Issue Number Fifteen Spring/Summer 2012

In Case of Rapture Lefty Frizzell Fiction by William Dockery A story of a one-of-a-kindness

The Way ’Twas A memory captured by a snapshot

A Flying Elizabeth Family Reunion and Hazel Families that fly together... The women behind the picture Brush With the Law Northbound Non-ignorance of the law is an excuse Single - Lane A collection of Southern poetry Daddy’s in the Closet ...and that’s where he’s going to stay Lisa Love’s Life Where humor and reality hang out Kids and Politics Why Daddy drinks California Itch Go west, young man with apologies to Norman Rockwell E-Publisher’s Corner

CaliforniaCalifornia ItchItch found the above picture tucked inside an old college “Because you can’t go any further west,” someone else said. yearbook. It featured the original members of Contents “Can’t go no further—this here’s Under Pressure, a band that we hastily assembled in injun territory.” Copas said, quoting September of 1970 for a freshman talent show at the the California stream-of-conscious- ness comedy troupe, Firesign Theater. East Tennessee Baptist college we attended. All of us were fed up with our par- IIThe only member of Contents not was before holes in jeans were cool). ticular circumstances. Kling and Copas pictured was (Dancin’) Dan (the Man) BoatRamp, the farmdog, was trying were bored with Nashville, and those Schlafer; he had joined us in early 1971, to imitate my stance and smile for the of us finishing up our college careers and by the time this was snapped—in camera. He was a very talented dog. were anxious to trade all the hassles of the autumn of 1974—he was well on I can’t remember what all we did collegiate life for a big adventure. his way to being a responsible citizen, that weekend, but I do know that it I was finishing up my tenure as unlike the three of us pictured here. involved at least two things—playing editor of the college newspaper and The backdrop for this picture was music late into the night (early into had managed to get myself in hot the 40-acre farm in Wear’s Valley that the morning) and talking about the water with the administration through I shared with Mike Copas and Stephen California Trip. a series of activities and articles. Some Kling, two Opryland caricature artists The California Trip had its genesis people just have no sense of humor. that I had worked with the previous a few months earlier as a group of us A week or so after the initial summer. The truck actually belonged sat around an off-campus apartment California Trip discussion, I received to Copas, but I loved it and the way it trying to figure out what we were going a note from Bill Dockery, a former staff made me feel when I rode in it. to do with our lives once our impend- member of the college’s newspaper The picture was taken by my sis- ing graduation had come and gone. who had graduated a few years earlier ter, Jann; she had ridden down from Copas and Kling had driven down and had gone on to have a real job at Nashville with Paul Dunlap—that’s from Nashville. “Let’s go to California, a real newspaper in the Gatlinburg him with the leather jacket and red or maybe even Gatlinburg,” they said. area. He said that he liked what I had mod cap. Filmore (actually, Millard We could be in Gatlinburg in an hour done with the college paper, and if I Filmore Strunk, Jr.) is the one with the or so, we decided, but California— was interested, he would introduce flannel shirt and Tom Mix 10-gallon now that was a genuine state of mind. me to his publisher. It’s not close to hat. I’m also wearing a flannel shirt, “Yeah, but we could draw caricatures California, I thought, but it is close to along with a pair of bell bottom jeans in Gatlinburg,” Copas said. Gatlinburg. that my grandmother patched (this “Why California?” someone asked. Graduation came and went, and we

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 2 E-Publisher’s Corner paper was a young upstart, we she said, “go easy on the starch.” Anita all scattered back to our hometowns, could be more daring with our and her teenaged sidekick, Rod, trav- taking our individual pieces of the stories and eled through time in The HelenMobile, Big Adventure dream with us. But, a craft that eerily resembled a modern- we promised each other that, at some day PT Cruiser, only without tires. point, we would meet back up and That winter was extremely cold. bring our respective pieces to assem- The farmhouse didn’t have running ble the big puzzle that would be the water or electric heat; it only had the California Trip. living room fireplace and a wood- In the meantime, Copas and I stove in the kitchen. At first, we cut decided to try our luck in Gatlinburg, firewood on the weekends, then and we found an old farmhouse to we resorted to burning the unsold rent in nearby Wear’s Valley. By day, papers that we had picked up over we drew caricatures in Gatlinburg, the past months. Eventually, we and at night, we played bluegrass in would just drive around until it the town’s bars, along with Michael was late enough to go home and Thornburgh, a fiddle player we had jump into bed. It kept me dreaming met on the porch of his family’s hill- about California. The dream of the side cabin. Because we didn’t California Trip however, began have a name, a table of intel- to flicker. It was much too ligent and articulate drunks at comfortable to have a weekly The Shed (a paycheck. main street S p r i n g w a t e r i n g came and hole at the went, and time) named the warm us PigFish t e m p e r a - BoatRamp. tures turned We liked the the winter name, so we h a r d s h i p s kept it and into a distant even used a m e m o r y . piece of it to When sum- tag the stray mer rolled we brought out to the valley to be our coverage than Dockery’s more estab- around, the dream started gnawing at farmdog. lished paper. Dockery usually beat me me again, and I started thinking about In the meantime, Kling had not to every scoop, anyway, including the leaving the Times and heading west. forgotten the dream. He had packed scene of the county’s first ax murder. During the Fourth of July weekend, up his car and was on his way to Working at the Times gave me the I met up with some of my college California. He stopped off at the farm chance to write sports copy, handle friends at a Middle Tennessee blue- on his way to say goodbye, and got local stories, and offer editorials; it grass festival and tried to resurrect the sucked into the East Tennessee beauty. also allowed me to contribute illustra- old passion for the great adventure. However, before the interview with tions and editorial cartoons. Kling and I “It was a nice dream,” someone said Dockery’s publisher could be arranged, would also deliver the stacks of papers after one banjo breakdown. Kling and I got job offers from his to some of the various convenience “I’ve got commitments and respon- newspaper’s rival, the weekly Sevier stores in outlying areas of the county, sibilities,” one of my friends said. County Times (in addition to being and pick up the papers that hadn’t sold “My wife says ‘no’,” said another. a crackerjack caricature artist, Kling from the previous week’s issue. “Do you even know anyone in was an incredible photographer). At some point, Kling and I (along California?” another one demanded. We’re not giving up the dream, we with production guru Kerry Brown) “I’ve got relatives in Iowa,” I said. rationalized, we’re just going to be came up with the idea of featuring regu- “Yeah, well, I’ve got relatives in able to save up some money to fuel lar original comic strips. My comic was New Jersey, but that doesn’t mean I’m it. Besides, one by one, everyone else Tales of Space Helen, a strip about a headed to Canada,” my friend said. from that initial dream planning ses- time-traveling superhero whose secret “It’s just a crazy itch,” I said. sion had found some sort of distrac- identity was Anita Ficks, a salesgirl in “Don’t they make medicine for tion—graduate school, fulltime jobs a local Chinese bakery/laundromat. that?” he asked. and even marriage. The first episode featured a customer As I drove back to East Tennessee, I The Sevier County Times turned out coming into the shop and ordering a felt defeated. Is this how life is going to be an interesting job. Because the birthday cake—“...and, Anita, dear,” to play out, I wondered, dreaming up

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 3 E-Publisher’s Corner “Doodle Owens wrote that!” I told One day I went over to Berkeley big adventures and making plans and him. Doodle was my friend, Lee’s dad. to see if I could find the apartment then abandoning them? When I was at their house a few months complex where Patty Hearst had That Sunday afternoon as I drove earlier, Doodle had played the song for been kidnapped. When I stopped at a up the long dirt driveway to the farm- Lee and me on his old Gibson. When I Berkeley newsstand to ask directions, house, I noticed a stranger sitting on relayed the story to our driver, he told the owner shushed me and pointed to the front porch steps. us he’d take us all the way to Salem. his radio, which was screaming some “Are you the Space Helen dude?” “It’s out of my way,” he said, “but it’s sort of news story. she asked me as I got out of my car. worth it just to hear about Nashville.” “Patty Hearst!” he said, “The feds “Guilty,” I said. As soon as we exited the Cadillac just captured her, over in the Mission “That’s some bizarre stuff there,” she in Salem, a kid in a Corvair screeched District!” said. She explained that she had been over to the side of the road and threw Like I said, there was tension in the backpacking in the Smokies and had open the passenger door. air. Less than a week later, I thought gotten a serious case of poison ivy— “Bay Area?” he asked. I’d take in the San Francisco Museum bad enough to take her off the trail and And so, the California Trip began. of Art (now called the San Francisco into Gatlinburg. A man who ran a shop We ended up hitching all through Museum of Modern Art). In 1975 the on the main drag took museum was located pity on her, and he and more in the center of his girlfriend took her Then I noticed policemen with rifles town, a few blocks to their home so she on the roofs of several of the buildings. off of Market Street. could recover. While That Monday morn- there, she came across It’s a riot, I thought. But the mood ing, I hitched to the his collection of “Tales was festive. . .maybe it was a happy riot. Concord BART sta- of Space Helen” that tion, took the train he had clipped out of into the city, then the Sevier County Times. California, from the Bay Area to L.A., took a bus to the museum. However, “I know the guy that draws those,” up to Fresno, over to Santa Cruz, to my surprise, the museum’s front he told her. and back up to San Francisco. The door was locked. I then noticed the “I have a friend back home who comics publisher was as interesting “Museum’s Hours” sign that chirped, is an underground comic book pub- as you might imagine; he lived a few “MUSEUM CLOSED ON MONDAYS.” lisher, and he would love these,” she blocks from Height and Ashbury, not I was incredulous. It had taken me told him, so he dropped her off at the too far from Golden Gate Park. He over two hours to get there, only to find farmhouse. was amused by Space Helen, but said it closed. To try and salvage the day, I “Where’s back home?” I asked. that it needed nudity. I didn’t think we decided to treat myself to a late Chinese “California,” she said, “My com- could pull that off in East Tennessee. lunch. Keep in mind, in 1975, there ic-publisher friend is back in San Maybe Space Helen should move to were not a lot of Chinese restaurants in Francisco.” California, he said. Tennessee. In fact, the only time I had A few weeks later, she was back I called up the kid in the Corvair, eaten Chinese food was when Kling on the west coast. It took me about and he came and picked me up in took me to visit New York City. a month to wind things down at the the city and took me out to meet his I didn’t have a map of San Francisco, paper, but toward the end of August, parents in the Bay Area. They initially but I knew that Chinatown was north- I got on an Amtrak in Nashville, and invited me to stay a few days. Then, his east of the museum, so I guessed that if took it to Chicago. After a four- or father (who was from the South) asked I went one block north, then one block five-hour wait, I boarded a west-bound if I could stay with them indefinitely; east, then one block north, I’d eventu- train to Seattle, and then down to he said he wanted a southern influence ally reach that part of town. Plus, I Portland, where she was getting ready on his kids. figured I’d get to see some parts of San to start school. And so, I moved in. Their house was Francisco that were not included in The plan was to hitch down to San in the suburbs, a few miles from the the tourist guides. Francisco and meet up with the comics Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART), so As I got closer to Union Square, publisher. We got a ride from a crusty during the day, I’d hitch over to the sta- which was between the museum and old Cadillac cowboy just south of tion and take the train into Berkeley or Chinatown, I noticed more people on Portland, but when he found out I was San Francisco. It didn’t feel dangerous, the streets and sidewalks. I thought from Nashville, he suddenly became but there seemed to be tension in the I must be approaching some sort of friendly. He was playing country music air every day. major bus stop. But as I got closer to on his AM radio, and every time I start- When I had been down in L.A., the square, I saw that it wasn’t a bus ed talking about Nashville, he nearly there was an assassination attempt stop, it seemed more like a mob of teared up. “I’ve always dreamed about on President Ford in Sacramento by people waiting for a parade. Then, I going there,” he said. Just then, Moe Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme. And, the noticed policemen with rifles on the Bandy’s voice twanged out of the box. historic events just kept on coming. roofs of several of the buildings. It’s

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 4 E-Publisher’s Corner stone into the crowd—right where Sara a lawn-mowered anthill. a riot, I thought. But the mood was Jane Moore, the woman with the gun, I continued on my journey to festive...maybe it was a happy riot. was being wrestled to the ground. The Chinatown, where I bought myself a Trolley stop? Happy riot? Parade? crowd erupted into frantic ripples, run- late lunch and proceeded to write up Making my way up the sidewalk by ning in panic from the shooter in all the story in the dim light of the restau- the St. Francis Hotel, I noticed that directions. I fought back my initial rant. “Take that, Bill Dockery!” I said to every 20 feet or so, there was a San reaction to run—I had a half-block myself and a bemused Chinese waiter. Francisco police officer standing guard. head start—and I instinctively jumped I found a phone booth and placed I ambled up to one of the police guards. up onto the concrete base of the street- a collect call to the Sevier County “Excuse me, officer?” I said. light where I had been standing. My Times. I knew it was coming up on the “Yes?” he said, not really rudely, but second impulse (after the first one to weekly’s deadline, but I figured they’d not exactly politely. run) was to protect myself from the make room. “What’s going on here?” stampeding crowd. I saw people being “Have I got a story for you,” I said “The President,” he said when the publisher, Tim with a pitying look, as if I Pollitt got on the phone. had crawled out of a cave “Wait a minute, let me and wandered into town, get my recorder plugged “President’s here.” in,” he said. “The President of the “First of all,” I said, “I United States?” I asked. want the byline to say: “That would be affirma- ‘by David Skinner, San tive,” he said, with a hint of Francisco correspon- condescension. dent to the Sevier County “Wow,” I said. Times.’”I then proceeded “Excuse me?” he said, this to dictate my story. After time actually looking at me I finished, Tim asked me, as if I could be some sort of “What’s California like?” threat. “Don’t get me started,” “Oh...I was just kinda lost, I said, but I must have on my way to Chinatown,” I gone on for ten minutes said, trying not to look sus- before hanging up. picious, “and here, I wander The brief moment of excitement, That following into the President of the however, was short-circuited by weekend when I called United States. I’ve never a gunshot from across the street home, my father sound- seen a President in person.” ed irritated. I told him “Okay,” he said, “move from where President Ford stood. about moving in with a along.” Bay Area family, about “Thanks, Officer,” I said, tipping my knocked down, and all I could think the comic book publisher, about thrift store Stetson. about was how cowboys knocked off Patty Hearst, and about the almost- I pushed my way through the crowd their horses during cattle stampedes assassination of the President. to the front of the hotel. It was wall-to- managed to not get trampled. They “I didn’t know you talked ugly,” wall people, so I crossed the street and usually used trees; all I had was a he said, and handed the phone to my stood beside a street light, about a half- streetlight. stepmother. block away from where President Ford As I looked over the heads of the That was certainly perplexing, I would exit the hotel. His limo was idling frightened crowd I saw that a group thought as I hung up the phone after in front of the entrance, surrounded by of police, bystanders, and plainclothes the call. Talking ugly? black cars and police motorcycles. cops had picked up Sara Jane Moore A few months later, I was back I can’t remember how long I waited; like she was a roll of dining room car- in Nashville, writing songs with Lee I just remember the electric charge pet. Then the crowd, not hearing any Owens. I was going through a stack of that surged through the crowd, along more shots, reversed itself and tried to Sevier County Times papers, looking with a cheer when the doors opened close in on the shooter. In the mean- for a particular Space Helen strip. My and President Ford emerged into time, the President’s motorcade, sirens dad had a subscription to the paper the California afternoon. That brief blaring, screamed out of Union Square. and had carefully saved all the back moment of excitement, however, was It was controlled bedlam. I ducked into issues. I came across the issue with short-circuited by a gunshot from a five-and-dime and bought a notepad my assassination attempt story, just across the street from where President and a pen, and went back out onto as I had dictated from that Chinatown Ford stood, and the crowd’s cheers the street and tried to talk to some of phone booth. It was then that I realized turned into screams. It was almost the police officers who were scurrying that Tim had kept the tape recorder as if someone had dropped a large around the St. Francis like ants out of rolling, because, on the jump page,

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 5 below the continuation of the story was yet another story. The headline read: “Reporter Calls California Crazy Table of Contents as H***” The story consisted of my rantings about the, well, intensity, of California Itch the California scene. David Ray Skinner talks about his and his friends’ The following week, Lee and I went into a Nashville recording studio to college dream to find themselves, or California, demo some of our songs. I had just whichever came first ...... page 2 finished a new one (about a Tennessee boy having this weird obsession to Letter to the ePublisher travel west) called “California Itch,” One of our regular readers talks back. . . page 7 and Lee demo’d a beautiful song of his called “Finding Annie Gone.” Lisa Love’s Life So—what happened to all the char- A guide to where reality and humor hang in acters in the story? President Ford downtown Atlanta ...... page 8 finished out his term. Sara Jane Moore served a 32-year prison sentence and A Tale of Two Women was released in 2007. I lost touch with A review of Elizabeth and Hazel: Two Women of some of them, but as for the ones I’ve kept up with, Stephen Kling moved Little Rock by David Margolick ...... page 14 back home to New York and went on to do ads on Madison Avenue; Hot Dog, A Brush With the Law! Michael Copas became the woodcarv- Dusty Bettis’ account of an incident where er to the stars, teaching Jane Fonda non-ignorance of the law paid off ...... page 15 how to carve and creating pieces for Hollywood notables; Paul Dunlap In Case of Rapture became a music teacher and he, my William Love Dockery’s short story about moonshine, sister Jann, Michael Thornburgh, Kerry religion and a mysterious death ...... page 16 Brown and I still play music in a band called Dog & Pony; Filmore Strunk is Kids & Politics—Why Daddy Drinks now an Anglican priest in Charlotte; Ron Hart offers a guide to parenting . . page 23 Dan Schlafer became a Tennessee Coach of the Year and is now a Federal Programs Director; Tim Pollitt got out Flying Into the Past of the newspaper business and into Poetry by Steve Newton ...... page 25 something that was actually profitable; and as for Bill Dockery, Lee Owens, Daddy’s in the Closet Jann, and me—we’re all busy writing Idgie at the Dew explains where her father stays pieces for and working on this issue and why ...... page 26 of SouthernReader. Hope you enjoy it! The Way ‘Twas David Ray Skinner A short story by Rebecca Swopes about the [email protected] tragedies of war ...... page 28

