An Attitude of Gratitude: J.C. Haun returns to Waynestock a changed man

It was both the harshest thing and the most inspiring thing Stacy Haun ever said to her husband, and without a doubt, it changed the course of J.C. Haun’s recovery from a life-altering ATV accident.

He doesn’t remember when, exactly, she said it. Sometime in the hazy days after his Sept. 9, 2022, near-fatality when time was a blur. When he wasn’t in blinding pain from a spine crushed like an accordion in a compactor, he was adrift in the fog of narcotics given to relieve it. What moments of lucidity he had were even more horrific, all of them spent contemplating a future bound to a wheelchair, or worse.

In some ways, he’s grateful he doesn’t remember much. But he does remember his wife, at his side since the University of Tennessee LIFESTAR air ambulance medevacked him to its affiliated medical center from the bottom of the mountain from which he’d fallen.

And he remembers lashing out – at the brutality of the whole situation, but mostly at the easiest target: the woman whom he’d married 12 months prior.

“I remember telling her, ‘Girl, get the hell out of here. You didn’t sign up for any of this,’” Haun recalls today. “It was bad, man, and I was trying to run her off. I told people to get her out of there, that she was driving me crazy. I told her to go on. And, of course, the next day she came back and told me, ‘You know I’m not going anywhere.’

“And I said, ‘Yeah, I know, but you really don’t need to deal with this.’ That’s when she told me, ‘But I’ve got a new nickname for you!’ And I kind of looked at her, and she says, ‘I’m gonna call you My Little Vegetable!’ And man, that flew all over me. I remember I said, ‘F*** that, and f*** you, too!’ And she leaned over and kissed me and said, ‘Well, I guess you better change your attitude, hadn’t you?’”

With that, Stacy Haun left her injured husband to his thoughts … and after a lengthy contemplation of all that had come before and all that was yet to occur, he went to bed that night determined to embrace the next day with an altogether different attitude.

Tarheel Born and Honky-Tonk Bred

To truly understand what a paradigm shift Haun has made in his life from that day to the evening of Friday, Feb. 2 – the second night of the 11th edition of Waynestock, the annual music festival that named him as last year’s beneficiary and one at which he’ll perform with his band, the Dirty Smokers, in 2024 – it’s important to know the beginnings from which he came.

A North Carolina boy, his allegiance to the Tarheels is as well-known in local musician circles as his affinity for honky-tonk is and how hot his temper used to be. He once bragged that he established J.C. and the Dirty Smokers because two previous outfits, Left Foot Down and Garage Deluxe, had shown him the door after particularly acrimonious falling-outs.

“I was like, ‘Forget this, dude – I’m gonna name the next band after me and hire people to play with me! By God, they ain’t gonna get rid of me from this one!’” Haun told The Daily Times newspaper of Maryville back in 2009. “That’s how it all started – I was tired of getting kicked out of other bands!”

He arrived in Knoxville back in 1997 after his father died. At the time, he had a good job with a phone company in Roxboro, North Carolina, but he had a burning desire to play music, and East Tennessee seemed like the ideal place to start a band. He got his feet wet at open-mic blues jams around town, and before long, he put together the jam outfit Left Foot Down. The group was successful, but Haun had a falling out with the band’s lead singer, Trey Sansom, and after a throwdown during a show in Starkville, Mississippi, the others asked Haun to go.

It says a lot about how much water has passed under the bridge that, when Waynestock XI was held in early 2023, the members of that band reunited to perform on Feb. 4, appearing onstage together for the first time since 2015.

“That was just amazing. The love I received was just absolutely amazing,” Haun says, his voice full of equal parts humility and gratitude even a year later. “I didn’t know how to take it at first because it’s hard for me to accept help at first. But John [Montgomery, the band’s guitarist] was already planning on doing something and had been talking to my wife, so when the [organizers of Waynestock] asked them to play, that was perfect.

“It was just amazing, man. Trey flew in from Texas for nothing just to be a part of it, and that was so powerful. Those guys, they’re why I tried to be sure I was there every night, so I could make sure I thanked everybody.”

After his exodus from Left Foot Down, Haun put together a number of one-off tribute jams – collectives of like-minded musician friends who joined in to pay tribute to such national groups and artists as the Black Crowes and Miles Davis. He spent some time in local group Limit Nine, and then when Sundown in the City headliner Steve Winwood canceled a show in 2004 due to a death in the family, the promoter called on Haun and his peers to put together a last-minute tribute to the Allman Brothers Band as a fill-in act.

