Lawrence County History Trivia

If you’ve spent much time in David Crockett State Park, you may have noticed this depression running alongside the road to the park restaurant. But what you may not know is that this depression is a remaining portion of a road used during the Trail of Tears, which passed through Lawrence County on this day in 1838.

The depression in the ground here is the original Waynesboro Turnpike, which was the predecessor of today’s Waynesboro Highway. This road was created more than 200 years ago, and it was worn down by many thousands of travelers in wagons, on horseback, and on foot.

On November 5, 1838, this section of road was traveled by Cherokee leader John Bell and a party of almost 700 Cherokee Indians during their forced relocation to Indian Territory as part of the Trail of Tears. Accompanied by a military escort commanded by Lieutenant Edward Deas, the party passed through the Square in downtown Lawrenceburg and forded Shoal Creek at Hope Springs.

According to “A Study of the Routes Used During the Cherokee Removal of 1838,” by Benjamin C. Nance, “Bell’s party consisted of about 650-700 Cherokees who supported the removal treaty and were therefore opposed to John Ross.” Bell’s party “took a more direct route than did the Ross allied parties, possibly to avoid conflict with those groups, since there was great friction between the two factions.”

The Bell Party departed East Tennessee on October 11, 1838. The route they followed is roughly adjacent to modern Highway 64. We know generally where they were and when thanks in large part to the vouchers used by Lieutenant Deas to pay for supplies and medicine along the way.

Although we aren’t sure how many people lived in Lawrenceburg in 1838, it is possible that the large, slow-moving group of Native Americans dwarfed the 1838 population of Lawrenceburg as it made its way west around the Square. No doubt it was a sight that few would forget.

Nance’s work highlighting which roads were used by the Bell Party in Lawrence County says the following:

“The route followed Choate Creek Road along Choate Creek into Lawrence County. The old road is now broken up into remnants, parts of which include Bonee Road, Norton Road, and Gimlet Road. Gimlet Road then joins Highway 64 entering Lawrenceburg…The route again diverged from Highway 64 in Lawrenceburg, following the road through the square then crossing Shoal Creek. From here the old route does not appear to deviate from the current course of Highway 64 into Wayne County.”

According to Tennessee House Joint Resolution 980, signed by Governor Haslam in 2016, the stretch of the original Trail of Tears in Lawrence County is “the longest segment of the Trail of Tears on public property.”

Can you imagine asking your congressman to collect on a personal debt that another congressman owed you? Would you trust him to?

David Crockett was perpetually strapped for cash. Even when he lived in Lawrence County–which was, relatively speaking, one of the most prosperous periods of his life–Crockett still borrowed heavily to build his milling operation on Shoal Creek, and had to ask at least one land speculator for an extension on his payment for some land he had purchased in Lawrence County.

All of Crockett’s financial troubles multiplied when his mill was washed away by a flood of Shoal Creek in September 1821. He scrambled to liquidate his assets, was sued by several of his creditors, and moved to West Tennessee for a fresh start after selling all of his land to satisfy his creditors.

But before he left for good, Crockett borrowed money yet again. On October 10, 1822, Crockett borrowed $12.75 from Moses Pennington. The note was due the next day, but apparently Crockett never showed up to settle with Pennington.

Sometime in the next five years, Pennington must have sold or traded the note to its next recorded holder, William Henry. In 1828, William Henry sent a letter to future President of the United States James K. Polk, asking him to collect from Crockett. At that time, Polk and Crockett were both representing Tennessee in the House of Representatives in Washington.

The letter, with original spelling preserved, reads as follows:

‘Lawrenceburg Tennessee Feby 20th 1828

Sir

I take the liberty of encloseing a note of hand on Colo Crocket that I want you to colect for me as you are the Only member that I am acquainted with. You will please Direct your letter to Lawrenceburg Tennessee.

Wm. Henry’

Apparently, although Lawrenceburg was not in his Congressional District, Polk made Crockett pay up. A notation written by Polk on the letter says that he “enclosed the said note to Wm. Henry” on March 10, 1828.

By the way, how much would $12.75 be worth in 1822? According to the Westegg inflation calculator, it would be the same as borrowing around $300 today. 

He’s stood guard over the Public Square in Lawrenceburg for 102 years today. But did you know it took thirty years for Lawrenceburg’s statue of David Crockett to become reality?

Lawrence County has a long history of emphasizing its ties with the king of the wild frontier. Our first countywide celebration of Crockett’s birthday happened in 1890, and it drew a crowd of about 5,000 people to Lawrenceburg, which at the time was a city of only about 600 souls.

At that time, a local group known as the David Crockett Memorial Association laid the cornerstone for a monument to Crockett in what is today the Rosemont section of Lawrenceburg. Although that part of town was largely woods and pastureland in 1890, the owners of the Lawrenceburg Land Company envisioned the neighborhood as a pleasantly grand addition to the city, with the monument to Crockett serving as the focal point of a small city park to be known as “David Crockett Park” (not to be confused with the state park of the same name, which stands on the other side of the city today).

Unfortunately for the Land Company, their plans ran aground in a stormy sea of lawsuits and the vision they had for Rosemont never materialized. We don’t know what became of that cornerstone, either, but we do know that it contained a small tin time capsule into which were placed issues of local newspapers.

The plans for that original monument to Crockett were much grander than the statue that we now have of him. It was to be “carved in Italy from pure white marble and shipped to Lawrenceburg in time to be unveiled at the Annual Celebration of Crockett’s birthday in 1891.”

Despite these high hopes, the idea of a marble statue to David Crockett in Lawrenceburg never materialized.

