on me. He told them it was my only hope. "What's the name of this new drug," Dad asked. "It is called Penicillin was his reply." They started the injections at 10,000 units, then 25,000 units, still no improvement in my condition, after a period, they upped it to 50,000 units, nothing, 100,000 units, fever still raging, 200,000 units, still not breaking, finally 500,000 units. "I am afraid to give him more, it might kill him." This process was approaching 18 days.
On the last night of my ordeal I over heard a conversation between my Aunt Irene, who was a Nurse, and Dr. Shipley about my condition. I was being nursed twenty-four hours a day. Someone was always in the room. They were standing outside the door of my room and thought I was a sleep. The conversation went something like this. "How is he Doctor? Well one of two things will probably happen tonight. Either he will pass the crisis or he will die." This was around midnight. The doctor left and Aunt Irene came into the room and sat by my bedside. "I heard what the doctor said, I am going to die, aren't I? I thought you were a sleep, no you aren't going to die. Stop thinking that way. After she left a sort of peace came over me, and I prayed and said God I'm ready to go. Nothing happened, so I decided to help the process a long. To myself I thought, A I'll hold my breath until I die. I soon found out that would not work. At this point I decided I couldnot fight anymore. I gave up and drifted off to sleep. The next thing I knew, I felt a hand on my forehead, and an exclamation from my Aunt. "His fever is going down!" I opened my eyes and out the window I could see that dawn was breaking. I was later to learn that this fight had been going on for 18 days, and that I had received 144 injections. I had cheated death thanks to the Lord and the good Doctor Shipley.

The doctor decided I should remain off the leg to promote healing. He put me into a wheel chair for a year forbidding me to walk on the leg. This had to be the longest year of my life. I was not even to go to school. The days were long and boring. I read a lot, listened to the radio, and thought this would never end. Alas, this treatment again failed to cure the leg, and I had to learn to walk again.

This episode was to change my life forever. From the public, I hid the fact that I had an open wound on my leg, that required a bandage change on a daily basis. As the years went by, the leg was operated on two more times, without any success. Finally, so much scar tissue built up, I could not get a probe down into it, to keep the drainage channel open, and blood poisoning began to set in. Doctors said it was lose the leg, or my life. I told the doctor it was no contest, take the leg. It was removed in 1976, but that is another story.

School Incident
Dad bought a Farm from Doctor Anderson, a cousin to my mother, and we moved to Flynn’s Lick, Tenn.. Here he built a General Store across the intersection from the store owned by George and Oliver Johnson. I had missed an entire year of school (7th grade) and was now going to a two room country school. I entered the 7th grade and was bored by the amount of work we had to do. Mr. Oliver Norton, our teacher, went to see my parents and told them I didn’t have enough work to do. He asked them if he might put me into the 8th grade. He said I’d have to also carry 7th grade English and History. I only spent about a week in the 7th grade. This was the difference in the amount of quality time a child in a city school got, with one teacher for each grade, in comparison to the child with a teacher trying to teach four grades at once.

This was the second time in my life that I got punished in school. One day we older boys where chasing each other and rasseling, and running through the school before the teachers arrived. One of the boys I was chasing ran through the big room and into the little room and turned and held the door from the other side. I put my shoulder to it and it didn’t budge. I then backed up and made a run at it, intending to hit it again with my shoulder, but at the last second raised my foot instead, and sent it crashing through the door panel. About this time I heard someone say,”Here comes Mr.Norton”. We all beat it out the back door of the little room. After the attendance was taken, Mr. Norton got up and made a little speech about responsibility, as he concluded, he called my name and ask me to come to the front of the room. He asked me if I knew anything about the damage to the little room door. I figured it wouldn’t do any good to lie, so I owned up to it. He told us that something like this couldn’t go unpunished.

He hauled out this big paddle, about as long as a baseball bat. He told me to bend over and grab on to a chair and proceeded to give me five of the hardest licks I ever received. I didn’t cry, but I wanted to. Tears welled into my eyes but I didn’t cry out. I knew I deserved it and never held it against him. We remained friends until he died. He was a great teacher.

A Model Ford
On a beautiful sunny summer day at Flynn’s Lick, my life was to take a turn un‑anticipated. After a visit to our store, by Clyde Brown’s wife Mildred, Dad had promised her that I would be available to drive her to Gainesboro for an appointment she had with a doctor. I was glad to do it, because it gave me an excuse to drive the family car. I had only recently become legal, after getting my drivers license. Actually I had been driving all over the county without a license for about a year.
I knew Mildred could drive, because she was always coming to our General Store in their old Model “A” Ford. I couldn’t understand why she had ask me to drive her. It turned out, that she had no drivers license, and was afraid to drive on the state roads. Normally Clyde did the driving, but for some reason he wasn’t available. Mildred drove up to the store and announced she was ready to go. I ask Dad for the keys to the family car. That is when he informed me, that Mildred insisted I drive her car, or she wouldn’t go. I protested that I didn’t know how to drive a Model “A”. Dad took me over to the car and had me set in it and run through the gears. Satisfied by my performance he told me I would be O.K.. With reservations, I reluctantly agreed to do it.

We started out and things went all right until we reached the top of the two mile hill, leading down into Gainesboro. Dad had forgotten one thing, he hadn’t explained to me the fact that this car had mechanical brakes. That if you rode them going downgrade, they heated up and the bands expanded away from the drums, and you were in big trouble.

We topped the town hill and started the two mile downgrade. The car began to accelerate and I began pumping the brakes. By the time we passed Free State turn off, I noticed the brake pedal was going lower and lower, and we were not slowing down like we had been before. I decided I would down shift to 2nd gear, to be able to use the motor to help brake.

Disaster! It wouldn’t go into 2nd gear. I tried 1st gear, no luck. I tried double clutching, still wouldn’t go in. I tried neutral, we went faster. I turned off the motor, still going. Turned the motor back on. We are approaching the city limit, passing the jail, the Chevrolet agency, I hope no one is driving around the Courthouse square. If they are we’ll shoot on through the intersection toward the Co‑op. If not I’ll try to turn the corner and hit the upgrade on the east side of the Courthouse. That should slow us down. If we are going too fast at the corner we’ll turn over, but I have to try. Thank God, no one is moving on the street. We shoot by Wooten’s Drug store, and no one is in the intersection. I start my turn, the car leans way over to the left side as we go around. Mildred slides across the seat and pins me against the door. I can hardly steer the car with my right arm pinned by Mildred. I swear that car felt like it lifted up onto two wheels. The car starts to slow as we go up the hill, and what little brakes are left, begin to slow us to a stop. The adrenaline rush kept me from being scared, but after the crisis passed, I was so weak I could hardly park the car. You can bet on the return trip to Flynn’s Lick, at the top of the town hill, I stopped and put the car in low gear until we had negotiated the two “Devil’s Elbows” curves on the Flynn’s Lick side of the hill. I never again drove an “A” Model Ford. Once was more than enough to last me a life time.

Fall of the Year
Fall of the year was a fun time for me. It was when we killed hogs and made molasses. When dad bought the farm it had a blacksmith shop and a gristmill, located down by the creek. It had been run for years and years, by a man named Bill Jones. Dad allowed him to continue running it. I loved to go down and watch him work. You could bring him anything made from iron that was broken, and he could fix it, or make a new part if needed. He shoed all the horses and mules in the community and was a real craftsman. He also ran the grist mill. It was powered by a big old Oil Pull ,one cylinder engine. I would watch as he adjusted the rocks, that ground the corn to the fineness, that the customer wanted. I would stick my hand under the shoot from which the ground corn meal emerged, and get a raw hand full to eat . It would still be warm from the friction of the stones. Bill’s fee was 20 percent by weight of the un-ground corn.

