Being a rough looking,
reclusive mountain man and for fear of the unknown, more than anything else,
rumors always ran rampant about Uncle Bush…he killed a man, he would shoot
prowlers on sight, he was crazy, and the like. Fed up with all the unfounded
gossip, he decided to approach funeral home owner Frank Quinn about having his
funeral “now, while I’m still living so I can hear what people have to say about me, what
they know about me.” After the initial shock and weighing in on all the ifs,
ands, and buts, Quinn agreed and the service was set for late spring of the
following year.
Describing Uncle Bush was
easy. He had a long thick beard, always wore bib overalls, dipped snuff, was a
master craftsman (he made his own coffin from black walnut wood), and was a
crack shot with a rifle. He could reputedly bring down a fox from a hundred
yards away, having gotten a lot of practice protecting his chickens. His best
friend and constant companion was his mule which he had raised from a young
colt and named, “Mule.” He never married, telling folks, “The ones I wanted I
couldn’t have and the ones I could have I didn’t want.”
He claimed he could
communicate with Mule and apparently, he could. Other than the normal work
chores…plowing, skidding logs, and pulling up stumps, he had taught Mule quite
a repertoire of tricks. As word spread about the near-famous twosome, folks
from around the area began to muster up the courage to come and request a showing
of Uncle Bush’s mule and his “trick show.” And he would always oblige. To say
that Uncle Bush enjoyed the limelight was an understatement.
As the day of the “living
funeral” as it had been tagged, began to draw closer, Frank Quinn realized that
this was going to be an event of big proportions, much bigger than he first
thought. And when East Tennessee’s largest newspaper, the Knoxville News-Sentinel ran the story, the Associated Press picked
up on it, and the tale of Felix Breazeale, his mule, and his living funeral,
spread like wildfire.
June of 1938 was
exceptionally hot for the mountains of East Tennessee as Sunday, the 26th,
the date set for Uncle Bush’s funeral, grew closer and closer. People began
arriving on Friday, camping out in the woods around Cave Creek Missionary
Baptist Church. By early Sunday morning, people were stirring like bees around
a honey tree. Travel along the narrow dirt road leading through the woods to
the little white church had slowed to a crawl. Estimates of the crowd ran as
high as 8,000 to 10,000.
June 26th was
anything but usual in the small Roane County community of Cave Creek. People
began to gather early…in cars, trucks, buses, wagons, on horseback, on foot,
some arriving before daybreak. An unofficial survey of license plates showed
vehicles from fourteen states as far away as Louisiana, Missouri, and Alabama. An
old and dear friend of Uncle Bush, the Rev. Charles Jackson had driven from
Paris, Illinois, a distance of over 500 miles, to preach the funeral. Frank
Quinn realized early on that the small church house would not hold a fraction
of the people so plans quickly changed and the service was moved outdoors.
The rumor that the funeral
procession would be led by Mule, pulling a wagon bearing Uncle Bush’s handmade
coffin, was just that…a rumor! Actually, Uncle Bush rode in with Frank Quinn in
the front seat of the funeral coach, forty minutes late because of the clogged
up narrow dirt road. Other than that, the well-planned service went off, pretty
much, without a hitch.
Uncle Bush, decked out in a
new suit donated by a Knoxville clothing store, sat directly in front of his
coffin. Others, including Quinn, Jackson, and a vocal group from Chattanooga,
the Friendly Eight Octet, shared the stage. Songs, as requested by Uncle Bush
included, “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks I Stand” and “In a Land Where We’ll Never
Grow Old.”
One man, looking for a quick buck, made
close to $300 charging people to park on his property and two other men had set
up a crude hot dog stand. Uncle Bush later told that he “didn’t mean for it to
cause such a big stir.” At the conclusion of the service, Uncle Bush stayed for
several hours to shake hands and sign autographs with his “X.”
During the ensuing months, the
name Bush Breazeale became almost a household name. Radio stations wanted
interviews, newspapers and magazines, including Life, ran articles and columns, and Uncle Bush, of all things, was
asked to throw out the first ball at the Loudon - Harriman baseball game. Robert Ripley even asked Uncle Bush to come
to New York to be interviewed for his “Believe It or Not” column. He later told
that, “They were the nicest people, but to be honest, their vittles weren’t
worth a dern.”
And so goes the story of
Uncle Bush. On February 9th, 1943, Felix Bushaloo Breazeale, age 79,
died peacefully at his home. As he had requested, a short simple graveside service
was held. He is now at rest in his walnut coffin in Cave Creek Cemetery.
~~~In 2009, Sony Pictures released Get Low, a somewhat factual film depicting the story of Uncle Bush and his living funeral. Robert Duvall was cast as Uncle Bush, Bill Murray as Frank Quinn, Bill Cobbs as Rev. Jackson, and Decatur, Alabama's Lucas Black as Buddy Robinson, Quinn’s employee.
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