BRADY FLANIGANStaff Writer

The Serengeti and wood-panel interiors are disappearing, but somehow The Lions aren’t. And so on Tuesday, June 8, they arrived at their regular hunting ground on the east side of Tullahoma—Lion’s Club Lane—to circle around their dinner. This was a special feast. It was the Tullahoma Lions Club’s seventy-seventh annual officer installation. New members are welcomed into the pride. Oaths are taken. 

The meeting occurred at 6:30 p.m., along a road maybe 100 yards long, behind a water tower. The only building on the road was the clubhouse—a yellowy building with bricked-up windows and a flagpole. In another era it could’ve been a post office or an old-timey radio station with all the copper gutted. The other side of the street was a gravel parking lot, washed out from rain. June is monsoon season in Tennessee, and it had been raining all day.

The turn on to Lion’s Club Lane revealed a parking lot full of cars and one man standing alone, alongside the road. This was the alpha lion, as it turned out. Carl Webster. The new club president. Taller guy, not particularly outstanding for the crowd—blue blazer, tan khakis, white hair and glasses. The defining feature was a purple polo…excluding a nautical ship-captain’s hat he held in the pit of his elbow—gold cords with a black bill, a white top with the Lions Club “L” on the front—but that comes later.

The walls of the Lions Club headquarters were covered in wood panels and beige wallpaper and victory placards. Photos of former presidents, acknowledgements from city officials, fundraisers. There was a small sign glued to a board that read “no butts on floor please.” Behind the pictures, who knows what color the wood was. The history is smoked into the walls.

Around 25 Lions were attending to see nine officers installed. The only other foreigner was Joe Blanton—there to take pictures—a member of the Tullahoma Downtown Lions Club. Two prides operate in Tullahoma, performing many of the same community-service oriented functions and rituals, yet remain separate. When asked, nobody seemed to know why. Joe did not know anybody there. He was a lanky gentleman in a room of wide-shouldered, blazered men in suspenders. He was a crepe myrtle with a camera, swaying through a room of oak trees. 

The call to order began when outgoing president Woodson Reasonover rang a bell and the room became silent. Lion Mary Harmon sang “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.” Willie Childers led the pledge of allegiance. He was among the younger men there and one of the few with any black pepper left in his hair. He wore a western-style bolo tie with a Lions Club pendant. 

A man named Walt Berridge stood at the end of the dining table and led a prayer, his body turned toward the Lions Club banner in the corner of the room. It looked like the dress uniform of a well-decorated Boy Scout—covered in awards and patches earned since the club’s charter in 1945. As Walt prayed, members cut in intermittently to pray for different things.

“Lord, we pray you give leaders your wisdom in this time of turmoil and there be peace among all people.”

“Father, we pray for Sally, and we’re thankful she’s on amends.” 

“Father, we pray for Will who’s still traveling and his companions, and we just pray you’ll bring them safely home to us.”

After the prayer the Lions ate. Cornbread and corn on the cob, green beans and pork, sweet rolls. They gabbed for the better part of an hour. Nobody hurried. In some circles there’s a social pressure to be the first to finish eating, or to not eat at all, so as to not hold up the night’s doings. It was the opposite on this rainy Tuesday. It seemed a longform version of a hot dog eating contest, where the grotesque was replaced with camaraderie. “Get yourself another plate, I know you’ve got nowhere to be!” somebody joked from one of the tables. 

After an hour of chatter it was time to install the officers. Past council chair for the MD-12 Lions Club region, Richard Kulp, was there to lead the initiation. “We’re going to have a nautical theme for this,” he said. 

“We’re about to start a year long voyage aboard a ship that sails the seas of service that is called S.S. Tullahoma. This cruise’s waters are defined as friendship, joy of achievement, commitment to service, and love of country. The ship has been built and steered by the loving hands of members of the Tullahoma Lions Club since 1945.” 

One by one, every member was installed with their own nautical metaphor. 

“John Brandon, Lion Tamer, as Quartermaster he’s responsible for the ship’s property. He shall see the flag, the gavel, the bell, the podium are in place, and that the deck is swabbed down and ready for use. Will you serve?”

“Yes, I will.” 

A few members were absent. “I’m sad to say one of the persons we’re supposed to install is absent. The poor guy is having to suffer through a trip to Alaska,” Richard quipped. 

The nautical theme continued until the installation of the new president, Carl Webster. And now we’re back to the captain’s hat.

“Lion Carl Webster, you are the captain of the ship. You will guide and direct all of the ship’s activities and actions. The welfare, happiness, and honor of the ship’s passengers and crew fall on you. With great power comes great responsibility. You are also a member of the district governor’s advisory committee, and if the ship sinks, the captain goes down with the ship. Will you serve?”

“Aaargh!” Carl cried, “wait, that’s for pirates. I mean, aye aye, sir.”

“Of course, you get to wear the captain’s hat,” Richard said. And he placed the hat on his head. 

The captain’s hat sat neatly on Carl’s head as the meeting wrapped up. Officers were installed, oaths were taken. Outside, the gravel was still wet from days of rain. The Serengeti may be drying up, but evidently, the Lions are adapting—by taking to the seas.