June 17th, 1994

(I actually wrote this last year on this date, but didn't finish it... so I had to wait an entire year for this to be relevant again...)

I'm sitting and watching one of the most fascinating documentaries I've ever seen, and its something I didn't think about today until I saw it... "June 17th, 1994" is the name of show, part of ESPN's 30 for 30 series--that's 30 documentaries by 30 filmmakers celebrating the last 30 years of sports stories...

Anyway, this particular show is directed by Brett Miller, and it chronicles one of the most famous (infamous?) days in sports history, Friday, June 17, 1994... here's what happened on that one single day:

Arnold Palmer, one of the legends of golf, one of the pioneers of the game as we know it today (I don't follow golf, yet I know about Arnold Palmer) played his final round of major golf on June 17th, 1994.  Clips show him moving slowly, as he misses a three foot putt near the end of the round (he played on the senior tour until 2005, which he retired from pro golf altogether)

Ken Griffey Jr hit his 30th home run of the 1994 baseball season, a shot over the right field wall off of Kansas City's David Cone, tying the record for most home runs before the end of June set by Babe Ruth.  Griffey had potential to become one of the greatest of all time, before injuries slowed his career.  He retired last season as an almost surefire Hall-of-Famer.  The 1994 season ended in a baseball strike.

The New York Rangers had their Stanley Cup Parade on June 17th, 1994.  They had defeated the Vancouver Canucks (who, incidentally just lost to Boston in the only other finals they were in) in a seven game series to win their first Stanley Cup in their until-then 54 year history.  It remains their only one to date.

The World Cup's opening ceremonies were on June 17th, 1994, at Soldier Field in Chicago, IL.  It was the first, and to this day, only World Cup to be held in America.  Germany beat Bolivia 1-0 in the first game, but Brazil defeated Italy in the finals to become the first country to win four World Cups.

Tied 2-2, the Houston Rockets and New York Knicks had Game Five of their seven game final series on June 17th, 1994, and for anyone who is a fan of the NBA, it was a monumental series.  Patrick Ewing, in his first NBA finals, looking to get the Knicks their first trophy since 1973, while Hakeem Olajuwon was in his prime.  The Rockets won this series 4-3, and would go on to sweep Shaq's Orlando Magic the following season for back-to-back titles.

And... there's OJ Simpson.

On my previous 9/11 posts, I've mentioned that there are certain moments in time, in the world of entertainment, history and the like, that you'll always remember where you were.  I'm too young to remember JFK's assassination, or even Reagan's assassination attempt (the former being 12 years before my time, the latter happening when I was only 4 or 5), two "Where Were You When...?" moments in history, but I remember four major events...

• I was in Mrs. Wikel's class when the Challenger exploded in January 1986 (and I was driving back from my very first day at Starbucks when the Columbia exploded in 2003, though that's not talked about a lot)
• I was at the beach with Darlene Bledsoe, Eddie Hamner and Margaret Dorman when Princess Diana was killed.
• I was working at WBPT, 106.9 The Point, with Rob & Shannon, when we discovered the World Trade Center was on Fire
• And, finally, I was working as a waiter between the summers of my freshman and sophomore year in college at The Wright Place in Samson, AL, set to turn on Game 5 of the NBA finals to play in the background while the diners ate, when CNN Headline News (my news channel of choice being a young Democrat at that time), announced that NFL Hall of Famer, Heisman Trophy Winner and movie personality Orenthal James Simpson was in the back of a white Bronco, being driven by who is thought to be friend and teammate Al Cowlins, and is on the verge of suicide--a warrant had been issued for his arrest that morning for the murders of his wife Nicole Brown Simpson and her friend Ron Goldman. 

In this TMZ influenced, interweb crazy, know-anything-about-anyone-the-instant-it-happens Twitter kind of society that we live in, people who are say, 25 and under, don't get it.  They only know of OJ Simpson by what the interweb and Wiki tells them happened, but back on June 17th, 1994, when there was no interweb accessable, when there was no Facebook and Twitter to immediately let you know things as they occurred, what happened that evening with OJ was... surreal.  Unthinkable.  And like an overturned 18 wheeler burning on the side of the road, you couldn't not watch it, even though you know you had so many other things to do.  Let me tell ya, this was crazy stuff. 

Now, OJ Simpson is a punchline.  Everything from "Yeah, he's searching every golf course in this country for Nicole's killers!" to "I hope he knows how to do that Hertz airport thing in prison" is what you hear when OJ's name is brought up, but back then?  He was beloved.  No kidding.  Its kinda like the difference in Michael Jackson then (biggest pop star in the entire world) and now (freak of nature, not to mention dead). 