Molasses
Behind the blacksmith shop was a Cane Mill turned by a horse or a mule, that squeezed the juice out of the sugar cane. About 50 feet from that, a furnace was built of rocks, held together by clay mud, and a pan of galvanized tin was set on that, and a fire built underneath for cooking down the juice into molasses. This was a fun time, the cooking would take all day and sometimes into the night. People from the community would keep dropping by, some to help, some just to talk and past the time of day, all would keep sampling and commenting on how much longer it needed to cook. If night over took us, and it usually did, they would build a big bonfire and sit around telling stories until the work was done. All those that helped, took home shares of the makings. Grandpa Brown, was the supervisor, as he’d done this many times in his life.

Hog Killing Time
As it got colder Grandpa would tell us when he thought the time was right to kill Hogs. He used the Farmer’s Almanac to see if the Moon was in the right phase. We’d setup the big old black kettle and fill it with water, build a fire, and then it was time to go select the hogs that were to be slaughtered. Someone would get a .22 rifle, and they would shoot each one behind the ear, and hope to kill it with one shot. Then a mule or tractor, pulling a sled, would be brought to drag the carcass to the kettle. Once there, the animal would be scalded, to loosen the hair for the scraping of the skin. When that was finished the butchering was done and the meat cut up. The fat going into a kettle to be rendered out as Lard for cooking. We kids fished out the cracklings from the kettle and eat them while they were still hot. A salt box had been prepared to salt down the hams and shoulders, and in a few weeks they would be ready for smoking. In the house, mother and grandmother, and sometimes some of the Aunts, would be grinding up sausage and canning it. They would fry up some of the tender loin, liver, and sausage to eat. Nothing tasted quite as good as fresh pork. The wonderful smell of sage and fresh meat went throughout the house. The thought of all that sausage, bacon, and ham, along with scrambled eggs and biscuits, and home made red eye gravy, some how made it all worth while.

The Big Snow (Cow story)
Winter came, and with it the largest snow I’d ever seen. I was spending the night with Uncle Fred and Aunt Alma, so it must have been on the weekend. Roy and I were bored and wondered what we could do for entertainment. We went out to the barn and messed around killing time, when one of us remembered Uncle Fred Mentioning that he’d bought a cow from a fellow down near Savage Ragland’s farm. One of us suggested that it would be fun to ride the horses down to the farm and bring back the cow. The roads were impassable for a pickup truck. Uncle Fred finally agreed to let us go. He told us we couldn’t ride the horses, but to take the mules because they were better on ice than horses. We reached for the saddles, but Uncle Fred said no, we would have to ride bareback. “I know you boys, and one or both of you will be down before you get back, and you might get a broken leg if one of the mules rolled on you.” Needless to say, we were sorely disappointed at not having saddles. He gave us each a couple of Gunny sacks to put on the mules backs, to cushion the ride.
It was about three Miles down to the farm, and all went well until we forded Flynn’s Creek, about a half mile from the farm. The snow was about knee deep. It had started as rain, which froze, and then turned to snow. A heavy wet snow. One of us, don’t remember which, suggested a race from there to the farm to see who had the better mule. We dug in our heels and were off at a gallop. We splashed through Flynn's Creek at a gallop. After a short run we started down a slight grade in the road. The mules were neck to neck, running full out, suddenly I felt the front feet of my mule slipping on the ice under the snow. I tried to pull up his head, but he lost his front feet, and they folded underneath his breast. I was catapulted over his head and landed in the snow three or four feet in front of him. I hit and rolled over in the wet snow, jumped up and was already soaked to the skin. My teeth begun to chatter, and my blue jeans were already stiffing up from the cold. We were still about a quarter mile from the farm. Roy helped me to remount, and we took off. Ice was forming on the legs of my blue jeans by the time we arrived at the farm. When they found out what had happened, they made me strip down to my long johns, wrapped me in a blanket, and put me in the corner behind a big old pot bellied stove, which soon had me steaming. They placed coat, blue jeans, shoes, socks, and gloves, on some chairs next to the stove to dry out. About an hour later we went to the barn and got the mules and our cow, and started home.

All went well until we had to ford the creek. That cow didn’t want to go into the cold water of the creek. After beating on her behind, she reluctantly made the crossing. Then she decided she’d had enough of being pulled from the front, and pushed from behind. She yanked the halter rope out of my cold hand, took off at a run, jumped a barbed wire fence, and headed up a draw. Roy jumped off his mule, and took off after her. He caught her after a short distance, and forced her back to the road. By this time he was wet up to his waist. He got re‑mounted and off we went as fast as we could manage. Two boys were never so glad to see the lights of home appear in the distance. We’d been gone most of the day, and truth to tell, they were probably worried about us. I remember Uncle Fred, after hearing our tale, couldn’t resist saying, “ I told you so. I knew one, or both of you would be down before you got back.

Mink
My brother Bill, decided to take up trapping. He set the traps along Flynn's Creek that ran through our property. One day he caught a Mink by the foot. He brought it to the house still alive in the trap. He wanted me to help kill it. We decided we couldnot shoot it because we might damage the pelt. Damaged it would bring less money when sold. We decided to drown it. We got one of mothers wash tubs, filled it full of water. We found a small tree limb with a fork in it just right for holding it under water. Have you ever tried to drown and animal, who is at home in water, as a fish? He would squirm out of that hold and come to the surface chewing on that limb. After 20-30 minutes of this we decided it could not be done. A stick to the head ended the battle. That Mink brought $30.00 from the fur buyer. Bill thought he was rich, and for that time period, he was. That was about a weeks normal wages.

Baptism
Mom and Dad were members of the Church of Christ at Flynn’s Lick, as were all our Uncles, Aunts, and grandparents on mothers side. It was taken for granted that sometime in the future we children would join the Church. One summer a revival was being held, by Brother Toddy, from Indianapolis. My first cousin, Marjorie Sue Brown, decided it was time to obey her Lord, and came forward. The Church had no baptistry, and the custom was to meet at an appointed place on Flynn’s Creek for the baptizing. There was a swimming hole down by the old blacksmith shop on our property, and it was decided to go there. As was the custom, a song of invitation would be sung on the creek bank to encourage those who might want to come forward at that time. Well, I had thought about it for sometime, but had not gotten up enough courage to do it. The song they sang got to me, and I came forward. It was a very hot day, must have been about 90 degrees in the shade. The water in Flynn’s Creek was supplemented by a large spring about a mile above our farm, and the water coming from underground, was about 58‑60 degrees in the summertime.

Marjorie Sue was Baptized first, and then me. I was wearing blue jeans and a short sleeve shirt, and since no other preparation had been made by me, that’s what I wore. It was in June or July with temperature around 90‑95 degrees. On contact with the water I almost lost my breath, and came out feeling like hypothermia had set in. To make matters worse, we had to stand on the running board of a car and be driven up to our house to change into dry clothes. I thought I would never warm up again, I was so cold my teeth were chattering, I jumped into bed and stayed there until I warmed up enough to put on dry clothes. Now I remembered why I never went swimming in Flynn's Creek.

Skuck
One summer day Dad send me on and errand over to Clyde Brown's place, to tell him he had received an emergency phone call, and they wanted him to call them back. Not everyone had a phone at this time, so people called the nearess phone to the person they were trying to reach. On the way back as I was approaching the Spurlock place, and old mother skunk was crossing the gravel road followed by three baby skunks. I slammed on the brake and came sliding up in a hail of gravel and a cloud of dust. I stopped about 10 feet away, and the mother stopped in the middle of the road and just looked at me. I thought to myself, I always wanted a pet skunk, and here was an opportunity to get one. I blew the horn, and the mother took off running. The kittens didn't know what to do and began milling around in the middle of the road. I got out and cautiously approached them, wondering if they were old enough to spray me. I just stood there and they came right up to my feet and milled around. I decided they were too young to be a threat to me. Opening the trunk to our brand new 1951 Chevrolet, I put them in. I slammed the trunk and took off for home. Arriving I couldn't wait to show Dad. I told him I had a surprise for him in the car. Opening the trunk, he quickly stepped back, at the sight which greeted him. I got a stern lecture on what might have happened, and how we would never have been able to get the smell out of the car, and that I should have known better than to do that.

