The Old Preacher Man On Highway 61

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Southern Lights: The Old Preacher Man on Highway 61

August 13 | ByRobin Nelson| Posted inPhotojournalism|Print This Post

His hearing was poor and he shuffled about with the aid of a walker, but 93-year-old H.D.Dennis could still preach to anyone who happened by the one-time grocery store that became achurch.

It was a most unusual church of no particular denomination, faded and worn, with 400 feet ofhand-painted scripture of plywood signs and cement block towers- with a weatherworn school-

bus-turned-sanctuary that had been parked in the garden for years. That particular day I was this

preachers flock.

Margarets Grocery and Market

Id been headed to downtown Vicksburg, Mississippi, taking the back roads because I hadnothing but time on my hands. A scheduled photo shoot an hour away had been postponed, so I

took a different route back to the hotel. Highway 61 is a down-at-the heels stretch of industrialzoned property near the edge of town that had seen better days.

I wasnt expecting Margarets Grocery and Market, Home of the Double-Headed Eagle, but

thats the best thing about back roads: stumbling across the unexpected. I couldnt keep myselffrom pulling over.

The Rev. H.D. Dennis added towers,

archways, and signs outside Margaret's

Grocery and Market to draw people off

the highway so he could preach to

them.

I knocked on the screen door, ignoring

the closed sign. Margaret answeredbut said her husband wasnt feeling too

well that afternoon. I said Id come

back another time. Could I just make afew pictures? I asked. She smiled andsaid, Thatd be just fine.

I marveled at the folk art that

surrounded the place. I promised myself

to return before driving back to the delta farmland where I hoped to be shooting the nextmorning.
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A Tour with the Rev. Dennis

As I walked back to my car, I heard the screen door open. The Rev. Dennis slowly made his way

outside. He had dressed in a tattered but freshly ironed shirt, I guessed because his wife told him

a fellow with a camera was outside and he wanted to look presentable. We talked for a while. I

sat right beside him on the porch and spoke in my best hard-of-hearing voice, but Im not surehe heard me.
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Rev. Dennis, 93, shuffles with the aid of a walker outside his wife's small grocery store that he

transformed into a folk-art-covered church on the outskirts of Vicksburg, Miss.

No matter. Pastor Dennis seized the opportunity to open his well-worn Bible and share from the

Book of Matthew. His eyes, though glazed with age and cataracts, still sparkled with the prospectof preaching to a young fellow.

Then H.D. escorted me around to show off his handiwork that had taken nearly 30 years tocomplete, though I doubted he would ever consider it finished.

Every one of those bricks I put there myself, and it was perfectly laid, he said proudly. Didyou ever see any bricks so perfect? he asked. No, I hadnt, I said. He wouldve showed every

brick, block and hand-painted signs if hed had the stamina.

We strolled through his Scripture Garden, walking among the signs that motorists driving past

simply cant ignore. He unlocked the pink and yellow bus that was a permanent fixture in hisgarden.

It had taken years of scavenging for the beads, golf balls, trinkets and stuff of garage sales anddollar stores that the preacher used to decorate the inside of the bus. The entire inside of the bus

had been lined with thousands of colorful odds and ends glued into a mosaic that words simply

couldnt describe.
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An Audience of One

H.D. stood at the pulpit just behind the drivers seat and continued to preach. It was a hot, stuffyold bus, but it was also Gods House, a place of worship. So I sat down on a dusty, worn bus seat

and listened.

One thing Ive come to know: theres no such thing as a retired preacher. Once God calls

someone to preaching, no opportunity is missed. H.D. preached as though his church werestanding room only, even though I was the only one there to hear him.

Margaret joined us a bit later that afternoon as we picked up where we left off on the front porch.She doted on her husband of 30 years, making sure he was doing OK. She hugged him and left

us to talk.

H.D. and Margaret

H.D. married her in 1979. She was the Widow Rogers back then, and ran Margarets Grocery.H.D. promised he would transform her humble shop into a church that would glorify God if

she would marry him. She agreed, and for the next 29 years H.D. would slowly build his churchto preach to whomever came by.

He used whatever materials he could find- cement blocks, bricks, sheets of corrugated steel,gravel, donated plywood and dozens of cans of red and white paint, more glass beads and

baubles, cement, pieces of broken pottery and colored glass, even busted mirrors- nothing was


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too humble or useless to get folded into his shrine. One mans trash is another mans treasure, as

they say.

It was all used to invite Jews and Christians, blacks and whites alike to worship there. God have

no white church and he dont have no black church, says one sign. Please Go to Church,

encourages another.

A Final Prayer

The sun was setting, and it was time to go. I felt privileged to meet the preacher and his wife, and

document a part of the South that would likely soon vanish. I pressed my dinner money into

H.D.s weathered hands and then we prayed together.

I left Vicksburg the next day after my original assignment was finished. I promised myself to

visit H.D. and his lovely wife again if I was ever back that way.

Sadly, Margaret went home to be with her Lord a few months back. I heard that H.D., unable tolive alone, was now in a nursing home. Though a local church had been given the responsibility

to care for the property, I would be surprised if it was still standing on my next trip to Vicksburg.

Perhaps a new business park or a strip mall would be in its place soon. Progress and all.

I have pictures and the memories. Theyve not been published until now. They reaffirm my

passion for the back roads of the Southto see what lies over the next hill.


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Rev. Dennis prays at the rear of his bus.

13 Responses to Southern Lights: The Old Preacher Man on Highway 61

1. Marksaid:August 13th, 2010 at 10:48 amThis is stunning and exactly why I have a camera in my hand. I may never make a living

with it, but I can make memories...just like this.

2. Michelle Poseysaid:August 13th, 2010 at 11:10 am

As a native Mississippian and a photographer, I'm so glad you documented this piece of

history.

3. Stanley Learysaid:August 13th, 2010 at 7:24 pm

One of my favorite photographers is Robin. He cares so much for his subjects and his

photos show his passion for the story.

Great Job!!!!!
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11.Lindasaid:October 20th, 2010 at 10:33 pm

Mr. Nelson, Thank you for the wonderful story of the Dennis'. God's people are

everywhere. Just think of how many folks the Dennis' were able to teach the story of

Yeshua! Thank you for the beautiful pictures.

12.Robbie Roy said:November 17th, 2010 at 10:24 pm

Thanks so much for this story. Isn't there some folk art museum (say, the American FolkArt Museum in Manhattan) that could preserve this bit of Americana for posterity. What

a shame if not.

13.Frank Ezelle said:April 8th, 2012 at 12:27 pm

Beautiful photos and a reminder of a special place that is rapidly falling apart. I was there

this past weekend and it was sad to see the rapid decay that has set in after a few years of

neglect. It may already be past the point of preservation.
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