A Realtor, a Hammer, and the Scariest Corner in Wears Valley 🎃

By Will Cupp. A true story. Some names and places have been changed, mostly so nobody comes looking for me. And if anybody asks, I heard it from a friend of a friend. 😬 LOL

A Realtor, a Hammer, and the Scariest Corner in Wears Valley 🎃

Forget haunted houses. This Realtor faced a farmer who once strung up a politician, a truck that sounded like a shotgun, and a pair of britches that didn't survive the scare.

You know, as a Realtor, you face some hard decisions.

A few years into my illustrious real estate career, I faced one of them. Not a paperwork kind of decision. The kind that tests a man's courage. His manhood. His will to live.

I had a job to do, and nobody was going to stop me.

I had a house to sell. 🏡

It was a cold winter's day in Wears Valley. The wind was howling, and the snow was piled so high... ❄️

No, that's not what happened. I hate snow. LOL.

I think it was summer. Actually, it was pretty sunny. ☀️ But it sounded better the other way.

The Corner Nobody Touched 📍

I had listed a house way out in the country. Back roads. Farm country. The kind of place where folks give directions by telling you whose barn to turn at. And I was on a mission. I was going to put a sign on every corner between that house and the main road.

You see, back in those days, a sign meant status.

Well, so I thought. The sign people sure loved me, anyway.

So I was driving along, looking for my next corner, and there it was. The perfect spot.

Right there on the corner of old man Lockhart's farm.

Uh oh. 😬

Now, old man Lockhart had a reputation in those parts. Matter of fact, the story goes that he once strung up a politician for trying to put a sign on that very same corner.

A politician.

And here I was, a young Realtor with a truck full of signs and a hammer. 🔨

But I happened to know his son. Surely that counted for something. So I sat there and thought it over, and I came to a very spiritual conclusion.

Well, if I die, I die.

I'd been saved. If it was my time, it was my time. 🙏 And to a young, ambitious Realtor, that was a high profile corner. Worth the risk.

A Hit and Run in Wears Valley 🏃

So I pulled off at the corner store and got my stuff ready. Sign. Stakes. Hammer. I was planning a hit and run. That's short for getting the sign in the ground before anybody sees you.

I pulled up to the corner and sat there a minute.

I called the wife. 📞

I said a prayer.

Then I jumped out and started hammering like my life depended on it. Which, as it turns out, it might have.

Blam! 💥

A loud bang. Smoke in the air. I looked down, and I saw blood.

Shot right there on the spot.

Dead before I hit the ground. ⚰️

LOL. Okay, maybe that's a bit exaggerated. 😂

But old man Lockhart's truck did backfire. There was smoke rolling as he came steaming down that driveway. 🚜💨

And my pants were a little wet.

Either way, I had to think fast.

Never Trust a Farmer's Pockets 🔫

As that truck rolled up beside me, I swallowed a belly full of fear, humbled myself and said the only thing I could think of.

"Mr. Lockhart, I am very sorry. I should have come up and asked you first. I hope I didn't offend you."

He didn't say a word. He just looked at me.

So I kept talking. That's what I do when I'm scared. I told him I'd been working on the farms around there, and I reminded him that his boy Dean and I went to school together. I asked how Dean was doing.

Still that look.

Then old man Lockhart looked me dead in the eyes and said, "I know you, Will Cupp. You ain't worth a plug nickel."

Then he took his hands out of his pockets.

Now, I knew that was a good sign. That's where farmers kept the Colt .45.

He must have seen the relief wash over my face.

Whew. I would live another day. 😅

It Was Never About the Sign 🌾

Once he figured out I wasn't some city slicker, we got to talking. Farming, football and just about everything else. 🏈 He knew the farmers I worked for, and he had seen me out there sweating in the hot sun. I believe that bought me more grace than anything I said.

Then he got to the point.

"Will, people put signs in my yard, and I can't mow around them. They don't come back and get 'em. The grass grows up around them."

And right then, I understood.

It was never about the sign. It was about respect.

Farmers take pride in their land. They work hard on those fence rows and everything in between. And here comes another fellow sticking something in the ground that he'll have to mow around all summer.

I got it. I listened. And for once in my life, I shut my mouth. 🤐

Then I told him, "Mr. Lockhart, if you'll let me keep it there, I'll come back once a week and weed eat around it myself."

He thought about that for a second.

"Will Cupp, I'll take care of it for you, son. Don't worry about it. I'll keep it mowed. Have a nice day."

And off he went.

I stood there on that corner with my hammer in one hand and my pride in the other. I had come to sneak a sign onto that man's farm, and he had just offered to mow around it for me.

I think he respected the way I handled it. Looking back, that meant more to me than any sign ever did. Earning the respect of those old farmers was not easy.

The People Are Real Estate ❤️

You know, it's funny. People think real estate is about houses and land and contracts. But when I look back, it's the stories and the people that I remember.

They are the community.

They are real estate.

I guess, in a way, I'm just a lucky guy with a gift of gab. God given. A fellow determined (and maybe a little stupid, LOL) trying to earn a living for his family.

That wasn't the first time I had to talk my way out of a tight spot, and it won't be the last. I sweet talk my poor old wife to death. Keeps her from killing me too. 😂

I love telling the stories of these old farming families. The mothers who treated me like one of their own. The men who taught me about hard work. The sons and daughters who still love me today.

And that farmer I used to work for? Years later, his family let me sell one of their homes. Then they turned around and bought a farm I had listed.

The kid who sweated in their hayfields ended up selling them a farm.

You can't make that up. I will love them forever.

When I see them out these days, my eyes fill with tears. My heart trembles. The memories overwhelm me. 🥲

These families built the towns and worked the fields. And that poor farmhand they gave a chance? They taught him the ways of this area. Respect. Honor. Pride. And yes, tough love.

Wow. What a blessing. 🙏

I have my own family now, and I raised them the way these farmers raised me.

As for old man Lockhart?

He had a gun.

The politician story is still told today.

But the man? Heart of gold. 💛

> "A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger."

> Proverbs 15:1 (KJV)

Will Cupp, Sevierville Realtor, Realty Executives Associates

More than 30 years serving Sevierville, Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg, Wears Valley, Sevier County and the Great Smoky Mountains 🏔️

865-654-9807