It is almost too easy these days to find out "the rest of the story". One morning while reading online I had the deep past come back to me along with some present realities. The first news had me dumbfounded, there staring at a post on Facebook, I learned that a college friend had been dead for 14 years. I didn't know of the person's passing until this post which just happened to name check him. This was a guy I knew as Jet Screamer, though his real name was Christopher Fullerton. I had assumed for years that Jet was thriving someplace, but doing what I didn’t know. Actually, I'll admit I hadn’t thought about Chris ,aka Jet, in years until this Facebook post. Jet I found out had tragically died in 1997 in a car accident someplace in Alabama. It was a day later when I made another discovery this time via my own curiosity and a Google search. After a longtime hunt for a photographer friend of mine who I knew when I was a child and young adult, Jerome Drown, had died fairly recently. Jerry, as I knew him, certainly was not a kid when I knew him best, in the mid-1970s he was in his sixties and so it now being 2011 I assumed Jerry was no longer among us, but actually he died just two years ago in 2009. Jerry Drown was someone I had repeatedly planned to contact, but now he like Chris he was gone. Both Chris and Jerry had left our earthly presence and now I found myself now asking “what if”. If only I had called or simply kept up with these two persons, because I really had planned to do just that. Forced to live in the "now" of the situation there is just simple gratitude for having known these two men even if it was for a short period in my life. What follows are my descriptions of these individuals that I cherish as part of my own life story.
Jet Screamer
Chris Fullerton during his college days I suppose gave himself the nickname Jet Screamer based on a pop star character in the cartoon series “the Jetsons”. I had known Jet at Virginia Commonwealth University. In the eighties with this “Jet” nickname fully intact I didn’t know his real name was Chris. We were both undergrads and spent our time together at WVCW the campus AM carrier current radio station. I was the Music Director and Jet was the Rockabilly DJ. Beyond Chris being on the air once a week, he would come by to listen to records and that’s where I got to know him. As I recall Chris sported a Rockabilly hipster and semi- gas station attendant look; I couldn't place him in my mind 22 years later as job holding adult. It’s a convoluted story how Jet came back to me, but NBC Nightly News had shown a story showcasing a man who provides grave markers for former Negro League baseball players and this particular story had reminded my Facebook friend of Jet and she posted the article. Apparently Jet/Chris had done his master thesis in Southern Studies at Ole Miss on the Negro League team the Birmingham Black Barons. Jenny’s post mentioned a hardcover book version of Chris Fullerton’s thesis called “On Any Given Sunday” published by Chris' family after his death in 1997. At the time of Chris' passing he was executive director of the Friends of Rickwood Field in Birmingham, AL. Built in 1910, Rickwood Field is oldest surviving baseball park in the United States; quiet the historic place. I learned through an e-mail from Jenny that there is plague in memory of Chris at Rickwood Field (see image above). Finding out about Chris’s life and interest after college I realized that separately our passions became more aligned. My interest in baseball grew two years after I finished at VCU, mostly with the Atlanta Braves’ winning ways. I think now Jet and I would have had much to discuss beyond what was our usual music conversations in college. Actually I don’t think I would recognize the person on that Rickwood Field brass plague at as the guy I once knew as “Jet Screamer”, but it is indeed a fitting monument to the man. I told someone I hope to catch a heavenly ballgame with Jet someday, but still with this late news there is a melancholy feeling in me.
Jerry Drown
Jerry Drown and his wife Louise I knew when I was in my childhood years in Atlanta. Behind a row of houses across the street from our house was a large old growth forest hemmed in by 1950s ranch style homes. Much of this urban forest was owned by the Drowns. They had saved this forested property from development sometime in the sixties by the purchase of twelve acres as an addition to their property where their house stood. Their house was a testament to a modern home ahead of its time, it was set back in the woods with redwood panel sides, skylights, stainless steel appliances and an interior spiral staircase. Outside was just as interesting as the inside with gardens of wildflowers, log stumps as steps, and a man-made mountain stream flowing down a hillside. Apparently over time the neighborhood kids, along with a few adults, maintained a suspicion of the Drowns with their wooded lot and lack of a conventional lawn and a very “different" architecture from the rest of the area; it simply wasn't a brick ranch style home. Conventional wisdom was the Drowns didn’t want to know others or be near anyone else since obviously they had retreated into the woods.