For today's culture, it would be like hearing the news that Kobe Bryant had committed rape and... wait, what?  Okay, um... it would be like hearing the news that Tom Brady had committed two homicides... golden boy, talented, loved and adored, and completely shocked that he'd do that.  (Had I written this post two years ago, on June 17th, 2009, "Tiger Woods" would have been the easy choice in that analogy, but now, not so much).  OJ played at USC, then was drafted by the Buffalo Bills, and later played for the San Francisco 49ers.  In addition to becoming the first player to ever run for 2,000 yards in a single season (finished with 2,003 in 1973) he did it in a 14 game season, as opposed to the 16 game season we have now.  OJ is also the only player to rush for over 200 yards in six different games in his career.  Because his nickname was "The Juice", the Bills offensive line was known as "The Electric Company".  They weren't very good, but that's a cool, cool nickname.  And in 1985, he was inducted to the Pro Football Hall of Fame... the same year he married his second wife, Nicole Brown (they divorced in 1992)

He started his entertainment career even before he was done with the NFL, starring in such movies as "The Towering Inferno" and "Capricorn One", and in the miniseries "Roots", he hosted Saturday Night Live once, he was in a memorable and legendary spot for Hertz Rent-a-Car, and of course, he was the one and only Nordberg in all three The Naked Gun films.   Bottom line is, this guy was awesome.  OJ was the man.

And then, June 17th, 1994 happened. 

A few days before Nicole Brown and her friend Ron Goldman were found guilty outside of Brown's condo, apparently stabbed to death.  Police suspected OJ Simpson, and gave him until 11am, Friday, June 17th, to turn himself in.  By 2pm, the police had issued at APB for OJ, and at 5pm, Robert Kardashian...

(remember the days when Kardashian was somewhat of a respectable name?  At least it meant "lawyer".  And yes, he is the biological father of Khloe, Kim and Kourtney, with ex-wife Kris Jenner.  Where was I?)

Oh yeah.. Kardashian read a rambling letter issue by OJ, which sounded like a suicide note to many people.  At 645pm, police spotted OJ's white Ford Bronco traveling down I-405, but when they tried to pull it over, the driver--Al Cowlings--yelled that OJ had a gun to his own head.   They backed off, but continue to follow at around 35 miles per hour.  And so began this slow chase across Southern California, one that was picked up by just about every network, and cut in on all programming.   So here I am, 18, going on 19, waiting tables at a small, podunk restaurant, and every eye in the cafe are glued to the television.

The white Bronco continues, and people began gathering along the side streets and bridges, waving, cheering and holding up signs.  There were phone calls made from the SUV claiming there were guns, claiming there were death threats, and OJ yelling that he didn't do it.  The Bronco stopped in front of his Brentwood, CA, home where we watched it sit there for 45 minutes, we watched OJ go inside for an hour (and apparently spoke to his mother and actually drank a glass of orange juice), then come out and surrender to police.  Inside the Bronco, the police recovered $8,000 cash, some clothes, a passport, some pictures.... and a loaded .357 magnum and a fake moustache and gotee.   Thus ended a news story and low-speed chase that was watched by NINETY FIVE MILLION PEOPLE.  That's almost the amount of people who came to the first DeuceFest!

If you don't remember the results, the trial captivated the country a few years later, mostly because it was a ridiculous circus type event that Judge Lance Ito lost control over within the first few days.  And then on October 3rd, around 10am, the verdict came... I remember this day vividly too, because I was hanging out in the BCM when Joey Hinson, who lived in the apartment downstairs with Tad Roose, came out and yelled to no one in particular, "Hey!  The OJ verdict is about to be announced!" 

Several of us ran downstairs to hear the verdict, and all of us groaned.  Not guilty.  He got away with it.  I won't go into it here, but there is a mountain of evidence that was never even presented in the trial for one reason or another (like the contents of the Bronco), plus a whole lot of goofs by both sides.  Some years later, he was sued by the Goldman family, and a verdict of guilty was returned, with a penalty of $33,500,000 against OJ, but California law prevents pensions, like the his from the NFL, to be used in judgements, so all the Goldmans got was about $500K from the sale of OJ's estate and belongings.

When doing the cover art, The Goldman Family
had the "IF" reduced, so "I DID IT" would be
the only words you'd see clearly

After a 2000 Rolling Stone article was released revealing how much money OJ was making from signing autographs, he moved from California to Florida--where the law prevents an estate from being taken to collect a debt... OJ gets away again.

