The planks are weathered and rough. The doors swing a little sidelong. The front is pocked with holes by bullet or buckshot. Still, the little structure has survived time and crime to hold the dubious honor of being the last old freestanding jailhouse in the sleepy hamlet of Seven Springs, North Carolina.
Time was, not many folks cared about the tiny building. Back in the 1970s, it was considered an eyesore and the Seven Springs town leaders sought to be shed of its presence on Main Street. That's when Bonnie Brazemore entered the picture. Ms. Brazemore said her husband "Donnie" was on the town board when she learned of plans to burn the jail.
"I told my husband I wanted it," she recalls, "It's not much, but it's part of history, and I didn't want to see it torn down." Town officials agreed and gave it to her to be moved. The jail was moved to Bonnie's property by another board member, Mr. Griffin, who helped haul it across the street to her home by tractor.
In the twenty-nine years it has graced her backyard, Brazemore allowed her husband to use it as a storage shed, but adds, "I wouldn't let him change the outside any. I made him keep it just like it was." She points out "bullet holes" where "Somebody got mad at it, I guess, and shot at it!"
When a newspaper printed a picture of the jailhouse, James Parks of Kinston recognized it right away, and called Brazemore to shed light on its history:
"My father built that jailhouse, back in the twenties. He was a farmer, and did carpenter work. I remember him going down there and building it. The jail's really nothing more than a little house they kept rowdies in overnight to sober them up.
"That's all they needed then. People wouldn't shoot and kill each other like today - they just got drunk and rowdy. They'd fight and scratch. That's what they used the jail for - you can see, it's just two cells, eight by eight foot. You put a man in there, he'll sober up real fast. The sheriff would toss them in there overnight, then let them go in the morning. No trial. No fine. Just let `em sober up is all."
Parks says he was born "somewhere between Seven Springs and Goldsboro - I doubt the place is still there, anymore. You wouldn't know it now, but Seven Springs used to be a very busy little town.
"A bootleg town, really, is what it was. That's how people made a living.
The hotel was busy then, too. I remember on the Fourth of July walking with my father up there to buy a bag of peanuts. That was something to do on the Fourth of July.
"But rowdies, yes, there were lots of rowdies. That's why my father moved us to New Bern in 1929, to get us away from the bootlegging and the rowdies. He didn't want us growing up like that.
Parks spoke with pride of his grandfather, Major William Parks. "Now he was a real country doctor. He rode around in a horse and buggy in those days. They all did, then."
As for the little jailhouse, Parks chuckles at the disparity between "then" and "now." "Back then, a jury meant five citizens gathered in the street and held a trial. The sheriff - he was the only officer in town. But then," he muses, "That's about all you needed."
These days, rowdies no longer "fight and scratch" about the jail. But the jail's newfound notoriety has attracted the attention of town officials, who now would like it back. Unlike the old days, this stir isn't likely to be fixed by sleeping it off till morning. Bonnie states she has kept her end of the bargain and plans to keep the jailhouse too, although she would be amenable to moving it to her front yard for others to better enjoy:
"Maybe they could have a couple of days a year when the Sheriff's Department or somebody could come and have a special event of some kind there. Something the whole community could get involved in. I love this little town, and I want to be part of keeping its history."
In the meantime, Bonnie Brazemore has festooned her little jail with a small flower wreath on each cell door. She even created an original "Seven Springs" flag she hopes will be taken up for the cause of preserving the quiet town's historical significance.