Bill and I made a cage to keep our prizes in, and displayed them to all who came to our store who showed interest in seeing them. Someone told us there was a Vet in Gainesboro who would de-scent them. We called him, and his price was two of the kittens leaving us one as a pet. After the job was done, our skunk turned viscous, and would try and bite you if you touched it. Brother Toddy of Indianapolis, was holding a revival at the Flynn's Lick Church of Christ, and Mom and Dad invited him home for Sunday dinner. After we ate he was walking in the yard when he spied our skunk. He asked if he was a pet. Bill told him he was, but he didn't tell him he was a biter. He said he always had wanted one, and ask Bill if he'd sell him. Bill said, ”Yes.” He asked how much we wanted for him, Bill said, “$15.00.” He reached into his pocket and came out with the cash. Transaction done, he opened the cage and reached in to get the skunk, at which point it bit him. Dad was all for making Bill give back the money, but Brother Toddy said no, he would still like to have him. So the deal stuck. I wonder what ever became of that skunk.

Transportation Problem
Roy Brown and I double dated most of the time, because of the transportation problems. Our family had a car and Uncle Fred had a truck. We’d both try for a vehicle with the hope that one of us would be successful. It made for better odds. On some nights neither one of us could get the family vehicle, but that didn’t discourage us, we simply hitch hiked to Gainesboro, and hung around the Wooten Drug store. They had a soda fountain, and were the informal meeting place for the young set. Billy Brown, our Uncle, and Freed Kincaid, Roy’s adopted brother had a habit of picking up their dates, and then stopping on the square in Gainesboro, to check out the action. We would watch for them to appear, and grab which ever one came first, and con that one into doubling with the other one, there by giving us one of their trucks. Then we’d take off to pick up our dates. I remember one night when we missed connections with them until it was around 9:00 P.M.. I had a date with Joy Allen, and Roy had a date with her Cousin Frances. It must have been close to 10:00 before we got to her house. The lights were out and they had given up on us and gone to bed. I went to the door, knocked and someone answered, there was some discussion going on inside after I talked to Joy. We couldn’t believe it, but they let the girls get dressed, and go out with us. I’ll always wonder what persuaded their parents to let them go. Roy and Frances did marry later.

Soon after this the transportation problem was solved. Billy Brown bought another three quarter ton pickup, six months after he bought the first one. Billy, over the objections of my parents, would kind of leave the keys in the ignition of the truck he wasn’t driving. He knew I’d help myself to that one. He never told me I couldn’t use it. In my eyes Billy was the greatest Uncle who ever lived, and I wanted to be just like him. I over heard Dad talking to Billy one day. He told Billy that I was going to have a wreck someday, and when I did, not to come to him and complain. Of course I wouldn’t have blamed Billy if he’d stopped me, because I was only 15 at the time and didn’t have a drivers license, but I’d been driving since I was 14. I remember him telling me one day about his conversation with Dad, and then saying that he knew I was a good driver, and to be careful. I probably accounted for some of those gray hairs he now sports.

New Car
World War II is over, and new cars are becoming available. Dad decided he wanted a new car. I fell in love with the looks of the new 1950 Studebaker. It's bullet shaped nose reminded me of the shape of the P-38 Lighting fighter plane. Dad was convinced Chevrolet made a better quality car. He signed up at the Fat's Mabray Chevrolet Garage, on the availability waiting list. He got a call from Fat's telling him his car had arrived. When asked the price, he told Dad the price had gone up $500. Dad said he wouldn't pay that much over list. Fat's told him that no one else would sell him a car for regular list price. Dad made a call to Carlen Motor Co. at Cookeville, Mr. Carlen and old friend of his, said he had a new 1951 two toned gray that just arrived, and that he could have it. After purchasing the car, and on his way home, he drove up to the front of Fat's place and blew the horn. When Fat looked out the window, Dad waved at him and drove off. This car was my pride and joy until I left for Chicago. A year later Bill and two friends totaled the car, while out for a Sunday afternoon joy ride.

Chores
Since there were so many of us, we were all expected to help out around the General Store, and the farm. The job I hated the most was clerking in the store. As soon as I got off the school bus, Dad would find some excuse to leave, and I would be stuck there for a couple of hours, usually until about dark. I also had the job of feeding the cattle morning and night. Our main barn (we had three, two were tobacco barns) was located across the creek about a quarter mile from the house. To get there you went down Ft. Blount road and crossed the bridge over Flynn's Creek, jumped the fence and cut across the hay field, and jumped another fence. This took about 15 minutes. I decided one weekend, that I needed a short cut to the barn. I went through our cow lot, out behind our house, to the corner of our property on the east bank of the creek. I selected a tree about one and a half feet thick at the base, that slightly leaned out over the creek. I notched it on the creek side and proceeded to chop it down. It took me all afternoon, because I was a greenhorn, with and axe. It fell pretty much were I aimed it, it’s top landing on the other bank. I then chopped off the branches on the top side, leaving a few for hand holds, and had my bridge. It was tricky balancing as you walked across, but I never fell in. Even old “Trouble” used the bridge, for he made every step I did. It was sheer joy for him to go with me to the barn. He would help me round up the cows, and herd them into the barn . If they were a little slow responding, he’d nip at their heels, and they would try to kick his head off. He was always too quick for them, to land a blow.

In the spring, the young hefiers that had been bred in the late summer, began to drop their calves. The natural tendency of a cow is to hide their new born calves, from predators, then move off some distance to graze, but to remain close enough to see the hiding place. Every night we counted to see if any of the cattle were missing. If so, we knew she had probably dropped her calf. Some times Dad, Bill, and I would all be in the hunt for the calf’s hiding place. Some times it took a couple of days to locate the hidden calf. It always seemed to me that they picked the thickest blackberry thicket they could find. We had to practically chop our way into it, to get to the calf. Once we got it out, the fun began. Did you ever try to get a newborn calf to walk down a steep hill? You can push and pull all you want, but as soon as he escapes your grasp, he turns and heads uphill, as fast as he can go. A few times in desperation, I had to carry the calf all the way back to the barn. You haven’t lived until you have carried a 40-50 pound squirming animal that wants it’s mommy. You don’t have to worry about mommy, she will be following right at your heels.
The fun starts again once you reach the barn. Mom’s udder is usually swelled up, a new born calf can't eat enough, to relieve the pressure. So what to do. Here you are all alone at the barn. First you go into the stable where you put them, and try to get a halter on the mother. Finally succeeding at this, I put the halter rope through an iron ring, secured to the wall six foot above the ground. I then pull it tight and tie it off, leaving the cow on her tippy toes. Now the fun begins. You become the first human to touch her sore udder. Naturally she tries to kill you. She begins bucking and jumping around, and trying to kick your head off. I found, after much trial and error, bumps and bruises, that the best way to neutralize her kicking way to push her hind leg back and put my head in her flank to keep her off balance. By the time I finished milking her, I’d be sweating like a mule pulling a plow. If there was more than one new born calf, the ordeal had to be repeated again. Usually by the third or fourth day, the calf was able to drink all of the milk.
Chores on the farm had to be done all seven days of the week. There was no taking off until they were done. I was the “Milker” in the family. Morning and night I had to do the milking. First thing you had to do was wash the udder. Then I sat down on a one legged stool, grabbed her teats, leaned back, and started milking. Ocassionly, I would forget to trim my fingernails and pinch her. She would lash out with her foot, sending me and the bucket, flying across the stable.