A Poetic Travelogue of the Heart AN ONLINE MAGAZINE ABOUT LIFE IN THE SOUTH A review of Marsha Mathews’ Northbound The SouthernReader is an E-publication with all rights reserved. SouthernReader Single-Lane, a book of poetry . . . . . page 34 reserves the right to reject or approve all advertisements. The ads that appear Lefty Frizzell: in SouthernReader do not constitute an A Story of a One-of-a-Kindness endorsement for products and services Songwriter Lee Owens talks about his memories as advertised. Letters can be sent to of country legend Lefty Frizzell...... page 35 SouthernReader, Post Office Box 1314, Norcross, GA 30091-1314. E-mails can be directed to [email protected]. A Flying Family Reunion ©Copyright 2012 Bridgital/SouthernReader, Writer Ron Burch explains why a good ol’ family unless differently noted. reunion is worth the weight ...... page 41

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 6 L e t t e r to the ePublisher ReadingReading UpUp AA StormStorm

Dear ePublisher:

I really meant to write sooner, but the Anyhow, I liked it. like her “Chickadee.” It would fol- week I downloaded the Summer 2011 Also, the article on Dallas Frazier low us around like a dog, but if we’d issue of Southern Reader, my folks’ was interesting. Why is it the public try to pet it, we always got nipped. house was hit by lightning, just as the never hears so much about song writ- Getting nipped by a goose isn’t like old barn had been hit 20 years ago. ers like they do song singers? I hate being pecked by a chicken. You prob- And, for the record, a chicken house ably already knew about that was also fried when I was about five. hangy-down hook do-hicky on In fact, if I allow myself to go off on the end of a goose’s beak that a tangent, I could speak about the they can twist and pull with. six white oak stumps and the black And she’d twist and oak stump that can be seen from pull the skin on your the east end of our house—all arm or the back of struck by lightning in the last your hand and it 10 years. But I’ll not go there. would smart like all Anyway, the electrical get-out. Didn’t take charge that came into the long for us to real- folks’ house snuck over here, ize she was only a (next door), unobserved, on supervisor and not a play- one of the many wires that mate. She also used to sit connect the two houses…at on the bad light bulbs we least that’s what the fire mar- threw on the floor in the shal told us next day. Can feed rooms of the chicken you guess which electrical houses, trying to hatch them. component took a direct hit Now I have rattled away here in this house, leaving plum down here to the end it disabled and me unable of this email, so I should to communicate my good leave you alone. I do pull feelings about the recent up SouthernReader.com emag I had just perused? on occasion (I have it The bottom line is that, bookmarked), and I hope without an implement of you are being flooded inspiration, it just with good reviews. took me a little lon- I have passed the ger to write this letter It didn’t take us long to realize address on to some about the issue. of my family and That being said, that our goose was only friend (that’s singu- Lisa Love is still my a supervisor and not a playmate. lar…I have A friend) favorite “Southern and hopefully, the Reader Writer,” but dastardly lot of them I enjoy Ron Burch nearly as well. to admit it, but I had never heard of pulled it up and appreciated what they Most guys don’t like to talk themselves Dallas Frazier and yet, I now know read. down—for any reason or under any cir- I’ve been enjoying some of his music Have a good day; take care and all cumstances—but he does it so grace- for years. that other stuff we say when we sign fully. I also liked Anthony L. Holt’s Diane Kimbrell’s confession of being off, and congrats on the issue. Very reminisces, Marshall Lancaster’s les- a coulda-been murderess was good. entertaining. son in wisdom and Jasper D. Skinner’s It’s a friendly reminder that people account of the war. The ePublish- can’t be too careful. And Bettye H. Sincerely, er’s Story was also very good—a bit Galloway’s tale about her pet chick- Doug Combs more solemn than usual, but maybe en was interesting. We had a goose, Olney, Illinois it just touched me in a tenderer spot. when I was a kid, who behaved about

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 7 Lisa Love’s Life

Occupy This: Where Reality and Humor Hang in Downtown Atlanta by Lisa Love

Diane, Where do I begin? This Friday actu- to slap your mama! (Actually my lunch ally got off to a rather great start. consisted of salad and unsweetened onestly, I still haven’t got a David, Jann and I met with a prospec- tea. Though a Southern sacrilege, it handle on what just happened, tive client for lunch; since the guy would have made Dr. Atkins proud— H but will attempt to write out had just arrived in Atlanta from Ohio well, proud if he hadn’t been dead my recollections while they are fresh (code word: Yankee), your suggestion for about ten years, due to a prob- in my mind to ensure that A REPEAT of Mary Mac’s Tea Room was right on able massive coronary blockage! Yeah, OF THIS DAY NEVER HAPPENS the money. As you said, “Nothing says “they” say he died from a fall; don’t go AGAIN! You didn’t answer your home Welcome to the South quite like Mary trying to confuse me with facts!) Our or cell phone, forcing me to resort to Mac’s on Ponce.” You know, it had prospect seemed thoroughly enchant- emailing you in a feeble attempt to A) been years since I last stepped foot in ed with both our business acumen and appear occupied —oops, I mean busy, the place—my bad. From the minute a good dose of Southern hospitality; I as I sit at a table in the food court of the we entered the door, we were greeted declared lunch an unofficial hit. CNN Center; B) avoid the curious (and with such warmth and genuine friend- After lunch, we all went our separate sometimes pitying) glances of onlook- liness that it served to remind me ways—David and Jann headed back to ers silently wondering why I am sur- why it’s been an Atlanta landmark for finish the proposal for aforementioned rounded by four Atlanta Police officers almost 70 years. Today, one of the wait- prospect, while I headed downtown to finishing up my paperwork, and lastly, resses, Flo, was retiring after 39 years the Atlanta Day Shelter for Women and C) anxiously await the call from my tow serving at Mary Mac’s; we couldn’t Children on Ethel Street. Oh my, they truck guy. “Atlanta Police?” you ask. have chosen a more perfect day to be do such great work there. I don’t know “Tow truck guy?” you query. Sit back there—such a spirit of celebration. if I mentioned them to you before, but Di, as I give you a tutorial in Lisa Love’s And the food…oh yes, the food! Sweet it’s been around since 1984, and the Life Lessons Learned the Hard Way, or tea, mac and cheese, collard greens shelter helps get homeless women and No Good Deed Goes Unpunished. and banana pudding—so fine you want children back on their feet, offering

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 8 Lisa Love’s Life honking of angry motorists behind me. minutes, anyway!) I decided to brave food, clothing, and training. They bless HEY, I’M SORRY! What should I do? the rain and make a dash for—well, over 5000 people a year, and the ladies Thank God for cell phones! anywhere, really. Maybe I’d find a cof- of my church and I gathered gently- I dialed information and asked for fee shop or restaurant to hide out in till used clothes together to donate; we Triple A (I specifically said TRIPLE A SOMEONE—ANYONE—could find me jam-packed my largest rolling suitcase to the operator, ’cause with the way in this week’s episode of “The Streets with clothes for me to drop off this my day was unfolding, chances were of Atlanta,” an Occupy Movement pro- afternoon. just as good that AA might send me duction. On my way to the shelter, a light out two recovering alcoholics with a The rain had slowed to just a sprin- rain began to fall. You know how I screwdriver and jumper cables). AAA kle, and as there was no umbrella detest driving in the rain; I reminded said they’d get me in touch with a in the car, (well of course not!) this myself it’s all for a good cause. When I local towing company to come haul would be the optimal time to make my turned onto Tech Parkway, my fretting my hunk of…I mean the Highlander, move. I checked what was needed to officially became abject fear. The road to the place of my choosing. My sweet take with me to make my escape—my was blocked, and detour signs were Highlander—always reliable. Always portfolio, laptop, I-pad. I had the bril- posted. On my best of days, I’m direc- dependable. Oh how I had loved her. liant idea to stash them in the rolling tionally challenged and find it difficult Till then. Once beloved SUV, our love luggage, thus keeping them safe AND to navigate Atlanta roads—a plethora affair officially ended the minute you dry; I also didn’t want to leave all of of one way streets and pot hole-rid- broke my heart by dying on me, during those precious donated clothes in my den roads, not to mention about 100 a torrential rainfall. Oh, and did I men- abandoned (for now) vehicle. Okay, different Peachtree valuables stashed. Streets (with nary a When I opened the single peach tree to I even daydreamed for a minute luggage, I saw a yel- be found!) And today low rain slicker. Oh, of all days, I was that I was walking a red carpet that would have been heading to an unfa- runway of a movie premiere, and perfect. But alas— miliar destination size two. Not in this in the rain, facing Ryan Seacrest stopped to ask me, lifetime. There was, road blocks, detours “Lisa Love, who are you wearing?” however, a match- AND, no GPS—let ing rain hat. Perfect, my sister borrow it. but what could I use Excellent! I decided to just follow tion, I WAS LOST? When the tow guy to protect the rest of me? I thought the cars in front of me (what are the called, he let me know there would be and thought and thought. Dangerous, chances that they too were going to a substantial wait time, due to rerout- right? You better believe it, ’cause what the Shelter? Nil, I know, I know!) ing of streets by Atlanta Police to I found under the passenger seat after After obeying about three consecu- accommodate the Occupy protesters a quick inspection was a black plastic tive detour signs, I got all twisted and this weekend—he calculated that it garbage bag. Eureka! I tore two holes turned around into complete disorien- might take upwards of four hours to for my arms and one at the bottom for tation. I think I ended up on Marietta reach me. Ah, the reason for gridlock my head. Pulling the yellow vinyl rain Street, perhaps? I also noticed that was discovered! Reason number 143 to hat firmly over my hair and donning traffic was becoming more and more despise the Occupy Movement! I told my homemade rain coat, I grabbed the congested. said tow guy that I would just call a rolling luggage and made a dash for the Then as the bottom fell out on the friend to come get me; he—quite logi- curb—amid much honking and finger storm, I hit the most atrocious bum- cally—told me that they too would not gestures. Road rage is hell! Safely on per-to-bumper traffic I’d ever had the be able to get here any quicker, due to the sidewalk, I turned to the angry undiluted pleasure to be in. This was the road blocks and grid lock. I was mob behind me and yelled a quick “I’m not just your average Friday afternoon, past caring at this point, Di. I told him so sorry, but my car is dead and the trying to get home from work, heading where he could put the car—I mean steering wheel is locked, so what on out of the city traffic—this was grid- where he could tow it. He said he’d earth do you want me to do?” What lock. Now for the cherry on the top of call me when he was near the location are the odds that it’ll have wheels on it this cake—while I pondered the cause of my stall. when I return? of this traffic jam, the Highlander—my I thought I’d just sit in my car and Scurrying down the street to dodge very first brand new car ever—stalled wait for him, but gave up on that idea, the rain drops—well, as best you can on me. Di, do you think the lemon law as it was growing increasingly impos- scurry, rolling a 40 pound suitcase—I is applicable after two years? Yep, it sible to hum loud enough to drown swore I heard drum beats—native, went belly up; dead as a doornail— out the blaring car horns and angry tribal drum beats. The closer I got to even the steering wheel locked. With insults hurled by the frustrated drivers Centennial Olympic Park, the more heart pounding and fear escalating, I was blocking (though, Lord knows, loudly and distinctive the curious I unsuccessfully tried to ignore the NONE of us had moved in over 30 sounds grew. When I drew within 100

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 9 Life Lisa Love’s cherished right to have differing opin- person to go in there and get a bite. yards or so of the park, I realized I ions—though, honestly, you’d be really Now go on. You’ll be fine.” She left as wasn’t hearing drum beats, but the whacked if you agreed with those peo- quickly as she came, without giving me sound of human chanting. It dawned ple. Just sayin’.) I continued walking a chance to respond. I looked down at on me—this must be Ground Zero for on my journey to find dry shelter. As I my hand and saw a folded five-dollar the Occupy Protests. In the distance, rolled my luggage along the sidewalk, bill. Oh my word. She thought I was on a platform, I could see a man I noticed glances—not just a quick destitute; part of me was humiliated. with a megaphone. He would shout a glance, but sometimes a double or tri- I cried harder. However, in the midst phrase or two to the seemingly jubilant ple take—from people passing by me. of my tears, a small voice in the back crowd; the enraptured throng would Yeah, I looked weird in my impromptu of my head—I call her my evil twin— then scream it back at him. I stopped rain gear, but my mama would have whispered that this could be a really at my vantage point across the street been so proud of me ’cause I just stood cushy gig. I could probably bring in a and stared; the chanting was so rhyth- straighter, held my head higher and pretty penny if I came down here once mic it was almost hypnotic. I stood plastered a big old fake grin across or twice a week and…no, stop it Lisa! there, in the rain, transfixed; perhaps my face. I even daydreamed for a There but for the grace of God, go I. As 15 minutes passed as I intently studied minute that I was walking a red car- mortified as I was, it did my heart good the protest and the protesters. What pet runway of a movie premiere, and to have such a great personal reminder I recall most as I write this, were the Ryan Seacrest stopped to ask me, “Lisa that there are good, decent people in smells…a pungent, almost nause- the world. And when these peo- ating combination of rain, sweat, ple perceive a need, they still urine, and marijuana. Yeah, some selflessly step in to help. God in there were partying a wee bit bless you, my beautifully-dressed more than they were protesting. As phantom lady. You are my hero. I scanned the group, mostly young Well, she did give me a grand college kids, it occurred to me that idea. I decided to splash my way I could swing a cat by the tail in down to the CNN Center. I know, their midst, let it go, and not hit a it’s like walking into enemy terri- single soul with gainful employ- tory for me (I’m a Fox News gal) ment. Cynical? Judgemental? but ya know the saying—Keep Definitely. Guilty on both counts, your friends close, and your ene- but I was cold, wet, tired, hungry, mies closer. Truth told, they’re frustrated and car-less. I’d put the not exactly my enemies, just left- blame of this dreadful day firmly leaning, a tad misguided and a at Occupy Atlanta’s feet. I could smidge ill-informed. However, have been home had it not been most importantly, there was a for roadblocks and detours and food court to be considered. My traffic. I blame you, Entitlement Mary Mac salad and unsweetened Generation! Stand back, Diane, tea were but a distant memory Mama’s preaching now! I’m tired at this point; I was so hungry, my of the perpetual whining of coddled teeth were crying! Putting aside kids who scoff at paying back col- Love, who are you wearing?” Proudly I my frustrations of the day—dead car lege loans and personal responsibility. would reply, “Hefty Glad Bag, Ryan. and being dreadfully lost and rain They were holding up banners decry- Fall Collection 2011.” soaked—and I marched purposefully ing the evil corporations while with After walking two more blocks, the towards the CNN Center, a woman my own eyes, I watched them “protest- lightning and thunder began. I was on a mission. When I got closer, I ing” as they clutched their Starbucks scared. I crouched down in a doorway stopped and gazed at the building. iced mocha lattes in one hand and of an office building, huddling behind Wow, I had forgotten how massive this their I-Phone in the other, all the while my suitcase for a modicum of protec- complex was. I smiled to myself as I Nike, Aeropostale and Abercrombie tion. Here is where my last thread flashed back 30 or so years to a time and Fitch were emblazoned across of good humor evaporated. I started when I would come here regularly their sweatshirts. Look in the mirror, balling my eyes out. Minutes passed with family and friends (always chauf- kids. You may see the enemy and he as I cowered, sobbing in that doorway. feured by parents, safely ensconced just might be you. Oh Di, I went off on Then I felt a gentle hand on my shoul- in the backseat, oblivious to street a tangent didn’t I? I’m absolutely worn der. A beautifully dressed lady was signs—NEVER LOST OR ALONE IN out. Bad day. Sorry. bending over me and she whispered, DOWNTOWN ATLANTA!). The CNN I’d had all I could stomach of this “Things will look up, Honey. Here’s a Center used to be the Omni Hotel gathering (and by the way, if you’re little something for you. There’s a food Complex, and I actually stayed here a pro-Occupy, that’s fine by me. What court up ahead in the CNN building. night or two with my family for Amway is so great about this country is our You have just as much right as the next conferences Mama attended. (Yes, I