The response was overwhelmingly positive, and from that performance, Garage Deluxe was born. Over time, however, personalities clashed once again, and Haun found himself as a former member of that outfit. Within a few years, though, the Dirty Smokers became his primary focus, relationships were mended with his former bandmates and his new group became an integral part of the Knoxville scene. With some ace members – bassist Aram Takvoryan, drummer Alonzo Lewis, guitarist Tom Pryor and pedal-steel player Brock Henderson among others – the Dirty Smokers played intermittently as Haun’s HVAC business, AC/JC Heating and Cooling, took off.

In 2021, he got married, and life, it seemed, was good. And then he and some friends decided to head to Windrock Park near Oliver Springs on that fateful day in 2022.

The Mountain

“It was just a normal Friday afternoon, and I was just going to ride side-by-side with my buddies,” Haun says. “We went up around 7 p.m. that evening, and everything was great. We weren’t drinking, because you can’t do that on those trails, and it was just a normal day. I was on the gravel trails following those guys, and normally the rule is, if you’re following someone and you get dusted out because it hasn’t rained, you try to stay in the dust behind them.

“Well, there was this dogleg right turn, and I didn’t have my harnesses on. If I had, none of this would have ever happened. I’d just have hit that tree, backed up and kept going. But because of that, and where that tree was at, I hit it and it threw me off the side of the mountain.”

Windrock Park sits to the north of Oliver Springs, on a knob of Windrock Mountain that abuts Big Fork Ridge. Haun doesn’t know how far he fell, but at 1,200 feet above sea level, the park’s trails sit roughly 200 feet above the general store. He doesn’t remember the fall, and he doesn’t remember landing, but he remembers regaining consciousness … and the frightening realization that he couldn’t move.

“I was laying facedown, and I remember just being in the dirt,” he says. “It’s a miracle that I landed in that spot, because if I’d landed on a rock that was 6 inches from me, I’m pretty sure it would have killed me. As it was, my arms were locked up by my chest, and I was lying face down on the ground.

“I tried to holler for help, so I took a deep breath in, and when I did, I sucked in a bunch of dust. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t roll over, and so all I could do was lie there and mumble for help, and about 15 minutes or so later, the guys found me.”

He didn’t grasp the scope of his injuries until first responders decided to call in LIFESTAR, UT Medical Center’s helicopter ambulance used in dire emergencies. At the hospital, a round of tests revealed the grim news: Vertebrae C4, C5 and C6 were pulverized, and there was a good chance he would never walk again. While doctors determined a course of action – eventually replacing those three vertebrae with titanium – Haun had to come to grips with a sobering new reality that likely meant music, HVAC work and even holding hands with his wife would forever be a thing of the past.

It was a dark time, he recalls, that included a feeding tube, intestinal blockages from the narcotics and a whole lot of self-pity. And then Stacy coined “My Little Vegetable.” And the pity turned to determination, he adds.

“They told me I wasn’t going to be walking or moving, that I could expect to be in a chair for the rest of my life as a quadriplegic, and when she said that is when I started to change,” he says. “That’s when it set in, and that’s when the good stuff started happening, really. I woke up that next morning and opened my eyes and looked up, and then I just closed them again.

“I said to God, ‘All I have control over today is my attitude, and today is going to go as good as I allow my attitude to go. So I’m going to try to smile and be as positive and happy as I can so that when someone is done talking to me, they’re going to have a smile on their face. Whatever You give me back, I’m going to be happy with.’”

From Spectator to Participant

After surgery, Haun was transferred to Knoxville Rehabilitation Hospital off of Weisgarber. There, he watched as fellow patients came through, some in worse shape than him, and had to face their own new realities. He took it upon himself to radiate positivity, and about a month after his accident, he realized he could wiggle a toe on his left foot. Whether or not there was a correlation doesn’t matter because, to Haun, it was a direct result of turning it over to a higher power, and so he renewed his pledge to be grateful and share it with others.

“I was mostly sitting there all day, but in the very bottom of Knoxville Rehab is where the gym is, and where the [occupational therapists and physical therapists] do the therapy, so I asked, ‘Can y’all roll me down there and let me see what’s going on down there and what it looks like?’” he says. “They did, and I saw a lot of older people, people who had had strokes and things like that. I was down there watching this older gentleman, and he’s on the parallel bar, and he finally makes it across.

“And I’m just like, ‘Way to go, man! That’s awesome! I hope I can do that one day!’ And he looked at me like I was crazy, but that inspired me, and I just decided, ‘I’m gonna sit down here and cheer for people.’”