We had a black cat named “Midnight”, who always knew about the time I’d be going to the barn. Both morning and night, she’d follow me and sit quietly in the corner of the stable as I milked, waiting for me to squirt milk into her mouth. This was a daily routine between us. After the milking was done I’d take off for the barn across the creek to poke hay down from the loft. Long hay racks ran the length of the barn on both sides. It usually took about an hour to get enough down for about 40 head of cattle. Then it was back to the house to eat breakfast, clean up, and catch the school bus. At the time it seemed like a lot of work, but in retrospect, it was a peaceful, un-stressful, time of my life.

Rodeo
It wasn't all work and no play. There was time for fun occasionally. I remember one rainy day, Bill and I were at the barn with nothing to do. One of us suggested it would be fun to see if we could ride the steers. We herded a few head into the hall way of the barn and closed the gate. To set the scene for you, the barn had a big overhang on the front to permit driving a wagon underneath for the unloading of Hay. The hillside sloped downward toward the front of the barn. When it rained water ran down and turned to mud for about 20 feet in front of the barn. All the hoofs of the animals usually kept it churned up. The object of the game was to hang on until you cleared the mud.

I went first. I got mounted bareback, and told Bill to open the gate. That steer, seeing a way to escape, took off at a gallop. I had grabbed it's tail and pulled it up over my shoulder, thinking it would prevent being thrown forward over it's head. I almost made it, but not quite. I was pulling so hard on the tail that I over balanced and flipped off backwards. I landed in the mud about five feet from dry ground. Dad never knew how many pounds we ran off those steers, until we were grown men, and no longer subject to punishment.


Groundhog
One summer day, I took the .22 rifle with me, and started for the barn, old “Trouble” at my heels. As we went around the hill, the dog ran on before me, and was soon out of sight. I went on around the hill to the south side of our property, down the hill to the creek, and started back toward the barn. I suddenly realized, I hadn’t see old “Trouble” for a while. I whistled for him, but he didn’t come, I continued on, and shortly ahead of me, I saw the horseweed tops shaking back and forth, and wondered what in the world was causing it. I could also hear something growling. As I ran forward, I saw “Trouble” and a big old groundhog. The groundhog was very nearly as big as the dog, and they were locked in mortal combat. The dog had him by the throat and wouldn’t let go. I don’t know how long the fight had been going on, but I now knew why the dog hadn’t responded to my whistle.
I couldn’t shoot the groundhog, for fear of hitting the dog. They were rolling over and over on the ground and all I could do was watch. In a few minutes “Trouble” finished him off with no help from me. I swear, that dog strutted around that dead groundhog, as if to say, look at me, see what I did for you. He then went over to the nearest shade and lay panting for breath, so I let him rest for a while, before returning home.
Groundhog burrows were a hazard in the pastures. A cow could step in the hole and break a leg, and then you had to destroy her.
Nothing was more fun than to take my gun, go to the barn and climb about 600 feet to the top of our hill. I would find a spot that commanded a view of the entire valley below, then find a big tree to put my back up against, and listen to the silence. Just the wind blowing gently, and the insects buzzing about. Occasionally a voice would float up on the breeze, from somewhere down below. I liked watching a car come down the Fred Haile hill, wind its way through Flynn’s Lick, and go out of sight up about Kelly Stout’s place. I felt like a King surveying his Domain. I liked to lay on my back and watch the clouds go by, and visualize faces and animals in their shapes. It was always with great reluctance that I returned to the real world below.
Joe Brown Lynn 2‑DEC‑1994 --Re-edited Jan. 2002


REMINISCENCE OF JOE BROWN LYNN CONCERNING THE OLD FOX PLACE, FORMER SITE OF COLONIAL WILLIAMSBURG, LOCATED AT FT. BLOUNT, JACKSON CO., TN.

As a young lad some of my fondest memories were of getting to spend time on my Grandfather William White Brown’s farm. My parents would let me stay in the summer while school was out. It was a fascinating place with all the out buildings to play in. Little did I realize that I was treading Historic ground. This was the site of the first Courthouse in Jackson County. I can remember the enormous logs of the building they called the jail. I wondered at the slits in the logs. I imagined rifle barrels poking out, and defending the settlers under Indian attack. I remember one small building they called the office, being used as a Harness room. In it could be seen saddles, bridles, hames, collars, etc.. What was called the smoke house was probably the County Circuit court building. I seem to remember to the west of the house, there stood a post in the ground with a ring at the top. I supposed it to be to tie a horse to while visiting. When I later read an account of early Williamsburg, I read of a whipping post, that purported to be in about that location. According to the early map drawn by Lt. Myers, it stood to the west of the courthouse, and the house was built on the site of the old courthouse. At the right side of the house was an iron post with a ring in it. I wondered if that was the original whipping post. In the yard one would see portions of brick sidewalks. It never occurred to me that these may have been put there by the early settlers.

As a grown man, I visited the old place in the company of my mother and my wife Sybil. We were home on vacation and mother mentioned that the old house was to be torn down. They were clearing the land to complete the reservoir for the Dam being built at Carthage, Tennessee. I remember that the only way we could gain access to the interior, was to climb through the front window. Mother told me this was the room she slept in while recovering from her appendicitis operation. The nearest hospital was 80 miles away at Nashville, and she had to stay down there for a month. She also told me the story of my being left at the age of two, in the care of my Grandmother Sarah Susan Brown. Grandmother said I wandered from room to room looking for her. Billy Brown remembers holding me up so that I could pick leaves off the old trees in the front yard. I am sure this was to divert my attention from mothers absence. Billy said that when she returned, I’d forgotten her, and Dad had to bribe me with a red toy fire engine, to get me to go to her.

My Grandfather, William White Brown, later bought the Rogers farm in White’s Bend. One of the features I liked was a 35 acre island in the Cumberland River. In the dry season (Summer), you could wade across the Slough to the Island, and on the banks were fresh water springs that I drank out of. When it rained up river, the water became too deep for wading, and you had to use a canoe to make the crossing. To cultivate the corn, you had to swim the Mules across, in full harness. I remember riding one of them on several occasions, always accompanied by an adult.
On one of the trips, something spooked my Mule as we were coming out of the water, and he begin to run. I was holding on for dear life, and scared to death that I’d fall off, and slip under his hooves. Billy Brown was right behind me on his Mule trying to catch up and grab the reins of my animal. They were afraid the mule would continue to the end of the island and plunge into the river and drown me. I couldn’t swim, and have never learned too, to this day. Grandfather Brown had a sharecropper, by the name of Duball, working at the head of the island clearing new ground for cultivation. He heard the commotion coming toward him and seeing what was occurring, ran out in front of the mule and threw up his hands. This forced it to slow down, Billy Brown was able to over take me, and grab the reins and stop my mule, before he plunged into the river.
Later on, Grandfather Brown and his sons built a ferry boat large enough to carry two mules, some equipment, and all the work hands. It had no motor, and was propelled by men using long poles. It was finally sunk one winter after the river flooded. Someone forgot to move the chain higher on the bank, and as the water rose it was pulled under. At times the water got so high that only two or three acres where visible above the water line. This flooding would leave rich deposits of soil on the land, and that made for high yields of corn, provided you got the corn gathered before it flooded. Growing corn there was always a gamble. Most of the time you won, sometimes you lost.
I loved the daytime on the farm, but hated the nights. I was a city boy use to electricity, rural electrification had not reached this area. The only light at night, was from kerosene lamps, that only put out about 10 watts of light. You could hardly read a newspaper without getting within three feet of the lamp. Since the men worked hard all day, in the summer, it was lights out by 7:00 P.M., and I wasn’t ready to go to bed that early, but I did. In the fall of the year, when it got cold, I would always wait in the mornings until I heard Grandpa Brown stirring up the fire in the living room, before I would get out of bed.. I'd throw back the covers, grab my clothes, and make a run for the big old fire place. Standing before the fire, I'd put on my clothes, while toasting first one side then the other. Central heat was un- heard of in rural Tennessee.

