Several years ago, I took pictures of the old Nahunta Jail being torn down.
It sat in the parking lot of the Brantley County Courthouse for many years. I have also heard many stories about it.
M y uncle Charlie grew up with severe crossed eyes and was known to be bullied in school, I am quite sure, and grew up very tough. Many people have told me if Charlie liked you, he would do anything in the world for you. But, do him wrong and watch out.
He did not dread fighting and he was not a big man at all. He always had a sense of humor to me when I was growing up, but I do know he was in and out of trouble quite often.
I even heard one time he escaped from the Nahunta Jail, got somewhere down the road and called back and asked the jailer, “Do you have Charlie Davis in jail?”
The man on the phone answered, “yes we do”, and Charlie said, “no you don’t!” and hung up the phone.
I just recently heard there was a story in a newspaper, maybe in the 1970s, where someone escaped from the Nahunta Jail and went to Reidsville Jail and checked themselves in because they didn’t like the one in Nahunta.
I have not been able to prove it or find the article yet, so not sure if that is true or not. I just can’t see him checking himself back into another one voluntarily.
I remember Charlie helping me and grandaddy at the garage one day. We had a tire band that went around a tire to help inflate it. Charlie had his finger in the wrong place and bumped the band releasing the pressure.
Part of his finger bounced across the floor. I remember grandaddy grabbed the finger and put it in a cup and rushed him to the Waycross Hospital.
The doctors said being he was left-handed and the finer was on his right hand it probably wouldn’t take if they tried to save it. So, they sewed it up.
One night I was riding around and saw the old 1950 Dodge truck he had been working on sitting beside the road. There was no doubt it was his.
He had taken two trucks to make one with half of it being red and the other half being black.
I walked up with my flashlight and shined into the truck window and didn’t see anything. I shined the back of the truck and didn’t see anything.
Once again I shined in the driver side window. A face was just inside the window with a huge bushy beard looking directly into my eyes.
It was not Charlie and it scared me to death. I could not speak as the man rolled down the window.
I finally was able to get the words out, “Where is Charlie?” and the man said, “we ran out of gas and he walked to go get some.”
This guy was a hitch hiker Charlie had picked up somewhere between Nahunta and Atlanta. Before Charlie passed away several years ago, I asked him, “How did you get out of the Nahunta jail all of those years ago?” because I had always wondered about this.
He replied, “I made me a key.”
• Wayne Morgan is freelance wildlife photographer and author.