He skirted another judgement in January 2007 when a restraining order was dismissed, one that would have prevented him from spending any advance money from a cancelled book deal... one that had its rights auctioned off later that year, and was then awarded to the Goldman Family... the book was called "If I Did It: Confessions of the Killer". 

After all the skirting and escaping he had done legally, you'd think OJ would buy a house on the beach somewhere and settle down, maybe just be quiet.  But OJ strikes again--in September of 2007, a group of men led by OJ stormed into a Vegas hotel room and robbed the occupants at gunpoint.  He was arrested, and after all the other defendants turned on OJ and confessed against him for reduced sentences, OJ was convicted in September of 2008.

And in a huge "MY BAD, DAWG... HERE'S THE MAKE UP" from the United States Justice System, OJ Simpson was sentenced to 33 years in prison, with the possibility of parole in 9 years (2015).  He's in the Locklove Correctional Center in Nevada... inmate #1027820.

And thus ends the long, strange saga of OJ Simpson.  I'm afraid that nowadays, there are people out there who probably think he was railroaded, and completely innocent, not because of their beliefs in the evidence and trial, but because... well, so much time has gone by, its becoming a faded memory.

But not for me.  I'll remember June 17th, 1994. 

The Summer of Blogging, Day Seventeen

A Little Tip For You

The Lovely Steph Leann and I love to eat. We have no aversion to cooking for ourselves, but frankly, we just don’t want to many times, which is why we ended up in a booth at Don Pepe’s Mexican Grill tonight. We had just finished watching “Public Enemies”…

Quick review… “Public Enemies” is an excellent film. Starting out in 1933, it chronicles the bank robbery days of John Dillinger (Johnny Depp, in a great role) who was, of course, Public Enemy #1. He breaks out the penitentiary, meets a woman, travels with Baby Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd and a few others. Chasing down Dillinger is FBI agent Melvin Purvis and an assembled team of agents. The movie progresses, with the Feds getting everyone except Dillinger, leading to a final showdown. The movie is light on sexual scenes, light on language, but heavy on mobster violence, including a few close ups of dying criminals, bleeding from being riddled with bullets.

It does a great job of picturing Dillinger as the folk hero he was to the American public, and shows Purvis (an excellent performance by Christian Bale) being a masterful detective in his efforts to track Public Enemy #1 down.

It seems like Michael Mann, the director of this and many other excellent films like “Collateral”, had his casting director call up every B-movie actor who needs work and planted them in this film… it was like That Guy Junior Varsity Team with Leelee Sobieski (Aldys in "Never Been Kissed"), Giovanni Ribisi (Phoebe's little brother in "Friends"), Matt Craven (Zimmer in "Crimson Tide"), Lili Taylor (List in "Six Feet Under"), Emilie de Ravin (Claire in "LOST"), Billy Crudup (Blue Wang in "Watchmen"), Rory Cochran (Slater in "Dazed & Confused") and Stephen Dorff (Deacon Frost in "Blade")… actors you may not know, but you’ve seen. Oh, and music from Diana Krall didn't hurt. Good stuff.

Anyway, back to my other story.

I love Mexican food, though really, I love only certain Mexican foods. Not being a fan of spice, I usually settle down with a big quesadilla, or an enchilada or even a taco or two… all heavy on meat and cheese, covered in sour cream. I nibble on chips (and sometimes, like tonight, I do a little dipping in the queso dip) and of course, suck down a few glasses of sweet tea. Mexicans make the best sweet tea, I tell ya.

Our server was a guy named Miguel, who took forever to get there. Strike one… though let’s face it, sometimes things happen, sometimes it does take a minute or two for a server to get to the table. Miguel finally came around, we ordered our drinks and food at the same time, then patiently waited to be fed. Lucky for me, the sour cream came out with the cheese dip. The majority of the time, I order sour cream to go along with my quesadilla, but when they bring my food out, the sour cream is nowhere to be found. I have to remind the server that I ordered it (and am going to be charged anywhere for 75 cents to $1.50 for it—which is a racket, by the way, cause after dinner, The Lovely Steph Leann and I went to Publix and among our groceries was a 16 ounce tub of Daisy Sour Cream that cost about $1.95… so when I pay $1.00 for three spoonfuls of ice cream that’s about a $15 profit on each tub… sorta like paying $2.50 for OJ at a Cracker Barrel or Waffle House when a half gallon of Nature’s Best would cost you $2.95 at Wal-Mart)… where was I?