Maybe it was their desire to connect with someone from the neighborhood, especially a young person like myself, which opened the door to my friendship with them. I don’t recall my first meeting them, but when I met them Jerry Drown he was a high end commercial photographer with clients such as Coca-Cola, Southern Living Magazine, and the High Museum of Art. It seems odd looking back now, but at age ten I would go by their house and hang out for hours. I would talk to them about every subject imaginable and they would willingly have me there. I was around as Jerry shot photographs for Southern Living cookbooks and various other commercial food photo spreads; this is where I learned that during photo shoots food is sprayed with an inedible gloss to make the food look more "edible" - fun stuff.
The Drown's house I recall as full of nature photography, modern Scandinavian furniture and museum quality wooden bowls. Intrigued with the Drown's interests and lifestyle, I along with other kids in the neighborhood built a small park on their property with a garden of ferns and rock lined paths. We named the park Water Fall Park and it was to honor the Drowns, as the wood burned sign said, " for their love of nature"; it was perhaps an odd project for ten year old boy to work on, but a great memory nevertheless. My family moved from the neighborhood when I was in the ninth grade. I would return to the neighborhood occasionally to visit with the Drowns and as I grew older and into my college years Jerry often counseled me on my educational and career plans in Commercial Art. I loved my connection to the Drowns, but still I lost touch with them while I was in college.
After I moved away from Atlanta in the early eighties Jerry and Helen sold their piece of the urban forest to developers. These days large townhouses stand where the forest once was, but the Drown's former home remains on a patch of what's left of the woods. Strange but true, Jerry and Louise were oddly shocked that people opposed the sale of their property which years before they themselves had fought to preserve. Leaving Atlanta behind they moved to a cabin near Gatlinburg,TN to live their remaining years . Early in my career as an AV tech returning to Atlanta I ended up working across the street from where Jerry Drown’s studio once was. Over time there were many life comparisons that I wished I could have discussed with Jerry and Louise, but with life at hand I never attempted keeping in touch nor making a visit to Gatlinburg. My assumption was that Jerry was long gone, but I kept meeting Atlanta photographers who had worked with Jerry and one told me he was still alive; "Old Man Drown" he called him. One day my happenstance Google search found me too late for reconnection and communication as Jerry Drown had died in March of 2009 at age 94. Next year I hope to visit the Arrowmont School of Arts and Crafts in Gatlinburg and walk through the Jerome Drown Gallery which features his extensive collection of wood objects. It's too late to talk to Jerry, but I remain happy for having known the man.
Update: This blog posting this has brought contact with the family of Jerry Drown. It seems I had Jerry's second wife's name wrong, it was Louise (Lou) not Helen as originally posted, Helen was his third wife. Answers to questions and unexpected pieces of Jerry's story where reveled through my contact. The internet is a strange world indeed.
Jet Screamer
Chris Fullerton during his college days I suppose gave himself the nickname Jet Screamer based on a pop star character in the cartoon series “the Jetsons”. I had known Jet at Virginia Commonwealth University. In the eighties with this “Jet” nickname fully intact I didn’t know his real name was Chris. We were both undergrads and spent our time together at WVCW the campus AM carrier current radio station. I was the Music Director and Jet was the Rockabilly DJ. Beyond Chris being on the air once a week, he would come by to listen to records and that’s where I got to know him. As I recall Chris sported a Rockabilly hipster and semi- gas station attendant look; I couldn't place him in my mind 22 years later as job holding adult. It’s a convoluted story how Jet came back to me, but NBC Nightly News had shown a story showcasing a man who provides grave markers for former Negro League baseball players and this particular story had reminded my Facebook friend of Jet and she posted the article. Apparently Jet/Chris had done his master thesis in Southern Studies at Ole Miss on the Negro League team the Birmingham Black Barons. Jenny’s post mentioned a hardcover book version of Chris Fullerton’s thesis called “On Any Given Sunday” published by Chris' family after his death in 1997. At the time of Chris' passing he was executive director of the Friends of Rickwood Field in Birmingham, AL. Built in 1910, Rickwood Field is oldest surviving baseball park in the United States; quiet the historic place. I learned through an e-mail from Jenny that there is plague in memory of Chris at Rickwood Field (see image above). Finding out about Chris’s life and interest after college I realized that separately our passions became more aligned. My interest in baseball grew two years after I finished at VCU, mostly with the Atlanta Braves’ winning ways. I think now Jet and I would have had much to discuss beyond what was our usual music conversations in college. Actually I don’t think I would recognize the person on that Rickwood Field brass plague at as the guy I once knew as “Jet Screamer”, but it is indeed a fitting monument to the man. I told someone I hope to catch a heavenly ballgame with Jet someday, but still with this late news there is a melancholy feeling in me.
