It had been a little over seven weeks since my ten-day trip throughout Virginia and Washington D.C. had ended. As soon as I returned home from that incredible trip, my photographer performed cosmetic surgery on my legs. When he finished adding some putty, Gorilla Glue, and paint, I was ready to hit the road again with my photographer and his wife Vicki. Tom had mapped out an itinerary that scheduled the three of us to visit 14 states in 20 days. Not only was there a treasure-trove of amazing Presidential sites listed on the agenda, but the one thing that really put a bounce into my spring-connected head was when Tom mentioned to Vicki that we would meet Jimmy Carter at his church in Plains, Georgia. Less than two months ago, I was inside the Oval Office. Now I was just days from meeting a former President in person. But I’m not going to celebrate just yet; I’ll wait until I’m actually in the hands of President Carter. Back in April, I heard the same thing about Bill and Hillary Clinton and my chance to meet them. At the last moment, the Secret Service busted my bubble.
The three of us left St. Clair, Michigan at 11:20am on Wednesday July 10, 2019 in our rented black Toyota Highlander. That first day was slated to be a travel day; although the long drive was broken up when we paid a visit to Amy and Don Hall who lived just outside of New Carlisle, Ohio. Tom and Amy had been friends since the mid-1970s, and their spouses have known each other since the early 1990s. The foursome had made plans for a 4:00pm cookout; but the quaint get-together began shortly after our early arrival at 3:30pm. We had made great time driving through Ohio and I was shocked that my photographer had made it to the Hall’s place without getting nabbed for speeding. It was likely due to the Georgia license plate on the back of the Highlander instead of our normal Michigan plates; which may have proved Tom’s earlier theory correct. My companions had brought Zimmerman’s hotdogs and Better Made chips from Tom’s hometown of Marine City; while Amy had dished-up some scrumptious salads. Good food and great friends are the ingredients for an amazing time – even in Ohio.
I could tell that my two travel mates enjoyed their visit with Don and Amy – even though Don has been a long-time fan of the Buckeyes and Amy once attended Ohio State University. Although the three of us from Michigan disliked that school with the pot leaves on their helmets, we couldn’t argue with Don when he mentioned that his Buckeyes football team had beaten our Wolverines 12 of the last 13 contests. I laughed to myself when my smart aleck photographer had no quick-witted remarks to counter Don’s facts. I thought Tom could’ve at least mentioned that Michigan had a better chess team!
With a lot of daylight left in the sky and even more roadway to cover before nightfall, the three of us bid farewell to Don and Amy before we headed South. During the boring drive along I-75, I heard Tom say to his wife that he had hoped to reach Lexington, Kentucky before they hunkered down for the night. But when they finally stopped at around 8:00pm, we found ourselves at a Quality Inn just outside of Berea, Kentucky – a town that was roughly 40 miles south of Lexington. Once we were checked in, my camera guy placed me alongside the television set; and that’s when I first heard about Hurricane Barry. The Weather Channel’s meteorologists had predicted that Barry would likely make landfall in Louisiana as a Category 1 hurricane on July 15th or 16th. That gave Tom and Vicki plenty of time to alter their course, if needed – a course that was originally drawn-up to get us into Northern Mississippi on the 16th and down into New Orleans on July 17th. There was a chance that we could meet Barry head-on. After hearing the reports on TV, that was a chance I had hoped my photographer wasn’t willing to take.
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Thursday July 11, 2019 got underway when the alarm clock rang at 6:00am. I was impressed when my companions had the Highlander packed and we were on the road by 8:00am. We had little time to waste as Tom planned for the three of us to be in Greeneville, Tennessee for the 11:30am tour of the Andrew Johnson Homestead; a site that was located about 170 miles from Berea. In Tom’s mind, there was no margin for error – if we missed the 11:30 tour, we would have to wait two additional hours before we could get into the historic house. And that wouldn’t work – my photographer had made plans with Russell Emmette, his good friend and fellow safety guy, for a mid-afternoon tour of Jarden Zinc Products where Russell worked as a Behavior Based Safety Facilitator.
Luck was on our side as we rolled into Greeneville at 11:00am. Before I could wobble my head, Tom had the free tickets in his hands for the next tour of the historic Andrew Johnson Homestead. The weather wasn’t as hot as it was in 2017, but the humidity was stifling, and the sky was overcast with an obvious threat of rain. Once I was placed snuggly into the camera case, the three of us made the two-block uphill walk from the Visitor Center to Andrew Johnson’s home where we waited for the arrival of our NPS Ranger. Without the luxury to waste any time, and with the sky starting to darken up, Tom used the extra ten minutes to capture images of me posing near the exterior of the historic Johnson home.
