Mysterious flag carries powerful message for town
PARIS, Tenn. — It’s been a tireless, monthslong journey for retired boxer Neely Owens.
Some months ago — likely a year or more, but even that part of the story isn’t completely clear — a triangular folded American flag turned up in the closet of a public housing unit in this quiet, closeknit Tennessee sportsman’s town.
The flag — cotton, not the rayon or polyester blend that most modern flags are made of today — was kept in a plastic case that itself dates back at least 20 years.
Leon Ridgeway, owner of Ridgeway Funeral Home, was given the flag when construction workers were turning over one of the units about a year ago. The flag’s packaging was used by the funeral home between 1959 and 1997, Ridgeway said.
But the twist — and likely the biggest clue to help find the rightful owner — was tucked into the flag: six boxing medals and one ribbon, none of which are clearly inscribed with dates, and just one with any inscription
at all. It reads “LBC Junior Olympic Championships,” and a USA/ABF Junior Olympics logo.
Because of the medals inside, Ridgeway gave the flag to Owens, thinking he could track down the veteran’s family. Owens said he drove hundreds of miles and knocked on many a door. But so far, no luck.
“I’ve struck out every time,” Owens said. “I’d be batting 1.000 if I could find the owners of this.”
Almost anyone who has come across the flag is moved by it, and draws their own story about it, the medals and the person to whom it all belongs.
“I see so much blood and sweat and tears and time put into each individual bout, it’s a shame it doesn’t belong to somebody,” said Derek Moon, a local small business owner who volunteers as a youth boxing coach in a midcentury Ford dealership here in Paris.
State veterans officials said cases like the one this flag is in are rare. Still, they have no way of tracking down who the flag belonged to.
“Unfortunately, due to our extremely limited resources, we are not able to help,” said Yvette Martinez, deputy commissioner for Department of Veterans Services.
“There is not currently a database of Tennessee veterans or surviving family members.”
Owens, a retired professional boxer and amateur coach, was once on the road with world-class fighters such as George Foreman, Tex Cobb, Larry Holmes and Ron Weathers.
Owens said he tried to go to Vietnam, but the military didn’t take him.
But Owens’ own connection to the flag has become deeply personal. When he thinks about the medals, he not only ventures back to his heyday in the ring, but his own connection to the military.
“That’s somebody that’s served their country. That tells the whole story itself. It’s somebody who put it all on the line,” Owens said.
“A fistfight’s one thing, but putting everything on the line is another.”
The flag has become a sort of companion for Owens. When he thumbs the contours of the medals, his voice begins to tremble, and he has to pause to gather himself when he speaks.
Owens buried his son under a similar flag. His son, John Booth Owens, died less than a year after returning from the 2003 invasion of Iraq. He came home “with the long stare” after that tour, his father said.
“He kept smelling burning babies, walking in circles,” Owens said.
He couldn’t sleep. He turned to Valium to help him sleep, which he got from dealers on the street. One day he took too many, and never woke up.
The future of the flag, for now, is undetermined.
Owen and Moon plan to dedicate a portion of the makeshift boxing gym as an area of tribute for the flag and the medals.
They’ve tossed around a few ideas, but it will likely take the shape of a “wall of the unknown fighter” and the veteran’s seemingly storied boxing career and military service.
Their gym caters to troubled youth, and the wall of honor will serve as inspiration for those young fighters. Moon, who’s father was in prison much of his life, said boxing can offer a more productive release for kids who may be wandering astray.
“If I can show them a different path and keep them from throwing rocks at cars,” Moon said.
For Owens, he hopes to finally reconnect the flag with its rightful owner.
“All I can do is keep swinging,” he said.
Reach Jake Lowary at jlowary@tennessean.com or on Twitter at @JakeLowary.