High School Henry
High School Henry was a constant presence in Central High School yearbooks.
Dear Vance,
Who was the interesting character known as High School Henry, who showed up at every Central High School football game in the 1960s and 1970s?
— f.m., memphis.
Dear F.M.,
For years I had heard tales of this somewhat elderly gentleman, who — often adorned in a long coat and caps of various styles — would prowl the sidelines and toot a plastic horn at Central’s football games, or blow a duck call at basketball games, cheering on the Warriors. Looking through old yearbooks, I found the photos you see here, and quite frankly I assumed he was a distant member of the Lauderdale family, because — let’s face it — who else does these things?
So it was with some surprise that I discovered the man known as “High School Henry” to every boy and girl who attended Central actually hailed from a more prominent family than the Lauderdales. His full name, it seems, was Henry Clay Polk Jr., and he was a descendant of James K. Polk (1795-1849), the Tennessean who was this nation’s eleventh president.
Impressive, no?
But first, I suppose I should explain why he was called “High School Henry” and not simply “Central Henry.” Established in 1916, Central is regarded as the first high school within the city limits (people from Tech might disagree, but I won’t spoil the fun here). For years, it was known simply as “The High School” and to this day, their players wear an “H” on their uniforms. So “High School Henry” it was.
Now right here, I need to give credit where it is due, and almost everything you are about to read is the result of the hard work done by Tommy Pollard, Central High Class of 1969, who a while back took it upon himself to look into the real story of this gentleman. What he did was send out a message to dozens of his classmates, asking, “Who was High School Henry?” Through a series of emails that are too complicated to explain here, it seems that a classmate named Elizabeth Buchanan dropped a bombshell, by writing back, “High School Henry was my great uncle, Henry Clay Polk Jr.”
That really got things rolling. “Once I had his full name,” says Pollard, “then I could do more research.”
It seems Elizabeth’s mother, Katherine Buchanan, was Henry’s sister and served as his legal guardian for most of his life. “He was a dear, sweet old man, and I remember how much he loved Central High School,” Elizabeth Buchanan wrote. “In fact, his true joy came from CHS cheerleaders, players, coaches, and students.”
Now every school has dedicated fans. But what’s really interesting is that Henry never attended that school, or any school, really. So, was something … not quite right with his mind? After all, scampering around town in odd clothes and blowing a horn might be something a Lauderdale could get away with. In fact, it’s expected of us. But a man descended from a U.S. president? Why did he act this way?
Pollard’s classmate explains why: “When he was born in the early 1900s he became very sick, and doctors told the Polk family that by age 8 his mind would learn no more. So my loving family taught him as much as a child could in those days before computers. God blessed him with his love and gave him a happy life.”
Now this is what Pollard discovered: Henry Clay Polk Jr. was actually born in Memphis in 1891 (some sources say 1888). The family owned cotton and grocery businesses here, and for a while ran the Polk Spinning Company on Front Street. The family lived in several homes in Midtown, but their last location was 1395 Goodbar — only four blocks from Crump Stadium, which then and now was located behind Central High School, and which surely explains why Henry was so attracted to the school. “Henry is listed in several censuses as having achieved a sixth-grade education,” says Pollard, “but they never show any work history, and he never married.”
For most of his life, it seems he lived with his sister, along with several other members of the family (don’t ask me to get into all their names here) at the home on Goodbar.
The Polk family is well-known to Memphians — and especially Memphis historians — for another reason besides their cotton and grocery interests. The patriarch of the family, Henry Clay Polk Sr., died after an appendectomy in 1915. After his death, according to Pollard’s research, another son took over the family businesses and expanded them to include printed materials, such as maps, the Tennessee State Gazetteer, and the well-known Polk Directories. Often called simply city directories, these listed by name, address, street, phone number, and other categories just about everything anyone would need to know about someone living in Memphis. The half-dozen readers of “Ask Vance” will know how many times I have cited a city directory to provide a business address or a person’s occupation. So let me say that the Lauderdales owe quite a debt of gratitude to the Polk family.
Buchanan admits that a lot of people at the Central games probably wondered, “Who is this crazy old man?” To her, “he was a child at heart, and I know of the love people showed him at our home and at the games. The stories my mother told me as I grew up made me proud to call him my Great Uncle Henry.”
High School Henry passed away on February 16, 1982. “My mother cared for him until the day he died,” says Buchanan. “He died peacefully and very happy in his sleep.” He is buried in the Polk family plot, next to his father at Forest Hill Cemetery. Even though his marker is a simple one (above), the tombstone carver added a nice touch. Instead of a hyphen separating the dates of his birth and death, there is an H.
“Thank you to everyone who put up with his ways,” says Buchanan. “You made a difference in his life.” Considering how many people remember “High School Henry” I think it’s safe to say he made a difference in theirs, too.
Cafe Toulouse
David Weathers attends to diners at Cafe Toulouse.
Dear Vance,
What was the name of the fancy restaurant that opened in Overton Square’s French Quarter Inn?
— t.o., memphis.
Dear T.O.: You are surely thinking about Cafe Toulouse, and if you have trouble remembering it, that’s because the northeast corner of Madison and Cooper has probably been home to more businesses than any other place in Overton Square. That’s just an opinion; I haven’t yet made a scientific study of the area.
It’s always been a busy intersection, and for years the East Memphis Motor Company stood there, when Cooper was considered “east” Memphis. As the area evolved into an entertainment district the building was transformed into Godfather’s Pizza, and then Solomon Alfred’s, a popular venue for live music. After a fire ravaged the latter club, the ramshackle building was demolished, and the French Quarter Inn — a suites-only hotel — was constructed in 1985.
Inside, guests could find Cafe Toulouse. Most of them probably enjoyed their visit, but our dining critic, Tom Martin, noted a few problems when the restaurant opened. “After three visits, and a sampling of almost all selections on the menu, I came away with mixed feelings,” he wrote in our September 1985 issue. Among his comments: “Don’t expect fresh new ideas at Cafe Toulouse” and “service on my three visits varied greatly. It appears the restaurant staff is getting settled in.” Nevertheless, he concluded that improvements would “help establish Cafe Toulouse as a permanent fixture in Overton Square.”
It was not to be. The Square went through some lean years, the hotel closed, and things were beginning to look bleak for Overton Square. That’s when the Loeb Companies stepped in, and once again Madison and Cooper is the place to be. The French Quarter Inn, which had become an eyesore, was bulldozed, and this year that corner welcomed a new tenant, as the gleaming, modern, eye-catching home of Ballet Memphis.
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Mail: Vance Lauderdale,Memphis magazine,460 Tennessee Street #200,Memphis, TN 38103