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 10 Lisa Love’s Life I almost broke out in song. Hallelujah, of this fine architecture (I told ya—I said Amway! But they did make some Hallelujah! I’LL GET ME SOME CHIK- loved this building!) Before one bite fine soap and NO, you don’t have to FIL-A! Samsonite and I made our way of delicious chicken had reached my come to the meeting!) As a little girl, to the rather long queue at the counter. lips, tow guy called. “Just want to let I remember being enthralled with the I studied the menu, but heck, I knew you know, I’m still 10 miles from you. Atrium—standing in the hallway out- what I wanted—an original sandwich Traffic is at a stand-still. It’s gonna be side our hotel room on the 8th floor and waffle fries, YUM! As I waited my another couple of hours or more, lady.” and leaning over the balcony railing, turn to order, I took the opportunity to I was fit to be tied (low blood sugar had wondering if I jumped would I survive truly observe the Atrium. It was awe- reared its ugly head). My voice rising, I the fall? I have always been slightly some—the glass elevator, rising eight told him to forget the whole thing. “I’ll twisted. Diane, do ya remember the ice stories—so grand. If I remember my just blow up the Highlander and make skating rink in the center of the com- facts correctly, it is in the Guinness CNN my permanent residence.” I hung plex? And the movie theater? We saw Book as the largest free standing eleva- up on him, then realized I didn’t really Gone With the Wind 20 times! And Sid tor in the world, having supports at want to live at CNN, so I immediately and Marty Croft productions? It seems only the top and bottom. I was so called him back, apologized profusely a lifetime ago—such great memories! taken with it, that I pulled out my cell and told him I’d be waiting. And wait- Before I entered the lobby, I attempt- and started snapping pics. I took tons ing. And waiting. ed to brush off the rain droplets from of shots—I will forward them to you. my “coat” and luggage, then took a Breathtaking. While I was pulling ama- *** second to assess my situation. You teur photography duty on the elevator I ate. I people-watched. I refilled my know how I love a good plan. First and its surroundings, I overheard the Pepsi cup three times. I cleaned out my off, MUST. FIND. FOOD! Secondly, girl in front of me (said girl, by the way, purse. I made a grocery shopping list. I wait out the rain in CNN—in, what had poured her size 14 bottom into a gave Samsonite a fry. (Nah, just wanted I noticed through the glass doors, size 4 jeans—I swear she was overflow- to see if you were still with me.) After was relative splendor, I dumped my trash in girlfriend! I figured the container (tray in I’d just stake out my one hand, Samsonite claim on a table in the in the other !), I food court till my tow Should I name it? I wondered. strolled around the man swooped in for Center, walking to the save. Standing Yes! I would call him Samsonite! stretch out the kinks there, I placed a I’d gotten from hav- quick call to tow guy ing been sitting at for his ETA. He told the table for so long. me he was still at How long? Checking least two hours from getting to me. It ing those suckers like a popped can of my cell, it had been over two hours was official—there was gonna be some Pillsbury biscuits!) boast to her friend since I ate humble pie with tow boy. Oh major time to kill here. that she had just been promoted to well, he promised to call when he was I walked into the building and was greeter at Longhorn’s. She whispered, near. Samsonite and I kept walking; awestruck by the crowd; thank good- rather loudly, that she’d had to “date” I was fascinated with the crowd—so ness the place was vast, or it would the owner for this new position. Oh many people. I assumed some were have been bursting at the seams. I my, Diane. That really does put the “ho” from Occupy, but I also heard many headed for the food court with my in hostess, doesn’t it? I needed some- talking about getting a bite before suitcase rolling along faithfully beside thing to eat—fast. I was getting snarky. going to a basketball game at Phillips me—come to think of it, this luggage Judge much, Lisa? Honestly, who was Arena later tonight. People were scur- had become my travel buddy for the I to critique her fashion choices, as I rying about, coming and going—like adventure; clocking in at over an hour was wearing a yellow plastic rain hat they actually had somewhere to be—as and a half so far, we had been joined and black garbage bag! Sheesh! Finally, opposed to me, strolling aimlessly, just at the hip! My constant companion— I got my food and located a table with killing time. Killing time? At this point, faithful and true (kinda like a really a terrific view of the entire food court I had darn near slaughtered the poor docile German Shepherd on a leash). Atrium. For the next couple of hours, I thing. For amusement, Samsonite and I Should I name it? I wondered. Yes! I was just going to quit worrying about rode the elevator, over and over again. would call him Samsonite! Obviously, the things I couldn’t control (traffic, Up and down, Up and down. When at this point, my blood sugar was dead cars and tow guys) and take full people got on, I started asking, “What dangerously low, and I was getting a advantage of a couple of hours of down floor, please?” and then pushed the tad looped! Standing in the middle of time in my otherwise crazy life’s sched- buttons for them. When that ceased the food court, I did a complete 360 ule. Yup, I planned to savor my chicken to entertain me, I decided to go back degree rotation, studying all of my sandwich with unlimited free refills to my table. A problem had arisen. It choices. Ah, I spied a Chik-fil–a, and of Diet Pepsi, and capture some shots seemed that although my Glad bag— SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 11 Lisa Love’s Life panion and said, “Come on Tiffany, how I am about puppy dogs—even which yes, I was still wearing!—had let’s get back to the protest. We’re fake ones; they melt my heart. Deciding kept my clothes dry, my socks had got- going to make history.” to forget how rude and impatient his ten damp, and my feet were beginning And that, Diane, is a glimpse into owner had been, I knelt down to pet to freeze. I planned to go get to a table, the future. Best case scenario, these him. She jerked his leash back. It open Samsonite and see if perhaps are the people who will be deciding dawned on me that this lady must have some sweet lady had donated a pair what nursing home we get put into in special needs and this was her service of socks or two for the Atlanta Day our old age—a nice one with carpet dog. Why else would CNN let a dog into Shelter. Remember them? Trying to get and parquet flooring or the one with its facilities? I immediately apologized. there was how this whole fiasco start- urine-soaked linoleum. Worst case sce- “I’m so sorry. He’s a service dog isn’t he, ed. Not their fault, of course—Occupy nario, they will be sitting on our death and I should have known better. You Atlanta was to blame! Anyway, I navi- panels. Shivers. aren’t supposed to interact with service gated my way back to the food court I wheeled Samson into the ladies dogs. Forgive me.” She just gave me a and spotted an empty table. By the room and chose the middle stall. I curt nod—her only acknowledgement way, with all that walking, it appeared maneuvered his unwieldiness in there that I had even spoken. On that note, that Samsonite had injured his back with me, sat down and unzipped him. I straightened back up to leave. Her paw—I mean, wheel. It started sticking I gingerly placed my laptop and I-Pad dog started sniffing Samsonite—okay, rather badly, not wanting to roll. Well, in my lap as I tried to sift through the okay, my suitcase—up a storm. She he had served me well all day…hold on contents of the case. YAY! I saw socks! didn’t pull him back from the luggage, old boy, just a bit longer, I told him. I stripped off my shoes and pulled on or correct him in any way. I decided (After all we’d been to just get the heck through together, it out of Dodge, so I would be a pity to marched to the rest- have him put down!) There, in the hallway by the room door and pulled When I got to the restrooms at CNN Center, the it open. HUH??!!??? table, I tried to open There, in front of me, the luggage, but it undercover female detective asks were four Atlanta was just too cumber- police officers with some to do in the if she can see my cell phone. . . their hands on their amount of space I guns yelling at me had. I tried undoing to get down. “Get the zipper a bit and sticking my hand the donated ones. So much better. I down on the ground now,” they yelled. in, but I couldn’t really see anything repacked the bag, putting everything in I dropped like my life depended on it. that I was grabbing for. I decided to nicely and then wrapping my laptop in Actually, it did! Just then the lady with head for the restroom and go through a sweatshirt before placing it in Sam. the dog came to my side and told the Samson—besides the four 32-ounce Footsteps came and went. The door officers to “Stand down.” She offered Pepsi’s were calling! to the rest room opened and closed me her hand and helped me to my feet. Hold. On. One. Minute. DIANE! repeatedly. WHAT IS GOING ON?? This fascinating narrative of my day A knock on my stall door almost She turned to the officers and said, is being interrupted so that I can jolted me out of my new gently-used “Her luggage is clean. He didn’t hit forward to you a pic I just snapped socks. “Occupied,” I said loudly. Then on it.” My head was swirling. As with of the girl sitting at the table next to proceeded to finish up my business— many other times in my life, I wonder me. She is the dirty blonde in the torn Pepsi’s, ya know. Another knock on my if I am on Candid Camera. Or being “I’m the 99%” T-shirt. OMGoodness! I stall. Come on, there were ten toilets Punk’d? There, in the hallway by the swear I was not trying to eavesdrop, in there and half of them were empty restrooms at CNN Center, the under- but it couldn’t be avoided as Agent 99 when I went in. I saw the top of a pair cover female detective asks if she was SCREECHING into her cell phone. of black pumps peeking at me from can see my cell phone and the notes I heard her bellow, “Look, I don’t know under my stall’s door (over-active blad- I’d been writing all day. What? Too what your problem is. I hunted up and der issue?). “This stall is Occupied,” I scared to argue or question, I imme- down that aisle and all I could find said once again, exasperatedly. As I was diately handed them over. She asked were Kotex and Always with Wings getting ready to unlock the door and me to follow her to a windowless and Stayfree Maxi’s. I even bought you exit my stall, a third even louder knock. office about 100 yards down the cor- Tampax. Well excuse the heck out of COME ON! I swung open the door, ridor. I walked after her in a Zombie me, BUT THEY DIDN’T HAVE ANY wheeling Samsonite out with me. I was like trance. After she motioned for me S.O.S. PADS!!” I kid you not, Pepsi, now face-to-face with the over-active to sit, she scrolled through my texts flew out of my nose. Hey Agent 99, bladder lady. And beside her on a leash, and my photo files and then looked your IQ test results are in; they came was a German Shepherd. A real one! over my grocery shopping list. She back negative. She put her cell down, Honestly, he could have been Samson’s called the other officers into the office looked at her equally disheveled com- long lost twin. Ohhhh, Diane you know and they huddled in a corner, while I

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 12 Lisa Love’s Life ting on authority. In this very Atrium, actions of the day (I even explained shook. I heard snatches of their whis- there was a girl who would go as far as away my pretending to be the new pered conversation…words here and prostituting herself to be a hostess at CNN elevator operator girl—that one there floated across the room to my Longhorns! And I didn’t want to men- made undercover bladder lady laugh ears. “Bomb.” “Threatening.” “Blow tion this, for fear of being crass—but and prompted her to admit that I would up.” “Suitcase.” “Scouting location with since they thought I was a danger to probably be a hoot to hang with. If she a camera.” “Suspicious.” You. Have. Got. civilization anyway—I would love to only knew, right? A HOOT INDEED!) To. Be. Kidding. Me!!! I wasn’t just ter- tell them that the ladies room in the While the officers finished up their rified at this point; I was ANGRY, as CNN Center had smelled like a bucket paperwork that would release me, I well. I sat. I seethed. I waited. Twenty of carp that had been left out in the hot thought about the totality of the day, minutes later, with a sheepish smile on summer sun all day at a Willie Nelson and one thing struck me. Never one her face, she leaned over and whispered concert. SO THERE!!! I imagined this to leave well enough alone, I felt com- to me that I would more than likely be was going to be my finest Norma Rae pelled to share my final observation free to go as soon as the officers did a moment…standing on a desk, demand- with the female cop and the officers. little more follow-up on me. The officers ing I be heard. Demanding my rights! “You know, this would have NEVER stared at me. Undercover police over- But then…a flashback. I remembered happened to me at FOX News Center. active bladder lady stared me down and the quick glimpse of my reflection in Just sayin’.” asked/demanded I explain my peculiar the ladies room mirror as I stood up And so, Diane, that’s why, with good actions of the day to her. EXPLAIN? from trying to pet the German Shepherd behavior, I will probably be out in 3 PECULIAR? Briefly, the day flashed less than a half hour before. In my to 5. But, not to worry—me and my before my eyes—the clothes, the shel- mind’s eye, I clearly saw the yellow rain cellmate, Big Doris, are putting the ter, the traffic jam, the stalled car, the slicker hat, the glad bag rain coat, the finishing touches on an absolutely bril- storms and the beautifully dressed phan- mascara puddled under my eyes like a liant plan for an Occupy the Rec Room tom lady. How could I explain all that to rabid raccoon as I clutched my pretend movement scheduled for this Tuesday. these stone-faced human statues? dog/suitcase. Hmmmm. Nevermind. I If anything, I’m a quick learner. And then my anger boiled. I stood sat back down, folded my hands in my to my feet, trembling, and faced them. lap and talked. And talked. And talked. Love, I thought of what I wanted to say, An hour later, they—Four Officers Your BFF no— YELL—at them. YOU THINK I and a Lady (a Disney production com- LOOK SUSPICIOUS? I’M A PERSON ing soon to a theater near you!)—walked Lisa Love, a talented and insightful OF INTEREST? PECULIAR? Oh, real- me back to a table in the food court. writer with a skewed sense of humor, ly? Not 200 yards from here there I had, using every last bit of Southern looks for, and often finds the absurd were HUNDREDS of pot-smoking, flag- charm and manners I had in me, politely masquerading as the mundane. burning kids peeing on cars and spit- enlightened them on all my “peculiar” [email protected]

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SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 13 B o o k R e v i e w

Elizabeth and Hazel—Two Women of Little Rock by David Margolick Yale University Press AA TaleTale ofof TwoTwo WomenWomen n September 4, 1957, a little over three years after the ney of atonement, and the path leads U.S. Supreme Court’s Brown v. Board of Education straight back to Elizabeth and that landmark decision declaring the establishment of fateful September morning. Elizabeth segregated schools to be unconstitutional, Little Rock’s and Hazel chronicles the up-and-down story of the two women as they deal whites-only Central High School became ground zero OO with the aftermath of the event, both for the compliance and implementation of the ruling. separately and together. Margolick The ground troops select- does a brilliant job of telling ed to face the predictable the story. He underscores the onslaught were nine, care- fact that change, even neces- fully chosen students from sary change, is often pain- Horace Mann and Dunbar, ful and messy; and when you two all-black schools. stick your finger in the face of The plan for that first day the status quo, it’s more than of school had been for all nine likely to be bitten off. of the students to arrive in a That being said, Margolick group. However, one of the skillfully avoids delivering students, Elizabeth Eckford, the message with a preachy found herself all alone, totally or condescending tone; he engulfed and surrounded by simply lays the facts out in a swirling mob of angry and an accessible manner that defiant white students and makes for a great read. The parents, with reporters and book is insightful with regard photographers thrown into to the early days of the civil the mix to record the historic rights movement, but without event. Arkansas Democrat being judgmental. That’s not staff photographer Will to say he lets the offenders off Counts was to capture one the hook; he just treats them of the more dramatic shots fairly and lets their actions from that historic morning; speak for themselves. it featured Elizabeth clutch- The only disappointment ing her notebook, head held is not the book, but rather high, stoically walking amidst the message itself, albeit an the threatening throng. honest one. It comes down The photo also spotlighted to more than scraping and a contrasting figure to the collecting the essence off a brave and solitary black girl—Hazel the 21st century and peels it layer by 50-year-old photograph; Elizabeth and Bryan, a white student the same age layer with thoughtful detail to expose Hazel actual serves more as a micro- as Elizabeth. Following a few paces the blood, soul, life and breath of cosm of the racial divide that we still behind, Hazel’s face was contorted each of the women behind the image. face as a region—and as a nation. into a frightening mask of hate and Because, as Margolick illustrates in the Forgiveness needs to be a value as unbridled rage. The iconic photograph book, the photograph was not to be importantly embraced as tolerance of the two of them—surrounded by the real story of Elizabeth and Hazel, and compassion. Until we, as a people, a mad circus of angry onlookers— but rather the capturing of the starting get to that point, pictures like the one was to become a lightning rod and point of a life-long emotional, if not from that September morning will con- rallying force for the fledgling civil turbulent, relationship between these tinue to be snapped, and only the mobs rights movement. two Southern women from two totally and faces and victims and oppressors David Margolick’s literary documen- different worlds of Arkansas. will continue to change. tary, Elizabeth and Hazel brings the Several years after the picture photograph out into the bright light of was snapped, Hazel begins a jour- —David Ray Skinner

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 14 C i v i l O b e d i e n c e HotHot Dog,Dog, AA BrushBrush WithWith thethe Law!Law! By Dusty Bettis

ell, the fire marshal finally left, along with those What saved me was the brevity of nice guys who were kind enough to bring by their the fire, along with my little camping table with the hot dogs and the buns shiny new fire truck. And it was quite an event, all laid out. And number two son, but now all the neighbors have gone inside. The Andrew, who was innocently loiter- show’s over, folks, now get along home. ing off to the side in the near-dark, conveniently obscuring the 5' pile of WWWe eventually got everything fires go, it wasn’t that large—maybe brush which represented the rest of cleaned up and all the tools and imple- 10' or so high at the peak of the our fire materials. ments of destruction all put away, so flames. Okay, well, maybe 15’; it was By the time the fire officials got I thought it would be appropriate to too large and too close to measure there, the fire WAS (barely) three feet collect my thoughts and put them into with a tape measure. However, it was wide. They asked me if I was aware the form of a thoughtful observation. well-managed and discreet, and always that it was illegal to have a brush fire Note to My Friends and after April 15, and I responded Neighbors: It is ILLEGAL that I was, but this was a to have a brush or trash hot-dog-cooking fire. The fire fire in this county after marshal gave me an “Oh, sure April 15—especially with- it is” look, and then asked to out a permit. However, it see the alibi. I politely direct- is LEGAL to have a “recre- ed him to exhibit “A” and ational fire”—that is a camp- “B”—a pack of Oscar Mayer fire—provided it is less than hot dogs and some buns. We 3' wide by 3' tall. even offered him (as well as The county fire marshal the seven fireman in the fire wouldn’t tell me if the “3' tall” truck) a sizzling dog fresh off meant the fire or the wood. I the grill (as it were), but they suppose it’s up to interpreta- declined. They also declined tion. So be it. It’s just one our offer of beer…though I more loophole to throw on think at least some of them the blaze. might have accepted under That being said, nothing different circumstances. could keep me from push- Anyway, they all drove ing my luck, not even the away and so we had our possibility that the woman cookout, just to make it offi- up the ridge (the one I cial. And Andrew learned a called the cops on back in valuable lesson: “While igno- December because her cur rance of the law may be no dogs were barking all night) excuse, knowledge of the law most likely carries a heavy grudge. restrained by the rake and the high- can be a GREAT excuse.” And, a well- Actually, come to think of it, after pressure water hose I keep handy. thought-out investment (hot dogs) can living here as long we have, most of It wasn’t my intention to smoke up reap great rewards. As my beloved our neighbors probably have some sort the whole area, but my buddy Dan, Boy Scout leader, Dr. Evans always of hatchet (if not an ax) to grind, and who lives across the street and had said, “Be Prepared.” Thank you, Dr. would love to see me in some sort of come in from the lake a few minutes Evans. And especially…thank you, hot water, legally or otherwise. I sup- after the peak, told me that the “word Oscar Mayer. pose they figured that our little brush on the street” is that there had been a burning would be the perfect chance house fire in the neighborhood. As I Dusty Bettis is a talented and well- to seize the opportunity to make their mentioned, Dan had just come in from respected citizen of a major Southern little vindictive dreams come true. the lake, so I wrote that off to “beer municipality which shall go nameless As my own personal “recreational” hysteria.” to protect the innocent.

