16: I WALK THE LINE TO OLD HICKORY

My peaceful night standing alongside the TV in our Bowling Green, Kentucky motel room was uneventful, except for a time or two when a small release of ‘hot dog energy’ came from my photographer, or more likely, his wife.  It didn’t matter because I knew that I would have a gas at our first Presidential stop of the day – Andrew Jackson’s Hermitage that was located just outside of Nashville, Tennessee.

It was almost a 90-minute ride to The Hermitage, but somewhere along the way my chauffeur decided to make an unscheduled detour in Hendersonville, Tennessee to visit the grave of Country Superstar Johnny Cash.  From my position in the backseat of the car, I heard my photographer tell Vicki that his parents had taken him to see Cash in concert back in the ‘60s and a visit to Johnny’s grave would remind him of his dad and that time together.

Johnny Cash, also known as The Man in Black, died at the age of 71 on September 12, 2003. The singer was laid to rest alongside his wife, June Carter Cash, in Hendersonville Memory Gardens.  That stop surprised me a bit because I knew that my photographer was a huge KISS fan and loathed country music.  For me, I just patiently waited in my hot camera case that was situated behind the polished marble bench that was near the Cash plot. I was never given an opportunity to stand on the grave or pay my respects to the Boy Named Sue!

Just as we had started to leave, three people walked up to see the Cash grave site when one of them said to us: “Hey, if y’all are interested, we are fixin’ to go see what’s left of Johnny’s house that burned awhile back. Y’all can follow us if you want.”  Inside my case I laughed to myself when I heard “y’all” and “fixin’”; that was when I knew for sure we were in the south.

Vicki drove the Avenger as we followed the trio in their vehicle until they stopped at what appeared to be a construction site located high above Old Hickory Lake in Hendersonville.  That construction site, as it turned out, was the remnants of Johnny Cash’s mansion that had burned to the ground on April 10, 2007.  We heard that Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees had purchased the home a few years after Johnny’s death and had been in the process of renovating the mansion when the place was destroyed by fire.  When my photographer opened up the case to grab his camera, I was able to sneak a quick glimpse at the devastation. 

We spent about 20 minutes looking at the ruins of the house from different angles and even tried to find a possible way to access the property without going to jail; but that idea proved futile. As we got back into the Avenger for the half-hour ride to The Hermitage, a Johnny Cash song flowed into my resin-filled head: “We’ve been talkin’ ’bout Jackson, ever since the fire went out; I’m goin’ to Jackson, and that’s a fact.” Ironically, we were finished at the fire site and we were headed for Jackson – the home of Andrew Jackson, that is. And to top it all off, the inside of my camera case was hotter than a pepper sprout!

We arrived at The Hermitage Visitor Center at roughly 10:00am and the first thing I noticed was the number of kids that were running around unsupervised.  I had hoped those youngsters would not interfere with my goals:  I wanted to be photographed inside and outside of Jackson’s mansion; and also at the original first home on the property; and of course, at Jackson’s tomb – all without unnecessary people in the photos. I didn’t think that was asking for too much.

I was carried along a pea-stone pathway that led to the front of Jackson’s mansion that he called The Hermitage.  As soon as I laid eyes upon the huge, two-story brick structure that featured six wooden support columns for the portico, I couldn’t wait to go inside to see where Andrew Jackson lived and died.  But that’s when we got the bad news after my photographer mentioned to the tour guide that he had hoped to photograph me near the bed that President Jackson had died in. The mid-30’s man quickly informed us, in his southern drawl, that “I’m sorry, photography of any kind is not allowed inside the home.”  When I heard that, all I could do was shake my head in disbelief; but then again, I shake my head all of the time anyway.  In protest, we refused to enter the building; although when everyone else went inside, we used that time to photograph The Hermitage’s façade without others congregated on the porch or in front of the historic structure. 

Throughout much of his adult life, the 7^th President was unhealthy and there was speculation he suffered from lead poisoning acquired from imbedded bullets in his body.  Andrew Jackson died in his first-floor bedroom in 1845; a room that I had wanted to see with my own painted eyes and was never afforded the chance.

With no time to waste, as Vicki patiently waited for us at the Visitor’s Center, we quickly made our way down another path that led to the First Hermitage that was located several hundred yards behind the main house.  When we arrived, there were dozens of school-aged kids running all around the log buildings; each seemed as though they were out of control.  I knew that it would be a challenge to be photographed alone at this small complex of cabins and I could tell that my photographer was trying to fight-off his COBS flareup.  For once, luck was on our side and I was able to pose alone for one exterior shot and a couple of interior photos before the wild rug rats swarmed the place.

Finished at the cabin, I was carried along the pathway to the southeast side of The Hermitage where Rachel Jackson’s beloved garden still flourished.  Next to that garden was the tomb of our 7^th President and his wife; and I could hardly wait to see it.  When Rachel died in 1828, Andrew had her buried near the garden that she so loved. A domed limestone “temple and monument” was constructed over her gravesite and craftsman added copper to the monument’s roof in 1832.  When ‘Old Hickory’ died in 1845, he was laid to rest beside his beloved wife.

President Andrew Jackson died at The Hermitage at 6:00pm on Sunday June 8, 1845; he was 78 years old.  Jackson had suffered from numerous ailments for a long time; but he finally succumbed from the tuberculosis that had left him with one functioning lung and diarrhea that had sapped his strength.  Two days after his death, he was laid to rest alongside Rachel in a simple ceremony.

My original plan was to stand on the marble slab that marked Jackson’s grave beneath the domed structure, but there was a problem: A three-foot high fence surrounded the tomb and there was no way for my photographer to scale that fence to place me on the grave marker.  In addition to the barricade, there were a dozen or more tourists in the area who likely would have reported us to the authorities.

As I posed for a few photos near the tomb, I thought about Rachel and Andrew Jackson and how deeply they had loved each other; even through the controversial times they had suffered as husband and wife.  The subsequent scandal that had begun when the couple were married grew viscious during Jackson’s Presidential campaign of 1828.  Already suffering from heart trouble prior to the campaign, Rachel died on December 28, 1828 several months before she could set foot inside of the White House.

Without all of our goals satisfied, we headed back to the Visitor’s Center and to our rendezvous point with Vicki.  We felt lucky that we had accomplished what we did; even without a tour of home’s interior.  That tour would have to wait for another trip; and hopefully there wouldn’t be as many children there. 

Inside the gift shop, I was given the opportunity to say ‘hello’ to an Andrew Jackson Royal Bobble that was on display.  All Jackson could do was nod his large head in acknowledgement; and of course, I nodded back out of respect.  In his silence, however, I could see that ‘Old Hickory’ seemed sad as I was carried out of the building and on to my next Presidential site.