City brothers form bond over shed

Video: The Shed Men

At their age, Robert and Phil Brooks don’t have to prove anything anymore, but they’ve proven that.

Chances are you’ve seen the outbuilding they have adopted as their second home. It sits just a long home run from the Lynchburg Hillcats ballpark, on a hill that the Brooks brothers say was once occupied by a dairy farm. Until recently, the shed (downgraded from previous garage status) was almost completely covered with signs.

“My father worked for a sign company (Allen-Morrison) for 40 years,” said Kenneth Hankins, owner of the property, “and he collected a whole lot of them. I’ve got 400 in my attic.”

Recently, Hankins “de-signed” the shed in order to paint it, and was startled by the response.

“I had all kinds of people asking me, ‘When are you going to put the signs back?’” he said. “I told them, ‘Don’t worry, it’s just temporary.’”

The Brooks brothers are not temporary. Along with a few other regulars, they have occupied the shed and the surrounding hillside for 30 years. In the winter, the shed provides a warm womb where they can park themselves in sturdy, mismatched chairs, bask in the heat of an ancient wood stove and watch television. In the summer, they bring out lawn chairs, sit on the hill and watch traffic.

“Lots of people have taken pictures of this shed, with all the signs on it,” said Phil Brooks, the younger of the brothers at age 77. “I believe there’s a painting of it in the Peaks of Otter Lodge, and another one in a museum out in Los Angeles.”

As with many other traditions, the occupation of Kenneth Hankins’ shed happened more or less by accident.

“Before Kenneth owned the place, a fellow named Elmer Mayberry had a garage there,” Robert Brooks said, “and we started coming over one summer. Then the weather got cold, and we just naturally moved inside. The members of our group have gradually dropped off and died off over the years.”

“We don’t talk as much,” said Phil, “because we’ve already heard everybody’s stories.”

Robert and Phil are both widowers, and 83-year-old Robert likes the shed because “it’s a change from where I’ve been all the rest of the day.”

Interestingly, Hankins rarely puts in an appearance.

“He stays pretty busy, and he’s got a girlfriend now,” explained Phil. “But he’s usually around when we need him.”

Speaking of stories, Robert Brooks has dozens of them. Like how he used to drive 17 or 18 cows down the hill and across Fishing Creek to pasture on acreage now chopped in two by the Lynchburg Expressway. How Granny Dudley used to tell her own stories on summer evenings to an appreciative crowd of youngsters, and how Screechy Carwile became Lynchburg’s best-known “balladeer.”

“Screechy really couldn’t play the guitar,” Robert said, “but he sure could sing. He had a radio show.”

Ask Robert about his infantry service in World War II and he becomes reflective.

“I was in North Africa and Italy,” he said, “and mostly, I remember the mules. They used them to carry ammunition, and to pack out the dead bodies, and to bring in food and such, and it was amazing the way they were trained.

“I never met a bad mule, the whole time I was there. So I brought one back in my imagination. I called him Henry, and I still think about him a lot.”

He also brought back nightmares that plagued him for 15 years.

“Finally, I just prayed about it,” he said, “and they went away.”

Two chairs down, Phil rose to poke at the dying fire in the stove. It was getting closer to 8:30, the signal for Robert Brooks to leave.

“You can set your watch by him,” Hankins said.

Hankins has no immediate intention of selling his property —but if he does, the “shed men” will be part of the deal.

“I’d have to have it in writing that they’d always be allowed to stay there,” he said. “They belong there.”