Profile: Ms. Merriman of Chockley Tavern

The first time I saw the Chockley Tavern in Wartrace, TN, I thought it was abandoned.

Wartrace itself is a small, hushed town that sits centered on a 150-year-old railroad track. It’s surrounded by cattle farms with crumbling barns, and its history is inconspicuous. You’ll pass right through it if you’re not looking for it.

However, one Sunday afternoon in the middle of March, I was looking for some history: the Chockley Tavern, built in 1852.

I had seen it on an obscure Trip Advisor page with a 1-star review that began with “Don’t even bother…”

But I did bother. And I drove the hour and 15 minutes to the rundown tavern that sat only a couple of yards away from the railroad track.

Peeling paint, broken windows, years of clutter stacked on the sagging porch and second floor balcony. An ancient pecan tree’s branches covered in English Ivy hung dangerously low to the roof. The house looked abandoned and dark, void of any life except a few spring time buttercups growing in the flowerbed.

The only mention of its history was a rusty historic marker on the front lawn that read, “APTA Chockley-Hall 1852.”

APTA (Association for the Preservation of Tennessee Antiquities) was the historic preservation society before today's Tennessee Historic Commission.

The history lover in me felt the disappointment.

When I walked up to the front porch to take a better look, I noticed a bowl of newly printed pamphlets, and before I could connect the dots, I heard someone say, “Do you want a pamphlet?”

I almost jumped, startled as I saw an elderly woman come up behind me to step on the porch. She had a head of curly gray hair and wore a bright green sweater. Even though St. Patrick’s Day had been a few days ago, she still wore green shamrock earrings.

“Uh, is this a historic place?” I asked.

She chuckled, “Yeah, this is a historic place.”

Her name is Ms. Merriman—just Ms. Merriman, as far as she would tell—and she was the owner of the Chockley Tavern. Yes, she lived in this place by herself—this place where holes crumbled the siding and where you could hear squirrels (or ghosts) scurrying in the attic as you approached the house.

But the more I talked to Ms. Merriman there on her front lawn, the more I realized she wasn’t simply an eccentric lady with off-the-beaten-path tastes. Rather, she was an immense history lover like me.

In fact, she graduated with a historic preservation degree from Middle Tennessee State University. It took her 20 years to do, but between two kids and the loss of her husband in 1986, it’s amazing she continued to pursue a degree which job outlook is time-consuming and study-intensive.

I should know; I once wanted to go into historic preservation.

Chockley Tavern as it looks today. Merriman, owner, stands off to the left.

But Ms. Merriman lives here because she cares just that much.

“I bought the house 20 years ago,” she said. It was going to be knocked down if she hadn’t.

“I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

Not much is known about the Chockley Tavern. It was said to have been a stage coach house, but with the railroad nearby…

“Not in a pig’s eye,” Ms. Merriman kept saying. Instead, from what research she had done, she said the house had been owned by seven different people, most of whom worked for the railroad as ticket masters.

One of the owners would “run down the stairs, grab breakfast, and walk out the door a couple yards to the train office,” she said.

I asked her what plans there were for historic preservation for the house.

“You’re looking at it,” Ms. Merriman said and chuckled.

So far, she had overseen the restoration of the bay windows on the right side of the house, the re-roofing and cutting down of those pecan tree branches that hung so low.

The front porch with all its collections looks rather like an antique store.

Historic preservation is not easy.

It’s under-funded, meticulous, and widely overlooked, especially as each generation progresses. A lot of the brick-and-mortar historic preservation is left up to the dwindling groups of the older generations, up to people like Mrs. Merriman.

Her son, who lives just 20 minutes away, bought a historic farmhouse. According to Ms. Merriman, he’s working on restoring the widows (one of the biggest challenges for any historic place) and wanted to go with the cheap, easy option of plastic-based window material.

“I told him, Oh, you better not do that,” she said, and her lips tightened. If you’re going to do it, do it right and do it as authentically as possible.

It comes down to wanting to walk in the past’s footsteps as accurately as possible.

“Plenty of people stand across the street to take pictures [of the Chockley Tavern] …but very few actually come up and knock on my door to ask about the house,” she said.

Which is why I am very glad to have met Ms. Merriman.