One summer day, I found an old solid door that was abandoned, and decided to make a raft of it. I found a hammer and nails, some iron rings in the old blacksmith shop, and spent most of the day preparing it for launching in the slough. I had these grand visions of poling it across to the island. After I got it done, I decided I better drag it to the pond and test it. I pushed it into the water and it floated, but as soon as I stepped on to it, the end sank. I tried jumping onto the middle of it and the hold thing capsized. What a disappointment, all that work for nothing.

My favorite part of the day was when the dinner bell rang, I knew a feast awaited us. Grandmother Brown was a great cook and always had plenty of food on the table. After breakfast, it wasn’t long before she was in the kitchen again, working on the noon meal. She always made enough so that some was leftover for the evening meal. I remember Grandfather Brown loved to take hot cornbread and crumble it into a cold glass of milk, get a spoon and eat it. I tried it, and still love it to this day.

On one occasion, Grandmother sent me to the fields at noon, to call PaPa and Billy to dinner. I had to pass through a cut in the river bank. As I moved through the cut, I happened to look to my left, and found myself eyeball to eyeball with a big black snake. I must have jumped two feet high, and come down running for the house. MaMa Brown ask if I had called them for dinner. I said no, and told my story. She said we would ring the dinner bell for them. Ever after when I had to go through that cut, I looked it over carefully and ran through it. Snakes and I don't get a long well.

On days that it rained, no work could be done in the fields, but Grandpa could always find something that needed doing. I hated it when he announced that we were going to the barn to shuck corn. That was a hard, boring job, you looked at that mountain of corn and realized you were never going to be done. He also would make baskets. He’d go along the banks of the slough looking for willow trees, and strip off the bark, carry it back, sit by the fire and spent all afternoon weaving a big old farm basket. He used them around the barn, to carry corn from the corn crib to the stables, to feed the animals.

I remember when it was decided that PaPa Brown was too old to continue farming. He had fallen and broke his hip. We had the property at Flynn’s Lick, and it had a smaller house, next to the big house we occupied. Mother and Dad persuaded them to move into it after they sold their farm. Mother really enjoyed having them next door, and so did we children. When PaPa’s brother, Uncle Henry came visiting, we would beg them to tell us stories about their childhood. They would have us laughing so hard, that the tears would flow. They were born story tellers. I so wish I’d had the presents of mind to record some of the tales.

Wedding Photo
Both W. W. Brown and Sarah Susan Birdwell Brown are buried in the Rob Draper Cemetery, in Stone Community, 3 miles north of Gainesboro, Tn..
W.W. Brown moved from the Dry Fork, of Flynn's Creek in Jackson Co. to White’s Bend, in 1918, and built a new house near Ft. Blount, Tn.. It almost adjoined the Lynn farm.

High School Days
High School was something I looked forward to with great anticipation. I was now going back to something more familiar to me, than a two room school. As I mentioned earlier, I thought I had died and gone to heaven at the availability of all the young ladies in the school. I had never seen this many gathered in one spot. I can truly say I enjoyed my four years here. Some how I got nominated as Senior Class President. I knew I wouldn't have a chance of being elected against the more popular boys, so I came up with a plan to change all that. I moved that we should vote by secret ballot, rather than the traditional voice vote. The advisers accepted my motion and set the election for the following week. I had my girl friend, Robbie Sue Davenport, enlist her friends, to enlist their friends in a campaign to vote for me. We carried the election by a wide margin, and I was President 1950-51. I was also elected Vice-President of the Beta Club, and Sargent at Arms of the Future Farmers of America. I was never a farmer, but had a good memory for seeds. Because I scored high in the identification test for seed recognition I was one of three delegates to the state convention of The Future Farmers of America held at the State Fair grounds. We won 6th place the first year, an 7th the next year.

Tradition dictated that the Class always wore a dark blue gown for Graduation ceremonies, that being the school colors. I decided that had to go, and called for a vote on changing the color to white. It was approved by the student body, much to the dismay of our advisor. Then the matter of class ring design was raised, I secretly talked to several of my friends and we decided we wanted a head of a Devil on the sides, with a blue sapphire. Our Football team was "The Blue Devils", and we thought it appropriate. Our Advisor was dumb founded, that couldn't be, after all this was the Bible belt, parents would not like it. It too, was voted in. Later I heard some of the parents made their children have the devil heads ground off their rings. We as a class were just trying to make a statement for change from tradition. Alas, my days in Jackson County were drawing to a close.

Chicago
Toward the end of my senior year of High School, I received a mailing from Coyne Electrical School in Chicago, Illinois. It painted a picture of the need for electronic technicians to grow and be a part of the new age of electronics. The excitement of going to Chicago and living in such a glamorous place caused me to decide not to go on to college. To a farm boy, the excitement of the big city was hard to resist. I broke the news to my parents, and they told me that if that was what I had decided to do, it was okay with them. For more on this see the Sam Lynn story.
After graduation from Coyne, I went to work for Zenith Electronics in Chicago. When vacation time came, I went home to Tennessee. While there, Uncle Lewis Brown came out to the Motel to see me. He ask me if I would mind his son Jack going back to Chicago with me. Being my cousin, of course I had no objections, if he wanted to go. He confided to me that Jack was at loose ends in his life. He hadn’t decided what he wanted to do in life. All he was sure of, was he wasn’t going to be a farmer. Jack was seeing a certain young lady that his family wasn’t to fond of, and though it went un-said, I always felt that was the real reason Uncle Lewis was anxious for him to go.

We returned to Chicago after my vacation was over, and Jack was able to get a job at Zenith where I worked. Sometime later we both begin working for Allied Electronics. Jack had met a girl named LaVerne Rambo, and since three’s a crowd, she introduced me to a girl friend of hers, by the name of Vivian Hutchens. We all went together for sometime, but later Vivian and I broke up. I went back to the Church, and there met a girl named Dorothy Landers. Jack was in Dutch again with his parents, when they found out that LaVerne was divorced and had a son. Dot Landers mentioned that a nice girl she knew lived in the same apartment building she did, and why didn’t she invite this Shirley Wise to double date with Jack. Jack and Shirley seemed to hit it off right from the beginning of their relationship, but Jack wasn’t ready to completely break off with LaVerne. He continued to see them both for a period of time. Then LaVerne forced him to make a choice. As most of you are aware, Shirley won out, and later Jack and Shirley were Married.

The story of how I met Sybil
Ray Austin AJack@ Brown and Shirley Wise had gotten married in Chicago, with me as their best man. They went to Florida on their honeymoon and were returning to Chicago. They stopped off in Mississippi at which time Jack met Sybil. Sybil decided to accompany them to Chicago to see her boyfriend, who was in the Northwestern University Medical school. On the way back, they stopped in Tennessee to visit Jack’s parents, and decided to come to Cookeville to see my mother and father. I was home from Chicago on vacation and met Sybil for the first time at my parents home. I was quite smitten at the first sight of Sybil. So much so, that I cut my vacation short by a week, and followed her back to Chicago. She was staying at the home of Loren and Christine Wise, parents of Shirley. With the help of Christine, I persuaded her to go out with me the next night after arriving back in the city. The following night I found out she had a date with Don Smith, her boyfriend at Northwestern University. I ask her to break that date and go out with me again that night. Once again with Christine's aid, I was successful. She broke the date and we went down to the loop to a movie. We continued to date the remainder of that week, and I knew I was in love. Being a Home Economics teacher, she had to return to Mississippi to get ready for the fall start of school. She was teaching in Waterloo, Alabama. We began to exchange letters. At the time I had a steady girlfriend named Dorothy Landers, whom I had been dating among others, for two or three years. It was hard telling Dot about Sybil. She and I continued to date while I was also corresponding with Sybil. I finally had to tell Dot that it was all over between us, so that she could get on with her life.
Toward the end of the year, I ask Sybil to join me for Christmas at my parents home in Tennessee. She said her parents would never allow that, and wouldn't meet me there. As a result of this we started drifting a part, and I resumed dating Dot Landers. This state of affairs continued until the incident at Cummins Falls, but that is another story.

