"The Legend Of Cornbread Sam.....He Lives!"

 “THE LEGEND OF CORNBREAD SAM – HE LIVES!”

BY:

LEANDER BEATTY JR.

In my many years of life, I have been blessed to visit cities great and small across this beautiful country. I have often marveled at the numerous sites engineered by the ultra-talented (and dare I say “genius”) hands of the American people. However, I have great respect for some of the simplest of structures that grace the little towns that surround the great cities.

Along that same train of thought, I readily admit that big cities are always a joy to visit. But I am fascinated by the smaller cities, towns and “one-light burbs”. They host these “little treasures” near and dear to its residents, offering once-in-a-lifetime pleasures to those like me, often just passing through after a day or two.

It was during one such excursion that I came upon an interesting, historical place. As buildings go, it was not the fanciest I had ever seen. This particular place, however, can boast of something that other grander places cannot, namely, a “living legend”!

Osceola, Arkansas is a quaint, rustic little town. Coming North from Tennessee or South from Missouri on Interstate 55, a stopover in Osceola will bring you in contact with some extremely friendly people, quite a few local shops, quality restaurants and for those that crave “bigger” businesses, a Super-Walmart (open 24 hours a day!).  

But if you are looking for theaters, movies, or any other forms of entertainment (besides the numerous churches), I suggest that you keep going until you reach Memphis, Tennessee, roughly 60 miles South. In Osceola, the sidewalks literally roll themselves up around 10:00 p.m. Indeed, if you find the need to walk around late at night, it is safe to say that you will be walking all by yourself.  

Like I said before, it is a beautiful little town, great people, but not the most exciting in the world. Still, it has “something” that you may find of interest!

The Minaret Manor (also known as The Florida-Cox Mansion), located on West Semmes Avenue, is one of those “step-back-in-time” places. Built around 1948, Minaret Manor was constructed by one Mr. Andrew J. Florida, the principal owner of a real estate empire that covered Eastern Arkansas and Western Tennessee.  

Designated as an historical landmark, this is the only place I have ever seen with half-dollar coins in the floor! Exactly why they are there in the first place is a mystery. Individual caretakers will offer up different explanations, but it is debatable as to which reason is true (or close to the truth, for that matter). 

One caretaker did confide in me about a legend surrounding Minaret Manor. And I assure all of you, this legend is true!

Every night, when the people are all gone, and the lights are out…..Cornbread Sam walks the halls of Minaret Manor!

Sounds like hometown malarky, right? So, I thought as well. But I witnessed this ghostly stranger with my own eyes. I could not believe what I was seeing, yet I tell this story because there were others there with me and they all will tell you that they saw the exact same thing! It was him alright! Cornbread Sam lives! 

His given name is (or was) Colonel Samuel Beauregard Baumgardner, distinguished and highly decorated hero of the now defunct Confederate Army. History states that he was well-respected, military-minded and yet possessed of a rather gentle, folksy nature. Over the years, he “earned” the nickname “Cornbread Sam” because he loved cornbread and he often boasted that his Mama and Grandma made the best cornbread in the South!

Dedicated to the task of defending the South during the Civil War, Colonel Baumgardner and his troops found themselves stationed in Osceola when the Union Army made an unstoppable advance. Overwhelmed, the Southern Army was forced to flee, moving down to Pine Bluff (Arkansas), then across the state lines to Mississippi and Louisiana.

While there is no one that can say what happened, Colonel Baumgardner ended up separated from his troops. Speculation persists that the dapper and handsome Colonel was “entertaining” a young lady and may have been preoccupied when his fellow soldiers skedaddled, leaving this Romeo to fend for himself.  

Although unfounded, the pre-occupation speculation may be close to the truth. While stranded in Osceola, the witty and war-wise Colonel Baumgardner found many places to hide, courtesy of the grateful, kind men and (more so) women of the town. Thus, while the war raged around him and the Union Army swept through, Colonel Baumgardner was protected, hidden and well-fed. Even when it was apparent that the Union Army was long gone, the Colonel kept a low profile and did his best not to attract too much attention, lest he end up a prisoner of war. One of his favorite hiding spots, it has been said, was on the very grounds where the Minaret Manor would eventually stand.

This protection and generosity continued unabated until 1871, several years after the Civil War was over. The legend says that everything came to an abrupt and grisly end one rainy morning. The charming and distinguished cornbread aficionado was “alleged” to have been feasting on the wife of a hard-working, hard-drinking, short-tempered husband. 