Yeah, I am sitting there with my food in front of me, cooling, awaiting the one condiment that can make my dinner perfect. Tonight, though, he brings it out with the cheese dip… it does make me wonder that had I not ordered the cheese dip, if he would have brought it out, but hey, that cancels out taking forever to come to our table.

I dig into my quesadilla and half of the enchilada, The Lovely Steph Leann is chowing down on the other half of the enchilada, we’re both tossing back queso covered nacho chips, life is good.

That is, however, until I run begin to run out of tea. Miguel stops by, asks if we need anything, and I politely say I would love some more sweet tea. He says okay, and disappeared. Cut to at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, the insides of my mouth filled with cheese and salt residue, glass empty save for some ice cubes and me looking around, wondering where Miguel is with my tea.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the sweet tea pitcher is brought over. By this time, I’m nearly done with my food, so I only need a few swigs to finish it off. We get the bill, its around $15, and I tell The Lovely Steph Leann, who has our eat-out money in her billfold, to give me $17. She hands me $18. I say, “I think $17 would do it. The service has not been stellar.” She insists I leave the $18.

This opens up a brief discussion on the merits of rewarding a server on both great and not so great service. The Lovely Steph Leann holds the belief that, unless the service is just filled with racial epitaphs, coffee thrown in your face, a kick in the shins and a poorly told “Your Mama” joke, you should leave the 15%. Maybe a little more. They work hard for their money, don’t they?

I worked for about 7 years in a little home town restaurant called The Wright Place, back in Samson. The first year I washed dishes, the second year I bumped up to waiting tables, depending on tips for my wages. I knew that if I didn’t put the extra gravy on the steak, or have the onions left off the cheeseburger, or have the eggs served over hard (whatever the heck that means), it is not the cooks fault—its mine. If the tea glasses got empty, if the lemon didn’t make it to the table, if the 2 creamers weren’t at the table with the coffee, then not only did I not get a tip, I really didn’t expect one.

My job as a server is to bring food from the kitchen to the table, and to make sure that food is prepared and served just how the customer, who is paying for it, wants it. Sometimes I did a great job, and got little… there was a big lug named Robert Pritchard who was on the football team, and when he came in and got his hamburger steak, his tip, along with anyone else who is sitting with him, usually was written on a napkin, with words of wisdom like “Don’t play in traffic” and “Use an umbrella in the rain”.

Now, this is not to say that if you are given bad service, you should be a prick. Not in the least… any number of things can relate to bad service, from a bad supporting staff to the server just having a really bad day. As a customer, you should never be rude, for any reason. In my opinion, the tip left should be a reflection of the service. Your control, or zero point, is 15%. Do a great job, you get 18%. Maybe 20%. You do a poor job, you get 12%. Maybe 10%. If the service is horrific, you get nothing.

All in all, this is how the conversation ended…

Me: How else is Miguel going to know that not bringing tea in a timely manner to someone who clearly has an empty glass for a very long while is unacceptable? He gets a smaller tip, and perhaps he thinks, “Wow, I should have been a little better.”
The Lovely Steph Leann: Perhaps by leaving him a good tip, he’ll say, “Wow, even though I didn’t give great service, I still get a good reward.” Maybe that will make him do better next time.
Me: In my opinion, rewarding mediocrity is a problem. You’re telling them that its okay to just be so-so, you’ll still get a good reward.

Either way, Miguel got about 20% for mediocre service. And I’m guessing somewhere, at Don Pepe’s, someone else has an empty glass sitting on the edge of their table awaiting a refill.

Samson Blog Part IV: Memories in a BBQ Dive

Working at The Happiest Place in the Mall affords me the chance to sometimes see people I haven't seen in years. I have seen many of my college mates come through the doors, each looking for some magic, and a few from elsewhere (including a run in with Shay Oliver, to which I had to apologize for the visit). Tonight? Beth Edison came through the doors. Haven't seen her in about, I dunno, 17 years? She still looks the same, just a few years older.

We also had a prom group come through tonight, and that gave me a great idea for a post later... prom nights. Four proms, three dates, many stories. But that's later. For now, here's the end of my daylong visit to Samson, Alabama. This actually appears on pages 9 thru 12 of the original document I wrote it on, which is why I had to break it up into four parts. Its been a fun column to write, though. Anyway, here's the previous posts, then the finale....