Cummins Falls
This story happened before Sybil and I were married. Sybil and I had, had a disagreement, and had stopped writing to each other. She was teaching school at this time in Waterloo, Alabama. I had started dating Dorothy Landers again. Dot knew I was going home to Cookeville, Tennessee on vacation and wanted to go with me and meet my parents. Her parents were so sure we where going to get married, that they agreed she could go. Secretly I still had my doubts about our long term compatibility, but didn't voice them a loud to her. After arriving in Cookeville and seeing some of the local sights, I suggested a trip to see Cummins Falls.
The falls were located on an un-paved gravel road northwest of Cookeville. Arriving, we had to go down a hillside to get to the top of the waterfall. A dry spell had caused the river level to recede to the point, that you could wade across the swift part of the river into the shallows on the other side and come out on the top of the falls. I began to make some pictures of Dot and the falls. Like all good photographers, you constantly look for that perfect picture. I noticed a ledge projecting out over the lip of the cliff, that would provide the perfect place to frame Dot against the water as it cascaded over the falls. A better shot would have been down at the foot of the falls, but there was no way to get down there. The water plunged about forty feet into a gorge, that had sheer walls on both sides of the river.
I finally convinced Dot to let me help her down onto the ledge, but before she would do it, she wanted me to step onto it, to show her it was safe. It was only about a two foot step down. I had shucked off my shirt and was dressed only in a pair of blue jeans. I remember remarking to her, "There's nothing to it”, as I started to step down. Unknown to me, I was standing on some wet moss at the lip of the falls, my left foot sloping slightly downward. As I lifted my right foot, my left foot slid out from underneath me, and I was gone over the lip of the falls. I was falling with my face to the sky, I only had time to think, "You've really done it now", and the lights went out. I have no memory of the fall. It's assumed that I hit a rock out cropping and was knock unconscious on the way down. There was a pool of water at the base of the falls that I must have fallen into. Why I didn't drown no one knows. I found myself sitting in the water near the riverbank. How I got there, only heaven knows. Time wise, it seemed to me that I had fallen, was alive, and I looked back to the top of the falls to see if Dot was O.K.. She wasn't anywhere in sight. My head was hurting real bad, and I put my hand to it, and it came away covered with blood. I then noticed blood all over my chest. I knew I had to stop the bleeding. What to use? I remembered I had a handkerchief in my back pocket, got it, rung out as much water as possible, and was barely able to tie it around my head. That done I looked up again to the top of the falls.

Where did all those people come from? Dot and I were the only ones here a couple of minutes ago. There were ten or twelve of them yelling and gesturing at me. I couldn't understand a word they were saying because of the roar of the falls. I finally dragged myself up on top of the riverbank and just sat there. In a few minutes I noticed two men start up the hill to get onto the top, and then start around the rim below the falls. They stopped and begin to lower themselves down the cliff toward me. Making it to the bottom, they came over and ask me how I felt. Assuring them I was all right, they asked me if I thought I could climb up the cliff with one in front, and one behind me. I told them I would try. Pushing and pulling me, we made the trip back to the top of the falls. I don't remember wading the river, and the trip up to the road, but I am sure a lot of pulling and pushing went on. No one had bothered to call for an Ambulance, because it was assumed I was dead. No one had ever survived a fall over Cummins Falls. We got to the car, and I told them Dot could drive me to the hospital at Cookeville. Off we went to the Emergency room. They too, couldn't believe I had survived Cummins Falls. After they sewed and bandaged me up, they wanted to admit me and keep me over night for observation, but I would have no part of it. Mother and Dad got quite a shock when we walked into the Motel. We later learned, that of all the people in the past, who fell from the top of the falls, I was the sole survivor.

The next day I lay around the house with Mother and Dot. I was sore all over and didn=t feel like doing anything. We were sitting in the house looking down at the motel drive, when we noticed an old red pickup truck pull slowly into the drive and park up close to the wall of the yard. An older man got out and started up toward the house. We wondered who he was and what he wanted. Mother didn't know who he was. He rang the bell, and I told mother I would step out of the living room, so as not to scare him, all bandaged up as I was.
"Mrs. Lynn, you don't know me, but I live in the Cummins Fall community, and I heard about the accident, and I just stopped by to offer my condolences on the death of your son." Mother said, A"Why he isn't dead, Joe come here for a minute". I stepped back into the living room, and that man's mouth fell open, and his eyes got real big. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. When he finally spoke he said, "No ones ever survived a fall of the top of Cummins Falls. I just naturally assumed you were dead." Rumor had got out that the Falls had claimed another victim.
Dorothy Landers Story
"When you fell, I didn't know what to do. I waited to see if you would float out where I could see you. When you didn't, I wadded the river, climbed the hill back to the gravel road. I remembered we had passed a house not far from the falls. I didn't take time to even put on my shoes. I started running down the road toward the house. My feet didn't even feel the rocks as I ran. I ran up on the porch, yanked open the screen door, and burst in on a little old lady. I blurted out what had happened. The little old lady ( Mrs. Cummins) said, Relax honey, I'll get on the party line and get some help to get the body out. No ones ever survived a fall like that.
Word spread fast and soon men and boys began to arrive at the farm, and we all went back to the falls."
Some have said it was God's way of knocking some sense into my head. Dot sensed that I might not be over my feelings for Sybil. She urged me to call her in Alabama, and go visit her one more time. It was decided, after a call to Sybil, that I would take Dot to Nashville, put her on a train back to Chicago, and then go on to Waterloo, Alabama to visit her. Dot was right, I was still in love with Sybil. She took pity on me, when she saw me all banged up. It was a hard thing I had to do when I returned to Chicago, and had to face Dot Landers, and tell her Sybil and I were still in love.
At Christmas time of this year, for some reason I don't remember, I was un-able to go home for the Holidays. It was Christmas Eve, and I was feeling lonely. I left my apartment and went down to the corner tavern for a beer. There were a bunch of revelers whooping it up in the bar. I began feeling sorry for myself. I started thinking about my life, I am twenty-five years old, all my friends are married and have started a family, Jack and Shirley are happily married. It's time to settle down, I've sowed my wild oats. I resolved to call Sybil the next day and ask when I could come down and see her. When Sybil's next Spring break came, I flew to Nashville with ring in hand and ask her to marry me. We Married in September of 1958.