Whether it was the rain, a hangover, or his normal stop at home for lunch, Colonel Baumgardner and his frisky companion were surprised while in a compromising position by the stunned husband. Understandably enraged, hubby shot the wife in the stomach and backside. 

Allegedly, the Colonel was not let off so easily. He was shot dead, stabbed with his own sword and finally, beheaded. It was said that he was buried on the very grounds where he met his end, although his body was never found.

To be honest, the person that shared this tale with me could not confirm the soap opera ending. Yet, he was quick to assure me that the spirit of Colonel Baumgardner took up permanent residence on the hallowed grounds of Minaret Manor, moving from outside to inside when the building was complete. Furthermore, he still lives, and I have the proof!

The saga of Cornbread Sam was shared with me many years ago, when I visited Osceola for an in-law family reunion. As previously stated, Osceola is a nice place, but anything close to excitement is a little further South. The reunion was fine but ended rather quickly, leaving a lot of time to basically do nothing. Choosing not to vegetate in my motel room, I decided to do the tour at Minaret Manor.

I figured that two hours at Minaret Manor, a stop at the Walmart Supercenter and take-out from a nearby fish buffet would provide all the excitement I would need for that particular day.

The manor, however, gave me far more excitement than I could ever have imagined.  

On that cool and heavily overcast day, I joined a group of anxious visitors at Minaret Manor for a guided tour. Fascinated by the aged but beautifully maintained building and grounds, all of us were enjoying ourselves, being thoroughly educated and entertained by the very personable tour guide. It was all going so well. Then…..the lights began to flicker.

One flash, two flashes, a series of rapid flickers were followed by a suddenly increased whistling of the wind. Startled, all of us started heading towards the exit, but the guide stopped us.

“Sorry folks”, he said. “We have a tornado warning! The report is saying a possible “F-2” is coming through town. We need to stay inside and move into the interior until it passes. It’s moving rapidly, so hopefully it will be gone soon and prayerfully with no damage”. 

A quick peek out the window revealed a rapidly darkening sky. It appeared that the report was accurate. It was only 3:00 or so in the afternoon, but it was quickly turning into midnight outside.  

Obediently, we marched to the inner rooms of the manor and nervously waited for the tornado to pass. Assumedly safe and secure, none of us were overly concerned……until a voice called out.

This is what we all thought we heard: “My head! My head! Which one of yaw’ll got my head?” 

What in the world?????

Again, we heard, “My head! My head! I wants my head!”

Looking at each other, we all froze in our tracks! We took turns doing a headcount, making sure that no had eased away, trying to play a silly prank on the rest of us.  

Nope. All visitors and the guide were accounted for.

Now quite concerned, someone asked the guide if there was anyone else working with him. Wide-eyed, sweating and trembling, he assured us that he was the only person scheduled for that day.  

As we pondered what was going on, we noticed that it was now pitch-black outside, and the winds had picked up considerably. Oddly, I thought about that goofy legend the guide sprung on us when we first arrived on the manor grounds. But all of us had brushed that silliness aside.  

Indeed, were it not for the look of terror on the face of the guide as well as the heavy perspiration covering his brow, I would have dismissed all this as just a sick joke guides like to play on unsuspecting tourists.   

The shaking guide had a “fight or flight” look in his eyes. When the voice called out again, the fight part evaporated, and the flight part went down to his feet.

“My head! My head! Which one of yaw’ll got my head? My head! My head! Who got my head?”

Guide and visitors alike were literally huddled in a bunch after that last declaration! We were at a loss as to what we should do. Silent for a few moments, we could hear that the winds had turned nightmarishly ferocious!

The building shook, the howling winds became loud enough to scare the heartiest of us and the lights flickered madly, flashing one last time, and then going out. All of us reached for our trusty cell phones and engaged the flashlights, creating an adequate light source. One gentleman, a smoker I presume, produced a lighter and added a small but welcome light.

In retrospect, it probably would have been better if we had kept our flashlights off.

Approaching to our left, we all heard something…..or more precisely, someone!

 “My head! My head! Which one of yaw’ll got my head?”

Our heads all turned to our left in unison, only to see a ghost-like, odd-looking fellow heading our way!

Still a good distance away, it sounded like he said, “My head! My head!”

Several things happened in the next few minutes. First, I took notice that this apparition had his head on his shoulders. So, I deduced that he wasn’t looking for his head.

Next, I heard my fellow visitors behind me.

“Oh, no!”

 “Who the heck is that?”

“Oh my God! Is that…..?”

“Holy son of a biscuit eater!”