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 15 S o u t h e r n F i c t i o n

InIn CaseCase ofof RaptureRapture A Story by William Love Dockery o headlights showed in the rearview mirror, only dust him as he approached the church. He considered pulling into the yard roiling red in the taillights and vanishing into the black. amid the cars and farm pickups but it The Chevy’s slanted back window was thick with dust, was too obvious. He hated dead-end making the view even more cloudy and vague. roads, but he steered right, clutch in, N foot on the brake, rolling quietly past N the long slope. Nance’s ferry was cut The road went up a steep hill and the frame building at little more than Pettigrew nudged the gas. Gravel off. Damn. a walk. The windows were thrown pinged on the undercarriage like shot Without thinking, he killed his own wide and above the sound of his idling against a tin roof. A low spot in the lights, gripped the wheel with both engine Pettigrew heard preaching, an road sent the load in the trunk banging hands, and let up on the gas. The car ecstatic agony of shouts and hollers against the springs with a thud that slowed abruptly as he fought to steer and rhythmic grunts. He shook his shook the whole car. by the whiteness of the gravel between head. At the top of the hill Pettigrew had the black fencerows. He checked the “Lloyd, Lloyd.” a long view down the valley before mirror again: Nothing. When the car dropped below the him. Half way down, the windows of The church sat in a saddle between crest of the hill, he popped it back into a small church shone yellow, but noth- two hills, where the road forked. The gear and sped up. At the bottom of ing else broke the blackness. Then other car was coming up the left fork; the hill the road came abruptly to the as he watched, there was a flash at to the right, Blue Hole Road dropped river and skirted a large circular pit the bottom of the valley, where the down a steep hollow to dead-end along in the bank. Lights still off, Pettigrew road ran along the Holston. Headlights the river. passed the spring and headed for the rounded a bend and began bobbing up The dust cloud caught up and passed Deacon’s tarpaper shack fifty yards

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 16 S o u t h e r n F i c t i o n the spring and up the hollow. They heard the gravel rattling on the road. beyond. He swung off the gravel into wallowed roughly up the grade and He crushed the butt, pinched out the the hard-packed yard and drove past went out of hearing over the gap. He fresh one, and hunkered down on the the cabin toward a small barn that slumped back on his heels, hawked log. leaned into the hillside. He parked the a copper-tasting ball of phlegm into “...anyone who can read the car in the weeds on the side away from the weeds, and groped his shirt for a Scriptures has got to know the signs the road and climbed out on the uphill cigarette. are right...” It was Lloyd, talking ear- side, holding the door to keep it from Pulling on the cigarette, he rose nestly. “The atom bomb, the Iron slamming shut. He leaned against the awkwardly. With the cruisers gone, Curtain...women making up and wear- rough-sawn boards. ing ear bobs and smoking, whor- The first patrol car came down ish-like...God just can’t stand for the hill too quickly and slid in the much more of that.” gravel when it came to the spring. The second voice was older, Without looking around the corner, still firm but with an occasional Pettigrew watched the headlights quaver. splash whitely against the hillside “Don’t get tangled up with the as the car sped toward the end of end times, Son. You got a sweet the road a mile upriver. Minutes message. People believe when later the second car came down the you preach. Turn them to Jesus grade, made the same skid at the and to each other. God will han- spring, and careened after the first. dle the end times.” Pettigrew considered trying The rattle of the gravel ceased to break back to the main road as the pair stepped into the yard. and away before the patrol cars Pettigrew cupped his hand to could turn around, but it didn’t relight the cigarette and tossed feel right. There might be other the match in a glowing arc patrols about. If he had to abandon toward the pair. Startled, they the car, he could still climb up the turned toward him. wooded hill and go home through “Here, Son, watch that fire. It’s the fields. If they didn’t catch him too dry.” The old man stepped on with his load, they couldn’t prove he the singing and clapping and shouts the match. Pettigrew ignored the was driving. carried down the hill in waves. He Deacon and turned to Lloyd. In minutes the cars came back, rubbed his nose and the raw smell of “Save any souls tonight, Cousin?” slow and deliberate, their spotlights green liquor reached him. He ground Lloyd grimaced. “What are you doing playing around the fishing cabins and the smoke into the grass and stepped here?” He wouldn’t meet Pettigrew’s outbuildings and garden plots along to the back of the car. eyes. Sweat had plastered his white the road. The sweeping beams threw The trunk was full of boxes. He shirt to his back, and his dark, skinny giant shadows on the hillside pastures. struck a match and then another, tie was blacker toward the collar. He Pettigrew hunkered in the weeds and looking for the source of the smell. stripped the tie from around his neck began to pick a route through the bri- Low on one of the bottom cases there and put it and a limber leather Bible ars and brush to the woods. was a dark spot on the cardboard. inside the door of the shack. He turned Both cars pulled even with the He propped a box on the side of the and picked up a cane pole that was Deacon’s cabin and the lights swept car and extracted a jar from the case leaning against the wall. the yard. They focused first on the underneath. A seep of liquid glinted on “Here, Cuz.” Pettigrew extended the shack, throwing up sparkles in the the side. He licked it, set the jar atop jar to Lloyd. “Yeah, the night got a little imitation-brick tarpaper. Both spots the car, and repacked the trunk. He too warm for me, too. I thought I might turned in quick succession to the out- moved to a hacked tree trunk beside come down and wet a line with you house and the smoke house and finally the woodpile and set down the jar. boys till it cools off a little bit.” over the parched garden to the barn. A chip in the glass lip showed under Lloyd turned away from the out- Sharp blades of light flashed the sealing ring. He took a mouthful, stretched arm. Pettigrew tilted the between the barn boards and raked the set the jar on the log, and lit another bottle and swallowed. “Why didn’t you swept-back Chevy. Pettigrew stiffened cigarette. bring a couple of Holy Roller gals with into a crouch and got ready to run to The uproar at the church soon died you? Can’t you preach them into the the hill. Without warning, a two-way to a faint babble, punctuated by occa- ticking?” radio squawked. Pettigrew jumped. sional bursts of laughter and revving Lloyd mopped his forehead with He could hear the deputies talking car engines. Even that faded and a bob- a kerchief and turned to the Deacon. back and forth out the car windows. white started to call from a fencerow. “Let’s go. I need to fish.” Abruptly, the spots went out and gravel Pettigrew was lighting another ciga- Pettigrew laughed. “If we can’t hook flew as the cars lurched back toward rette from the previous one when he a soul or roll one of them sweet little

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 17 S o u t h e r n F i c t i o n cast again. Pettigrew grew glum. The a thrashing figure or waves from a holies, maybe we can snag a bass.” man who had taught him and Lloyd to splash. Nothing. “Deacon-n-n-n.” The The Deacon put a hand on his shoul- fish, and half the boys within five miles call bounced back from the bluff. der. “Son, if you want to fish, let’s fish. of the Blue Hole, was growing frail. No Groping in the bottom of the boat, If you want to talk like that, go back to one had anything bad to say about the he found and shipped the oars and your honkytonks. Leave him be.” old man, except maybe these days they sculled around the snag, looking for Pettigrew shrugged. He stood up wondered why he kept fishing with any sign of the old man. “Deacon-n-n. and stretched, then stooped and Pettigrew. Lloyd. Lloyd, help me.” Without a light, retrieved a pole and tackle box from Pettigrew was baiting his hook when the search was hopeless. He began under the cabin. He followed the to row upstream with frantic but others across the road to the spring steady pulls, aiming for the take- and down the bank to where the out next to the Blue Hole. johnboats were tied. The boat bumped the shore The Deacon got in one with and, as Pettigrew scrambled out Pettigrew, and Lloyd took the other. to tie it off, his foot slipped back- They rowed easily downriver about ward and he fell heavily into a tan- a hundred yards to a high limestone gle of brush. He crawled out awk- bluff, where the bare, broken limbs wardly, stinging from scratches of a sunken tree poked bonelike on his arms and face. from the dark water. They tied up As he pulled himself up the to the tree and the old man lit a bank he saw the outline of a kerosene lantern. He propped an dark sedan beyond the spring. A oar at an angle and hung the lan- Ford, he thought vaguely, ’53 or tern from it. ’54. When he staggered onto the Pettigrew fished from the end gravel road, a spotlight blinded of one boat, casting into the faster him. A light atop the car began currents of the river. On the other spinning, a red beam strobing on end, the Deacon cast toward the the overhanging trees. bank in still water under the bluff. “Stop right there. We need to Upstream a few yards, close enough talk to you.” to take advantage of the lantern but the lantern dropped with a hiss into the out far enough not to tangle lines, water. He grabbed for it instinctively. *** Lloyd cast from the other boat. An abrupt darkness erased bluff and For the first hour, no one got a river, and the boat began to rock wildly. The probation officer looked up bite. They sat without talking, the only In the flurry of movement and dark- from his computer monitor and cocked sounds the river purling underneath ness, he lost his bearings and slumped an eyebrow at the old man sitting in a the boats and the occasional sizz of a back, lightheaded and limp, toward folding chair. “Rufus Pettigrew. Come cast line. Pettigrew relaxed, taking a the end of the boat. He felt buoyant in. Have a seat.” gulp of the liquor now and then and and warm, like lying on a rock under a Pettigrew stepped into the office watching insects lured to the lantern white sun, a blood-orange glow shining and sat in a battered chair in front of fall onto the water. He liked fishing, through closed eyelids. The night and the desk. the forced monotony that let the pres- the river dissolved into the radiance, “You’ve been gone a long time.” The sures ease off. His mind wandered and he sprawled unaware. official’s finger traced details in the to the fish deep in the water, stream- Cold water sloshing down his back folder on his lap. lined, muscular shapes moving unseen brought him to the boat again. He “Yes, sir.” among rocks and old logs, feeding, tried to dampen the swaying and see “Forty, almost forty-one years is swimming, probing the currents, wary through the blackness. a long time to be away from a place. yet at home. He wondered idly what “Deacon?” He reached toward the You’re going to have a lot to adjust to.” the fish thought when it bit a barbed other end of the boat. He could hear He peered over the stacks of folders scrap and was suddenly yanked into a Lloyd’s oars upriver a short way, quick, on his desk. “Some guys with long sen- strange world. panicked splashes growing more and tences find that the Walls seem more Balancing against the sway of the more distant. like home than the outside world.” boat, the Deacon stood up stiffly to Pettigrew’s eyes began to see differ- “Yes, sir.” Pettigrew returned the cast. The lantern jiggled and the circle ent shades of dark—the black, looming man’s gaze and waited. of light swung drunkenly around the bluff, the charcoal sky, faintly reflective “I’ve talked with your relatives and boats. Pettigrew saw the red plastic ripples on the water—but he could not they are OK with this trailer on the bobber disappeared from the circle of spot the old man. He shook his head. river, but I still think you might be bet- light. It plopped close under the bluff. “Deacon!” Eyes wide, he stared over ter off in a halfway house in Knoxville. The old man reeled in the line and the water, looking and listening for I can arrange it.” The man swiveled his

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 18 S o u t h e r n F i c t i o n four-lane and went through a nar- along the river. It was surrounded by chair toward the phone on the table row, arched railroad underpass. The a tin-roofed screened porch with a beside him. Holston highlands looked the same, sprung door and dead leaves gathered “No, sir. No.” Pettigrew leaned for- with cattle grazing acres of rolling pas- in the corners. ward, almost put out a hand to stop tureland and the occasional cornfield “I reckon this is your cousin’s place.” him. “This cabin—I should be OK or tobacco patch. Some of the two-sto- The driver put the van in park. there. I’ll be out of the way.” ry frame farmhouses looked familiar, Without looking at the man, “Suit yourself. I guess there isn’t but the columned brick mansions now Pettigrew climbed out and retrieved much trouble you can get into that far set in the middle of green fields looked his suitcase. back in the country. Remember, no liquor, no firearms. I’ll check in *** on you next week.” He tossed the folder onto a stack on the floor and The turbines at Cherokee Dam stood up. “Come on. I’ve got you a several miles upriver had been ride.” shut down, and the Holston had Outside Pettigrew looked around. dropped. Small rafts of bleach bot- Downtown Dandridge looked the tles were beached in debris along same—the old courthouse where the banks and tatters from plas- he had been tried, the jail next door tic grocery bags fluttered from where he had been held, the drug- underbrush along the water’s edge. store across the street he could Long rows of strata were exposed see from his cell. All summer while like broken dams angled across they searched for the Deacon’s the river, and half a dozen gulls body, Pettigrew had watched the were feeding noisily on the exposed store, the customers coming and shoals. going, the shopkeepers gathering Pettigrew was standing on one for coffee in the mornings, laugh- of the tilted, tablelike slabs, fish- ing and joking. Every morning the ing a broad pool in its lee. He’d youngest counter girl in a frilled caught three bluegill and was pull- white apron and bobby socks would ing in a fourth when he heard a yell come out to sweep the sidewalk in garish and out of place. from the bank. A tall figure in tan was front of the display windows. The van topped a rise and began a standing beside the white state van “Over here.” The probation officer long downward grade. Far down in a and hailing him. motioned him to a dirty white van with line of trees, Pettigrew glimpsed the “Pettigroo-o-o.” The call echoed off a fading Department of Corrections Holston. The church still sat in the the hill above the river. “Hey, Pettigroo- logo on the side and opened the door. saddle where the road forked; the front o-o-o.” Pettigrew shoved his suitcase in and had been veneered in red brick, and He yanked the fish up on the rock, slid over against the window behind a handicapped ramp angled down the removed the hook, and added it to the the driver. side of the building. Like the road, the stringer before turning to look back at “I’ll see you next week. Uh—fasten parking lot had been asphalted. the shore. your seatbelt.” The official slapped the As he turned down the right fork, the “Pettigrew!” top of the van and the driver cranked driver spoke for the first time. “Yeah!” the engine. Pettigrew swayed a little as “I guess what they say is true, hunh?” The man motioned him to shore. He it lurched into gear. The driver looked at Pettigrew through picked up the fish and began to make Little on the drive from Dandridge to the rearview mirror. his way back to the bank, tracing a New Market was familiar. Twisty State “How’s that.” twisty route, stepping from block to Route 92 that wrapped itself around “About returning to the scene of the tilted block across flowing channels. the knobby hills and fields crossing crime.” At the shore, the dirt bank was slick Dumplin Valley had been replaced with Pettigrew looked hard at the mirror. and he shifted the stringer and rod to a wide, evenly-graded highway that The driver’s eyes were crinkled, as if one hand and steadied his climb with shouldered its way through the land- he were smiling. Pettigrew grunted and saplings on the bank. scape. There was a brick high school looked out the window again. The van “Rufus, I reckon you didn’t recog- campus that was new to him and a golf began the steep descent toward the nize me the other day.” course where he remembered a dairy river. It skirted the spring at the bot- Pettigrew gained the roadway and farm. Only the profile of Bays Mountain tom of the hill and passed a thicket of looked at the man. He was tall and was familiar, but it was pincushioned sumac saplings that almost hid a decay- big-boned, graying, stout at the belt- with towers and water tanks. ing tarpaper shack. Down the road, the line, dressed from head to foot in a Pettigrew was in New Market before driver pulled up next to a humpbacked uniformlike khaki jump suit. Pettigrew he realized it. The van turned off the trailer a few hundred yards farther searched for something familiar in his

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 19 S o u t h e r n F i c t i o n self.” Townsend’s voice was detached, the porch. He was almost finished features, trying to imagine the face as matter-of-fact, as if he was explaining when he glanced to the rock where the it would have looked 40 years ago. He something to a jury. “I knew when couple were sunning. prepared to extend his hand. the spotlight hit your face. Something Both appeared to be dozing; she “It’s Ray Townsend.” scared the piss out of you. And you was nestled under his arm with an Pettigrew stiffened slightly and sti- were cut up like you’d been fighting open book shading her eyes. Water fled the gesture. He turned and started a wildcat. I always figured you left lapped at the bottom of their blanket, walking up the road toward his place. him in the deep water under the bluff; and the rock ridges were disappearing Townsend followed. They passed a that’s got to be the place. We couldn’t as the river rose. couple of rundown fishing cabins set snag him with the hooks. And he never “Hey,” he hallooed. “Hey! You’uns! on poles on the riverside. Pettigrew showed up downriver.” on the rock. Hey!” stepped onto his porch. Townsend fol- Pettigrew glanced toward the door. They didn’t respond at first but after lowed him without invitation. “Look, I didn’t kill him, but I paid the a few moments the girl looked toward “What you need?” state’s price anyway. They let me go. him. He heard a faint yelp when she “They sent me over to check on you. Now you get out of here.” saw how high the water was. Pettigrew How does it feel to be threw himself down out, Rufus?” the bank and began to Pettigrew put the make his way across fish in a bucket of “Thank you, Mister. You were the rocks toward water and turned to meant to be here today. God sent them. The boy was his visitor. gathering the blanket “How did it feel you to look after us.” and their textbooks. when they let you “Let it go! Let it out, Deputy? I heard go!” The boy paid him you did time yourself no heed. on marijuana charges.” Townsend paused in the door. The girl moved ahead of the boy Townsend looked away for a second “They just let you go because you’re from rock to rock. Pettigrew reached and then faced him again. too old to hurt anybody anymore.” her as the river began to cover the “I suspect my time in federal cus- slabs. With water flowing around their tody was a pie supper compared to *** ankles, he guided her to surer footing. yours inside the Walls.” Clutching blanket and books, the boy Pettigrew hung his fishing rod from The Blue Hole was about a mile from followed as best he could. At the bank, a nail on the porch post. He didn’t turn his trailer, and once a day Pettigrew a book tumbled into the river. Before it around. For a moment he could almost walked to it along the river road. He could drift off, Pettigrew pulled it out smell the cellblock, a complex mix of had pledged himself to stay active. soaked and dripping. He helped them sweat and tobacco smoke, disinfectant He always looked away when he saw up to the road. and sour mop. Townsend sidestepped the nursing home on the four-lane in “That water’ll surprise you when to get a better view of Pettigrew’s face. Jefferson City. they start making electricity at the “I’ve come to clear up some things A small, shiny foreign car passed dam.” I’ve wondered about. I’m way past him as he rested on the railing above “Thank you, Mister. You were meant doing anything to you now. We found the spring. The young couple inside to be here today.” The boy shook him- your car behind the barn, we found were having a lively conversation, ges- self energetically, almost dancing with the liquor, but we never did find the turing and laughing. The car had a relief. “God sent you to look after us.” Deacon. I just want to know what you decal from the Baptist college in the “You’re our angel.” The girl threw did with the body.” rear window and stickers on the bum- her arms around his neck. She smelled “Nothing. I didn’t do nothing.” per. He squinted to read: “God Is My of flowers and powders and softness. “You didn’t get the old man’s money. Co-Pilot,” “In Case of RAPTURE, This He coughed and waved a hand. I know. I took it myself after you had Car Will Be Unmanned.” “Here’s your book. I’m afraid it’s already gone to Brushy. He had it hid in Pettigrew walked briskly back to ruint.” He looked at the limp paper- a coffee can behind the smokehouse.” the trailer. By the time he got there, the back in his hand: Left Behind. “I didn’t look for it.” car was parked in a pull-off just past The girl pushed it back at him. “Why else would you kill him? Pure his cabin. The couple was gone but he “Why don’t you keep that. You might meanness?” heard their laughter out on the river. He want to read it. It’s about the Rapture, “I didn’t kill him. I don’t know what spied them on a blanket spread across when Jesus will come back for his cho- happened to him.” Pettigrew reached one of the flat slabs at mid-river. sen.” She gave the boy a conspiratorial for a filleting knife. His hand trembled. He busied himself, washing his smile. He took her hand. “Huh. You went out on the river breakfast plate, making the bed, and Pettigrew watched them get into the with the old man. You come back with- sweeping out the trailer. Then he little car and drive away. He retreated out him. You told us that much your- moved outside and began to sweep to the trailer, turning aside to drop the

