The Funeral of Josiah Jones Michael Gray It was the year 1902 and Chattanooga’s Main Street was bounded by wooden sidewalks, from Central to Broad. For all of those five blocks, people lined the street two deep. Men and women, young boys and girls alike, stood still, waiting and watching, I don’t know how many, but it sure seemed the whole population of Chattanooga had turned out, the silence broken only by an occasional whisper or the scuffing of child’s foot. But even that stopped when Josiah’s gray horse, rider-less, the boots turned upside down in the stirrups and led by his youngest son marched down the street. The horse’s head jerked nervously testing the bridle and bit, snorting on each twist when it reached the end of his freedom. The anxious horse was followed by a hearse drawn by two black horses and behind that the family of Josiah, some hundred strong came walking, every single one dressed in black. As the family passed the crowd peeled away and foll...