John B. McLemore was the kind of man who could fix a 200-year-old clock with a piece of scrap wire but couldn’t figure out how to live in the 21st century. If you’ve listened to the podcast S-Town, you probably feel like you know him. You heard his voice—that gravelly, Alabama drawl—railing against the "profligate" people of Woodstock and the impending doom of climate change.
But here is the thing.
The podcast turned John into a character. A gothic hero. A "tortured genius" in a "Shit-town."
While Brian Reed’s reporting was brilliant, it left a lot of people with a distorted view of who John B. McLemore actually was. He wasn't just a podcaster's discovery. He was a master horologist, a chemist, and a man whose house was basically a time capsule.
The Clockmaker and the Cyanide
John didn't just "fix" clocks. He was one of the most respected horologists in the world. People from all over the country sent him antique timepieces that no one else could touch. He understood the "arrest of time." It’s ironic, honestly. A man obsessed with the precise measurement of seconds was constantly mourning the fact that the world was running out of time.
His workshop was where the magic—and the tragedy—happened.
Most people focus on the gold. The rumors of bars hidden on his property. But the real story in that workshop was fire-gilding. It’s an archaic, incredibly toxic process involving mercury and gold. John did this for years. He’d boil off the mercury to leave a layer of gold on clock parts.
"John also had physical symptoms that are consistent with mercury poisoning as well as behavioral ones." — Brian Reed, S-Town.
He was likely suffering from "Mad Hatter" disease. The mercury vapor doesn't just stay in the air; it settles in the brain. It causes depression, irritability, and suicidal ideation. When John drank potassium cyanide on June 22, 2015, it wasn't just a sudden whim. He had been "fire-gilding" his own brain for decades.
The Maze That No One Can Solve Anymore
If you want to understand John's mind, you have to look at the maze. It wasn't just a garden. It was a mathematical puzzle made of hedges with 64 possible solutions. He could change the gates to make it a "null set"—a maze with no way out.
Today, that maze is mostly gone.
After John died, the property was sold. The new owners weren't interested in maintaining a complex horticultural brain-teaser. They were interested in the timber. It’s a gut punch to realize that one of the most unique pieces of landscape art in the South was basically bulldozed because it didn't have "market value."
Why the "Shit-Town" Label Stuck
John hated Woodstock. He called it S-Town for a reason. He saw it as a place of decay, filled with people who didn't care about anything. But the locals? They have a different take.
Since the podcast came out, Woodstock has become a weird pilgrimage site. Fans show up at the library. They look for his grave at Green Pond Presbyterian Church. Cheryl Dodson, a friend of John’s who appeared in the show, has spent years trying to pivot the town's reputation. She wants Woodstock to be known for suicide prevention, not just as the place a "crazy guy" lived.
The podcast has been downloaded over 100 million times. That's a lot of eyes on a tiny town that never asked for the spotlight.
What the Podcast Left Out
- His true relationship with Tyler Goodson: The show framed it as a father-son bond, but it was messier. They had a massive falling out the day before John died.
- The Legal Battles: John’s estate actually sued Serial Productions. They claimed John never gave permission for his "personality rights" to be sold for ads. They settled in 2020.
- The "Outing" Controversy: Many listeners felt Brian Reed overstepped by discussing John's sexuality after he was dead. John was private. He was a queer man in the Deep South, and he hadn't told everyone his secrets.
The Measure of a Life
John B. McLemore lived about 17,600 days. He kept track. He was obsessed with the "leaden dispiritedness" of modern life.
But he also loved things deeply. He loved his dogs. He loved his mother, Mary Grace. He loved the "exquisiteness and delicacy of tiny mosses and molds."
If you're looking for the "lesson" of John B. McLemore, it isn't about the gold or the murder that never happened. It’s about the cost of being a polymath in a world that only cares about specialization. He was a man out of time.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Researchers
If you are still fascinated by the world of S-Town, don't just stop at the audio files. There are ways to engage with the story that actually respect the man behind it.
- Support Suicide Prevention: Instead of "rubbernecking" in Woodstock, consider donating to organizations like the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). John’s story is a case study in how isolation and untreated mental health issues (compounded by environmental toxins) can lead to tragedy.
- Learn About Horology: John was a master of a dying art. If you want to honor his legacy, look into the National Association of Watch and Clock Collectors (NAWCC). They keep the craft alive.
- Visit the Woodstock Library Exhibit: If you do visit Alabama, go to the Woodstock Community Library. They have an exhibit featuring letters from listeners around the world. It turns the tragedy into a conversation about human connection.
- Read the Suicide Note (Lyrical Verse): Seek out the full text of John's final writings. It’s not just a note; it’s a piece of "outsider art" that explains his philosophy far better than any narrator could.
John didn't leave a spectacular life, but he left an indelible one. He was a man who lived 17,600 days and spent most of them trying to fix things that were already broken.