South Bend area

Christmas Tree Farm
It's October and the Grouse, Geese, and Duck season is open. My hunting partner, "Bud" Canfield, called to see if I would be able to go hunting on Saturday. We discussed a plan of action that entailed Goose hunting at the "High Banks" near Allegan, Michigan in the morning and Grouse and Woodcock in the afternoon.
The Goose hunting was a bust. Too many "City hunters." They wouldn't let the birds get into range, before opening up on them. To the novice, because the birds are so large, they seem to be in range when they are not. We just sat in our blind and laughed at the sheer idiocy of it. About 10:00 we had enough of it and left. It wasn't far to one of our favorite places to hunt Grouse. We called it the Christmas Tree Farm. They sold and shipped trees to the Chicago market. Grouse liked to feed among the small trees. Not finding them there, we pushed on into the swamp beyond the tree farm.The swamp had always produced grouse and timberdodells(Woodcock) for us. As we swept through the swamp we began to flush Woodcock, and managed to kill a couple. We came to the river, which was swollen from and early snowfall that had begun to melt. We were standing on the bank of the river talking, when a woodcock could stand it no longer, and suddenly flushed right at our feet. I swung around, my back to the river, and off balance, fired my Browning "Midas Grade" over/under 12ga. Shotgun. The recoil of the gun, caused me to fall in a twisting, backwards motion into the river. As I went in, the shotgun still in my right hand, disappeared under the water. The shock of the cold water, caused me to let go of the gun. In that moment I knew I was going to drown. I had on heavy double thickness canvas pants and coat, and insulated boots. Temperature was about 10 degrees. The shock of the cold water drove the breath out of me as I went under. I felt powerless to move. Suddenly I felt myself being lifted up. A huge hand had grabbed the collar of my hunting coat, as I went under, and begun hauling me up the bank of the river. Thank God for my choice of a hunting partner. "Bud" stood more than six feet tall, all muscle, and probably weighed about 275 lbs. He would have made a great Notre Dame lineman. Standing together, we looked like Mutt and Jeff. (Cartoon Strip)
I coughed out some water I swallowed, and assured him I was all right, and told him, "Let's head for the car, ( we were driving his old Cadillac convertible) I'm freezing to death." "Where is your gun," he asked? "Hang the Gun, I said, I'm freezing to death, ice is forming on my pants legs." "We're not leaving without your gun." and with that said, he jumped feet first into the river. Now we were both wet. The water only came up to above his waist. He began to wave his arms around in a circular manner under water. Suddenly he stopped and pulled up the gun butt first. I had rammed it into the muddy bottom barrels first. "Got it" he said. (to the non gun person the Midas was an engraved gold inlaid shotgun worth over $5000 on today's market.) He jumped out of the water, and we began to jog toward the car, which was about a quarter of a mile back along an old logging road. Making the car, we finally began to get some heat going. Fortunately, we always carried extra clothing in case of an accident or getting soaked in a rain. Changing with only the deer watching was easy enough. Getting back in the car, "Bud" produced cleaning equipment from his trunk, and I broke down the Browning and flooded the action with wd-40, to prevent rust until we could get home. Home was fifty miles south. I will always be grateful that I knew such a fine, Christian gentleman. I will always believe he saved my life that day. We went on to enjoy many more hunts over the following years, sometimes in the company of the Rev. Al Falls, a United Methodist preacher. Sad to say, "Bud" passed away several years later of liver cancer. The old saying, "The good die young" was certainly true in his case.

Gun Incident
It's funny how remembering this incident brings back another memory of Ervin "Bud" Canfield. One afternoon, a Saturday I think, a neighbor of ours, Mel Gorolski, came walking across the street with a pistol in his hand. He handed it to me, telling me he had just bought it from a fellow. He knew I was a member of the Faternal Order of Police, and could get into the range to shoot. He couldn't wait to try out his new gun. He, his wife Mary Ellen, Sybil and I, headed to the range. I really didn't want to go, but he insisted. Normally I would break down a gun and examine it for problems, but since he was impatient, I didn't. Mel was like a kid with a new toy, he couldn't wait to use it. I loaded it for him and stood a side while he fired 2-3 rounds. He then handed it to me. I fired the first round, on firing the next one the gun exploded. The slide came back hitting the rim off my horn rim glasses, smashing the glass into my right eye, and deflected into my forehead., cutting nerve's above my right eye. (This was to leave the right side of my skull numb for many years there after.) The force spun me around, I was stunned, but never dropped to the ground. I knew I was hurt bad. I told them to get me to the car, and to the emergency room, as fast as they could. Arriving at Memorial Hospital, they took me right in, a young intern was the only one on duty. He started picking glass out of my eye ball for what seemed like an hour, while the hospital tried to locate an eye surgeon. When he came, he complimented the young intern, on the fine job he was doing and took over. It wasn't known if I'd ever see out of that eye again. He bandaged both eyes, and the waiting began. I was blind for about three days. The surgeon told me how lucky I was, that I was wearing thick frame glasses. He said, "A half inch lower and the slide would have gone into the brain through the eye socket bringing instant death."
When I recovered my sight, I broke down the gun and examined it. The gun, a German, Browning pattern, had its' slide stop broken off and braised back on. I'll always believe this was a World War II souvenir, that was a booby trap gun, intended to blow up some U.S. serviceman who picked it up on the battle field, and tried to use it. I had read about this being done by the retreating Germans. During my blind period, "Bud" heard about the accident. He showed up at my bedside at home, bringing me the biggest, finest, steak money could buy. Sybil said it was one and a half inches thick. so tender you could cut it with a fork, and as big as a dinner plate. I only got to see it by the sense of touch, but I enjoyed every morsel. I was soon to regain my sight.
"Bud" as the saying goes, "Was one in a million." I remember in our deer camp at night, "Bud" would prop up in an old rocking chair, put his feet on the potbelly stove, and read his Bible before going to bed. He was quietly spoken, good natured, and the kind of person you enjoyed being around.A gentle giant of a man.
Joe Brown Lynn-8-18-1998. Added to 10-14-2000
To Be Continued............

After Leg Removal 1976
In a consultation with my doctor in South Bend, I ask how long I would have to be off work after the operation. He said about six months. "That's too long," I replied. "Well, I have heard that at the I.U. Hospital in Indianapolis, they claim to be able to get people back to work in three months." They checked, and found a surgeon from Bluffton, Indiana, that said he could do what I wanted. Surgery was scheduled, and off we went to Indianapolis. On arriving it was found that no beds were available. The hospital arranged a Motel room near the hospital. A doctor visited me daily to check on the blood poisoning, to see if it was still going down the leg. He said "As long as the progression is downward we are O.K.. If it starts up the leg we are in trouble. We will have to find you a bed." After two days, a bed became available in the Riley Children's Hospital, and they transferred me there. I was there one day and a bed opened up in the surgery center. I was taken via the tunnels that connect all the hospitals to that center. The day after surgery the doctor came in and said it was time to get out of bed and take a walk down the hall. "You have to be kidding, I can't even move, sure you can, a technician will be here shortly to cast the stump of your leg. He will fit a joint to take a one inch piece of pipe with a foot on it." True to his word, I walked that day. The third day an orderly showed up and said we were going to take a ride to therapy. Down the elevator to the basement, and we started through the tunnel to the hospital where they did the therapy. Along the way we met a Gurney going in the opposite direction. We had to squeeze over to the wall to let him pass. As it passed, I noticed it was an assortment of arms, legs, hands, an who knows what else..I ask my orderly where they came from. He said they were used by the students at the teaching hospital, to practice on. I wondered if my leg was among them. All told I spent 23 days before returning to South Bend.

The second day home I woke up stretched, and thought how wonderful I felt. I didn't wake up to pain in my leg. No Pain! I threw back the covers, rolled out and stood up, stepped out and fell flat on my face. I forgot I had no leg. One day Sybil had a long face, and I ask her what was troubling her. She said I would have to find a new job, because I would not be able to travel. I said, " Pack my bag and I will show you who can't travel." True to what I was told in the beginning, I was back working in about three months. My motto has always been, "Where there is a will, there is a way." Your only limit in life is yourself. JBL

Samuel Asa Lynn

Born the third son of David Campbell Lynn and Zanda Crawford Lynn, on 3-Nov-1907, in the Lynn Hollow. Young Sam grew up in the Flynn’s Lick, Ft. Blount community, and went to school at Flynn’s Lick, and Gainesboro, Tennessee. He attended the same College his older brother David Crawford had attended. Berea College in Berea, Kentucky. After College, he went to Detroit for a short time, working in the automotive plants. There he started to date Bonnie Jean Brown, who had lived on the adjoining farm in Tennessee. He and Bonnie Jean soon returned to Jackson County, Tennessee. After a short time, they were married on 16-Jul-1931, at her parents home in White’s Bend, near Flynn’s Lick Tennessee.

