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SANTA CLAUS SAVED BASS ESTES
Leeann Judkins


 

As an introduction, it was a seasonal day filled with a “probable” murder, a bloody shotgun death, unfiltered  Camel cigarettes, many witnesses, bi-lateral anger, extensive several cross-examinations, shared legal summations, smoke-filled rooms, un-wipeable tears, explanatory questions, confusing statements, vocal enunciations, stoic physical demeanors, men’s multi-colored ties and white lapel handkerchiefs, women’s white gloves, bi-sexual hats, and tables filled to overflowing with white Styrofoam cups of black Maxwell House coffee.

It was the murder trial of the decade in our middle Tennessee judicial district around 1971.  Because it occurred in McMinnville, Tennessee, the trial was also held in the antiquated historical Warren County courthouse, which had a minute’ amount of heating and air conditioning and a maximum of coughing and sneezing from cigarette smoking.  Previously, the infamous "No smoking" signs had not been invented or used anywhere.  Today, they are used everywhere.

Locally, the defendant was everyone’s friend, Smithville businessman and civic-leader Lewis Bass Estes, owner of Estes Furniture and Appliances, located facing Broad Street.  He also was a member of Smithville’s Cumberland Presbyterian Church on South College Street, along with several community volunteer organizations.  Estes died on May 15, 2009 at his home on Evins’ Mill Road in Smithville.  He was 81-years-old.  At the time, it had been 40 years since his infamous murder trial.  When the trial began in 1971, Estes was aged 41 and Dad was 62.

The trial's lead defense attorney who represented Estes was McAllen Foutch, my Dad who lived a few doors down from Estes in Smithville.  When asked why he represented Estes in the trial, the former House Speaker said, “Bass asked me.  He is my friend.  I wanted to help him in any way that I could.”  During our growing years, Sue, Donna, David and Roger would join Lucy, Mom and me for many tiny dips in our backyard toy swimming pool.  In middle school, David and I were boyfriend and girlfriend and our 1960s song was “Snoopy.”

Living at home on Webb Street in Smithville with Mom and Dad, Lucy and I never knew anything was transpiring in the legal world.  Dad was always calm and quiet.  For us, he was just Daddy.  Sometime previously, he had told Mom that this would be his last time trying a murder case because his hearing levels were diminishing yearly.  Yes, it was Dad’s “swan song in law,” as quoted in an article in the “Southern Standard” newspaper at the completion of the trial.  Additionally, it was to be Dad’s last murder trial and he had been involved in several throughout his years.  Albeit, he continued doing his legal work at his Smithville office daily.  Except for income tax time when he would use the house's dining room table.

While the lawsuit began 52 years ago, I vividly remember the trial because I had a somewhat hard time being able to sit in the wall-to-wall packed crowd.  I was a junior at DeKalb County High School and Lucy was a freshman at the school.  In the beginning, Lucy and I just unbiasedly lived our daily lives.  I do recall hearing a conversation about the upcoming murder trial while eating supper.  Dad was chomping on his usual piece of country ham smothered in pepper and a huge class of buttermilk, salted and peppered on top.  Toward the end of their conversation, I did hear Mom say that she’d take care of it.  And, she did, much to Dad’s delight.  She had previously arranged for the three of us - she, Lucy and me to attend the trial and watch Dad at work throughout his last courtroom murder trial.

On the previous Friday, Mom accompanied Lucy and me to our differing high school classrooms to inform our teachers that we would not be in school during the trial.  During this time, Mom was the Chairman of the DeKalb County Board of Education.  Well, these actions did not agree with our teachers.  “If she misses,” Cheatham angrily said, “I will give her a failing grade for missing the day’s activities.”  Too bad, Mattie Franklin!  Lucy missed the class and Mom told Cheatham explicitly in her lawyer voice, “She’ll learn more in one day of court than she will in a year in your classroom!!!”  Everyone was content – except the teacher who gave Lucy an “U - unexcused” for missing the trial days. I had six blocked- teachers so I don’t remember what time period/teacher/class that I missed.   And – we did learn more in that one day than we ever would have in our boring tiny classrooms! 

Within 30 minutes, Mom calmly escorted Lucy and me into the noisy and smokey courtroom.  I remember seeing Dad’s legal assistants for the trial, Charles “Chuck” Haston, attorney and later our Circuit Court Judge and Bill Dyer, local attorney and former publisher of The Smithville Review and Michael Galligan, then a law school student and now a prominent McMinnville attorney.  They were Dad’s legal assistants, as was Sue Nixon Puckett-Jernigan, Dad’s stenographer and legal assistant for more than 25 years. 

In what seemed like an eternity, the bailiff called the judge and the jury into the second-floor courtroom.  Presiding as judge was the Honorable Robert Brady of McMinnville.  Dad was somewhat fearful of Judge Brady.  Many years ago, they tried a lawsuit together in far west Tennessee, so they decided to spend the night and leave for home the following morning.  “During these times, it was not uncommon for lawyers to have to share a bed.  Times were different and resources were scarcer,” said Foutch’s grandson, Judge Jim Judkins, also a middle Tennessee lawyer.  And, interstate highways had yet to evolve. All local and distance traveling were done on two-lane roads.  Continuing, the problem was the motel only had one room.  So – against Dad’s wishes, they stayed overnight.  But not Dad.  He stayed awake all night sharing the small bed with Judge Brady.  Dad was afraid he’d roll over and crush the Judge to death!  Judge Brady never awoke during the night.  He didn’t need too.  His self-appointed police officer was keeping close watch over him!!!

