When COVID-19 cases first flooded the United States, countless lives were fundamentally shaken. Walter Hindman, now founder and owner of Junkdrop, was no exception, having just graduated from college and in need of a job at the height of pandemic panic.
Hindman had to leverage his situation however he could — and in a locked down city full of cramped apartments and denizens unable to leave their rooms, he found fortune in his truck.
“We originally just started as me and my pickup truck taking people’s stuff,” Hindman explained. “I graduated in 2020 from Auburn and then lost my job due to COVID … I had to figure out what I was gonna do. In the meantime, I had a pickup truck.”
Posting on Facebook and NextDoor to advertise his services, Hindman took to cleaning out people’s homes of old assorted items they no longer wanted, but struggled to ethically or quickly dispose of. He was soon inundated with second-hand couches and cookware; however, much of it was completely usable. It just needed a home that would get some mileage out of it.
That realization — and an old connection of Hindman’s — would come to shape Junkdrop.
“I volunteered at the Oasis Center in high school and I just said, ‘hey, I know you guys have this rapid rehousing program…’ the houses usually come completely unfurnished. If any of these recipients need any of this stuff, I’ll go deliver it. That idea just kind of took off.”
Junkdrop’s mission had become clear: more than junk disposal and storage, Hindman would offer a service which streamlined donations, directly taking unwanted home goods and furniture to the doorsteps of low-income apartments in need of furnishing.
“It just seemed like there was a big demand,” Hindman said. “We partner with five charities here in Nashville, we’ve got six guys full time and a bunch of trucks.”
That only scratches the surface of Junkdrop’s operations in Nashville, which have rapidly blossomed from a rough proof-of-concept to the largest junk removal business in the city.
Once they receive a donation, their team sorts through what is and isn’t suitable to reuse at their warehouse. Anything that can’t be salvaged is recycled or disposed of, but the rest is delivered to clients of Junkdrop’s partnered nonprofit organizations.
Charles Johnson, a former vendor with The Contributor, is a client of Junkdrop who recently moved into his first apartment after years of homelessness. He described the service as a “blessing.”
Johnson said the experience was seamless and quick — despite the Junkdrop team needing to squeeze a studio’s worth of furniture into an elevator to the eleventh floor.
“When they came, they were real nice, respectful,” Johnson. “They’re good people … you just don’t know, man. It’s a blessing.”
For employees like manager and logistics coordinator Patrick Brunner, the work is as varied — and occasionally hectic — as it is fulfilling.
“It’s a lot of fun driving around with the guys, you’re out and about and everything’s different,” Brunner said. “You’re just chipping away, trying to do a good thing.”
Hindman echoed the sentiment, whether they’re taking in old dressers and cutlery or something more exotic.
“We’ve seen it all … a few weeks ago, we did a job for some prolific hunter in Brentwood. He gave us like four elk heads and a humongous moose head,” Hindman said.
But although he oversees the company’s ongoing development as they expand operations into Austin, the most focal aspect of the job for Hindman is still making deliveries to people who may not have been in housing for years.
“At the end of the day, this isn’t our stuff. This is our clients’ stuff, and our clients didn’t just give it to us, they paid us to take it. And they paid us knowing in the back of their minds, this is the service they’re paying for: to get that reusable stuff to people that need it. Our clients are really the ones paying it forward. We’re just the middlemen.”