And then, as if by magic, I was standing there all by myself. The other tourists and the guide took off, leaving me at the mercy of this strange, see-through fellow! Imagine the sounds of tall, human-sized mice scurrying down a hallway. That is exactly how their feet sounded to me, as they all double-timed into the darkness and rain. 

I can only imagine that standing in the midst of a tornado is preferable to facing a spirit!  

Speaking of which, the excited spirit closed in on me and I got a good look at the legendary (and real!) Colonel Samuel Beauregard Baumgardner, aka “Cornbread Sam”.  

He was not the tallest of men, standing an estimated five feet eight inches. His hair was long and silvery. If it were possible for a spirit to get a haircut, I would have gladly treated him. It appeared that he hadn’t had one since his Civil War days. Sporting a scruffy-looking beard and mustache, Cornbread Sam could have easily been a model for an old-time cigar box. His gray uniform was well-worn, tattered around the left shoulder and several of his buttons were missing. I surmised that all that hiding in bushes, basements and attics would eventually do some damage to one’s attire. 

Clearly, Cornbread Sam never got an opportunity to take his uniform to the cleaners (or present it to one of his alleged many lovers for a wash and press).  

In his hands, he clutched his Confederate Army hat, blocked and reasonably presentable. And true to the legend, his chest sported quite a few impressive medals. 

Cornbread Sam was very real, albeit in spirit form. Suddenly, I was not too concerned about him being violent or menacing. In fact, my mind briefly wandered to how much those medals would be worth today since they would certainly be considered collectables to Civil War buffs.

But most of all, when he got close to me, I could clearly understand what he wanted. I braced myself just in case he had a Civil War flashback and pulled out his sword on me. After all, it was apparent he was looking for something. I quickly found out, though, it was not his head.

Close enough that we could touch, he looked at me, a gleam in his eye and a non-menacing smile on his face, and demanded:

“Cornbread! Cornbread! Which one of yaw’ll got cornbread?”

“Errrr…..excuse me?”

“Cornbread! Cornbread! I wants me some cornbread!”

“Cornbread?”

 “Cornbread! I wants me some cornbread! Which one of yaw’ll got some cornbread?”

“I’m sorry; I don’t have any cornbread.”       

 “What?” he dejectedly pondered. “Yaw’ll ain’t got no cornbread?”

“No Sir; We didn’t bring any cornbread.” 

Cornbread Sam raised an inquisitive, ghostly eyebrow at me, indignant at the realization that I was empty-handed.

“What about your friends?” he said while gazing out the window at my now soaking wet and shivering co-tourists.

“I don’t think so.”

At that moment, I could have sworn I saw his eyes well up with tears. I guess it really sunk in that there would be no cornbread that night, or at least not from any of us. With that, he gave me one last stern look, silently admonishing me for not bringing his favorite food. He then peered out the window again, hoping that someone had ran to a nearby bakery or maybe even Walmart to grab a pan of tasty warm cornbread. But it was not to be.

Thus, Cornbread Sam heaved a very heavy and mournful sigh, turned, and slowly walked away, fading back into the corridors of Minaret Manor. As he reached the end of the hallway, I heard him utter these last pitiful and sad words:

“Shucks! Yaw’ll don’t never bring no cornbread!” 

The tornado had passed several minutes earlier. The lights were back on, and that nerve-wrecking wind had finally dissipated. It was still overcast, but much lighter outside. I stepped out and went to speak with the other tourists and still shaky guide.

I went about trying to explain what had just happened. More so, I tried to tell them that Cornbread Sam was basically a harmless spirit seeking a slice or two of an old family favorite. But they were not in a listening mood.

As far as they were concerned, Cornbread Sam was an angry, fire-breathing, loud voiced, revenge minded ghost and they wanted nothing to do with him ever again.  

“He’s a madman!” one declared.

“He was after our heads!” another swore.

“Lord knows, he’s the scariest thing I have ever seen!” a third said while hightailing it back to his car.

“I will never forget how he was talking with no head!” a delusional lady cried.

“I’m gonna find a new job! This ain’t ever gonna happen to me again!” the tour guide promised.

Not true to all statements, I can assure you.

Yes, Cornbread Sam is real. He lives, that is definitely true. And before you go to visit, be well assured, he is a spirit.

But he is harmless.

If you decide to visit Minaret Manor, you may not see him at all. But to be safe, bring a few slices of cornbread with you. Cornbread Sam will appreciate your kindness!

And please, let your family and friends know that the legend is 100% true:

Cornbread Sam lives!

THE END