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 20 S o u t h e r n F i c t i o n him into the trailer. Lloyd ate with relish, and Pettigrew sodden book into the can where he “How are you, Lloyd?” ceded him four of the fish. burned his trash. “Not bad for a fat old man with too “Mighty fine, mighty fine. Puts Red many debts. How are you, Ruff?” Lloyd Lobster to shame.” Lloyd pushed back *** seized his hand and reached out with a little but then took another wedge of his left to knead Pettigrew’s shoulder. cornbread. “I don’t fish anymore. Got Pettigrew was fishing from an “I heard you’d come home. It’s good to all the gear and a nice bass boat, but I aluminum johnboat chained to the see you.” just can’t make the time to get out on bank next to one of the other cabins. “Can I get you some supper? I was the lake.” Upriver at Cherokee Dam, the turbines just about to eat.” Using the bread as a sop, Lloyd were turning, and the river was at “No, no, you go ahead. I got a touch leaned over the plate to let the crumbs full flood. The weekenders kept their of sugar and...” Lloyd looked at the fish and pot liquor drop back onto the boats chained and padlocked, but he sizzling in the skillet. “Well, I might eat plate. Pettigrew put down his fork and could push out into the current as far a little.” pushed back, and they lapsed into a as the chain would take him. Pettigrew poured oil into another companionable silence. He had fished for four hours and small skillet and turned on the oven. “Do you ever think back about that was beginning to think he might have He pulled a half gallon of buttermilk night?” Lloyd looked up at Pettigrew to open a can of Bush’s beans for out of the cooler, brought out a canis- from under bushy eyebrows. supper when he hooked half a dozen ter of meal, and began mixing a recipe Pettigrew gave a noncommittal decent bluegills in quick succession. of cornbread. shrug and let his eyes drift away from As he pulled the chain and brought “Let me have some of that. I haven’t the table. the boat back to the bank, he heard a had any in years.” “Do you ever think about what we car coming along the river road. He Lloyd poked through the cabinets witnessed?” Lloyd was going to talk looked up to see a late- about it whether he model sedan, slope- answered or not. shouldered and shiny, “Ruff, they’d lock up a Holy Roller “I’d preached it, pass slowly. He raised shouted it, sweated a hand automatical- as quick as they’d lock up it, breathed it in and ly, but it wasn’t any a bootlegger. Would you believe out. God was going of the regulars who to come back soon came to the cabins on it if you hadn’t been there?” and claim his cho- weekends to fish and sen and leave the drink. rest of the world to He took his fish to the back porch until he found a couple of jelly glasses the Tribulation. Ye know neither the and cleaned them, scraping the guts and poured buttermilk into them. He day nor the hour when the Son of into a bucket and putting the fish in put Pettigrew’s on the table and took a Man cometh.” For a moment Lloyd’s a shallow wash pan. He slung the long pull on his. voice became sonorous, cadenced. He entrails back into the river, set down “Brenda don’t even keep sweet milk looked at Pettigrew. “But now we do the bucket, and carried the pan inside anymore. She buys that zero percent know—September 7, 1953, around 1 to the two-burner gas stove. As he got stuff. Tastes like chalk.” a.m. Eastern Standard Time. He came, out an iron skillet, he heard the car The grease spattered and popped just as he said, just as I said. Only he pass again, back the way it had come, when Pettigrew poured in the corn- didn’t take me.” still going slow. The oil was smoking in bread batter. He shoved the small skil- Lloyd pinned Pettigrew with an ear- the skillet and he was rolling the last let into the oven, then took up the fish, nest stare. Pettigrew glanced away and of the fish in seasoned meal when he and opened a can of Bush’s turnip shifted in his chair. Lloyd looked to the heard a step on the porch. greens into a small pot. When the smell ceiling. “Ruff?” of the bread began to drift through the “I was mad for a while, but pretty Pettigrew started when he heard his trailer, he took it out of the oven and soon it was a relief. The emotion, the nickname. turned it onto a plate, sliding a table self-inspection, the details—all behind “Is that you, Rufus?” knife under it to keep the bottom from me. The last night of the revival I packed He reached for a towel and brushed sweating. He moved the bread and my duffle, kissed Mama, and moved to the breading off his hands back into greens to the table and got out vinegar Dalton, Georgia.” He reached into a the bowl. and margarine. back pocket and dragged out a red “Who is it?” “Such as it is, here it is,” he said by kerchief. “The carpet mills were hiring “It’s me. Lloyd. It’s Lloyd.” A balding, way of blessing. and I made a little extra trading cars. portly figure was silhouetted in the Lloyd cut the cornbread in pie- Pretty soon I had a small lot and was door. “Somehow, I knew I’d find you shaped pieces, then moved a slab to his able to quit the mill. With a little help ’round here.” plate. For several minutes they didn’t from Brenda’s daddy, I bought a Chevy Pettigrew grunted and motioned speak as they filled their plates and ate. dealership.” He daubed at his mouth.

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 21 S o u t h e r n F i c t i o n gave a pop. and the muscles in his neck grew taut, Pettigrew poured more buttermilk “It burned something out of me. It but the padlock held, and the iron stob in their glasses. He looked up at Lloyd, made me want things I’d never wanted buried deep in the bank did not loosen. caught his eye and held his gaze. before, things you couldn’t have where After another yank, he gave up and “Why didn’t you step up for me?” I was. When you miss your chance, it’s dropped the chain. Lloyd looked at his plate and then gone. This place is as close as I ever The boat swung downstream with around the immaculate trailer before was to it.” He looked around the tidy the current, the water burbling under- he met Pettigrew’s eyes. trailer. “As close as I’ll ever be.” neath. Pettigrew studied the river’s “Ruff, they’d lock up a Holy Roller They sat silent a few minutes. swell and play. Sometimes it dropped preacher as quick as they’d lock up a Pettigrew began to clear the table. low enough for herons to fish the bootlegger. Think about it. Would you “I appreciate the supper.” Lloyd shoals mid-river and sometimes it rose believe it if you hadn’t been there?” stood by the door and held out his high to gnaw away the bank, swirling Pettigrew didn’t answer. hand. Pettigrew put a hand on his around a snag, sweeping away refuse “No, I knew then that my call was shoulder and guided him through the or carrying down treasures, supply- at an end. Now there’s not even an door to his car. ing supper or denying, hiding secrets. echo left. I go to the Episcopal church. “You look after that diabetes.” Whatever it did, it was always there, a They put on a good show on Sunday Pettigrew let a ball of spit fall from constant. mornings and they buy pricey cars. My his lips to the pavement. Lloyd did Pettigrew looked to the hills above youngest is a sophomore at Vanderbilt likewise. him, terraced where generations of and, when she’s finished, I’m going to “We’ll see you, Rufus.” cows had cropped grass on the shal- sell the dealership and me and Brenda ey slope. The top of a tall sycamore will move to Hilton Head for good. I’ve *** caught the first sun coming over the got enough to see me through to the ridge. Across the river, a small hawk end.” The water was still up when was patrolling the bottoms. Both men were quiet for several Pettigrew went to the river in the His head bent, Pettigrew put a hand minutes. Lloyd looked up. morning. Fog rose in jagged tendrils over his eyes. He sighed, then lifted his “What about you? You were there, from the surface, dancing crookedly shoulders and relaxed. He picked up too.” against the brightening sky. the pole and baited the hook. Pettigrew let the silence rest Downriver, the cliff beyond the between them. spring was still in shadow. Setting his Bill Dockery is a native East “Did you regret going up for a man can and pole down carefully on a boat Tennessee writer and journalist you didn’t murder?” said Lloyd as the seat, Pettigrew looked at the bluff for who explores the way religion, lit- pause lengthened. a long moment, thinking about his sup- erature, and geography intermix in Pettigrew absentmindedly blotted per with Lloyd. He stooped abruptly Appalachia. His day job is writing up cornbread crumbs with a finger and picked up the chain that fastened about research for the University of and looked down. His eyes lost their the boat to the bank and gave it a jerk. Tennessee, Knoxville. An earlier ver- focus and he spoke slowly, as if trying Again, long and hard, he yanked at the sion of “In Case of Rapture” won a to read a sign that was far off. chain and the boat began to move back graduate writing award in the UT “I didn’t hurt the Deacon but, hell, I toward the shore. Pettigrew strained, English Department in the mid-2000s. was rough. I killed a bootlegger from Cocke County. We tied a couple of cinderblocks to him and threw him off Swann’s bridge. I always figured I was where I was supposed to be, just not for the right crime.” Lloyd played with a fork and looked at Pettigrew. “When I got to Brushy, I joined a prayer group. A lot of the new ones did. Hoping a jailhouse conversion would yank me out of that hellhole and back among the living. Later, when they moved me to the main prison, I did a lot of reading, but I never could find any record of people disappear- ing. But then 144,000 ain’t a lot of people, even in 1953.” Lloyd nodded sympathetically but remained quiet. The sheet metal roof

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 22 S o u t h e r n P o l i t i c s

KidsKids && PoliticsPolitics——WhyWhy DaddyDaddy DrinksDrinks by Ron Hart

hen you leave the hospital with your kids, you checkered record that had to advertise in the back of Southern Living. are given neither instructions on how to raise Every time my son left the house, I them, nor a receipt so you can take them reminded him he could be tried as an adult. back. Like most people, I viewed myself as a Raising girls is different, and much great parent—right up until I had my first kid. easier. All a dad has to do is be willing, WW each month, to go watch a new movie Here is what I learned: your kids before they ask you for money. set against the backdrop of competi- always seem bad until you spend My dad was sent (he would say “sen- tive cheerleading with them. If you just time with a friend’s children. Your tenced”) to military school. Back then, do that, they will think it is the nicest first carpool or play date is one of the you could tell a kid what to do and not thing one person has done for another most reassuring events of parenthood. buy him a car at age 16 without being since the Underground Railroad. Parents have to accept that they are arrested for cruelty by agents of Child Buying each other gifts is also an indispensable to their kids one moment Protective Services. On more than one important part of bonding. Kids are and an embarrassment the next. Kids occasion, I threatened my son with pretty easy to buy for, but I can prove roll their eyes in disgust, and then can military school. I said it would not be challenging. My kids grapple each year be super sweet to you, usually right one of them fancy ones, but one with a with the question of what to get for a

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 23 S o u t h e r n P o l i t i c s when we just hung out in a friend’s our kids are not hirable. They have man who only leaves the house to go basement when his parents were gone been shielded from reality by being to the liquor store. and smoked and drank. It was a sim- taught in envy-based courses that if The nightmare for a father is having pler time. Kids do not want to work at anyone else works for something, it a daughter who is a stripper—not the things anymore; they play hide-and-go- is their lawful right to try to take it. If Buckhead, “working my way through seek using Google Earth. you aren’t vigilant, they will come out law school” kind with a reasonable intel- The good news is that a study found of college with a degree in bitterness lect, but the out-near-the-airport kind that fathers spend twice as much time and $100,000 in student loan debt—or who has openly given up on life and with their kids as they did in the 1960’s. worse, a degree in Women’s Studies. harbors resentment toward her dad. The bad news is that they do so because Blame starts early if you allow it. You do not want to instill resent- they are at home, unemployed. Teachers are even using dolls in first ment; that never ends. I enjoy reading I had my kids watch the excellent grade classrooms to help the kids the female same-sex point to the spot where marriage announce- Republicans touched ments in the New Teachers are even using dolls the economy and York Times and try- in first grade classrooms ruined it. ing to determine Two things are sure which set of parents to help the kids point to the spot in this world: the earth they are trying to get where Republicans touched the rotates around the back at the most. sun and kids will Parents have to economy and ruined it. take the easy way treat all their kids out if you let them. equally. I have two And I am not so sure beautiful kids. My wife reminds me that documentary film on our education sys- about the earth rotating around the sun we have three total, but I like to keep tem’s decline, “Waiting for Superman,” thing. one of them guessing. Though we “love while they were home for the holidays. The best thing we can do for our all our kids the same,” we all know we In explaining to them what Superman kids is to instill in them a work ethic, just would not call 911 quite as quickly did, I had to explain what a phone not a sense of entitlement, and then if a certain one of them went missing. booth was and how Superman dashed let the chips fall where they may. Since Parenting kids is very different into one to change into his tights to go kids are a perpetual personification of today in this era of social media. Some out and save the world. Then my kids parenting, we all should do our best. twenty percent of parents punish their explained to me that no single man in And when in doubt, do what your par- kids by keeping them off Facebook. I tights of that age in New York would ents did. punished mine by “friending” them on have a romantic interest in Lois Lane. Facebook. That worked better. So I guess parents and kids can learn Ron Hart, a libertarian syndicated To complicate matters, studies show from each other. op-ed humorist, award-winning that increasing Facebook use results in Since schools do not seem to teach author & TV/radio commentator can kids smoking and drinking more. We facts much anymore, preferring to be reached at [email protected] grew up before the personal computer, indoctrinate their students, many of or visit www.RonaldHart.com.

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 24 S o u t h e r n P o e t r y Flying into the Past by Steve Newton

There is a long skein of Canada geese in the October sky, looking like outstretched fingers in a victory sign.

They honk as they fly south, flapping beneath evening clouds, behavior that has been scripted since they emerged from their eggs.

And somehow they mysteriously mate for life, while flying distances I can only dream of, watching from the ground.

Every year I hear this sound, and I wonder if this might be the last time I will hear them pass.

One of these years it will be the last, the final time I see and hear the fall migration of these beautiful birds we call geese.

Maybe that’s part of the reason why, every fall, they bring a haunting with their yearly farewell.

Now it’s fall once more, the nights have grown cold, and the geese are flying south again, as they always do.

And as always, I’m left with a mix of sadness and joy, brought home once more by their flying and their sound.

But maybe it’s because I once lived in the South, the place where the geese go in the fall to get warm.

As a young man I lived a decade in Tennessee, and walked in fields in October much like the Jersey fields these geese fly over now.

Now a man about to turn sixty, I look at the sky, think of those Tennessee days long ago, and wish I could fly there now.

But even the geese can’t fly back into the past, no matter how far they go, but their sight and sound can bring it here, if only for a moment.

So briefly a man with a bald head and gray beard looks to the sky, while his southern past, and northern present, join as the geese pass.

Steve Newton spent part of his youth in Tennessee and now teaches English at a state university in New Jersey.

