John Shearer: Revisiting My Old Duplex Home

Have you ever driven past your old residence or maybe the one of a close acquaintance and seen it for sale? And have you ever wanted to tour it and go down memory lane, even if you are not in the market for a new place?

Well, I recently had the opportunity to do that with an old Hixson duplex where I resided beginning 40 years ago.

The idea for the duplex visit had started several months ago when I saw a for-sale sign in front of the building at 4704 Hixson Pike, with Realtor Tim Woodall from Crye-Leike named as the listing agent. Every time I would pass the building that is located directly across from the now-closed Bojangle’s, I would remind myself I needed to see about touring it.

Finally, after several weeks and after I saw a note for a reduced price and that it is now for sale or lease, I contacted Mr. Woodall. As a journalist who sometimes writes stories about properties for sale, often with a focus on their past, I have received mixed responses from the real estate representatives. Some people, no matter what field they are in, just do not return calls or emails. I have also received an occasional – and disappointing -- request to hold any story due to some pending movement in its sale or future.

But Mr. Woodall contacted me quickly, and after I explained that I just used to live there and would love to see it and might even mention it in a nostalgic story, he said he would be glad to show it to me.

So, I met him there a day or so later and had a delightful tour and conversation with him, learning he had been a military veteran. And he was maybe the recipient of information more than the usual giver as a real estate agent as I told him – much to his surprise -- about the old building’s layout.

And that included that the lower parts were two basement garages with plenty of storage space, with the units having a shared middle stairway that is still there and went up to the two apartments. Now the old garages that likely once had oil spots on the ground are fully built-out office spaces.

Much of the rest of the old duplex also did not look like it did when I lived there from 1984-92 and when I withstood living along already busy and noisy Hixson Pike due to getting a reduced rent from my landlord – my late father, Dr. C. Wayne Shearer. During the 12 years I was living in Knoxville before moving back in 2017 and after my father had sold it, the building had been changed greatly to look more like an office building than a residential duplex built in the 1950s.

So, I did not expect to see many similarities or get any nostalgic vibes other than knowing I was standing on familiar ground. But seeing the old middle stairway gave me a little hope. I also knew that the outside side stairways leading up to the former apartment front doors were still there.

As we went inside one of these upper entrances, and Mr. Woodall introduced me to local contractor Dean Bryant, who had an office there, I was able to walk around and look at the whole upper level. In my old apartment space on the downtown Chattanooga side of the building, I noticed that the old fireplace and vintage kitchen were gone, as I expected.

However, if they were still there, the building might have actually felt like the post-COVID era of working at home. Someone could be making some wintertime sales calls while the fireplace was roaring or looking at drawings while a pot roast was cooking in the oven.

But to my pleasant surprise, my two old bedrooms appeared to be basically at the same spots, although they were now office rooms, and a bathroom was in the general area where mine was. The windows had been removed in one or two places.

But still, there were enough familiar vibes to the former duplex in a surprising way after not expecting much that I almost felt like I had come back home! It was neat to say hello to an old friend, which Mr. Woodall said is on the market for $650,000 and has space currently for lease as well.

I wish I could say my eight years there were as happy as I had wanted them to be as a mostly carefree single person in my 20s and early 30s. But they were not really. I had started at the old News-Free Press a few weeks before moving in there about when I was turning 25, and I lived there while keeping the same job.

It was mainly just a place to rest at night after keeping busy working for the paper six days a week, including having to be there at 6 a.m. during the week. Working from home in the pre-Internet days was not even considered a possibility, although I would occasionally write out a rough draft of a feature story by hand amid the quiet and away from a noisy newsroom.

Because of my work schedule, I would only eat supper there during the week. And that was usually after picking up something from a place like Taco Bell, Padrino’s a little south on Hixson Pike, or Fehn’s on Highway 153.

I would often on Sunday morning walk across Hixson Pike to get something from Bojangle’s for breakfast. Talk about convenience! Another time a friend came over and I asked if he wanted a soft drink. He said, “Sure,” so I said that I would be right back. Much to his amusement, I got him the drink at Bojangle’s. The only issue with the short commute was that you certainly had to be careful crossing the well-traveled street.

As is obvious, I was definitely not the male Julia Child while living at the duplex, and it was probably hard making use of a 1950s refrigerator and similarly old stove anyway. The fridge, while neat to look at in a nostalgic way, had hit emeritus status for sure functionally, as I would have to put my milk or beer in the freezer for a few minutes in my pre-teetotaling days to get them cool enough to drink in an enjoyable manner.

And speaking of Taco Bell, one time a reporter from Channel 9 called and wanted to interview me about my memories of a Baylor classmate, Ken Royal, who had tragically died in a Marine helicopter crash while serving his country and undergoing a training exercise at night. I said that was fine, and I think I hurriedly ran out to pick up some Taco Bell to eat before she arrived.

As a result, I felt a little vulnerable realizing she could probably still smell the food. I am sure she was thinking, “I know what you had for supper – Taco Bell,” as she sat there interviewing me. Actually, she was probably more focused on just being glad to find someone to interview, a situation I knew as a newspaper reporter.

The duplex also just had a window air conditioning unit only in the kitchen window originally, and I went a couple of years or so before getting another one in my bedroom in those pre-central air days. I had earlier lived in a couple of dorm rooms at the University of Georgia that did not have air conditioning, so I did not realize the primitive situation in which I had put myself.

It was also not that great having a neighbor so close to you next door, except when my sister’s family also lived there briefly. And you could definitely not sit out on your front porch area with the busy traffic. And the little planter by the front door I used simply for planting a few tomato plants. Needless to say, I was not Martha Stewart, either.

I also did not have that great of a social life at that time and would not meet my future wife, Laura, until the end of my time there, when I was getting ready to move into a house in the nearby Fairfax Heights area closer to downtown. An old childhood friend, Billy Bass, ended up working at the Beverage Barn next door while going back to school to get an advanced degree, so I would visit with him. We developed a close friendship for a couple of years and would regularly play golf together.

And college friend Dave Williams from Athens, Ga., and some others would also visit me there.

All in all, I was still content and grateful while living there knowing I had a job that let me enjoy my passion of writing and let me get my name in the paper, although as the provider of news instead of any noted subject.

And the latter resulted in what is probably my most vivid memory of the eight years I spent there -- sitting on the couch on a Saturday night reading over two or three times a story I had written for the Sunday paper of which I was proud. And I would often do it while sipping on two or three beers that I would meticulously move from the refrigerator to the freezer during the night.

I was just doing that while catching my breath at the end of a long week and after rushing out to buy the early edition of the Sunday paper on Saturday afternoon at one of the grocery stores, usually the Pruett’s by the current Krystal a few yards north. That is, if I did not have to work a Saturday evening shift at the paper, where I could pick one up for free.

Reading my own stories might have seemed a little self-focused for someone who was not out doing much volunteer or community service work or even going to church much at that time. But the occasional kind compliments from people who appreciated my writing about them or focusing on a place or subject to which they were connected still gave me a sense of satisfaction of helping others, at least in a roundabout way.

And now I have had a chance to write about the old duplex! And that comes despite the fact that I don’t believe I ever took a single picture of it when I lived in it, even though I have always been conscious of pictorial documentation as a writer of numerous historical stories.

Luckily with the help of Mr. Woodall, I was able to take a few pictures of the structure in 2024.

It was good to see you, old brick friend, even if we both now look a little different!

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Jcshearer2@comcast.net