Beech Tree News Network

Thirty-one years ago this month, we sustained a loss that remains painful to recollect. We were robbed. Cleaned out actually, and one loss was this painting.  What we pieced together makes for an interesting story, and now days, still dealing with sentimental questions about its fate, knowing the chances of ever knowing are slim, I thought I’d post this. It's too long for Facebook, but please SHARE if you are so moved, and please share any knowledge or thoughts you have. Time changes things, and people, and I might stumble onto some answers, or even…(what’s wrong with hope?) see it again.  I’d buy it back, and would happily forego any knowledge of who took it. That isn’t important now.  I would at least like to know more, even if it's to learn it no longer exists.

I released a limited edition print of this back in the 70s. Nick “Broadway” Wilkins and I were fraternity brothers, and I approached him about a portrait for that purpose. This was before he went off to Ringling Bros. Clown College, and came back with a new look. What I put Southern Kentucky’s famous clown through, sitting for hours that turned into months, still amazes as a feat of patience. He never complained. We started the sitting in the cold basement bar of the Sigma Nu house during winter break. Eventually, we had to move, and vagrantly moved from one fraternity brother’s kitchen to another, smelling them up with turpentine, until finally, it was finished and signed.  Later, Broadway revealed an uncanny skill for selling people stuff they didn’t particularly want, especially our fellow brothers, and community friends, and we managed to sell out. At any rate, many people may think they’ve seen this painting, but actually it may be the print which was a third the size of the original. Today, you find them in closets and attics, though some still have them on their wall. I remain grateful to all that supported us.

My wife then, Leigh, and I were living in downtown Nashville, and kept a little house on the farm for weekends when we got the call that we’d been robbed there. We were shocked, panicked, and Leigh was nearly eight months pregnant.  Our first stop was the bank, fearing our accounts had been drained.  They were slow to wait on us, but Leigh solved that by staging a total meltdown in the lobby. Every employee was around us in no time, their eyes bulging with fear that we might be delivering Reuben on a desktop. 

Secure there, we proceeded on the endless trip home in six inches of snow, and I began to realize how bad my judgement had been.  I never thought anyone would hit our little rock cottage. Not visible from the road, it was a half mile down an unmarked farm lane that forded two creeks. There was only one way out of there, easily blocked, and I figured no thief would consider it. Yet, I suspect they noted there were no car tracks in the snowy lane. 

What's more, I didn’t think there was anything to steal.  Little jewelry, crappy electronics, no cash, just….our favorite heirlooms, used to decorate and enjoy the little cottage. We were devastated by what we had lost from grandparents and great-grandparents, beloved rockers from each family, other furniture relics, dishes and all the wares, clusters of antique decorative pieces. Each discovery was another kick. We found spices scattered across the kitchen floor, and realized a handmade spice rack, a wedding gift from an artisan friend, was gone. I had to remember that I had borrowed a 1965 Telecaster from a close friend, now gone. They filled our garbage bags with their spoils, and loaded them in a van. They almost got stuck pulling out the snowy lane, and yes, they took the crappy electronics, which I appreciated.

There was irony in the snow.  While it showed no traffic on the lane, thus ratting us out, it also provided a host of revealing clues to the events of the robbery. First, one thief walked all the way in from the road. He walked halfway around the yard parameter checking the windows. I had timers on the lights, but failed to close the curtains, so it was easy to see in. Once in the shadows behind the house, he or she walked straight to the back door, and kicked it in.  Most revealing, for some reason, one of them walked all the way back out.  As I traced those tracks, I came across peculiar indentions in the snow at a couple of points along the way, one right at the creek. It was a long narrow impression and seemed to have a beveled edge to it.  I measured it to confirm my suspicions—it was the frame edge of the painting. Someone had foregone loading it in the truck, and instead, carried it out. The impressions occurred at points where they used it as a crutch for balance, such as when they crossed the rocky creek. It suggested to me that whoever robbed us, knew us, and knew the painting.

While Leigh cried for three days, I got mad.  Then Leigh got mad too.  We diligently pursued who had done this. I queried neighbors, and watched the road for hours observing, even following suspicious vehicles. We fed every bit of information to the state police, but to no avail.  While they were empathetic, they provided little else. Insurance was no help either. How do you put a price on priceless stuff that is otherwise just old?

In those days, there was a popular clairvoyant around the entertainment crowd in Nashville named Bambi. Some close friends suggested we talk to her.  I’ve never been drawn to soothsayers, but Leigh figured it was worth a try.  She revealed to Leigh that we would never find all our belongings, but some stuff would come back.  Interpret how you will, but about three weeks later, as the snow slowly melted away, we did find one of our garbage bags on the back porch the thieves had overlooked when leaving. It contained a few items—most importantly, a uniquely carved, antique brass bowl from China that Leigh’s beloved Grandmother, Mammi, had given her.  Leigh’s most sentimental loss had been recovered.

This painting has remained dear to me for a number of reasons. Probably most importantly, it inspired me to think maybe I could make a living as an artist. It also touched me with how supportive our community, fraternity and friends were of Nick and I. So many people just came through for us. I can honestly say that if someone, somehow returned this painting, whether I knew them or not, I wouldn’t ask them how they got it. I would ask them how much they wanted for it, and I’d pay to bring it back home to live with me. In my view, whatever wrong they had committed, would be righted with its return. Who knows, maybe Bambi’s prediction that some stuff would return is not yet fulfilled. 

* * *

Story by Andy Stahl, special submission to Beech Tree News. 

Editor's Note:  Please send any information you may have about Broadway the Clown to Andy Stahl at 3078 Richand Church Road, Morgantown, KY 42261.  Send any information by e-mail to [email protected].