When Goldie Tague died at Sunrise Center Nursing Home in Gallatin in the spring of 1984, her passing produced little or no interruption in the everyday life of Gallatin. Though she had been a citizen of the town her whole life, her name never appeared on a church roll, nor was she ever invited into any of the social or service clubs . Most folks shunned her. If they met her on the street, they rarely spoke. You see Goldie was reputed to be Gallatin’s “lady of the night” in her prime–a prostitute.

“Here comes Goldie,” my friend, Gayle, said one day, as we saw her making her way on foot to pay a visit to Mrs. Buer, who lived nearby. Gayle and I scampered up a tree and threw sticks down as she walked beneath us. We also called her names, not even knowing what they meant. Goldie told our parents, though, and we were soundly reprimanded.

Was Gallatin Fair?

Whether Goldie really made a living servicing men hungry for a woman’s touch, married or single, I don’t know. A high school friend with a high pickup truck told me he once saw her crouched on the floorboard of a prominent man’s car. But I can’t vouch for that with certainty. Goldie didn’t look the part of a prostitute. She had a humped back and wore simple cotton dresses. Her hair was usually wrapped up in a scarf, and she wore plain lace-up shoes with anklets.

Goldie actually had several jobs. She served as a bill collector for several Gallatin business firms. She calling upon those owing money around the town square at the first of the month. It saved postage, after all, and Goldie worked cheap. She also ran errands for shut-ins and others, I’m sure, for a pittance in pay.

There was a day she came to visit my father at the newspaper office, and she was crying after being turned down once again for a job at a shop on the square. “Why, why won’t people in this town give me a chance?” she cried. “I am capable of doing the work.” My father thought of times he needed part time help, but he, too, never asked Goldie. “Maybe I’d been exposed to too much prejudice and bigotry, too,” Dad wrote.

What my dad also wrote about Goldie was this: “When I looked at Goldie I saw an unfortunate , pathetic individual, a human being burdened with a warped, twisted spine because, I’d been told, her mother denied her proper medical attention as an infant. Had this unfortunate decision not been made, Goldie might have stood as straight and tall s anyone else, and her life made joyful and fulfilling.”

The Price of Not Being “Normal”

When you think about it, Goldie had a lesson for all of us, though I would be grown before it would be clear to me. Being attractive and so-called “normal” means a lot in this world. And it is easy for us to insulate ourselves from those who are different.

Goldie had one attribute townspeople liked to brag about. She had a great memory and could recall the owner of any vehicle in town by its license plate. If there was any hanky-panky going on she knew who was involved because she had noted the license plate and had it filed away in her brain. For that skill, she was valuable to law enforcement officials on more than one occasion.

Goldie also drove the vehicles of others to take them on errands or pleasure trips. Otherwise she would be on foot. She never owned a car herself that I know of. One such person she drove was Junior Payne. Junior as a high school student dove into shallow water, broke his neck and was paralyzed for life. The boy’s mother, Geraldine, said she didn’t know what she would have done without Goldie’s help. Goldie drove Junior around in the back of his mother’s station wagon, giving Mrs. Payne a much-needed break. This also gave Junior a little time away from his hospital bed.

More Respect in Death

Goldie’s father died many years ago when he fell down a well, and eventually her mother passed away. Goldie lived alone in a house filled with stacks of newspapers and magazines and other items many would see today on the hoarding television shows. When she suffered a stroke, she eventually went to the nursing home where she lingered and died, buried without a funeral service. It’s funny, but when that happened, the town that had rejected her for all those years rose up to show compassion for this ostracized and deformed citizen who had lived among them for so long.

“Why was this done this way?” they asked. “A beggar would have been given better treatment.” Her estate trustee, however, said her burial was carried out according to her wishes. Within a couple of weeks the townspeople organized a memorial service, and a good crowd was present. That same day someone placed flowers upon her grave, a practice that continued for many years. Maybe Goldie got a lot more respect in death than she ever did in life.