Nearly every morning, Tyler Goodson logs onto Facebook, clicks open his messages, and begins responding to fans of the podcast S-Town who hail from as far away as the U.K. and Australia. “They tell me my story touched their hearts and this, that, and the other,” the 27-year-old said. “It's wild.”

Almost 80 million people have listened to S-Town, the poignant story of Goodson’s friend John B. McLemore, an antiquarian horologist in Woodstock, Alabama. McLemore wrote to the staff of This American Life in 2012 asking them to look into an alleged murder in his hometown of Woodstock, which he referred to as “Shit Town.” During the seven chapters, the story shifts from true crime to McLemore’s life—including the lives of his family members and his close friend, Goodson.

John McLemore, the centerpiece of S-Town and one of Tyler Goodson’s close friends. Courtesy of Tyler Goodson

Goodson rarely gives interviews, but he agreed to speak with me on the phone last month. With his drowsy Alabama drawl, Goodson comes across just as he does on the podcast: sincere, a little melancholy, and sometimes dryly funny. Because of an ongoing legal battle that came after S-Town, his lawyer, J.D. Terry, was on the line, chiming in when the conversation steered too near the case. But Goodson is clearly a man who is not eager to be censored. Frequently, he interrupted his attorney to try to answer my questions.

Since the series debuted in March 2017, Goodson has changed jobs, had a baby boy, and “bawled my eyes out more than I can even guess.” In April, the podcast won the prestigious Peabody Award, but Goodson questions whether or not the whole thing was worth it. “It’s hell being famous without the rich part,” he told me. “If money came along with it, I wouldn’t feel near as bad about it.”

S-Town producer and host Brian Reed introduced listeners to tattoo shop owner Goodson in Chapter One as a supporting character in John McLemore's life. Over the next six-and-a-half hours of the podcast, it became clear that McLemore and Goodson, who was 23 years old when Reed began his reporting, had something of a father-son relationship.

“[John] loves Tyler,” tattoo artist Bubba told Reed in Chapter Two. “I mean, Tyler’s his boy. I mean, that’s his boy. He loves Tyler probably just as much as you would your own son, your own flesh and blood.”

The two men spent time hanging out at Goodson’s tattoo shop, Black Sheep Ink, and at McLemore’s home. Goodson helped McLemore build an impressive maze in McLemore’s backyard, and he moved into the trailer park across from McLemore's sprawling property for easier visits. Goodson’s two oldest daughters, who are now nine and seven, were also close with McLemore. And McLemore himself told Reed he was planning to write Goodson and his brother, Jake, into his will.



“It’s hell being famous without the rich part. If money came along with it, I wouldn’t feel near as bad about it.”

If you haven't listened to the podcast, but plan to, you'll want to stop reading now. In Chapter Three, Reed captured the moment when McLemore’s loved ones, including Goodson, learned he’d committed suicide by drinking potassium cyanide on June 22, 2015. It's raw and uncomfortable—one of the most searing moments of any podcast I've heard. Goodson was the last person, besides McLemore’s mother, to see him alive.

“My life has changed tremendously since he died. John B. was my employer and just about the closest friend I've had,” Goodson told me. “He acted like a father figure, because he knew my sperm donor wasn’t worth a damn. Hell, I learned a lot from him. I wish he was still here. There’s so much more I want to learn and ask him about. He was probably the best teacher I've ever had.”

After his friend John B. McLemore died in 2015, Tyler Goodson got a commemorative tattoo. Courtesy of Tyler Goodson

Nearly two years after John died, Goodson’s life would once again drastically change when the podcast went live on March 28, 2017.



Before S-Town aired, Reed reached out to the major players to let them know it was coming. After the This American Life spinoff Serial blew up—it was the fastest podcast to ever hit 5 million downloads—the team knew what to expect if S-Town met the same fate: Attention was about to rain down on this small community. Reed told the Woodstock residents with whom he talked over his three years of reporting this story that the This American Life social media team was available to make their Facebook accounts as private as possible. Goodson kept his profile public.