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 25 S o u t h e r n Traditions

Daddy’sDaddy’s inin thethe Closet...Closet... (...and he’s staying there!) by Idgie at the Dew y daddy went to his glory ten years ago. Before he future. As previously mentioned, two passed on, he told me he didn’t want a funeral, and he years before Daddy went fishing with the Lord, Mama headed that way first, didn’t want a plot in a cemetery. He wanted to experi- to set up the picnic. Before she passed, ence the same going off ceremony my mama had two she told me her last wish, and it was years earlier. one which I found really odd. My mama couldn’t swim, she was actually MMBut you see, he’s still in a box in my had recorded some gobbledy-gook on quite terrified of water, and she had closet. it, and it kept going off. We were sure once told me that she’d had a premoni- Unnerves the heck out of my family it was Daddy trying to communicate tion that she would drown (she didn’t). at times, I’ll tell you. I joke with them, from the Great Beyond. Well, that was So her request was that her ashes be and tell them that this way he keeps up a little nerve-wracking. Hubby was sprinkled over the ocean. Sure Mama, on things, that I go in and chat about telling me to get my dadblamed daddy whatever—makes perfect sense to me. the day’s activities while I’m decid- out of the closet right then! Luckily, we We had the “funeral”—and all family ing on what shoes to wear. He used found the toy before we had to move members know exactly what I mean by to be on the mantle, but that made a Daddy to the garage—and before an that—a more whack job of a funeral few visitors nearly swoon and give me exorcism had to be performed. I’ve never been to in my life, but that’s a nervous looks. Last year, a recordable So a little flashback is required here whole other story (let’s just say Daddy toy that you could leave your message to see why he’s still in the closet and had obviously found the liquor for the on got lost in my closet after my son probably will be for the foreseeable reception, early on). Relatives flew

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 26 Southern Traditions to find our way back, that would have knows what else. Hubby was still on the in from everywhere for the shindig. been too dangerous. Hubby threw the wrong side of the cliff in the dark, and I First time in ages we’d all been in the box down into the sea. It immediately started getting worried. same room. Death certainly brings you came back and wedged into a crevice Suddenly, full dark came. I was yell- closer, doesn’t it? On the spur of the in the rocks. “Um, Hubby darling, this ing for the family to guide me off the moment, we all decided that we would is illegal—what we’re doing here.” I beach. Still no Hubby. Finally, I heard wait until sunset, go to the ocean and told him, “There is now a mortuary harsh cursing and the clunking noises take Mama’s ashes out onto the jetty box on the boulder where anyone can of a body falling in back of me, so I and let them go free to find the Lord. see it and track us down. It has our know that at least Hubby was on my Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? name on it.” side of the cliff, injuries notwithstand- Well, we might have forgotten in our Hubby heaved a big manly sigh, ing. Daddy noticed nothing, he was desire to please Mama one last time wiped a bit more of Mama out of his blind after all, and didn’t even know it that this was actually illegal. Oopsie. hair and headed down the ocean side was dark out. He just wanted a match We forgot that sunset also means the of the cliff to get the box. The tide for his cigarette before he expired from sun goes down and you can’t see a was getting higher, the wind stronger, his nicotine addiction. dadgum thing. We forgot Hubby showed up wet, about the tide coming in. bruised, and with Mama We forgot a lot of things. bits on his face. He did We also forgot my daddy Hubby showed up wet and have the mortuary box, was blind. though, so at least we We headed out in a car- bruised with Mama bits wouldn’t be arrested. We avan of cars and got to a on his face. got to the car, exhausted; nice spot by the ocean to a few of us almost got spread the ashes. Then swept out to sea or fell we realized that half of off the cliff, one or two of us were in dresses and to spread the current nastier, and the dark was com- us had ashes in our hair, and we were all ashes we would need to climb rocks to ing down on our heads. Someone told wet. It was then that Daddy announced get to the “jumping off point.” me to get my Daddy off the beach. He to all, “That was beautiful —I want the Hubby took the lead. He had Mama wouldn’t leave till I came and fetched same thing done for me when I die.” in the box under his arm and was him though, so I left Hubby to the box That, dear friends, is why Daddy’s in trying to climb up a rock cliff to get situation and clambered on down the the closet! to the water’s edge. Half of us finally rocks to Daddy. As I was walking him managed to clamber up the rocks. The off the beach, he was rambling on Idgie at the Dew is the pseudonym other half decided to remain on the about his cigarettes and asking if the for a very talented editor/writer who beach and ask for descriptions later. spreading was lovely or not—I told has an incredible “southern sister” Suddenly, the people on the beach him to feel Hubby’s face. We were then online magazine called “Dew On started asking how long this was going walking in water, tripping and stum- the Kudzu.” You can check it out at to take and had we noticed that the bling on little rocks and heaven only http://www.dewonthekudzu.com. beach was disappearing under high tide (of course not, it was too dark!)? Daddy was down there yelling, “What’s happening, I can’t see! Is she in the ocean yet? Anyone have a match AN ONLINE MAGAZINE ABOUT LIFE IN THE SOUTH for my cigarette?” The family members on the beach quit waiting for the spreading of the ashes; they started getting all the kids off the beach before they drowned or some nonsense. Daddy wouldn’t leave, he wanted to wait for me—just great. Hubby got to the top of the cliff, and we said a prayer and released the ashes. Guess which way the wind was blowing? That’s right folks—Hubby got a bucket load of Mama in his face. It was almost dark and we realized that below us there was really not much beach left to get back to, and we didn’t want to stay on the rocks

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 27 S h o r t S t o r y

TheThe WayWay ’Twas’Twas A short story by Becky Swopes

sat on the stoop of the old front porch of a dying bling way, jumping around from person to person, remembering bits and pieces house, sifting through a shoebox of old photo- of that long ago day, and of one not so graphs. My Great-Uncle Jake sat in the rocking long ago. Sitting on the front porch stoop, Jake IIchair behind me, eyes gazing off into a far distance. reached into the past and began talking. I’d come here this weekend just to typical Carolina downpour. I looked up *** clear up some final business after my from the pictures, holding the one I’d I didn’t take that picture, child. But father’s death, and ran into Uncle Jake found in the bottom of the box. “Uncle I do remember that the smoke of the at the church on Sunday. He’d talked Jake? When did you take this?” cookfire lingered in the waning evening me into coming over to the old home “Let me see that picture, girl,” he light, coloring the swamp river bank place, so that he could tell me about said, suddenly sitting up in the rock- with the aroma of the frying catfish. my daddy as a boy, and a special story ing chair and holding out his hand. I Your Uncle Ike sat staring off into dis- he’d been saving just for me. handed it up to him, and as I’d hoped, tance, attention drawn by the scream The dark clouds hanging over the the picture opened the floodgates. He of a gator somewhere out there on the soybean fields held a promise of a told me the following story in his ram- river. But then Ike was always staring

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 28 S h o r t S t o r y No words passed between them; in a God who watched over him and off into some far distance. His eyes didn’t need any. It had always been like kept him alive, and breathing, when sometimes didn’t seem to see you, just this. Reese was several years younger the other two babies before him had looked right through you, like some- than Billy, but you’d swear he was breathed their last within hours, too thing more important drew his interest. older. Maybe being the only baby that exhausted from the birthing to bother Then Ben put the spatula under one lived made him grow up quicker than about living another minute. of the fish and turned it slowly in the the other boys his age. His mama, The scrape of the fish leaving both old cast-iron frying pan they’d bor- Billy’s Aunt Edna Earle, kept the boy pans drew Billy and Reese back to the rowed from Aunt Edna. Young Reese close as long as she could, but when he fireside, where they ate in companion- sat gazing at the camera his cousin was about seven, he’d stood up to her. able silence, sitting on the crumpled Billy held, some new-fangled gadget “Gotta be a man, Momma. Can’t keep leaves of the late autumn evening. The he’d never seen before. hanging around you women folk. I’m cold hadn’t quite come yet, but Billy Billy held the camera just so, and going off to school tomorrow and I’m could feel it crimping the back of his snapped the picture, capturing the gonna be a man soon. Gotta be a man, neck in the slight breeze that blew bemused look of Andy, who didn’t momma. Gotta try.” in from the river with the scudding really want his picture taken, not ever. Billy’d heard it from Reese’s father, clouds in the darkening sky. I recall that even at the school when Lucius the next morning, after the old All the men stood and stretched he’d been a little boy, Andy’d turned rickety school bus had swallowed him when they were done, Ben cleaning his head quick when the picture taker up and headed off for town and the new out the pans in the murky water of called out, “Quiet! Don’t move!” so school. Billy had stood with Lucius in the river, keeping an eagle eye out that there was a for the sneaking water blur where his head moccasins, the ones ought to have been. Eleven-year-old Reese looked back, who’d slide up the You could still see river bank and bite the small tie tight his eyes older than his years, into the meat of around his neck, your finger before the one Mabel had knowing this might be the last you could yelp, insisted he wear, and you’d be dead even though he’d time he’d see Billy for a while. by sunset. Always taken it off right something hiding after the picture in the river, hiding and thrown it down in the dirt by third the cotton field, checking the bolls for in the world, reaching out to pull you base after school. He’d hit a homer, weevils, praying there wouldn’t be any, from your quiet, from the family you’d too. That’s what he said, anyway. knowing there would be. loved all your life. Billy’d be leaving soon. This was his Times were hard in the back fields But it was October 1942, and Billy last chance at a normal Saturday after- of Sumter County, but nobody com- knew he had to leave on Monday noon fishing with his kin. Fishing for plained. Everybody was in the same morning, heading for Columbia, where the fattest catfish, the biggest bream fix, even the so-called rich folks, ’cause he’d be training, up to New York and he’d ever seen in his life. Black River they all shared the same passion: the then off to Europe on a troop ship. Swamp loomed around him, the moss earth—the dark-rich-grab-you-by-the- He’d come home from Basic just long hanging from the trees like the scraggly throat-and-build-up-on-your-bare-feet enough to pull in the memories, memo- beard on his old great-grandpa James, earth. They planted tobacco and cot- ries he knew he’d hold close inside in the picture hanging by his father’s ton and soybeans, and corn, and other wherever he went from now on. The roll top desk in the parlor. James, who’d things, mostly to sell, some to keep, but Army promised him he’d see the world, fought in the Civil War, stared down at they grew lives, and hope and despair, but he knew his world was really still him, frowning as if to say, “Go fight, and sometimes Billy thought he would right here, under the leaves, in the boy, and make us proud.” Billy shook die from the need to get away. shine of the moon of the black water off the morbid thoughts and looked at But he was drawn back to this boy of the river, in the sounds of a frog the boy sitting by the fire. squatting beside him, this boy he knew leaping to avoid the gaping mouth of Eleven-year-old Reese looked back, like he knew himself. And he knew a gator, the tickle of the splashing rain his eyes older than his years, knowing he’d might never see Reese again, not drops that fell from the now darkened this might be the last time he’d see like this, not innocent and untouched cloudy sky. He pulled his collar up Billy for a while, maybe forever. Billy by the outside world. Because from around his neck and helped his uncle crooked his finger at the boy and took some place deep inside him, Billy’d and cousins pull the boat back up to him over out of sight of the others, on told me he knew this boy was special, the back of the old Packard, hooked the other side of the old Packard. The would turn out something incredible as it up to the trailer hitch, and jumped boy squatted beside Billy and accepted he grew up, the outside world touching into the back seat beside the boy. He the gift of the forbidden cigarette from him, affecting him, but never steal- put his arm across the back of the his cousin. ing away the sure and certain belief seat, barely touching the brown hair of

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 29 S h o r t S t o r y see him alone, explain to the boy why a club in town. It was a club he wasn’t the boy’s neck, and tried to hold this this was something he had to do. really old enough to go into, but as the moment in his head. The next afternoon, after a mornin’ owner had said, if he was old enough “You going to church in the mornin’, of Bible reading, and preachin’, and to go fight, he was old enough to Billy?” came the whisper from the boy singin’ like his heart would burst, Billy have one last good old American beer under his arm. sat at the picnic table in the church before he shipped out. He remembered “Yeah, Reese. I’m going. Graham yard, and listened to the sounds of his the taste of that beer now. He’d not had Baptist is giving me a big send off to the family, eating, singing, playing catch enough nerve to tell the old bartender war after church, dinner on the grounds, out behind the church on the old ball it was his first. Wouldn’t be his last, not the whole thing. You remember?” field they’d made of the former par- if he could help it. There was a silence, then Reese sonage back yard. The smells of fried He smoked, and thought of his young said, “Yeah, I remember. I know if it chicken, corn on the cob slathered cousin, who’d be just young enough to was me, I’d wanna be anywhere but with butter, and the taste of his Aunt miss this damn war if his luck held. there. Even on Sunday.” He looked Edna’s homemade jelly stack cake lin- If not…Billy shuddered. A cold wind up at Billy. “I don’t think war is a very blew in from the open window, wafting good thing, do you?” the curtains his mother had bought Billy tossed his cigarette butt out him for Christmas last year. of the open window onto the side of Billy knew he was headed the old rock gravel road. “No, Reese, for the Pacific Ocean. He’d be I don’t think war is a good thing. But fighting some little country this one…this one’s different. We gotta called Japan that he’d never go over there and stop the Japs.” He heard of—at least until Pearl looked down at Reese. “You do know Harbor—and it was one he what’s goin’ on out there, don’tcha?” never thought he’d ever see “Of course, I know. I just thought…” short of a newsreel. Then he Reese gazed away from his cousin— got drafted, and he went, ’cause his best friend—the only one who that’s what you did when your knew he’d decided to be a preacher, country called—you went, and and didn’t say anything. you served, and you fought, and “I’ll come back, kid. I prom—” maybe poured out your life’s Reese shook his head. “Don’t, blood on some damn tropical Billy. Don’t make a promise you island somewhere. can’t keep.” He shook himself, putting out The roar of the road noise the smoldering cigarette in the changed as they hit the dirt again, ashtray on his dresser. Never turned into the trail to Reese’s smoked in bed, not in his life. house. They’d prom- ’Twas a rule, a rule ised to have him he’d followed ever home before dark, since his dad had for reading up on He’d come home from Basic just caught him smoking his Bible before his out behind the big Sunday school class. long enough to pull in the memories, tobacco barn, twist- When Reese stood memories he knew he’d hold close ing leaves of the up out of the car, cured tobacco into in the open door, inside wherever he went from now on. a cigar. All his dad he turned back to had done was say, Billy. “I know you “Don’t hide, boy. gotta go, Billy. I just don’t have to like gered long after the afternoon had Just be careful. You could’ve burned it,” he said. Reese turned and ran up ended. The sounds were in his head the barn down, and then we’d have no the concrete steps into the light of the as he lay on this bed that night, think- way of making a living.” and they went open front door of the old farmhouse, ing of the long ride in the car in the to his store down the road that his the wrap-around porch echoing to his mornin’, the seemingly endless train Uncle Ed ran for him, the one papered slamming feet. ride up to New York and to the docks; in red tarpaper just like the shanty town Ben pulled the car back out onto the then off to the troop ship and the loom- they’d built for the farm workers, the drive trail, dust billowing up behind ing ocean voyage. ones whose black skin glistened in the the car. Billy turned and stared out The hoot of an owl stood him up, heat of a summer day and smelled like the back window, as if he could see and he reached for his cigarettes on a hard day’s work to Billy. through the walls of the old house, the dresser top, lighting one with a Leaning back on his propped up pil- wanting to see his cousin once more, match from a pack he’d picked up at lows, he picked up his writing pen, and

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 30 S h o r t S t o r y He stood up, stretching, got his headed downstairs to the front parlor, some paper, and finished a letter to his clothes off, hung them on the back of where his parents were waiting to say cousin. He put the letter in an envelope, the valet chair, and, in his undershirt goodbye. sealed it, and put it inside of his desk and shorts, got into the bed, the cool Bible, the one he’d be leaving here. He’d fall wind blowing in on his suddenly *** take the little Bible they’d be giving him shivering body. Uncle Jake paused and leaned back in Basic, the one that fit in your front Yes, I’m afraid, God. I don’t want in his rocking chair still turning the old pocket, right over your photograph over in heart. No atheists in his hands. “Years foxholes, indeed. He’d take the little Bible they’d later,” he said, “I Billy dropped to watched Reese his knees beside his be giving him in Basic, the one stand beside Billy’s bed like he’d not done weathered grave- since he was a little that fit in your front pocket, stone, watching boy. Hands folded, right over your heart. his own father— head bent over them, your Granddaddy he spoke to his God L u c i u s — b e i n g about a lot of things, lowered into but mostly about that young boy right to go. But I have too. If this madness the deep dark hole beside your down the road, the one he hoped would isn’t stopped over there, it will come Grandmomma Edna’s grave. Your live to not fight in this war or any here. And nobody will be safe, not daddy’s hair ruffled in the wind as he other, the one all the hopes of his kin- even Reese. tried to think of something to say, but folk rested on. The one who would He slept in spurts and fits, and the tears in his throat stopped up his be a preacher, and lead a life of love woke from a terrible nightmare of mouth. Somebody tugged at his jacket, and hope and glory, not of blood and exploding armament and screaming and I saw one of your cousins holding guts and sandy beaches covered with dismembered bodies, and blood, and up some flowers. barbed wire, where a man could cut darkness growing over the earth. He “‘Can I give these to Uncle Lucius?’ himself to death just trying to crawl. shook himself, got cleaned up, and she asked.

