Folks in the Volunteer State disagree about many things. Are you a Vanderbilt fan, or do you root for the University of Tennessee? Appalachian bluegrass or Memphis blues? Democrat or Republican?

But people there agree on this: Parson Brownlow is the most hated man in Tennessee history. Almost 150 years after his death, just mentioning his name triggers a firestorm.

He passionately despised (in no particular order) Baptists, the Devil, Democrats, Confederates, Andrew Johnson, and anyone who disagreed with him. And he fought them all with all his energy.

How did a 19th century minister, newspaper editor, politician, and all-around rabblerouser become so divisive?

William Brownlow was born in Virginia in 1805. Orphaned at 10, he was passed from one relative to another until becoming a carpenter. Then he attended a camp meeting where he had a spiritual conversion. He put down his hammer and saw, put on the cloth, and offered his services to the Methodist Church, acquiring the nickname he would carry for life: Parson.

Brownlow’s world had no gray. People were either deepest black or virtuous white’ there was no in between.

Sent to churches in North Carolina, he spent most of his time fighting with fellow ministers. When that didn’t work out he was ordered to South Carolina, where he published a 70-page pamphlet that attacked Baptists so viciously people demanded he be hanged.

With his fiery style, a friend suggested he start a newspaper in Tennessee supporting the Whig Party. Parson Brownlow was as divisive as ever: Folks either loved or hated him, and he was perfectly happy to be treated either way. In 1840, he ran into a former Whig who had switched to the Democrats. They argued; Brownlow beat the guy with a cane, who in turn shot the editor in the thigh.

In 1845, he ran for Congress against former tailor and future president Andrew Johnson. It was every bit as nasty as you would expect with Democrat Johnson winning, sparking a burning hatred for Johnson that Brownlow nurtured till he died.

Settling in Knoxville, there were more savage attacks on his political and sectarian opponents. He caused a controversy in 1856 when he published a book blasting a Baptist minister whose own book had attacked Methodists. Eyebrows were raised because Brownlow’s book contained an illustration showing a Baptist man putting on his clothes in front of women following a creek baptism.

When Tennessee joined the Confederacy, Parson Brownlow did not. Confederate leaders drove him out of Knoxville. In exile, he was paraded around the North as an example of a “good Southerner” who had stayed loyal to the Union. In January 1865, a Unionist convention nominated him for governor. He was easily elected (chiefly because most of Tennessee’s male population couldn’t vote because they had been Confederates.)

Governor Brownlow ran his state with an iron fist. He made sure Tennessee was the first Southern state readmitted to the Union during Reconstruction and kept ex-Confederates out of public life as much as possible. He was elected to the U.S. Senate, and died soon after completing his term in 1877.

Parson Barlow was—and remains to this day—admired by some and despised by others. Consider his portrait.

Shortly before leaving the governor’s office, Parson Brownlow commissioned an eight-by-six painting of himself in all his glory and placed it inside Tennessee’s capitol. His opponents were outraged. For years they spat on it, drenching the picture in dark brown tobacco stains. It became such an eyesore, it was eventually removed from display.

In the 1980s, someone decided it was time to restore Parson Brownlow’s portrait to the Statehouse. A volcano of public outrage erupted.

The legislature voted to permanently ban the painting from the very building where Brownlow had served. It was sent to the Tennessee State Museum where it’s on display.

Even Brownlow’s final grave in Knoxville isn’t safe. Police get reports from time to time of attempts to desecrate it.

Have comments, questions or suggestions you’d like to share with Mark? Message him at jmp.press@gmail.com.