He became the facility’s unofficial morale officer, and within a couple of weeks, he noticed a curious thing: Others in the gym, both participants and spectators, began cheering for their peers. In the past, he adds, the most spiritual moments of his life had been the connections forged between his musical performances and the crowds gathered to watch, but this? This was a whole other plane of enlightenment.

“It was the most powerful thing I’d ever done in my life,” he says. “God gave me a chance to be a light in that place, and it meant more to me than anybody. I learned every nurse’s name, every CNA’s name, every doctor’s name, and I made sure I was gracious and thankful for them. Through doing that, I learned how to be a better person.”

Fully invested in the concept that he received as much as he gave away, he continued to work on his own rehabilitation as well. With the help of therapists – Tess and Emma are two he names immediately – he put in extra workouts, trusted in Stacy to take over AC/JC and used his initial diagnosis of paralysis as motivation to heal.

“They told me I wouldn’t be walking; well, the best way to get me to do something is to tell me I can’t do it!” he says. “I made sure I walked out of that rehab. I walked out of it on a walker, but I walked.”

An Attitude of Gratitude Abounds

Life, he adds, is forever changed. There are challenges and struggles and lasting effects – he has no feeling in his body from his armpits down.

“I could burn a hole in my leg, and I wouldn’t know it, but I turn around, and cold weather kills me. My arms hurt constantly, all the time,” he says. “But there are workarounds. That’s what I want people to know – there are workarounds. If you’re digging a trench to your house to redo your water, and there’s a big rock in the way, you just dig around it. That’s what I do with my life nowadays.”

Take music, for example: He’s gotten good enough to make the chords and play the guitar, but gone are the days of playing flashy lead or steady rhythm unless it’s a slow song. Montgomery, however, was the catalyst for the workaround that allows him to continue his passion, and he’ll debut his new skillset on the Waynestock stage on Feb. 2: lap steel guitar, playing alongside Montgomery, keyboardist Stevie Jones, drummer Andrew Bryant and guitarist Jason Hanna.

“When Montgomery said that, I thought, ‘Hey, I might could do that,’” he says. “I started taking lessons from Brock Henderson, who actually drives to my house to give them to me. That’s just one person. So many people came and visited me and supported me, and every time they do, I try to make sure all of them are laughing and have a good time when they see me.”

And then there’s his business. When he describes his wife as a rock star for taking the helm and continuing its success, he does so with the tongue-in-cheek declaration that he’s allowed such braggadocio because, as a former rock star himself, real recognizes real. And he’s made peace with the fact that he likely won’t be on his hands and knees crawling around AC units and doing the dirty work that once brought him both financial stability and personal satisfaction.

But he’s got the knowledge of how to do those things, and today he’s determined to be an on-site mentor, instructing a younger version of himself in how to do those things.

Again, he said, it’s all about the workaround.

That, and faith. He’s not a born-again Christian by any means, but his belief system, combined with the love of a good woman and the loyal friendships of a music community that carried him when he couldn’t walk – quite literally, at times – has changed everything. He’s not grateful the accident happened, but he’s made the most out of it, and he continues to help others do the same.

“I still go back to Knoxville Rehab to talk to folks just coming in because I want to give back,” he says. “I don’t try to tell them about God; I just try to tell them that nobody really knows the answers. And I think it helps, especially when they see me, and I tell them my story. And it goes beyond that. Ever since last year’s Waynestock, I’ve been thinking about how I can give back to all of these people who have been doing for me, because I want to.

“The best gift is giving, and that’s been the greatest part of it. I love that it doesn’t cost anything to be good and kind to somebody, and to benefit from that lesson is so great. I’m forever changed by what happened. My attitude and the type of person I am, people that hang around me now all see it, and they’re all like, ‘Man, this is amazing.’ Just giving and being positive and trying to help humanity is the greatest gift we can ever have, and I really, really believe that with all my heart.”

There are some nights he wakes up from dreams both sweet and bitter, visions of peeling off power chords on a six-string to shouting fans or running and feeling the wind in his face. The darkness threatens to creep in during those fleeting moments, he says, but then he remembers: Gratitude is everything.

It saved his life, and it continues to enrich it.

“I wake up and think, ‘Whoa, I can’t do that,’ but then the first thing I say is, ‘But you’re alive, buddy!’” he says. “That’s what I think about. That’s what I concentrate on. It all goes back to the power of a positive attitude, and today I choose to inspire and uplift anybody I talk to. I try to make somebody else’s life better by letting them know: We all go through struggles, and helping our fellow man is how we get through this.”

wildsmith@blanknews.com