Andrew Johnson purchased his two-story brick home in 1851, but since his political career kept him away from Greeneville for most of the time, he and his wife Eliza didn’t live there until 1869 – which was after they left the White House. During the Civil War, Confederate soldiers occupied the house and left it in disrepair. As a matter of fact, those soldiers had left some graffiti on an interior wall that Eliza Johnson had covered with wallpaper. During later renovations to the home, the “rebel” graffiti was discovered and subsequently left exposed so the world could see what the Confederate soldiers thought of their native son. The message, hand-written in pencil, stated: “Andrew Johnson – the Old Traitor”. During the 45-minute tour of the Johnson home, we were never out of the ranger’s sight long enough where I could sneak onto a piece of furniture. That was too bad, too, because most of the furnishings inside the home were authentic to the family and used by the President. The only piece of furniture that I didn’t want to stand on was situated alongside Eliza Johnson’s favorite chair in her bedroom. It was a white porcelain bowl that Eliza frequently used to vomit in when she battled tuberculosis during her final days of life. I’ve stood on questionable items in the past, like Martin Van Buren’s toilet seat; but I drew the line at getting anywhere near that vomit vessel.
When our tour was finished and we returned outdoors, the wind had increased and the dark clouds looked more ominous. During the downhill hike back to the Visitor Center, I heard Tom say to his wife: “I want to see Andrew Johnson’s gravesite before the storm hits. The museum is indoors, and it won’t matter if it rains when we’re inside; so we’ll go there last.” It was at that moment when I heard Vicki ask a question that I had heard many times in the past: “Weren’t you just at that gravesite two years ago when we were here? Why do you need to go back again if you’ve already seen it?” My photographer reached into his mental vault of ‘Mongo-isms’ and delivered Bob Moldenhauer’s pizza analogy: “You’ve eaten pizza before, right? And you’ve had pizza after that first time, right? And why? Because you like it – and I like visiting Presidential gravesites; especially when I’m so close.”
Vicki drove the Highlander past the Johnson Homestead and then a few blocks up Monument Avenue to the Andrew Johnson National Cemetery. Once we were through the gates, we headed up the steep incline where my photographer’s wife found a parking spot near the grave of our 17th President. In 1852, Andrew Johnson had purchased 23 acres of land just outside of downtown Greeneville that included the high point called “Signal Hill”. When the former President died of a stroke on July 31, 1875 at age 66, a Freemasonry funeral was conducted before Johnson was laid to rest at his favorite spot on the property – the crest of Signal Hill. Three years after his burial, the 28-foot tall marble statue was placed near Johnson’s final resting place. That monument depicted the U.S. Constitution, an eagle, and the Bible. In 1906, the National Cemetery was built around Johnson’s grave and it boasts over 1,000 additional graves. While Vicki stayed in the vehicle, my photographer carried me to the fenced-in gravesite of Andrew Johnson where I once again posed for a handful of images. From our vantage-point high above the city of Greeneville, we could easily see the storm as it approached from the Southwest. Timing is everything – as soon as Tom packed me into the camera case and placed me back on the Highlander’s back seat, the storm arrived and everything outside was instantly drenched.
Back in town, we waited for a break in the rain before the three of us hustled into the Visitor Center at the Andrew Johnson National Historic Site. Since it was only 12:15pm, we had about an hour to visit the small museum that was dedicated to our 17th President before our attempt to register at the nearby General Morgan Inn – the hotel that Tom had made reservations a week earlier. There were two sections to the Memorial Building that was adjoined to the Visitor Center. One side was the museum where smaller artifacts were on display; while the opposite side was where Andrew Johnson’s actual tailor shop was housed. In the museum, I posed alongside a couple of the historic pieces; including the Bible that Johnson used to affirm his oath of office. In the larger section of the Memorial Building, I was placed onto the windowsill of the tailor shop where I posed for my photographer. The Andrew Johnson Tailor Shop was cool because it was the authentic wooden one-room building that the future President had purchased in 1827 and had moved to its present location across the street from his first Greeneville home. Since Johnson never attended school a day in his life, he could barely read and he couldn’t write at all. While he operated that tailor shop, Eliza read to him and she taught her husband to write. Andrew Johnson owned and operated his tailor shop for 14 years before he entered the political scene. In 1921, the state of Tennessee purchased the historic shop and built the Memorial Building around the tailor shop to protect it from the elements.
