It’s been years since S-Town first hit our earbuds, but the story of Woodstock, Alabama, never really left the people who listened to it. Most folks remember John B. McLemore, the eccentric clock restorer with a vocabulary like a Victorian poet and a temper like a live wire. But for many, the real heart of the show was Tyler Goodson.
He was the young guy John took under his wing. The one John called "the only daddy I’ve got" in a way that made you realize just how much these two outcasts needed each other. Honestly, the relationship was the most human part of the whole series.
Then things got heavy.
If you’ve been wondering what happened to Tyler after the microphones stopped recording and the production crews went back to New York, the truth is pretty tragic. It isn’t the Hollywood ending anyone wanted. Basically, the "fame" of being a podcast star didn't translate into a better life for Tyler. In fact, it might have made things a whole lot worse.
S-Town Podcast Tyler Goodson: The Legal Fallout
When S-Town dropped in 2017, Tyler was already in a mess. If you recall, the podcast actually documented some of the legal trouble he was getting into in real-time. He was accused of taking items from John B.’s property after John died. Tyler’s side of the story? He was just getting what John wanted him to have. He wasn't a thief, or at least he didn't see himself as one. He was just a guy trying to claim an inheritance that wasn't written down on a piece of paper.
But the law doesn't care much for "he would've wanted me to have it."
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The podcast actually became evidence. Imagine being in a small-town courtroom and having a Peabody Award-winning audio file played as a confession. That's exactly what happened. The District Attorney, Michael Jackson, used Tyler’s own words against him.
By late 2017, Tyler Goodson pleaded guilty to third-degree burglary and theft. He ended up with a 10-year suspended sentence and five years of probation. He avoided prison, sure, but the "Black Sheep of S-Town"—a title he actually put on T-shirts later—was officially a felon.
It's Hell Being Famous Without the Money
Tyler once told Esquire that being famous without being rich is basically a nightmare. People would just show up at his house. Complete strangers. They’d drive to Woodstock, find his yard, and want to take pictures like he was a tourist attraction at a theme park.
He tried to lean into it for a second. He sold some shirts. He talked about maybe doing a reality show. But none of it stuck. The money didn't come.
While the podcast creators were winning awards and moving on to the next big project, Tyler was still in Woodstock. He was still working at the plant. He was still a tattoo artist. He was still trying to provide for his five kids while living in the shadow of a story he couldn't control.
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The Standoff and the Tragic End
Fast forward to December 2023. This is the part that most casual listeners missed, and it’s the hardest to hear.
After years of struggling with the aftermath of the show and the weight of his own personal demons, things came to a head. On a Sunday morning in Woodstock, police responded to a "call for service" at a home. Tyler had barricaded himself inside.
He actually posted to Facebook right before it happened. "Police bout to shoot me down in my own yard," he wrote. It’s a haunting echo of the volatile life we heard on the podcast.
According to the Alabama Law Enforcement Agency, Tyler brandished a gun at officers during the standoff. He was shot and later died at the age of 32.
Woodstock Mayor Jeff Dodson, who knew Tyler long before the podcast was a thing, called it the worst day he’d ever had in office. He reminded everyone that Tyler wasn't just a "character." He was a father, a brother, and a son.
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Why the Story Still Matters
The death of Tyler Goodson brought up a lot of old arguments about S-Town. Was it ethical to turn these people’s lives into entertainment? Did the show exploit a vulnerable young man who didn't understand the reach of the internet?
- Media Voyeurism: Critics argue the podcast treated Woodstock like a human zoo.
- The "Fame" Trap: Local celebrities often lack the resources to handle the mental health toll of sudden national attention.
- Privacy vs. Art: Once your life is public, you can never really go back to being just a regular person in a small town.
Tyler’s life after the podcast was a series of attempts to find his footing in a world that already thought it knew everything about him. He was a guy who felt abandoned by his biological father and found a home in the workshop of a brilliant, broken clockmaker. When that workshop was locked up, Tyler’s life seemed to lose its gears.
What You Can Do Now
If you are a fan of the show, the best way to honor the people in it is to look past the "entertainment" value and see the reality of rural poverty and mental health struggles.
- Support Mental Health Initiatives: Many in Woodstock, including the Mayor, have advocated for better suicide prevention and mental health resources in rural areas.
- Listen Critically: Next time you dive into a true-crime or documentary podcast, think about the people left behind once the credits roll.
- Respect Privacy: If you ever find yourself driving through Alabama, remember that Woodstock is a real place with real people grieving real losses. It's not a set.
Tyler Goodson's story didn't end with a clever twist or a profound metaphor about clockwork. It ended in a yard in Alabama, far from the microphones, leaving behind a family and a town that still carries the weight of a story the rest of the world has already finished listening to.