The old stomping grounds

Twenty five years ago I was a brand new lawyer in the state of Georgia, practicing with a law firm in Toccoa. During those six months I drove all around the Northeast Georgia mountains and the upcountry in South Carolina.

One of the spots to which I had to travel was Carnesville, the county seat of Franklin County. Carnesville is a tiny little mountain town in a small county, planted between Elberton and Hartwell and Toccoa and Jefferson and Homer. One time back in 1982 I had to travel to the courthouse in Carnesville. When I finished with my business, I hopped in my car and headed the car back down the road toward Toccoa. I stopped at a stop sign on the corner of the courthouse square. As I stopped, I noticed an old Victorian era house across the street with a broad wrap around porch. As I glanced at the house, the screen door on the front of the house swung quickly open and a naked three or four year old boy came running out the house and around the porch. Immediately thereafter, the door closed and swung open again to reveal the child's mother following her son, with towel in hand.

That image has remained as my picture of Carnesville ever since. Today, however, I got a new image to go along with naked child and mother. When I went to Carnesville to cry out the foreclosure sale, I didn't know at which entrance from which I was supposed to cry the sale. I walked into the old courthouse and entered the clerk's office. One clerk was dealing with a man and a woman and their requirements for responding to a court summons. The other clerk was on the phone dealing with another citizen of Franklin County and their court summons. I stood in the doorway for one of the clerks to complete her task.

Finally, the clerk on the phone hung up and turned to me. I explained to her that I needed to find out from which entrance I was supposed to cry out the sale.

Her response, "We don't cry foreclosure sales in this office."

"No, no. I want to cry out the foreclosure sale."

Pause.

"Oh. Well, you'll have to ask the clerks in the real estate room."

"Ok. Thank you."

So I walked down to the other end of the courthouse and entered the deed record room. Inside there was one clerk, sitting behind a counter.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, from which entrance to the courthouse are foreclosure notices cried?"

She pointed to the nearest entrance, "That one."

"Thank you."

So I left the record room and went out in front of the courthouse. Nice to find someone in the clerk's office who knew the answer. As I began to read the foreclosure notice, a young man ran awkwardly toward me on the courthouse steps and stopped, perched next to me on the banister to the steps. I stopped reading for a second and considered his presence. He smiled sheepishly.

I continued to read the notice. When I was finished, I announced the lender's bid and looked up at the young man.

"Do you want to place a bid?"

He shook his head, "No, no. I just driving by and saw you reading and thought I'd give you someone to listen to you read."

He smiled at me and I smiled back at him. "Alright."

So I completed the cry-out and the two of us left the courthouse steps and I drove on the rest of my round-about journey from Carnesville to Dahlonega and Dawsonville and then back home.

A lot of the courthouses had changed since I was a young attorney in Toccoa, but it was a little comforting to see that in some counties the terrain was still similar to 1982. I don't feel so damn old.

Of course, it doesn't take that much to make that happen.