Learn How ‘Knotty Nose’ Jake Got His Nickname

Bristolians have always been prone to attach nicknames to those who have unusual physical features, strange mannerisms, habits, locations of residence and so on.
There are instances where a single action became the cause of a lifelong nickname. Some of these nicknames were brutally frank, and many of them were a bit humorous.
But whatever they did to the bearer, they at least gave to him or her a bit of distinction. For virtually all of them, it was the only claim to distinction they would ever have.
Before Bristol was 20 years old, there was a “Lousy” Will Davison, who always carried body lice. There was “Skunk Head” Lucy Kimes, who didn’t smell like one, but had a white streak through her otherwise jet black hair. There was “Hell” John Burson, who made a witness tell the truth by threatening her with hell fire. This one action gave him a nickname for life.
There was “Tush” Bob Clemonn, whose eye teeth were unusually long. This angered him so much that he had Dr. John Keys pull them, but that didn’t “pull his nickname.” It stayed with him for life.
Then, there was “Knotty Nose” Jake Holmonn, whom I met soon after my arrival here in 1953. He was one of those more or less street people, who frequented the Loafer’s Glory section of Bristol. And he frequently sought help from the welfare agency where I was employed.
Yes, his nose was knotty, the worst I have ever seen. Finally, from the man who caused him to be that way, I learned “the rest of the story.”
Jacob “Jake” Holmonn was a native of Rockingham County, Va., but was brought here when about 5 years old. When he was 15, he got in with a crowd of rather rough boys of the town, sort of a neighborhood gang I suppose. One of these boys, then (1953) an old man, and one of the “residents” of Loafer’s Glory, told me how Jake came to have a broken (shattered would have been a better word for it) nose.
It seems that young Jake (he was almost fully grown at 15) was often boasting that he was the bravest boy in the gang – indeed, in all the town of Bristol. Others of his gang decided to make him prove it.
Stories had been circulating that a ghost of a Confederate soldier was appearing in East Hill Cemetery – always at sundown. The boys told Jake that if he would go up there with them and could stand his ground if the ghost appeared, then they would help him establish his claim of being the bravest boy in town.
One of the older boys then proceeded to make sure that the soldier ghost would appear. He took his father’s old Confederate uniform, went up to the cemetery, streaked his face with poke berry juice (red as blood), then concealed himself in the thick brush and tall grass that then covered the Confederate section of East Hill Cemetery.
Just about sundown, Jake and the other boys arrived at the lower cemetery gate. There, he was told to go on alone, as they waited at the gate to view the result.
As it was, they did not have long to wait. It was noticed that Jake started off at a rather fast walk and seemed to become faster as he made a beeline across the soldiers’ section of that old cemetery. He was also loudly whistling – likely in an effort to drown out any ghostly sounds that might break forth.
All was well until he had about reached the center of the cemetery. Then, suddenly from about 20 feet to his left, a terrifying Rebel yell split the air. Jake jerked his head in that direction, and there, near a Confederate gravestone, a bloody-faced, uniformed soldier seemed to be rising right out of the ground.
And the soldier had his eyes fixed on Jake, who stiffened for a moment, let out a terrified half yell, half scream, then jumped high into the air.
He hit the ground, not running but moving forward in long leaps. (Running would have been too slow.) He went in the direction he had hit the ground – there was no time to change his course, and that course led directly down the rather rough north hillside, toward the dense woods that lay between the cemetery and Taylor Street. And horror of horror, that bloody-faced Confederate soldier was right behind him, still giving that blood-curding Rebel yell.
It is supposed that in order to hear no more and see no more, Jake threw his hands over his ears and closed his eyes, just as he entered the woods. As might be expected, he had gone only a few wild leaps when he dead-centered a large beechnut tree. His nose was the first to take the terrific impact. It was shattered. He fell backward unconscious on the ground. The ghost raced on by and supposedly to his home.
His buddies soon arrived and carried Jake to the home of Dr. Matthew Moore Butler. There, he was revived and Butler, who had reset many a shattered bone while he was serving as a surgeon in the Confederate Army, did his best, but with little success. Poor Jake had to live the rest of his life with a knotty nose, and the rather frank nickname that went with it.

BUD PHILLIPS is a local historian and author. He can be reached at (276) 466-6435.