Three Miles Away, and 50 Years Back in Time: Revisiting the Original Dismas House, 1974-2020 by Dean Graber

December 20, 2024

On a sunny September afternoon, I drive from Dismas House on Charlotte Avenue and steer three miles toward the Vanderbilt campus. Twelve minutes later, I land 50 years back in time at the original Dismas House of Nashville, on Music Row.

To truly appreciate Dismas House’s 50-year history, this crosstown trip honors the site where Father Jack Hickey, the Catholic chaplain of Vanderbilt University, and his student volunteers, founded their unique community in 1974.

For me, it’s a chance to appreciate the house where more than 1,000 men, including myself, lived during Dismas House’s first 46 years, before it relocated in 2020.

Standing under two towering maples, the yellow brick home at 1513 16th Avenue South welcomed men exiting Tennessee’s 10 male prisons. The house inspired a movement that created 15 other houses, including five more in Tennessee, and others in four U.S. states and Northern Ireland.

On a typical day at Dismas House, the men left early for work. Returning in the evening, they climbed the six cement stairs and stepped onto the creaking oak floors of the living room built a century earlier. Beneath the 10-foot ceilings, they were hardly alone.

Through the rear kitchen door, groups of men and women entered Dismas House for 46 years. They arrived on weeknights at 5:30 p.m., bringing pot roast, Greek lemon chicken soup, and the makings of spaghetti. Dinner was served at the dining room table under the framed photo of Father Jack, who smiled from the wall.

The 6:30 p.m. dinner time remained firm—give or take a few minutes for pasta to boil. Before each meal, the men went around the table, acknowledging the company and
food, and the victories of the day– a job offer, a positive phone call with a daughter, a new driver’s license, a good haircut, and comfortable clothes that fit.

For almost 43 years, Mrs. Grace Morales, Dismas House’s longest-serving volunteer, served her prized meatloaf, hashbrown potatoes, and orange juice cake to more than 1,000 Dismas House men, some being three times her size. She called them all “my boys.” Father Jack personally recruited “Miss Grace” to cook for Dismas House in the early 1970s when he barnstormed churches raising funds. All 10 of her children served with her at Dismas House. At Miss Grace’s final dinner in Fall 2016, four months before her death at age 91, she prayed, “Thank you for another chance to be with my boys.”

For nearly two years, I was fortunate to live at Dismas House as a “community resident.” I first arrived as a dinner volunteer while recovering from illness. The men invited me to apply for the vacant space that had once been filled by a college student. In 2014, Dismas House celebrated its 40th anniversary. My chore was to research its history, which had not been documented.

This week, standing outside Dismas House under a Southern Magnolia, I recall the history we uncovered. In 1974, Father Jack and a group of Vanderbilt students bought the three-story house from a next-door neighbor. For three months, trustees from the local jail, and the students renovated the building with supplies donated from 50 local businesses. In 1974, a benefit concert for Dismas House featured the “People’s Boogie Band” from The Farm in Summertown, Tennessee, including its founder, counter-culture icon Stephen Gaskin. Actor Burt Reynolds filmed a scene in Dismas House for his 1975 movie “W.W. and the Dixie Dance Kings.” In 1982, the Nobel Peace Prize Laureate, Mairead Corrigan of Northern Ireland, stayed at Dismas House. She used the Nashville model to open a house in Belfast to reconcile Catholics and Protestants released from prison. Houses inspired by the Nashville model still operate in Indiana, New Mexico, Massachusetts, and Vermont.

From the sidewalk, I recall how on a typical Sunday evening, Dismas House smelled of Pine Sol, pot roast, pinto beans, tobacco, aftershave, and freshly ironed shirts. One of my housemates sprawled on the couch, watching TV Westerns. Another man ironed sharp creases into his slacks for a job interview. A man from Memphis and his roommate drove to their 3rd-shift jobs at a candy factory. A resident from Knoxville enjoyed time in his room, texting friends on a new cell phone. On the front porch, the newest man rocked in the swing, smoked a corncob pipe, and read the Bible.

I remember my Dismas housemates and the men who supported this brotherhood.

I think of Harold “Doc” Jefferson, whose role as “kitchen manager” extended into the dining and living rooms, the parking lot, the garden, and the yards. He kept them all in order for three years. A Memphis native in his early 60s, Doc had spent nearly half his life in prison, cooking meals in industrial vats that he stirred with boat paddles. Thanks to Doc, by noon at Dismas House the floors were spotless, turkey legs and macaroni casserole baked in the oven. A green salad lay ready in the fridge, the lawn was freshly mowed, and the table was set for dinner. Doc held the college student volunteers in high esteem. He was the first to greet them, and at the end of the evening he was quick to say “I sure enjoyed y’all. Now, don’t be strangers!”

I remember my housemate David, who was convicted of taking part in a brawl that spilled across the main street of Bristol, Tennessee, into Bristol, Virginia–forcing him, absurdly, to serve prison time in both states. My Dismas friend Corey agreed to be my running coach if I’d be his “court-approved mentor.” I think of Scott, the social worker who directed Dismas House with consistent kindness and care. Davey–a former tour manager for a rock band, and a pastoral counselor, assisted Scott. Both men kept dinners positive, and they were happy to order pizza when a meal lacked meat. I recall Chris, a housemate who asked us “who are these hipsters I keep hearing about?” Eager for an answer, one night at dinner he asked some volunteers, “Hey, are you guys some of those hipsters everyone talks about?” One man replied, “Yeah. I guess we are!”

Walking the block outside Dismas House, I recall how in 2014, I got to drive a new friend, Michael, an artist, home to Knoxville, to unite with his family after four years in prison and a stay at Dismas House. Mike took home an easel, 30 paintbrushes, and a dozen books on painting and collage–all gifts from his friends. Waiting in Knoxville, Mike’s 9-year-old son stared out the front window of his grandparents’ apartment for nearly two hours, ignoring the Hawaii Five-0 reruns on the living room TV. Within minutes, Mike gave his son a sketching lesson on the coffee table, promising more to come.

On Dismas House’s 50th anniversary, I invite any supporters who have not yet viewed the house at 1513 16th Avenue South to lay eyes on this home, where thousands lived and served in Father Jack’s space. Now a private business, the Dismas House site remains a revered place.

Standing outside the original Dismas House, I feel a flash of pride from Father Jack. I believe he would be proud to know that two generations of Dismas House men–alumni from two Nashville houses–are now living their own lives under maple and magnolia trees in their own communities, spread across Tennessee, and far beyond.

By Dean Graber, Dismas House Writer in Residence, Jan. 2014–Jan. 2016. Contact: graber.dean@gmail.com