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 31 S h o r t S t o r y shame that boy going off to fight a war yawning, your brother asking when “He just nodded and the little girl and dying on the shores of some damn were you gonna eat next. Our eyes set them on the headstone. A bird sang island before he even got a chance met through the car windows. A nod in the distance as she walked back to live much. See you cleaned off the of the head, a crank of the car, and I to her grandparents. Reese looked at stone. His momma would’ve been glad drove away. them, and they at him. Then they all for it. She’s been gone from us for a “The drive to the old church took nodded, something unspoken in the air while now, you know,’ I said. ‘Damned about ten minutes, by which time the between them. shame,’ I said again. hungry ones had settled down in the “Reese and your momma were “Reese put his hand on my shoulder back seat, and your sister Kathy up walking toward the car with you kids; and squeezed. Some things didn’t need front between your parents—right in she wanted to get the air conditioning saying, but you said them anyway. It’s front of the air conditioner—had quit going so Kathy wouldn’t start cough- the way things were. ‘I know, Uncle coughing. When y’all got out at the ing and get sick again. He sighed, and Jake, I know. I miss him every day,’ church, your brother ran off with his turned to the tombstone at his side. Reese said, ‘Even with a house full of cousins to play ball while Olga and you “The flag etched into the granite kids, and a girl off in college now, I still girls headed inside the fellowship hall. was looking a little worn and dirty. miss him. Always will, I guess.’ Reese stood and watched the boys Reese took out his handkerchief and “He turned back to his father’s playing and a stray memory of Billy wiped the muck off the stone. ‘I still grave. ‘Tell Billy hello for me, Daddy. and the Saturday afternoon of the fish- miss you, Billy. You were right. War is And I’ll keep on going, and preaching, ing trip loomed up in his mind. a damned waste.’ and trying to get people to listen to the “And he remembered the conver- “Then he looked up quickly to see Lord’s way.’ sation on the other side of the old if anyone heard the preacher cussing, “We walked back to our cars, Reese Packard, and the next day, and the and looked right up into my eyes. ‘It’s getting in beside your momma with ball game where Billy let him make okay, Reese. I agree with you. Damned the car full of all you kids, who were a homer, hitting the ball almost into

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SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 32 S h o r t S t o r y tell you different.’ the knee. “I know, Uncle Jake. Daddy Old Lady Brogdon’s back porch win- “He turned his head to look out the talked about Billy a lot, at least to me. dow next to the church. And the next window at the waning afternoon, and He told me and you both about that mornin’, as he watched through the could almost see a body standing in a time at the church after Granddaddy back window of the old school bus, nearly transparent veil of something Lucius’s funeral, when he thought he’d headed for the first seen Billy.” day of his high school Standing to my years, seeing Billy He turned his head to look out feet, I leaned over through the dust—as and hugged him. if from a distance of the window at the waning afternoon “I’ll see you in a many years—know- month,” I said. ing he’d never see and could almost see a body standing He smiled, look- him again, this side ing off into the of Heaven. in a nearly transparent veil. . . distance. “Maybe, “Shaking himself maybe not,” he from the memories, answered. he went inside to the others, where over by the old oak tree on the church I turned to look where he was look- they held his hands, and fed his family, grounds. The figure lifted his hand, ing and just caught a glimpse of a and he let go of the future for a while, saluted, and settling his square cap on khaki figure, insubstantial as smoke, remembering the way ’twas of things, his head, walked off into the rising fog walking away in the waning light of things he’d never really forgotten, but of the cold October evening.” the evening. hidden away. “Reese could almost feel Billy watch- *** Born & raised in SC, Rebecca Swope ing over his shoulder as he watched his Uncle Jake shook himself a little, graduated from Carson-Newman young family, his teenage son especial- and I pushed the old quilt up into his College in 1974 with a degree in ly, and could almost hear Billy telling lap. He grinned down at me, and said, Theater Arts. A member of Mystery him, ‘Don’t ever forget to teach your “Yeah, guess I got a little carried away Writers of America, she now lives son that killing is wrong, even when there, didn’t I, child? Reese used to in Florida and works as Assistant the guy on the other end of the gun is a come and talk to me a lot after that, Director of Worship Arts at First total bad un, even when you know you you know. I guess we both wanted to United Methodist Church of Boca gotta kill him or be killed, ’cause he’s remember Billy and Lucius and Edna Raton. She’s also the proud mom of in the same boat you’re in. And war is and all the ones that’re gone now.” a Marine. hell, boy, pure T hell. Don’t let anybody I reached up and touched him on

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 33 P o e t r y R e v i e w

Northbound Single-Lane by Marsha Mathews Finishing Line Press AA PoeticPoetic TravelogueTravelogue ofof thethe HeartHeart

arsha Mathews’s book of poetry, Northbound Single-Lane is more than an interstate journey; Grasshopper it’s a guided tour through the tender hidden cham- Clearwater, Florida bers of the heart. MM When I was ten, Dr. Mathews, who I sneaked a hypodermic needle teaches writing at Georgia’s Dalton from my mother’s nursing bag, State College, begins filled it with red food coloring. the collection with “Grasshopper,” a pen- sive look back at a child- I went out on the back porch, hood memory that fore- got the mayonnaise jar, shadows the oncoming unscrewed the lid, slowly, storms she would come to face. With the doors so I could get my hand in to her emotional jour- to grab the grasshopper. ney thrown open, she takes the reader by the hand as she shares her I injected him. times of joy, loss and despair before discov- His straw color turned ering the acceptance of the travails of life. the color of a tangerine The honesty that & every bit as radiant. she employs is both I ached for something refreshing and heart- breaking as she takes to inject myself with us through the breakup to make me shine. of her marriage—and escape—through the heavy hanging sadness I took the grasshopper of her father’s death. tears, struggles and breakdowns some- to the meadow In “Breakdown” she writes, “At the how worth the effort of continuing back behind the creek, pool, troubles float. I sit back & for- down all the interstates, highways and get our U-Haul trailer, everything dirt roads. The glittering destination & watched him hop away, we own that wasn’t his in the weeds that Dr. Mathews finds and shares robbed of natural protection. beside the Interstate.” You can almost with her readers is the culmination of Same way lipstick and high heels see the shimmering waves of heat the little victories that she has man- refracting the eighteen-wheelers on aged to gather over the course of later did me in. the nearby interstate as she ponders the journey—the little jewel that is both her past and her destiny, while Northbound Single-Lane. her daughters splash happily in the Super Saver Motel’s tiny pool. —David Ray Skinner As her journey progresses through the book’s poetry, the reader is com- For information about purchasing a forted in the fact that there is, indeed, copy of Northbound Single-Lane, visit: an ultimate treasure that makes the http://www.finishinglinepress.com.

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 34 Southern Music M e m o i r Illustration of Lefty Frizzell by Lisa Phillips Owens | ©2012 Lisa Phillips Owens

Lefty Frizzell: A Story of a One of a Kindness by Lee Owens grew up in a household very different from most middle don’t really like to tell tales on people, class homes. My dad never went to a regular job. He stayed so I have kept my silence about most of them except in the circles of fam- behind closed doors in a converted double garage with ily and music business acquaintances. other men armed only with musical instruments and their It is bad manners to gossip about minds writing songs around the clock to supply many of the people. The shelves of libraries are littered with a thousand tell-all and country music hits of the day. mommy-dearest books, and frankly, IIOur existence was very removed the breed” someone said once. I find it a bit crass and tiresome. To from that of other families. I never People in show business came in be in show business successfully is an once considered that people went to and out of the house on a regular basis, extremely unusual thing. It takes guts work and had regular lives. All I knew, and on many occasions, I accompa- and a tunnel vision attitude that is not through osmosis, was if your talent nied my father on business trips into conducive to family life. That is just was good enough, you could make Nashville where so many adventures plain fact. In spite of this, many people money with it. I was sort of “born to happened they would fill ten books. I manage to have families. Only some

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 35 Southern Music M e m o i r Veil,” which became a standard and manage to do so with what could be lying like crazy, plagiarizing and telling has been covered by everyone from truly considered healthy family exis- my school friends that I had written Johnny Cash to Bruce Springsteen. tences. I break my silence now at the songs I had in fact not written at all. About five years later, he came back urging of many friends because there I was pretty much abnormal in that again with another hit that was writ- is an interesting overview of which I respect. I think adolescence is a horrid ten by Bill Anderson and Don Wayne had never thought. A duality to this time for pretty much everyone—we all (the recently deceased writer of Cal story that is redemptive in many ways crave some sort of acceptance. I took Smith’s big hit “Country Bumpkin”). and insightful in many others. it to some ultra dramatic level, though. The tune was “Saginaw, Michigan,” and The existence was rather like living In retrospect, I think it was because it became a signature song for Lefty. in some sort of bubble isolated from no one in that circle of my father’s Lefty was such a force in country many aspects of the real world. All of friends—including him—would have music that my father, A.L. “Doodle” my waking hours were dedicated to ever understood or accepted the Owens (http://www.nashvillesong- learning another sort of music than kind of music I was creating on my writersfoundation.com/l-o/al-doodle- the type with which my father had own, in secrecy. At 15, when I even- owens.aspx) and his partner, Dallas been associated. Like so many other tually did show some of my work, to Frazier (http://www.nashvillesong- Americans, I had been bitten with the my astonishment, people seemed to writersfoundation.com/d-g/dallas-fra- guitar craze when the post-Kennedy think it showed maturity beyond my zier.aspx) wrote a song in 1972 called British invasion of the Beatles had years. This was incredibly untrue, but “Hank and Lefty Raised My Country hit the U.S. with the force of a large I enjoyed the praise because I rarely Soul” about the influence Lefty and hurricane. I was Hank Williams had on only seven then, people. It was and we were recorded at that still a year away To say that Lefty Frizzell has been time by Emmylou from living in Harris, Stoney Nashville, but imitated and literally copied by Edwards, Moe it had affected Bandy and me greatly. many is a huge understatement. many others. After that The original there was no “hit” was by turning back. Stoney Edwards, Having been a sickly and introverted received any form of it from my father, whose record was quite inspiring. kid, I had earlier been affected not at least directly. Emmylou’s version may be found on only by literature (I learned to read at This gets us out of background her first effort, “Pieces of The Sky” two), but by Hank Williams, Ray Price, information and into my story. My (although it didn’t make the final cut Pee Wee King and His Golden West father had many good friends and on the first release of the record in Cowboys, Frank Sinatra, and Frankie many co-writers. Some of the people 1972, it was released on the CD ver- Laine. In short, I lived in my head. So who recorded his songs would even sion in 2004 as a bonus track, having by the time I was a teenager and my come to the house at times. One of been part of the original sessions for father had moved us to Nashville from these people was a guy named Lefty the album). The song has since been Waco, Texas and truly carved out a Frizzell. To say he is imitated and liter- covered by several other people. In the career, I had manufactured a reality ally copied by many is a huge under- late sixties my father and Lefty became that wasn’t very congruent with true statement. Vocally he is probably the friends, and Lefty began recording reality. At that time I truly believed that most influential country singer of the many of my dad’s songs. His last single if I worked hard enough to become a twentieth century. This is obvious in before he passed away, “Falling,” was really good writer and singer, I would the voices of Merle Haggard, George written by my father and Sanger D. get noticed by the people in the music Jones, Keith Whitley, John Anderson, “Whitey” Shafer. business offices and do it on my own. and George Strait, just to name a few. Much has been written about Lefty Looking back, I can definitely now see They have all literally copied or mim- and a great deal of it unfortunately just how naïve this attitude truly was. icked Lefty in some way. has dwelled on his problems. I am not I knew many of my father’s friends Between 1950 and 1954, Lefty had here to criticize anyone else’s ideas and was a constant source of amuse- 14 TOP TEN singles on the national or remembrances. I just wish to tell a ment to many of them, because I was country music charts. He was huge. story in which he exhibited so much so dedicated to the cause at such an It seemed no one could surpass him. kindness, encouragement and compas- early age. However, I never got serious His career had ups and downs in the sion toward a young man it reminds until my mid-teens as far as showing late fifties but recovered in 1959 with one of an old Yiddish word that is anything I had written to anyone, and the enormously popular Danny Dill- almost overused. The word is mensch. I spent a good part of my early teens Marijohn Wilkin song “Long Black It means a person of integrity and

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 36 Southern Music M e m o i r in mid-pour at the fourth hole with the honor. In my eyes he shall always began to show up at the house when he stern, “Lefty Frizzell, are you corrupt- exemplify that definition fully. was in Nashville, and I always enjoyed ing my teenager?” She always used first I met Lefty for the first time when his visits. and last names when irritated. I was almost 10. It was 1967, and he There is a really funny story about “Why, no Mary Ann, I am just had just recorded a song of my father’s Lefty and me that dates back to when showing him what not to do called “Get This Stranger Out Of Me” I was 14. Much to the horror of my when he gets older.” Then he for the Columbia started to laugh uproariously. label as a sin- My mom couldn’t gle. He was an help but laugh extremely kind “I am just showing him what not with him and then guy who would said, “You two always take the to do when he gets older,” said Lefty, get inside. I have time to talk to dinner ready. you if you were laughing uproariously. Who wants pork a kid. I had chops, mashed remembered potatoes and his name from green beans?” a 78 rpm I had as a younger kid called mother, Lefty taught me how to spike “Me!” I said. “If You’ve Got The Money (I’ve Got The a watermelon with a fifth of vodka out- “Me, either!” Lefty chimed in his Time).” The record was in a stack of side of my father’s music workroom. He unusual slang, and he carefully placed old 78’s that my grandfather had given cut a triangular plug out of one end of the watermelon in the rear floorboard me (along with a hi-fi!) just after I had the melon and poured a quarter of the driver’s side of his car. The watermel- major surgery at the age of five. Lefty bottle into the fruit. He then replaced on wasn’t brought up again after that. was from Corsicana, Texas, which was the plug and rotated the melon to the About a year later, I wrote my first just up the road from our hometown opposite side on the same end of the couple of serious songs and people of Waco, so there was always a good melon and did it again. The process began to take notice. Soon after, I relationship between my father and was then repeated on the other end wrote two songs that I still like a great him. Subsequently, he was very much of the melon. Unfortunately for both deal. To this day, I am somewhat sur- fun for me to be around, as well. He of us, my mother caught the two of us prised that they came springing from

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SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 37 Southern Music M e m o i r a minute before I looked up. Then I that completely unreal world of my And Mary the housekeeper looked directly at Lefty. He was openly head. One of the songs was about a guy had breakfast on the burner weeping. I knew he had recently split who awoke to a startling realization in And when I asked where Annie was, with his wife, Alice, and he had loved the morning. It was entitled “Finding a question filled her face her very much. What little I knew was Annie Gone,” and I sort of kept it under it was a very private matter to him, and wraps. I played it for my dad and he The only vows we ever made he had been very heartbroken over it. I sort of sat there quietly for about three were recited to ourselves knew this because he was very matter- minutes. I never could get a direct And through the years I guess their of-fact about it with friends he trusted. reaction from him unless it was criti- meanings had increased, at least We were rather like family to him, so cal. He told me Lefty was coming over Enough to let me find myself we knew. I remember realizing that the following day and urged me to play afraid to wake alone the song might have stirred up a bit of the song for him when he arrived. I And afraid I’d wake one morning some of that, and perhaps it did, I don’t told him there was no way I was going Finding Annie Gone know. That is a matter that should be to do that. He asked me to trust him left up to what Jefferson Davis called on this one thing. I really didn’t trust Then all at once it hit me the “picklocks of biographers.” Then him and hardly slept all night imagin- my Annie wasn’t home he surprised me, and he wiped away ing myself to be the object of great And Mary said my nice young lady the tears and said, “I want you to listen laughter and much derision the follow- hadn’t been gone long to me very carefully, and I want you ing afternoon. And suddenly the rain cleared up to make ol’ Lefty a promise, now, you About one o’clock Lefty arrived and I looked up at the sky hear?” and I hid for about fifteen minutes. And it was the same shade I said, “Okay,” rather half-heartedly. Eventually, however, I was summoned. as Annie’s eyes He said, “No, no, no…I don’t want When I slowly descended the four you to blow me off, now. I want you to steps into the work room, Lefty said, The only vows we ever made take this seriously and listen to what “Play me a song, Pal.” (There were were recited to ourselves I am saying, now!” He said this with only two guys I ever knew who called And through the years I guess their such conviction I just sat in resignation me “Pal,” and both of them put me meanings had increased, at least and nodded. “I want you to promise me more at ease when they did it…one Enough to leave me wondering that no matter what—well, no matter was Mickey Newbury and the other how I can go on what those bastards in those offices was Lefty.) I nervously sat at the Since I woke up this morning uptown throw at you to tell you that piano and began to unfold my story to remember Annie’s gone you haven’t got a lick of sense or a bit as follows. of talent—that you will not quit play- I pulled myself out of a pleasant ing, writing or singing. Will you make Finding Annie Gone* dream and slowly fell awake that promise to ol’ Lefty right now? Keeping my eyes closed ’Cause we aren’t leaving this room I pulled myself out of a pleasant within that sleepy haze awhile until you do.” dream and slowly fell awake And as I hid from the light, “But why?” Keeping my eyes closed within I felt for Annie’s body “Never you mind why. I don’t want that sleepy haze awhile And the bedclothes you getting a swelled head. That was And as I hid from the light, were still quite warm on her side good work. You need to keep working, I felt for Annie’s body that’s all. Do you give me your promise And the bedclothes When I finished, I nervously waited that you won’t quit?” were still quite warm on her side “Sure, I do.” “Say it.” The only vows we ever made “I promise.” were recited to ourselves “You promise what?” he asked. And through the years I guess “I promise I won’t quit.” their meanings had increased, at least enough to let me find myself afraid to wake alone And afraid I’d wake one morning Finding Annie Gone “No matter what?” “No matter what.” I tried to sound I got up and pulled my pants like I meant it, and now, thinking back on and headed for the kitchen on it, I believe I really did mean it. I Stopping only long enough to lis- had never had anyone ask anything ten to the morning rain like this of me.