Jerry Drown
Jerry Drown and his wife Louise I knew when I was in my childhood years in Atlanta. Behind a row of houses across the street from our house was a large old growth forest hemmed in by 1950s ranch style homes. Much of this urban forest was owned by the Drowns. They had saved this forested property from development sometime in the sixties by the purchase of twelve acres as an addition to their property where their house stood. Their house was a testament to a modern home ahead of its time, it was set back in the woods with redwood panel sides, skylights, stainless steel appliances and an interior spiral staircase. Outside was just as interesting as the inside with gardens of wildflowers, log stumps as steps, and a man-made mountain stream flowing down a hillside. Apparently over time the neighborhood kids, along with a few adults, maintained a suspicion of the Drowns with their wooded lot and lack of a conventional lawn and a very “different" architecture from the rest of the area; it simply wasn't a brick ranch style home. Conventional wisdom was the Drowns didn’t want to know others or be near anyone else since obviously they had retreated into the woods.
Maybe it was their desire to connect with someone from the neighborhood, especially a young person like myself, which opened the door to my friendship with them. I don’t recall my first meeting them, but when I met them Jerry Drown he was a high end commercial photographer with clients such as Coca-Cola, Southern Living Magazine, and the High Museum of Art. It seems odd looking back now, but at age ten I would go by their house and hang out for hours. I would talk to them about every subject imaginable and they would willingly have me there. I was around as Jerry shot photographs for Southern Living cookbooks and various other commercial food photo spreads; this is where I learned that during photo shoots food is sprayed with an inedible gloss to make the food look more "edible" - fun stuff.
The Drown's house I recall as full of nature photography, modern Scandinavian furniture and museum quality wooden bowls. Intrigued with the Drown's interests and lifestyle, I along with other kids in the neighborhood built a small park on their property with a garden of ferns and rock lined paths. We named the park Water Fall Park and it was to honor the Drowns, as the wood burned sign said, " for their love of nature"; it was perhaps an odd project for ten year old boy to work on, but a great memory nevertheless. My family moved from the neighborhood when I was in the ninth grade. I would return to the neighborhood occasionally to visit with the Drowns and as I grew older and into my college years Jerry often counseled me on my educational and career plans in Commercial Art. I loved my connection to the Drowns, but still I lost touch with them while I was in college.
After I moved away from Atlanta in the early eighties Jerry and Helen sold their piece of the urban forest to developers. These days large townhouses stand where the forest once was, but the Drown's former home remains on a patch of what's left of the woods. Strange but true, Jerry and Louise were oddly shocked that people opposed the sale of their property which years before they themselves had fought to preserve. Leaving Atlanta behind they moved to a cabin near Gatlinburg,TN to live their remaining years . Early in my career as an AV tech returning to Atlanta I ended up working across the street from where Jerry Drown’s studio once was. Over time there were many life comparisons that I wished I could have discussed with Jerry and Louise, but with life at hand I never attempted keeping in touch nor making a visit to Gatlinburg. My assumption was that Jerry was long gone, but I kept meeting Atlanta photographers who had worked with Jerry and one told me he was still alive; "Old Man Drown" he called him. One day my happenstance Google search found me too late for reconnection and communication as Jerry Drown had died in March of 2009 at age 94. Next year I hope to visit the Arrowmont School of Arts and Crafts in Gatlinburg and walk through the Jerome Drown Gallery which features his extensive collection of wood objects. It's too late to talk to Jerry, but I remain happy for having known the man.
Update: This blog posting this has brought contact with the family of Jerry Drown. It seems I had Jerry's second wife's name wrong, it was Louise (Lou) not Helen as originally posted, Helen was his third wife. Answers to questions and unexpected pieces of Jerry's story where reveled through my contact. The internet is a strange world indeed.
