In the autumn of 1937, the editor of the Roane County Banner, published weekly in Kingston, visited Mr. Bush Breazeale, a bachelor living in a rural community near town. During the course of his visit, the editor noticed a huge black walnut tree growing near the man's house. He remarked that it was a beautiful and valuable tree and asked what he intended to do with it.
     Mr. Breazeale was reputed to be a master carpenter. "Gonna make my coffin out of it," he replied.
     His statement led to more talk of death, dying, and other related subjects. Soon the editor remarked, "Isn't it a shame that we never know what is going to be said about us at our funeral?"
     More talk ensued during which time the idea of having one's funeral while one still lived became more and more logical. Since the idea seemed to be a good one, Mr. Breazeale cut the tree, took it to the local sawmill where the boards were sawed to his specifications. Then, after the wood was cured, he set about preparing the lumber for the casket. This time-consuming and pains-taking effort continued through the long winter of 1937 and 1938. Finally, in the late spring of 1938, the casket was finished. It was a work of art with a highly polished sheen and gleaming brass fittings. The editor of the local paper regularly reported on the progress of the project.
     Now, it takes more for a funeral than merely the man and his coffin. So, under the tutelage of the editor, a date was set for the service, a minister was engaged and a quartet commissioned to sing traditional funeral songs. The service was set for a Sunday afternoon at the little church in the community.
     This decision immediately brought protest from various religious groups. Ministers denounced it as a sacrilege, a mockery of man's final tribute, a desecration of death rituals and many other epithets. Parents forbade their children to go to the funeral; others treated it as an adventure and permitted theirs to go after they had attended service in their own church. Metropolitan newspapers carried news of the excitement that was growing in this little rural community of Cave Creek in Roane County.
     The day of the funeral dawned bright and sunny. A last minute change of plans caused a bit of a problem. The singers who were supposed to sing withdrew. The leader of the group announced in a radio message that Sunday morning that he had been warned in a dream that a storm had interrupted the service and the little creek that flowed beside the church flooded and caused many deaths. He pleaded with the radio audience not to attend.
     Evidently, few heeded the warning because a crowd estimated to number several thousand gathered that hot Sunday afternoon to witness a live man's funeral (papers reported an estimated crowd of 8,000).
     Enterprising civic groups, in anticipation of the influx of people, did a lively concession business selling hot dogs and cold drinks. Two individuals stopped just short of the church area with then illegal "Home Brew", kept cool in the clear cold spring water running out of the mouth of the cave for which the community is named.
     As the crowd increased in size, it became evident that the little church, whose top capacity would not exceed 150, could not contain the funeral party. So the funeral home supplied a huge tent. They also furnished the hearse. Mr. Breazeale sat in front with the driver. His highly polished casket topped with a spray of lilies, rode in the traditional place. The cars bearing the pallbearers followed the hearse.
     The funeral followed traditional order, with songs sung by volunteers in the absence of the scheduled program. The singing was followed by a eulogy by the pastor. Now, this ended the traditional part of the service. Flash bulbs flashing and concession stands gave a sense of unreality to the whole event. Many had heard of the reported dream and had become a bit apprehensive and felt not a little guilty for having been there. When the flash bulbs started popping, at least four ladies fainted. The 'corpse' sat beside the casket and after the service was concluded, received greetings and good wishes from many of his friends.
     It is not my intention either to ridicule or condone the practice of early funerals. In retrospect, I see a lonely old man, sincere in his desire to meet with his friends for a simple little service. I see this same man becoming the victim of the avarice and greed created by the perpetrator of a cheap publicity stunt - a stunt designed primarily to enrich the perpetrator. I see throngs of curious people seeking a Sunday afternoon of fun. I was one of the curious.
     An example of the power of church attendance is shown in my getting to go to the funeral. My brother and I, along with our dates for the day, had planned an all-day excursion, taking a picnic lunch to a popular picnic area, eating and then going to the funeral. However, all parents concerned vetoed our going until after we had attended our own church. During that church service, we were warned of the mockery of the impending service.
     Not to be deterred, however, we young people carried out our plans. We realized the effects of widespread publicity when we were forced to leave our car some three miles from the church and walk the remaining distance because of the number of automobiles already there. The carnival atmosphere did seem quite heavy, but the service itself was held as a religious event.
     Mr. Breazeale lived several years after that memorable day. In fact, I am told that some of the men who acted as his pallbearers had preceded him in death. He lies in the little cemetery at the top of the hill, above the church where his funeral had been preached so many years before. The same funeral home took care of him at the end, and I am told that only the committal service was used - no eulogy, no songs, no crowds. He had all that a few years earlier.