*Finding Annie Gone by Lee Owens | Copyright 1979 Milene Music SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 38 Southern Music M e m o i r to be nice to him and be his friend as “Good…now we can both relax and Music, on the other hand, and from much as a young teenager was capable get on with things. Don’t you ever for- the brighter side, has always been of doing. get this day, son.” somewhat of a saving grace to me. In It is only with age that I am seeing I always felt a little odd about that retrospect, my promise to Lefty has the enormous honor it was to have had day. I was sixteen years old, and it helped me sail through the roughest someone of Lefty’s stature ask me to was the summer of 1974. I never times in my life. The opportunity to make this sort of promise. I was just a could figure out what the big deal was play and write music has introduced kid. It was as if he could see my future. when I was young, but I was certain me to some of the most interesting and It is astounding he knew that many it was important to keep the promise. creative people in the entire world, in the industry would not see it as a Consequently, in some odd way I clung many with whom I have worked. It has future for me. to it through many troubles in my life. given me the ability to start with noth- I have been lucky enough to rub I have kept the promise. There have ing but an idea in a recording studio elbows with many well-known people been, however, two sides to the prom- and miraculously—six or seven hours in the music industry and even luckier ise. One side can be called the dark and later—to be able to emerge with a liv- to have worked with some of them. rather alienated side. This came from ing and breathing musical entity. Most, if not all of them, have had a me attempting to deal with real people Hopefully, I have come out of the great love and respect of the music with functional lives. With myself hav- difficult parts of my life with some- itself, first and foremost. ing grown up in the bubble, I had little what of a decent ability to express The second thing is my obsession experience with them at all. It also myself with what is hopefully a good to keep going, no matter what. I sup- came from deal- pose Lefty knew that I had that, or at ing with execu- least would even- tives in the music tually have that. I industry whose What it was like to hear him think he wanted power madness do it in person was so incredibly the promise that is legendary. he extracted The other amazing, there aren’t adjectives from me to serve side is the as sort of an r e d e m p t i v e expressive enough for it. advance gift— side. This one to give me a allowed me leg up. He knew to express myself and somehow get amount of honesty and descriptive- I was too green to really see what he emotions out in a hopefully elegant ness to get my point across succinctly. was saying, and it would take years and somewhat individual way when The only thing important (once again) and experience before I understood it I was so accustomed to living in a is that the promise has been kept. fully. My life is all the better for it, in world inside my head. In many ways, When I review this promise, my spite of all the ups and downs. this provided a needed catharsis and main thought is I did not think of One important thought to remember sort of kept me from exploding inside Lefty as a “living legend” at that time. about those of us that play music... myself. He was just a friend of my father’s many of us can not help being Once again, from the darker side, I who commanded respect, because he removed from the realities of normal have been avoided, derided, and told had success in the industry. He was life. Most of us try our best to stay to quit. I’ve been labeled “too British,” an extremely kind man who had a grounded, but all too often, it is diffi- “too country,” “not country enough,” sense of fun and mischief about him. cult to maintain any sense of normalcy “too folky,” “too much like the Beatles,” However, his ability to bend a note with what we do. In the end, many of “overproduced,” “too retro,” and gen- with such feeling when he sang was us find an answer in some sort of spiri- erally everything the executives didn’t indescribable, and I do not exaggerate tual grounding. Frankly, and at the risk want. when I say the following: What it was of being dogmatic, I think that is the On the personal side, I have been like to hear him do it in person was best solution to all of life’s ills. divorced, and I’ve watched so many so incredibly amazing, there aren’t Einstein once said, “Everybody is relationships destroyed they are almost adjectives expressive enough for it! I a genius. But if you judge a fish by its too numerous to count—all because I was always impressed with that. That ability to climb a tree, it will live its chose this path. In truth, I simply had really was something I cherish in my whole life believing that it is stupid.” no reference point for being able to childhood in retrospect. I remember For years, I thought there was some- relate to many normal people for many feeling so incredibly sad for him about thing wrong with me because I didn’t years. It has taken a very long time the breakup of his marriage, because it know how to fit in with people who and many life lessons for me to inte- was written all over him in every ges- were not in show business. Perhaps grate myself into normal society and ture and every note he sang. He was my friend Lefty Frizzell knew this fact break out from the “bubble.” devastated by all of that. I just tried all those years ago, and that music

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 39 Southern Music M e m o i r The second being http://www.amazon. would be my saving grace. Perhaps Hall of Fame as seen here and refer- com/Look-What-Thoughts-Will-Do/dp/ he also knew I needed to keep my enced before in the links for Frazier B000002AD4/ref=ntt_mus_ep_dpi_2 shoulder to the wheel and continue, and Owens. It is alphabetical and is which is a very good look at his early and and somehow, eventually this unreal a great source of information. http:// middle career. By far the best and most Pinocchio would become a real boy, www.nashvillesongwritersfounda- exhaustive collection is for the audio even if, at one time, it was just a block tion.com. enthusiast; it has many songs that of wood. Admittedly, blocks of wood were actually unreleased that my father shed splinters, and splinters hurt, but I would be remiss if I did not tell wrote, including my favorite from the most growth as a human being hurts, you to look for the work of Mike late career, “I Wonder Who’s Building as well. I prefer to think of myself as a Copas, Pete Cummings, Randy the Bridge (Who’s Getting Her Over work in progress. Powers, Dan Pelton, Rob Callahan, Me)” for which I cannot find a release. Lefty most certainly was a regular Steve Newton, the late Lee Davis, The collection is the now out of print human being, and I am better for hav- Steve Hill, Wade Seymour, the late “Lifes Like Poetry” on the German Bear ing known him. The promise I made to Keith Palmer, Roger Ferguson, Billy Family label which can only be found him has taught me many lessons, and Anderson, Dale Brann, the late Dave from the wonderful site www.gemm. I am brimming over with gratitude for McCaskell, Chicago Charlie Fink, the com (These people can help you find that summer day in 1974 when music late Stanley Hedges, but especially anything). It is a 12-CD set and as far and personal growth really began to Butch Davis and the absolute genius as I know covers everything Lefty ever get very serious for me. He could sing, of Sam Hankins wherever you see recorded. Here is the link. http://www. and he could think of others. Those songs. I hope you find them. I have gemm.com/c/search.pl?field=ARTIST+O are both extraordinary gifts. I suppose worked with or grown up with all R+TITLE&wild=Life%27s+Like+Poetry the biggest lesson of all in Lefty’s one- these guys. They are all amazing &Go!.x=0&Go!.y=0&Go!=Search. It is a of-a-kindness was that in thinking of musicians, players and artists. Look wonderful collection. others, we somehow find solutions for and discover them. for our own problems. This has most certainly proven itself through many A million thanks to David and Jo difficult lessons I have learned in my Frizzell for their generous time, encour- time on this planet. It was grand to agement and for keeping the sense of have a consummate professional there family that has run between our two for me when I was so young. (families) for many years in giving generous permission to write this arti- Lee Owens cle. Most of all, all my love and thanks Hudson, Florida to my dear wife, Lisa Phillips Owens, 22 Feb 2012 who did the stellar oil painting of Lefty at the beginning of this article. Some of Author’s Note: Not too many years her work can be found online where you after I sat down at my dad’s work- can purchase prints in several different shop piano and played “Finding forms. Check out: http://fineartamerica. Annie Gone” for Lefty, I had the com/profiles/lisa-phillips.html opportunity to demo the song in a The Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame Nashville recording studio. (Click For the best information on Lefty Foundation is a non-profit organization on www.SouthernReader.com/ Frizzell, read his brother, David’s book, FindingAnnieGone.MP3 to hear it.) “I Love You A Thousand Ways.” It dedicated to honoring and preserving The informality of the performance, can be purchased in standard book the songwriting legacy that is uniquely due to my teenage nerves in the form or audio book @ http://www. associated with the Nashville music recording studio, is a perfect example davidfrizzell.com/merchandise.htm of just how green I was as a musi- along with David’s great CD’s, as well. community. Its purpose is to educate, cian. What Lefty heard would have It can also be had at Amazon.com in celebrate and archive the achievements been even more raw. It underscores book form. and contributions made by members of just how kind he was to take me seri- ously as an artist. For Lefty’s music, in the mid-priced the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame range I recommend two overviews: to the world. Web pages for Danny Dill, Marijohn The best being http://www.amazon. Wilkin, Bill Anderson, Sanger D. com/Thats-Way-Life-Goes-1950-1975/ “Whitey” Shafer, Lefty Frizzell and dp/B0002MPQN2/ref=sr_1_7?ie=U Don Wayne are all listed in the TF8&qid=1333280017&sr=8-7 as a nashvillesongwritersfoundation.com Nashville Songwriter’s Foundation complete career overview of the hits.

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 40 S o u t h e r n F l y i n g

AA FlyingFlying FamilyFamily ReunionReunion by Ron Burch spent much of my early working life as an account my family members were few and far between. Matter of fact, we’d never executive for several graphics production firms. had a family reunion. Even if we did, In those positions, I assisted ad agency and corpo- everyone eligible to attend could sit in II our smallish den without us bringing in rate accounts alike in producing their ads and executing extra chairs! their print marketing ideas. Typical of the pal he was, Ronnie Success came from failsafe perfor- warm atmosphere—especially at the chimed-in, “Come on Burch, go with mance and in establishing and invest- bar where we chose to put on the us—there’ll be plenty of food—and ing big time into long-lasting busi- feedbag. We’d grab a stool, order a there’s an extra bedroom at my wife’s ness relationships. Over time, some of beverage and begin nibbling on an aunt’s house, where we’ll stay. Come these business relationships evolved unlimited supply of cheesy Goldfish on, man, it’ll do you good and it’ll into personal friendships. That was the crackers that somehow tasted bet- be fun.” I thanked him for being so case with my good friend Ronnie—one ter than what we’d get at the grocery gracious, but declined. I felt family time, the production manager for one store. We’d chat with each other and reunions were personal occasions— of the largest ad agencies south of New with the other Friday regulars. Also far too personal to be opened up to York City. with Shirley, the cute, dark-haired gal outsiders. For many years, Ronnie and I had a behind the bar, who took very good “No way,” he exclaimed. You can standing business lunch every Friday. care of us. bring your guitar and join in with my It was the age of unlimited expense We always ordered the same thing: brother-in-law on Saturday night. My accounts and we took proper advan- a couple of sprucers, a bowl of clam wife will sing; you can too. Believe me, tage. Some Fridays we’d visit the hot chowder and a side of crab legs. At it’ll be a hoot.” He was nothing if not spots. On others, we’d go back to the close of the meal, our conversation persistent. a favorite. After ten years of spend- would typically turn to the weekend I thought about it for a couple of ing nearly every Friday morning on and any special weekend plans. minutes and said, “Okay, sport. If the phone with the old boy trying to That Friday in late July was no dif- you’re serious, and if my wife doesn’t decide where we would go to lunch, ferent. Ronnie said that that weekend, have anything important planned, we’ll we finally made a popular restaurant he and his wife were traveling to South go...on one condition: we’ll take the at the intersection of Peachtree and Georgia to attend her family reunion. airplane and eliminate the driving.” Spring Streets in midtown Atlanta our He was looking forward to the compa- “Super,” he said, “how long will it Friday default. ny and the food, but not the four-hour take us to get there?” It wasn’t the food that took us there; drive. I smiled and told him he should “Without looking at a chart, I’d say it was the friendly service and the be grateful for family. As an only child, about an hour and a half. Beats the

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 41 S o u t h e r n F l y i n g wives in the back, and everything else Ronnie, last night when I did the flight heck out of a four hour drive,” I said in the baggage compartment, accord- plan, I calculated your weight at 210 reassuringly. ing to my calculations and the own- and your wife’s at 165. Is that reason- We agreed that we would meet at er’s manual, the airplane would be at ably accurate?” the airport at 8:30 am on Saturday maximum gross weight and within the He broke into laughter. “You gotta morning. As we were slap in the mid- center of gravity envelope for take- be kidding? I weigh closer to 240 and dle of the summer’s worst dog days, I off—barely. No sweat. she’ll only admit to 190. Is that a prob- wanted to be airborne and into cooler Saturday morning dawned bright lem?” air before the heat of the day began to and clear but very still. The air was I replied somewhat sheepishly, “Uh, build in earnest (small airplanes aren’t heavy, thick; hot and sticky. By the time no...uh, of course not.” Then when he air-conditioned). we arrived at the general aviation ramp wasn’t looking, I quietly removed my That night, I pulled out the aero- box of tools, a set of chocks and a nautical charts and planned the couple of spare quarts of oil from the details of the trip. We’d depart baggage area. “It shouldn’t be a prob- Atlanta to the south and then fly a lem,” I thought to myself, “these little southeasterly heading until we were airplanes are pretty forgiving of a well beyond the Atlanta/Hartsfield- little excess weight...aren’t they?” Jackson Class B Airspace on the I recalled one other such occa- east side. Once we were clear of sion when I still had my first air- Hartsfield-Jackson’s “big iron,” a plane, a 145-hp Cessna Skyhawk. course of 155° would take us direct- One brisk fall evening following a ly to “FZG”—the airport identifier flying club meeting, three two-hun- at Fitzgerald. dred pounders and me shoehorned I measured the total distance ourselves into that little Cessna and point-to-point as being roughly went for a ride over the city. Sure, 195 air miles—probably closer to old N1644Y squatted low, moaned 240 miles by car. With an aver- and groaned and creaked noisily as age groundspeed of 120 knots (140 we began our taxi to the runway... mph), our time en route at the and the ground roll was would be 1:24—darn longer than usual. close to the hour-and- I was looking dead ahead when But we made it out a-half I had estimated just fine...and since at the restaurant. my wife said we cleared the roof of my flight instruc- The next part of the K-Mart store just south of the field tor, who also went my pre-flight planning along, remained is what pilots call the by less than a hundred feet. quiet, I figured it “weight and balance.” must be okay to In airplanes, big and push the weight and small, consideration must be given to airport, the temperature was already balance past its limits—a least a little. the load you are carrying and how it past 82°. Our guests were waiting But that was then and this was now. is distributed inside the aircraft. My patiently on the tarmac, already drip- That was on a cool fall evening and little Beechcraft was a 200-hp, four- ping a small puddle of perspiration. this was the hot, hot summertime. So place airplane that had a useful load of As was my custom, I spent a good to be on the safe side, I declined the 1,057 pounds. With full fuel and eight fifteen minutes doing a very thorough 3750' runway, 20-right and asked the quarts of oil, we could carry roughly preflight—inspecting the exterior of controller in the tower for runway 690 pounds of payload—weight that the airplane and the control surfac- 20-left...over a mile of concrete, 150 could be allocated to passengers and es. I visually checked the fuel quan- feet wide...the longest runway on the luggage. tity, drained a fuel sample and looked field. I hoped 20-left would allow a At the time, I weighed in at 180; for contamination. Ronnie followed margin for error. my wife at 95. That left 415 pounds my every move. He was looking at Engine run-up and a check of the for Ronnie, his wife, and our com- his watch for the third time when I flight controls complete, we were soon bined luggage and gear. Now folks, unlocked the baggage compartment cleared for take-off. I taxied into posi- these guys were big people. I estimat- door and began to load the luggage. As tion at the north end of the runway, ed Ronnie’s weight at 210, his wife’s I stuffed our belongings into the rather locked the brakes, and pushed the at 165. After a little fifth grade math, smallish space behind the rear seat, throttle to full power. In the humid, roughly 40 pounds remained for lug- the bags seemed heavier than expect- less dense air, I went ahead and leaned gage, my guitar, the gal’s curlers and ed, and the thought of the weight and the mixture a bit in hopes of getting a hairdryers. balance again came to mind. few more horsepower out of the little With Ronnie and me in the front, the Huffing and puffing, I said “Hey Lycoming 4-banger.

SouthernReader | Spring/Summer 2012 42 S o u t h e r n F l y i n g my Captain’s composure. Suddenly, absolute blast. A release of the brakes, and we I noticed a somewhat foul odor. I If anyone knew that we weren’t started to roll—slowly, ever so slowly. thought to myself, “Is it Ronnie or is related to the hosts, they sure didn’t let At a position on the runway where I it me?” I checked my armpits as guys on. We were treated as family—kissed would normally be at 60-knots—the are prone to do. You betcha, it was by aunts and hugged by uncles. We minimum airspeed for a safe take-off me. I was dripping wet with sweat and were welcomed into everyone’s home —the airspeed indicator was still rest- smelling like a goat! In ten minutes of and into every activity with warmth ing on the left peg. It seemed not to terror, I’d used up four days, 23-hours, and friendship, southern style. be moving at all. A few hundred feet 59-minutes and 60-seconds of a five- On Sunday, after sleeping in and more down the runway, and it started day deodorant pad. making a few last-minute social calls, to move up slowly—only about a nee- The rest of the flight was incident we returned to the Fitzgerald airport. dle-width past 40-knots indicated. We free but I was quietly thinking ahead. We’d off-loaded all the spare gear rumbled past mid-field still well below With a fuel burn of 11 gallons per and baggage to a relative returning to take-off speed. hour and an allowance for take-off Atlanta in a big Buick station wagon. As the white Coupled with the fuel touchdown stripes burn on the flight painted every five down, we were roughly hundred feet on the The food was fantastic—a lot 160 pounds lighter at opposite end of the take-off than we were runway started to like funeral food, but even better in Atlanta—even con- pass underneath and more of it. sidering a weekend of the nose, I knew I heavy eating, was past the point Thanks to the extra of no return. In lit- lift supplied by the erally the last few hundred feet of con- and climb, we’d have used 18 gal- radiational heating from a hot asphalt crete, I applied the slightest backpres- lons of fuel by the time we arrived at runway and by a hot South Georgia sure to the control yoke to see if, by Fitzgerald. That meant we’d be almost cornfield beyond, the airplane literally chance, the airplane was ready to fly. 103 pounds lighter and within landing jumped off the ground. Soon we were The nose rose slightly, the stall horn limits. However, the lesson of dimin- high above it all in a clear blue South blared its warning. The airplane wal- ished performance from being over Georgia sky, dotted with white puffy lowed back and forth on the mains as gross weight had not been lost on me. clouds. the nose wheel gradually lifted inches I decided that there would be no steep Our return flight on that summer off the runway. We over flew the grassy turns in my approach to Runway 1 at afternoon was a breeze. We climbed to overrun at the end of the runway at no Fitzgerald, no sudden movements at 10,500 feet where the air coming into more than 50'. The airspeed was still all. I’d keep it high on approach, and the cabin was a cool 44˚ F. Ninety min- critically low and our rate of climb if everything didn’t look right, we’d go utes later, the late afternoon cumulous was ’nil. I was looking dead ahead around and try again. clouds in and around Atlanta caused a when my wife said we cleared the roof And go around we did. Twice. somewhat bumpy ride on the descent of the K-Mart Store just south of the On the third approach, we landed and approach into the airport, but no field by less than a hundred feet. In the and I squeaked the tires onto the tar- one seem to mind—especially yours meantime, our passengers were qui- mac. We taxied to the parking area truly. I’d been well fed, entertained and etly enjoying the view. I suppose they and somewhat weak in the knees, I embraced by a big, loving family—if thought take-offs in small planes were climbed down out of the airplane. We only for a weekend. always like this! loaded our gear into an awaiting car Oh, and I learned another lesson Riding a few thermals from —a big black Lincoln—coincidentally about flying that day: you can overload the asphalt below and slowly gain- being driven by the town’s mayor and a Cessna, but you can’t overload a ing altitude, I kept saying to myself, the uncle of my friend’s wife. Beechcraft! My wife noticed it, too and “Airspeed...watch your airspeed...don’t As soon as we arrived at the mayor’s said, “Maybe that’s why the doors on a stall this sucker.” We made what’s home, I excused myself, went into the Beechcraft are narrower than they are called a right-downwind departure bathroom, and took what we in the on a Cessna!” Yeah, right. from the airport traffic pattern. As I South call “a spit bath.” I borrowed my turned tail to the field, I breathed for wife’s roll-on and changed shirts. After retirement from a career in the first time in several minutes. We The weekend and the experience advertising and marketing, Ron were now 800 feet above the ground, of a family reunion in South Georgia Burch has authored a number of pub- climbing at 200 feet per minute with an was as much fun as Ronnie had prom- lished essays and magazine articles, indicated airspeed of 75 knots. ised. The food was fantastic—a lot in addition to a full-length novel. At 1000' I blew-out a long “whew,” like funeral food, but even better and shrugged my shoulders, recycled more of it. Best of all, the pickin’ and my neck and tried my best to regain grinnin’ on Saturday night was an

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