The Liars’ Bench
~ by Julia Pearson
Benches sitting in front of barbershops, post offices, hotels, and courthouses dotted the landscapes of small towns and villages. They naturally attracted groups of chatterers and people-watchers and in many locations were referred to as liars’ benches, especially by the townspeople who knew the usual characters who stationed themselves in these prime community locations.
On the main thoroughfare of the village of Nashville, and shaded by locusts in the courthouse yard, was such a bench. Sheriff Dennis Calvin was said to be responsible for the first benches. Another story passed down is that the first bench was given to the town by a Brown County merchant, who received it as a bonus with goods bought in Bartholomew County. Local folks tended to avoid using them, believing they were meant for out-of-towners.
A particular bench became famous in its own time because of a photograph taken by Frank Hohenberger. He had purchased a good second-hand lens for $ 8 in an Indianapolis shop and fitted it to his camera. Arriving by train, Hohenberger had come to Brown County in search of interesting characters to photograph.
An article published in 1933 in American Magazine described how Hohenberger took an iconic photo of Nashville’ s Liars’ Bench. One long afternoon, lounging on the bench in front of the old jail and courthouse were Mosey Scott( Scott Moses), well known teacher and fox hunter; Woody Jackson( Jack Woods), county clerk and cobbler by trade; Hen Budderson( Bub Henderson), the village squire; Andy Sampson( Sam Anthony), farmer; Corey Help( Harry Kelp), justice of the peace and barber; and Cal Duard( Duard Calvin), coroner and gold panner. The names in parentheses are the real names of the liars.
They were spitting, whittling, and commenting on things that strung into the yarns that made folks smile or gasp. It was often said that whoever told the biggest tale went to the head of the bench. Hohenberger aimed his camera’ s eye behind the men and captured that moment on film. The image was published in the Indianapolis newspaper, and soon interest came from all quarters from people wanting to buy a print of the Liars’ Bench. Hohenberger sold more than 500 copies for $ 2 to $ 5 a print. The Liars’ Bench was very good to Hohenberger, helping to make his reputation. And it was good for Brown County, becoming one of the sites that attracted tourists. Along with the old log jail and Weed Patch Hill, the Liars’ Bench was repeatedly sought for snapshots to fill family albums.
The booming national economy of the 1920s didn’ t find its way into Brown County, so a quarter of its population left for better city jobs. Some even sent money home to the folks and it was a good excuse for men who were under-employed or unemployed to go to the post office every day to check the mail. For local merchants, most of
24 Our Brown County Sept./ Oct. 2017