The 9 a.m. time had arrived for the trial to begin.  Unlike today, the courtroom had no air conditioning or smoking filtration.  Just like today, court trials were usually finished within a few days, which also occurred here.  I was convinced it was still daylight when the trial was completed daily because I remember counting the visitor’s cars assembled around the courthouse’s perimeter.  The final total has escaped my memory.  I do remember the many out of state and local automobiles.

The four long-time friends, Haston and Dyer gave the preliminary addresses and evidence as Dad and Galligan sat and watched attentively.  They were following the State’s evidence and administration.  It wasn’t very long until Dad, defense attorney, appeared wearing his lawyer clothes and his trademark black hat left on the lawyer’s table for an untimely period.  Many years later, Dad was doing his closing argument in a trial overseen by Judge Charles “Chuck” Haston, who served as Circuit Judge for several mid-state counties.  During this particular trial, Judge Haston amusingly asked Dad to approach the bench, which he politely did.  “Mr. Foutch – you’re being too loud in the courtroom.  Please turn up your hearing aids so others won’t be bothered or affected.”  Dad then remarked, “Well, Judge, you know that I can’t hear very well.”  What Judge Haston didn’t know was that Dad had a way of dealing with witnesses.  If he liked them and what they were saying, he’d turn up his hearing aid; if he didn’t, he would turn down the hearing aid.  If Lucy and I were yelling or skirmishing, he’d turn his hearing aid off.  He never touched it when Mom was talking!

During mid-day and following all the evidence, it was Dad’s turn to speak.  Mom alerted Lucy and me.  We sat stoic and speechless.  We watched our Daddy take his familiar stage.  I watched when he didn’t say one word.  I sat mesmerized.  He spoke until one could hear a pin drop.  The initial silence was overpowering.  Until he spoke.  No one could do it better.  His demeanor was calm, unaffected and unafraid.  However, I’d bet he wished he was playing basketball in Alexandria, Tennessee.  While Dad spoke, I was enthralled and motionless.  I think my nerves intermingled with my tears.  I especially remember watching the jury’s movements as Dad spoke.  During the cross-examination, I do recall Dad asking the three Estes children, Donna, David and Roger, to leave the courtroom as he was bringing their mother, Sue Estes, to the stand and he didn’t want the children to hear anything upsetting.  Many court attendees had never seen this polite and protective issue before, although it is a very common etiquette legal request in today’s courtrooms, said Judge Judkins.

It was Dad’s closing argument that I remember the most.  As it was approaching the Holy Season, Dad, using his firm, direct, and audible voice, emphatically said, “If you vote to send Bass Estes to prison for something that he did not do, then there will be three children whom Santa Claus won’t visit.”  Using a few other references, Dad ended his argument and proceeded to his straight-back chair and large workable table.  It was then I was in the midst of a clapping and a standing ovation.  Dad grinned while assembling his legal papers.  He told me later that he had seen the jury members crying.  Everyone did.  It was an obvious reaction to Dad’s closing argument about Ole’ Santie Clause.  Just as he entered, he exited without fanfare.

 

Many years later, Dad told me about a portion of his closing argument that he felt somewhat turned the case for the defendant.  It had to do with the murder itself.  I do remember him stating to the jury that Bass had no intention of killing Johnny Dillon.  If he had gone to Sue’s (his beautiful ex-wife) house to kill him, then he would not have blindly shot from around the corner.  Intentionally, he would have shot him directly.  This, Dad said, was a self-defense problem – not a murder problem.  My problem as an adult was where in the house was the gun located, or did Bass take it to the house with him?  The key word was “blindly.”  Sue was Bass’ first wife and the mother of his three children.  Later, Bass married Montie Spencer Wallace and they lived happily in their home on Evins’ Mill Road in Smithville.  Montie died recently of Alzheimer’s Disease on May 10, 2023 at age 93.  Following the trial, Sue relocated to another area and she was never publicly heard from again.  She did keep in close touch with her three children.  James Roger Estes died on August 13, 2003 at age 46.  The order of burial was direct cremation and his remains were given to his family.  His siblings Donna Estes Cripps and David Lewis Estes now have grandchildren and live in Tennessee.

 

The trial jury was only in the deliberation room for 15 minutes – for a first-degree murder case!  The foreman of the jury read the verdict – NOT GUILTY!  Screaming and clapping infiltrated the courtroom.  When the news spread outdoors, the celebration continued.  Estes immediately grabbed Dad with a bear-hug and a huge thank-you.   Had Estes been found GUILTY of first-degree murder, he would have died in prison.  Dad always told me that if a jury deliberates for an extended period of time, then the verdict is probably guilty – if it is a quick decision, then the verdict is probably not guilty. 

In reminiscing about any court trial while attending Dad’s local court cases as a “nosey learning experience,” Dad would always answer my questions, including explaining the law.  Maybe this is why he shared his beliefs pertaining to the jury’s murder trial’s verdict.  I’ll never tell!

Growing older, I always wanted to be a lawyer– and today, my son Jim is a practicing trial attorney.  Dad died in 1996 before he knew that Jim had received his law degree.  Upon his death, Lucy found this handwritten statement in black ink on the back of Jim’s elementary school picture on prominent display in his aged wallet.  It read: “My Lawyer” - scribbled in black ink focusing on Dad’s left-handed cursive writing which was astonishing and non-traceable!

Together, the members associated with this murder trial have left a legacy of law, determination and steely grit to take with us forever. They have left rules of conduct, sadness intermingled with tears, and historic renderings for educational summations and learning reflections.

 And, as you now know, Santa Claus and McAllen Foutch did save Bass Estes’ life many years ago in a smoke-filled antiquated courthouse in the Tennessee mountains.