Dead People’s Things Feature Article

Just 20 minutes North of Nashville, a small shop looks like an average antique store, spilling its metal jugs and dated furniture outside the front.

But as you walk closer, haunting porcelain faces stare at you through the window. Dolls. Lots and lots of dolls. And… Bill Clinton?

Welcome to Dead People’s Things.

Masked mannequins dressed in retro clothing flank the store, guarding the multitude of creepy and nostalgic objects lined up in Shayne Parker’s retro shop. Bill Clinton wearing a red leather jacket and a 4-foot-tall plastic wise man stand side by side greeting customers at the door.

“There’s a seriousness to antiques, ya know? So, there’s just a little hole in the market for kitschy, fun newer stuff,” said Parker, stroking his scruffy beard.

Serious is not something Parker’s shop embraces. There’s a 2000s lounge in the store’s front with a half-moon floral couch decorated with colorful knitted pillows and a child-size plastic skeleton in a tuxedo. And while most people would throw out their 40-pound boxed TV’s, Parker still keeps his playing VHS tapes of long forgotten movies, which are playfully stored in blue and yellow 1950s fridge.

Standing next to a WWE toy shrine, Parker looks like your average junkaholic, sporting an Army green jacket and newsboy cap, but he’s got more up his sleeve.

“In my late teen’s and twenties, dude, I was a punk. I was into, uh, nefarious activities in legal matters,” Parker chuckled, “I grew up punk rock; it’s that DIY mentality.”

That DIY mentality has gotten Parker to where he is today, communing in his own store full of varying things he’s bought, traded, and collected, all from different eras—not to mention the junk-filled barns at Parker’s house.

He’s not your cookie-cutter shop owner. Instead of reciting robotic greeting lines, he welcomes each person coming in as if they’re old friends, cracking a joke or two. And, really, most are.

Like the man in a purple collared shirt who walked out of the restroom after being in there quite a while.

“Dude, your bathroom smells lovely,” said the man sarcastically.

“Must be a plug-in in the wall,” joked Parker.

On the other end of the store next to a rack full of tie-dyed denim, a man that looks plucked out of a John Wayne movie wearing Western cowboy hat and red bandana mask watches silently over the store as second-in-command. It’s a deep rumble when he speaks.

“I went to [Parker’s] shop in White House, and I had a peddle car to sell. I sold him that peddle car. Now, we’ve been hanging out ever since,” said Mark Koval gravelly, widening his piercing blue eyes and cracking the weathered lines around them.

He’s probably the most serious thing in the shop. And although he’s traded off multiple peddle cars, his favorite item currently in the store is, of course, the new light blue peddle car on front window display.

“Soon as I get a stimulus check, I’m going to pick that up,” Koval said gruffly, “It needs a wax job.”

Mostly in the Texas heat, Koval spent 45 hard-working years of his life digging through junk (and many peddle cars), finding himself in situations like a 103-year-old woman showing him voodoo dolls decorated with real hair, flies, and lizards. Nothing scares him now.

“I’ll always be messing with junk,” said Koval. “It’s a disease.”

Going on five years of friendship, Koval and Parker’s contrasting personalities have always had one thing in common: the love of fun and odd junk.

But not everyone shares that same love.

“You get a lot of people that walk in and just walk right back out. It’s just not for them. You either love the store or you don’t,” said Parker.

Like Tracy Keard who walked in just looking for some blown glass art and stared flatly at the arm-sized taxidermy alligator.

“It’s, uhm, different,” said Keard in tight tone. “This is a lot different from my regular thrift stores.”

Very different indeed. Above the alligator sits a half-burnt paper mache skull that, at first glance, could be mistaken for trash—Parker’s favorite item.

“I really love this guy. He’s supposedly cursed,” said Parker nonchalantly.

In the 1920s (or 30s, who could remember?), an Odd Fellow’s Lodge caught on fire, and one of the firemen stole the blackened skull from the wreckage. Well, his house also burnt down shortly after, so it was passed on to a town center. Well, that town went bankrupt, so it was passed to a store. Well, that store went bankrupt, and so on. But none of this phases Parker.

“Man, I don’t really get a vibe from him,” said Parker, smiling at the art project gone wrong.

But one thing he did get a vibe from was a homemade spirit board with a copper handle, which he sold to some unlucky fellow.

Over the years of collecting, selling, and haggling, Parker has built up quite a following of young adults who share the same drive for vintage pieces. They’re either regulars who lounge with Parker in the 2000s time warp on slower days or dealers themselves who stop by in pickup trucks full of dusty objects to swap.

“I was at the gas station, and the lady working saw my shirt,” said Parker. “She was like, ‘What’s Dead People’s Things?’ And this girl behind me was like, ‘Man, Dead People’s Things is like a cult!’ I guess I’m starting a religious movement over here.”

And when he’s not around cult-leading the vintage lovers, he’s digging for junk.

“Man, I hit up estate sales, yard sales, junk yards, even dirt flea markets,” said Parker. The items show. Although the clothing section takes up only a small portion of the store’s collection, it’s full of each era, like the 80s color block windbreaker and the 90s denim overalls.

A young man with floppy curls and flip-flops browses the section and holds up the items against him.

“I’m buying this sweet 70s shirt,” said Ben Mabry, holding a 50 Shades of Brown lookalike silk button down in the air.

And although the price tag may say $20, Parker’s always willing to negotiate. “This is nothing, man. I got barns full,” said Parker.

It’s easy to see why Parker has devoted followers. With his laid-back attitude, handpicked selections of every decade, and negotiable prices, he’s the best in town for a good deal and a good time.

“It sounds really cheesy, but I get to do what I love and make money out of it. Dude, that’s hard to do,” said Parker excitedly. “This is the new American Dream.”

It’s that punk rock DIY mentality that has made Parker’s dream come true and made Dead People’s Things a novelty to die for.

“I have good ideas every once in a while,” laughed Parker.