It was 12:45pm when we pulled into the parking lot of the General Morgan Inn. Ten days before the trip began, Tom made reservations for the three of us to spend the night in the historic hotel; not realizing that it was reputed to be haunted. But due to our early arrival, our room wasn’t quite ready for us to move in. Instead of waiting in the lobby, Vicki decided to walk around downtown Greeneville and visit some of its shops. At the same time, my photographer contacted his friend and the two of us headed for Russell’s workplace. Jarden Zinc Products was the primary manufacturer of coins for countries around the world and I was excited to see the process. But when we arrived at the large factory that was located just over six miles Northeast of downtown Greeneville, Tom left me fending for myself in the Highlander. It wasn’t a huge deal because I had met Russell Emmette two years earlier during our visit to Greeneville. On that trip, Mr. Emmette took us to a house in the country that Andrew Johnson had once purchased for his daughter. Tom followed his friend into the large factory where he proceeded to take an in-depth tour of the facility. While inside, he saw the entire process of producing a U.S. one-cent coin. My photographer said later that the round, flat disc looked exactly like a penny except Abraham Lincoln’s mugshot was missing. The U.S. Mint puts the finishing touches on the money when they stamp the images into the obverse and reverse sides of the coin after receiving the blanks from Jarden. During his two-hour visit, Tom also had the opportunity to meet a lot of Russell’s co-workers where he engaged in several safety discussions. When my camera guy finally returned to the car, I saw him hand Russell several packages of Kosher salt cans that Tom’s company in St. Clair had produced. As the pair stood outside of the Highlander, the two safety guys agreed to meet for dinner with their wives at a place called Aubrey’s: a restaurant that’s famous in Eastern Tennessee for its homestyle cuisine and some friendly southern hospitality.
It was nearly 4:00pm when Tom and I returned to the General Morgan Inn. Vicki had already checked into our room on the second floor and waited for us. Once my companions had lugged their belongings up to the room, Tom placed me alongside the television set where I stayed until we departed for dinner. The three of us met Russell and his wife Amber in the parking lot of Aubrey’s. As I watched from an opening in the camera case as the four of them entered the eatery, I once again felt left out. I became frustrated because I had looked forward to meeting Russell’s wife. I heard my photographer mention several times in the past that Amber looked like singer/song writer and former American Idol winner Kelly Clarkson. When the foursome emerged from Aubrey’s over an hour later, Tom wanted Russell and Amber to pose with me while we stood in the parking lot. As Russell held me tightly in his hands, I thought to myself: “For once Tom was right; she does look similar to Kelly Clarkson.” As my photographer snapped a few images of the couple, I waited for Amber to belt out the lyrics to ‘A Moment Like This’. However, since the “Greeneville Idol” seemed shy in front of their ‘Yankee’ visitors, Amber politely declined to sing.
After my photographer and his wife bid farewell to Amber and Russell, we made the short journey back to the hotel. Upon our arrival, Tom inquired with a desk clerk about the ghosts that allegedly haunt the General Morgan Inn. At first, the clerk laughed out loud; but then she turned serious and said the stories were true; or were alleged to be true. She mentioned several entities by name; including Greene Room Grace – who steals spoons in the Greene Room. Front Desk Bill was the second of the ghostly trio she mentioned. Bill had reportedly told dowsers that he was in the company of 26 other ghosts who haunt the area. And saving the best for last, the woman talked about John Hunt Morgan – a Confederate general who was shot in the back and fell dead on the site. He was the soldier for whom the hotel was named. Morgan reportedly haunts the second floor of the hotel; which sparked my photographer’s interest because we were lodged in Room 212. When I heard the second-floor tale, I began to get a little nervous; after all, I seem to attract the non-living.
Tom waited for nightfall to begin his ghost hunt. He began his search in the elegant lobby of the hotel. As a matter of fact, he placed me in several places around the ornate room with hopes that an entity would connect with me. But we had no luck there. My photographer walked across Main Street and snapped some images of the hotel at night; hoping that something would make an appearance. He also captured images of the historic Greene County Court House, but we had no luck there either. In a last-ditch effort to connect with some spirits, Tom carried me along Main Street for two blocks and then back towards the hotel. We spent about 30 minutes wandering alone in and around the historic General Morgan Inn; but without an unexplained encounter of any kind. The two of us finished our ghost hunt back on the second floor of the hotel; Tom snapped images outside of our room as well as down the empty hallway. But once again we came up empty handed. Back inside Room 212 where Vicki was already fast asleep, Tom placed me alongside the television set. As I stood there with ghosts on my mind, a weather update appeared on the TV that centered on Hurricane Barry; which was still technically a tropical storm. The forecast predicted that Barry would make landfall just West of New Orleans sometime Saturday night. In my mind, I thought there was a good chance that we would miss the storm; unless, of course, the darn thing changed direction. At roughly 11:00pm, Tom extinguished the last light in the room and turned off the TV; I was left in total darkness. I wasn’t overly concerned about Greene Room Grace or Front Desk Bill at all. In my mind, it was General Morgan who gave me the “willies” throughout the night. After all; we were on “The General’s floor!”