Although we don’t know why that first statue proposal fizzled, we do know that the idea of memorializing Crockett persisted. On November 7, 1921, a mass meeting was held in Lawrenceburg for the purpose of raising money for a new bronze statue of Crockett, to be placed on the southern side of the courthouse.

Work began on this project in earnest. The W.M. Dean Marble Company of Columbia created the bronze statue for the cost of about $3,000.

Finally, after many years of waiting and several stops and starts, the statue of Crockett that stands on the southern end of our Public Square was unveiled with great fanfare on September 14, 1922.

As a result of that unique connection we have to Crockett’s life and rise to prominence, Lawrence County is home to one of the oldest and only full-body statues of David Crockett in the country.

The Crockett statue was cleaned and restored by the Terra Mare Conservation company in 2019, using funds from a $15,000 grant from the Tennessee Historical Commission.

Below is a photo of the dedication of the Crockett Statue in 1922.

How many people do you think you could get to verify that you are a good person?

One Lawrence County man got the signatures of 190 people!

The reason? Civil War veteran drama.

In the spring of 1906, 78-year-old James S. Finley of Lawrenceburg applied for a pension from the State of Tennessee for his service in the Confederate army. In 1861, Finley enlisted in Company A of the 32nd Tennessee Infantry. He was a Methodist pastor in civilian life, and on October 28, 1861, he was elected chaplain of his regiment.

After the fall of Fort Donelson and the capture of a large portion of the Army of Tennessee in February 1862, Finley claims that he was ordered to return home until further notice. He says that when the men of his regiment were exchanged in October 1862, he reported to the conscription officer, who promptly issued him a discharge due to his status as a minister. He says that for the duration of the war, he “lived a quiet and peaceable life,” minding his own business at his home in Marshall County.

Finley’s account and his extant service record satisfied the Tennessee Board of Pension Examiners, and he was allowed to draw his $5 per month–once. After one check, Finley’s pension stopped and he was given no reason why.

As it turned out, some local Confederate veterans were outraged that Finley’s name was added to the pension roll, and they wasted no time letting the state know. Finley found out about this when the Pension Board mistakenly sent him a letter that was probably intended for the governor. It said:

“As soon as his name appeared in the published list of new pensioners, we received protests from some of the leading citizens of Lawrence County…and from Marshall County where he lived during the war. It was charged that he saw little or no service in the army, that he left the army in 1862, and that thereafter he affiliated with the other side, acting as pilot and informer for the Federal troops in this section of the state.”

Finley’s neighbor, the schoolteacher and Union veteran J.J.W. Starr, wrote a flurry of letters to the governor and the Pension Board denying the charges and insisting that Finley be allowed a fair and impartial hearing regarding the case.

T.H. Meredith, a local Confederate veteran and court official, did not mince words in his angry letters to the Pension Board. He claimed that Finley helped the Union army during the war, that he began the first Northern Methodist church ever seen in the area, that he consistently voted the Republican ticket, and that he was “a low-down cuss, and he deserves a kick from all honest men.” Meredith had some harsh words for J.J.W. Starr, too, calling him “the most contemptible Yankee that ever struck our county,” and that he “meddles in a great many things that do not concern him.”

John B. Kennedy, another local Confederate veteran and court official, took aim at Finley’s personal life, claiming that Finley had been married three times; the first wife “he treated so shamefully and so brutally…that she finally went insane and died,” the second he divorced, and the third he ordered from a “matrimonial service.” Kennedy went on to say that Finley “is the worst old Philistine who has so far escaped the jawbone.”

In the autumn of 1909, a petition circulated requesting Finley’s reinstatement on the roll, stating that he was “a person of good moral character and worthy of belief.”

The petition, seen here, is impressive. It contains 190 names of men from a variety of walks of life. James D. Vaughan, the father of Southern Gospel music, signed it, as did the mayor, a doctor, a dentist, multiple pastors, several Civil War veterans of both sides, as well as butchers, merchants, painters, carpenters, harness makers, brakemen, newspaper editors, bakers, and the city marshal.

Finley died in 1911, but was never reinstated to the pension roll. He is buried in Mimosa Cemetery in Lawrenceburg, surrounded by both his detractors and most of the 190 men who signed their names to vouch for his character.

While all of Lawrence County’s cemeteries are historic to some degree, only one cemetery in Lawrence County is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

St. Mary’s Cemetery, five miles east of St. Joseph, on Gieske Road is the only remnant of the abandoned German Catholic settlement of St. Mary’s. Established in 1872, the community of St. Mary’s had a log Catholic church and was home to a handful of German immigrants who came to Lawrence County as part of the German Catholic Migration of the 1870s.

The parish was eventually absorbed by St. Joseph and the log church is long gone, but the little cemetery at St. Mary’s remains, and it is still an active burial site. Buried there are members of the Gieske, Kerstiens, Henkel, Regensberg, and Bergob families, among others.

Some of the earliest stones, like this one marking the grave of Theresia Bergob, have German epitaphs. Although some parts of the stone have been worn almost illegible by more than a century of the elements, Theresia Bergob’s stone (as far as I can read it) says the following:

HIER RUHT
THERESIA BERGOB
GEB den 27 FEBR 1842
in Beisinghausen Gemeinde
Reiste Westfalen
GEST den 25 OCT 1908
Deuneliebe songinicht
mehrdein Erkaliendein
Erblassen schulg uns Wunder
lief und schuwer

The German epitaphs, combined with the cemetery’s association with the German Catholic migration, make the cedar-ringed burial ground unique enough to meet the rigorous criteria for inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places.

St. Mary’s Cemetery was listed on the National Register on October 10, 1984.