Born to this union was a son, named Arthur Lewis Lynn, on 7-Apr-1932. He died on 16-may-1932, of what we now know as Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. While living at Ft. Blount, on what was then called the old Fox place, they had another Son. Joe Brown Lynn was born 15-Jun-1933, in the Lynn hollow, in his grandfather’s house. Several Lynn's had been born in this same house. After this, they moved to Cookeville, Tennessee, to a home they were renting on North Willow street.

Young Sam borrowed $100.00 as a down payment on a truck. Through contacts at
Steekly Produce he began to haul live chickens to Somerset, Kentucky. There he sold them to a buyer, who hauled them to the Jewish Markets in New York City. Some way he found out what they were paying in New York, and decided it was more profitable to haul them all the way himself. They had to drive straight through, so he equipped his trucks with sleepers, so one driver drove while the other slept. From this small beginning, he purchased two additional trucks. He and an assistant driver, drove the semi-trailer, other drivers drove the two six tonn’ers. Over the years he lost a couple of the trucks to accidents and fire. He continued this business for several years.
Meanwhile his family increased with the addition of, Billy Campbell Lynn, born 9-Sep-1935, Sammie Jean Lynn, born 11-Jan-1938. On Dec.1, 1937, Sam bought the adjoining house at 600 Willow Street, for $1200.00. He had bought his first home. The furniture in the old house was simply picked up and carried across the yard to the new house. This made for a very easy move.

Martha Susan Lynn, born 16-Jan-1940, was the next addition to the family. About this time, they decided that the family was getting to big to manage with Sam being gone for a week at a time.The business was sold, and he and his brother James Arthur Lynn leased an Esso Service Station on East Spring Street. A short time after this, they left Standard Oil and bought a Texaco service station, that was bigger, a block west of the other location. .

On 2-Aug-1941, Bonnie Lois Lynn became the newest addition to the family. When World War II started James Arthur Lynn was drafted, and Sam bought out his share in the service station.Some time later, Sam got his draft notice, and started making preparations to go. He began to teach Bonnie Jean to drive a car, and bought a newer car to replace the old Plymouth he was driving. When he went for his Physical, he was turned down because of rheumatism. This was a great relief to the family. Sam decided the family needed a bigger home, and sold the house on Willow Street, and bought one at 815 Washington Avenue, on the corner of 8th Street. He paid $8000.00 for his second home.

Rationing
With more and more items becoming harder to get, Sam had the foresight to see that some form of rationing had to come into effect. He began to travel throughout the States of Tennessee and Kentucky buying all types of Automotive Tires. He converted one of the grease bays in the service station to storage only. He had racks built, that went all the way to the ceiling, and began to fill them with tires. When he ran out of space there, he begin to fill the basement of his new home on Washington street with tires. Shortly after this, rationing was imposed on the Nation for the duration of the war.
The way the new system worked, was this. You had to go before the local Rationing Board, and prove a need for new tires. If successful, you were given a permit for a specified number of new tires. You took this to your local dealer and surrendered it to him for the new tires. He in turn had to give it to the wholesaler to replenish his inventory. If at the beginning of rationing you only had ten tires in stock, you could never build up your inventory beyond this level.
It became very difficult to find tire Wholesalers, as the war years continued. Sam had a novel way of protecting his sources. When a shipment would arrive at the station via freight line, Joe Brown, or one of the other attendants, would be given a flashlight and a pair of wire cutters. The doors were then opened, and they went inside. The doors were closed while they collected all the shipping tags from the tires. They then handed them to Sam, who put them in his pocket. Then the order was given to un-load. It seemed that his competitors just happened to stop by every time he was due to get a new shipment of tires.

This was the beginning of prosperity for the Lynn family. Some time after this, disaster struck in the form of a fire in the family home. At first it was feared that all the tires stored in the basement of the house were lost. This later proved not to be so. The basement drains had plugged up, and rising water had flooded the basement and saved the tires. Sam went on to make quite a bit of money from this endeavor.

In 1945,shortly before the end of the war, Sam had a chance to sell the business. Taking the money from this sale, he found out that, Dr. L.R. Anderson of Flynn’s Lick Tennessee, was selling his farm. The farm consisted of 180 acres. He bought it in a private sale, for $21,000.00, before most in the community knew it was for sale. He took possession of the farm on Jan. 1, 1946. Sam determined that Flynn’s Lick could support another General Store, so he had Lynn’s Store built. In the meantime another addition arrived to the family, in the form of Patricia Ann Lynn, born 15-Sep-1945. Sam and Jean ran the store, helped out by Joe Brown. He ran a successful business, helping out many tenet farmers, by carrying a chattel mortgage on their tobacco corps, until harvest time. He also forgave several unsecured bad debts.

Sam became a Gentleman farmer, raising both cattle and hogs. He was helped in this enterprise by his two sons. Joe was responsible for the cattle and Bill for the hogs.

On 1-Nov-1949, Janice Ellen Lynn was born into the family. After a period of time, Bonnie Jean began to have health problems. The doctors determined that the low country at Flynn’s Lick was part of the problem, and recommended a chance to a higher, drier climate.
With the end of the war, and the return of the automobile, Sam could see the end of the family store approaching. Supermarkets were becoming the vogue.

They sold the property at auction for $32,212.00 and moved back to Cookeville, Tennessee. Since Joe Brown had graduated from High School, it was decided to seek property close to Tennessee Tech College. This they did, buying a house on 6th Street, two blocks from the College campus, for $8600.00, on May 19,1951.

Sam was thinking about buying a Hardware business on the courthouse square. By now, Joe Brown decided he didn’t want to go to college, but wanted to go to Chicago, and enter an Electronic Technical School. The family consented and Sam and Jean determined to drive him to Chicago, and get him settled in. Arriving in Whiting, Indiana about nightfall, we decided to stay in a Motel and go on in the next morning
Joe, pushed for a new Motel that had a big sign advertising pay Television in the rooms.( Television had not arrived in Cookeville, at this time.) You had to insert a quarter, for a half hour of viewing time. The time ran out five minutes before the hour, and you had to put in another quarter, to see the end of the show. Sam was very impressed with this operation. On his arrival back home, he had changed his mind about the Hardware business, and a short time later was able to buy 14 acres from a Mrs. Bullock. Construction began immediately on an 8 room Motel, which later grew to be 21 rooms. This was the first new motel to be built in Cookeville, in probably 15-20 years. He advertised on a large sign, FREE TELEVISION, and AIR CONDITIONING in all the rooms. This was the key to success in the Motel business, because most owners were charging a fee.

Not content to operate a motel, he decided to run for Cookeville City Clerk and was elected. At the end of his term, he began to keep books for his friend Jess Owens, the owner of the Pepsi Cola plant. He did this for several years. Mother ran the Motel during this period.
One day I asked him why he needed to hold down two different jobs. His answer,”We need the money,” and they probably did, but Sam was a restless soul. All his life he had been a very active person. I think both the store and the motel were too confining to him. Like his father, Sam was a born politician. He liked to be in the middle of things. He got this trait from his father.He was a very persuasive person, and easily persuaded Bonnie Jean to follow his lead. His sense of timing was un-canny. He seem to know when a business had reached its’ peak, and it was time to sell out and move on.

In 1965, Sam's health began to fail. He was diagnosed as having lung cancer. He lived a few more months, passing away at Lynn's Motel in 1966. He is buried in the Cookeville Cemetery. He always said that the reason for his success in life, was his large family, that he couldn’t afford not to be SUCCESSFUL.
He was a member of the Broadstreet Church of Christ, and a 32 nd degree Mason.
By: Joe Brown Lynn

This my children, are a few of my memories, from early childhood up to the time you all were born, and in some cases beyond. I have had many adventures and mis-adventures in my life. Through it all God preserved me.
You should start recording what you remember for the next generation to come after you. Your great Aunt Irene Brown inspired me to do this. She wrote many pages of her early life, but died before finishing it. What she wrote makes great reading. A copy is among my papers.
Dad - Nov.2000. Re-edited Jan. 2002