Resident mourns loss of Louisville businessman
On Thanksgiving Day Louisville and America lost a great man. He wasn’t a big politician, a sports hero or rock star. He was much more than that, he was a true American, an American who did his duty, loved his country and his fellow man. He never tried to impress the world, but stayed true to the real ideals of America. He contributed more to the local area by helping others run their businesses and live their lives in comfort than anyone else in recent history.
Mr. Broadus Wren was a man who treated all he came in contact with, with care and respect. He was one of a very, very few wealthy men who got his wealth without stepping on others or cheating to get ahead. He always went that extra mile to help those around him. He would get out of bed and open his store at night to help those in need. He would drive to Augusta to buy an item he was out of stock on, at a loss to help his customers.
He forgave those who stole from him and even rehired them. I asked him why he did this. He said “Now he knows I care about him and he won’t do it again.”
He always tried to do the right thing. He would take a loss on an item before he would not live up to his word.
These were just some of his attributes. He was pleasant even when he was sick. Just days before his death he helped a local plumber finish a job, at no charge of course.
He will be missed by many. He was truly a special man. Louisville will not see the likes of him again.
Mama Nell and the rest of his family will always be honored to have shared his life. I know for the tiny bit I shared I am truly honored.
“Go with God Uncle Broadie.”
One of many friends,
Landrum in search of miracle to save gym
Unless there is a good fairy out there somewhere with a pocket full of money that wants an old fixer-upper of a gymnasium, then the gym in Stapleton is fixing to go the way of a lot of our history.
Built in 1941 with WPA labor (my grandfather, Albert Arrington and my uncle, Freeman “Pete” or “Buzz”) Arrington both worked on it) it was the first gym in our county. In the early days a March of Dimes formal dance was held every year and a big Halloween carnival every year. George and I did our courting on the front steps while L.C. “Flash” Gordon, principal and basketball coach, tried to keep an eye on us.
In the not too distant past our civic club had a fall festival for several years the first Saturday in November-a fried fish supper, raffles, arts and crafts, a cakewalk-we had much fun and people came from all over.
Also our Stapleton school reunion was held there for many years.
Walden UMC held an auction there in the early days of the Relay For Life to raise money for cancer.
As I said, it is going to be sold for the materials, torn down and carted away unless a miracle comes along.
Recent national news reminds Gordy of Louisville officer’s death
The wanton killing of four police officers in Washington state recently by a felon who had been paroled in Arkansas reminds me of the time when a brave Louisville officer was shot and killed in the dead of night by a Massachusetts punk.
Officer Frank Landrum was slain near what has been popularly called “Beck’s station” because for a while it was operated by Mr. B.A. (Bascomb) Beckum Sr.
A chase of the young speeding thug through the main part of town by Officer Landrum ended at the East Broad Street station and the slaying of Mr. Landrum.
The killing took place in early February 1956 and ended in the largest manhunt in this area’s history.
GBI agents, sheriff’s deputies and Ga. state patrolmen all took part as well as angry citizens all over this part of the CSRA.
The manhunt ended in a nearby county, I think it was Burke.
The villain was riddled with bullets and displayed on the courthouse square.
This slaying of a peace officer ended the same way the one in Washington state did…the suspect dying of lead poisoning (bullets).
It reminds me of when I was a boy and watched a Hopalong Cassidy movie on Saturday and paid a dime each for a ticket and popcorn, with a nickel purchasing a fountain Coke at the local Pal Theatre…there was no sales tax then.
We boys would play cowboys and Indians and would vie for the imaginary role of Hopalong.
I shall never forget that one of our rallying cries was “Don’t mess with Hoppy.”
This is a reminder to any would-be cop killer, you would be signing your death warrant, odds are.