According to Reed, Goodson seemed both excited and nervous about the podcast finally going live. “He sent me a picture of 'Shit Town' written in black on each knuckle. And he messaged me as he listened, ‘This is fucking heartbreaking,'" Reed told me.

Goodson listened to the podcast alone in his bed. Every few hours, his wife would crack open the door to make sure he was OK. “I was just clusterfucked,” Goodson recalled. The hardest part to hear wasn't the sections about him—it was hearing his late friend's voice. “Oh Lord. I probably bawled my eyes out through the whole thing,” Goodson said. “Up until it got up to that fruity stuff. I don’t have nothing against homosexuals, but it was too much for me. I felt like they took that a little far.”



Listening to the podcast was the first time he learned McLemore had intimate relationships with men. “I had my thoughts, but it wasn’t none of my business on his sexuality and all that,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I didn't 100 percent know he was bisexual or whatever until the podcast come out. I didn’t care, and it wasn’t none of my business.”

Goodson with his cousin, Jimmy Frank Hicks. AP

Goodson's children have not heard the podcast, and he'd prefer to keep it that way until they're "probably 25 or 30," he said. They have, however, heard about it at school. "The parents ought to have their ass whooped for letting their kids listen to it," he said.

Not much has changed in Woodstock, Alabama in the last year. "It's still the same old shit town," Goodson said. There have been visitors. Fans of the podcast will drop by the property he shares with his wife, four daughters, five-month-old son, grandmother and uncle to take a photo, which annoys the hell out of Goodson. "It still gets aggravating when you got people coming up in your yard and wanting to take pictures all the time and that kind of crap," he said

Goodson no longer owns the tattoo shop that was prominently featured in the podcast. Instead, he works construction and does other odd jobs. He’s also tried to cash in on his podcast fame, with little luck so far. On his Facebook page, Goodson advertises a black T-shirt for sale. On the back, it reads “Black Sheep of S-Town,” with an illustration of a maze like the one he and McLemore carved into McLemore’s backyard. The front says, “S Town Original.” He hasn’t made any money from them because of the cost it would take to invest in bulk orders. “The shirt companies all try to screw me over. I'm about tired of trying to do that, but there's a lot of people out there wanting the shirts.”

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Reality TV opportunities have come up, Goodson told me, but he's had to turn them down because of his ongoing court case—a legal battle Reed referenced in the final chapters of the podcast. In S-Town, Goodson told Reed he had $25,000 worth of personal belongings, including two buses and an 18-wheeler trailer, on McLemore’s property. But McLemore’s cousins from Florida, Reta and Charlie Lawrence, who gained control of his property after his death, wouldn’t let Goodson on the property.

“When I go to spill the beans, I ain't gonna spill just a little bit of them, I’m gonna spill all of them.”

Goodson admitted to Reed that he’d snuck onto McLemore’s property. While he was there, Goodson poked around for boxes of solid gold bars McLemore was rumored to have hidden. The buried treasure is a prominent red herring in the series, and S-Town's conclusion never definitely says whether Goodson unearthed the gold. But Goodson told me he didn't find McLemore's treasure. “If I'd have found it," he said, "I sure as hell wouldn't be in Shit Town no more.”

That's about all he can say on the topic. In October, Goodson pleaded guilty to third-degree burglary, third-degree theft of property, and third-degree criminal trespassing. He received a suspended ten-year sentence with five years probation. His lawyers say they’re currently waiting for a date for a restitution hearing, and Goodson hopes the recordings will be used in court.

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“I was wishing like hell that we could use the podcast in court,” he said. “Even though some of it would hurt me, I felt like overall it would help me because John says what he wants basically. In the end, I felt like anybody who listened to it would know the real story.”

Once the case is behind him, Goodson wants to tell his version of the story, which Reed said he'd welcome. “Everyone talks about John as being an amazing talker, and it's true, but Tyler is a really good storyteller," he said.

For Goodson, it would be a way to "clarify some things," as he put it. “When I go to spill the beans, I ain't gonna spill just a little bit of them, I’m gonna spill all of them.”

Kate Storey Esquire Writer-at-Large Kate Storey is a Writer-at-Large for Esquire covering culture, politics, and style.

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