Samson Blog Part I: "...Knee High to a Puddle Duck"
Samson Blog Part II: Tammy Ward & the Library Books
Samson Blog Part III: High School Highs... and Lows

PART IV... MEMORIES IN A BBQ DIVE

I had an original plan heading into this Monday to possibly talk to two people… Chris McCall, my high school best friend who I haven’t seen in a very, very long time, and The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise, who asked me to let her know when I was in town. My thought was, “hey, maybe I can meet one for lunch, one for coffee, or both for dinner, or both for lunch!”, but a day or so before, I discovered Chris had the unfortunate event of being in Disney World at the same time I was in Samson. I had texted The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise on my way down to Samson, but hadn’t heard from her at all, so I was already mentally making plans to maybe go down to the small community of Hacoda and see if another good high school buddy Greg Avant was around.

Lo and behold, The Official Clouds in My Coffee High School Crush Julie Wise texts me back, and after a few texts back and forth, we finally set up a time—5pm—to meet up at a local restaurant—Crew’s BBQ—in town. “Where is Crew’s?” I texted. “Its down on 87, where Gautney’s used to be, across the street from Stephanie Sheffield’s old house” was the reply. Stephanie Sheffield of the "dancing with Ryan Frary as he tried to move my hand to make me feel up Angiejay" fame, as mentioned in the previous post.

I vaguely remember when Gautney’s was open (its had several owners and names since then, including its current incarnation, Crews BBQ). They were the competitors to The Wright Place, and I remember Forrest and Charlotte didn’t like the people that owned it… apparently, the owners of Gautney’s made fun of myself and Victor Miller, the other waiter, saying they’d never hire “Puerto Ricans like that, they’d probably steal all the money.” Its Hispanic, you ignorant (expletive deleted).

After sitting with my mom for a while longer, I finally decided it was time to go on down to dinner, so at 10 til 5, I said goodbye, gave my hugs, and went outside. I reeked of smoke, but luckily, I had anticipated this, so I wheeled onto the little dirt road that runs behind the west block of downtown Samson, namely the area behind the hardware store, the old Wright Place location and so on. I pulled up, yanked off my shirt and threw on a sweatshirt. Then, at 5pm, I was sitting in Crew’s BBQ.

It wasn’t busy at the time, so I went and sat in a booth, and when the waitress came up, I asked for some sweet tea. As she was returning with said drink, I looked at her suspiciously… “Y’all do take debit cards… right?” She smirked and said, “No, the boss won’t get a card machine!” I sighed, mentally cursing the lack of technology in this town and racked my brain for a quick solution. An ATM, maybe?

Like she was reading my mind, the waitress said, “You can go to the ATM if you want.” I perked up, looking around, figuring I’d have to pay a service charge of like, $3 or something, and asked where it was. “Oh, just go down to the red light, take a left, and you’ll see the bank on the left side.” By saying “down to the red light”, she was essentially saying go back the two miles you came from town. Sigh. Again.

I texted The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise and told her what happened, and that I had no money in my pocket. Her text was a big fat LOL. I told her if she’d pull up, she could ride with me down to the bank, and she responded simply, “Don’t worry about it, I got it.” I started to text her back, and in rolls this big Mommy-Mobile SUV wheeling through the parking lot. And out steps The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise, the first time I’d actually seen her in 15 or 16 years. Big smile from her, big smile from me, I gave her a big hug and we sat down for a nice meal of Crews BBQ, even though I got popcorn shrimp and she got chicken fingers.

Now, let me be very clear about this… before any and all of you start imagining all the things that can go wrong here, and start asking yourself “Is this a good idea?” and such, this was a We-Are-Friends meal. This was clear from the get-go on both of our parts. As a matter of fact, talk of The Lovely Steph Leann was littered throughout our entire conversation, how we met, who she is, how we match up, and so on. I love The Lovely Steph Leann and made sure that my conversation reflected such. Plus, The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise didn't dig me back then... why would she now?

You also have to remember, part of it was seeing my friend, but another small part? It would make for great blogging, to finally reconnect and report on someone who has become an oft-asked about character on the Clouds blog. And another small part? I’m still making book notes. Just making sure you know this.

The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise and I sat and also discussed about a hundred other topics that evening, from the whereabouts of many of my classmates, the whereabouts of many of her classmates, why Chris McCall was so obsessed with Andrea Foreman, why Andrea Foreman was so obsessed with Stan McDuffie, the strange relationships of Ryan Frary, including Kelli White AND Stephanie Sheffield, Angiejay’s Facebook dis of me and the subsequent decision to make her a villain in my story I’m writing, Jennifer Herndon, how the town has changed (and thankfully, only briefly discussing the March tragedy which by this point I was tired of rehashing), what happened to her and the tool she was dating, her daughters Bayleigh and Brantley, my unborn children Campbell Isaiah and Lorelei Addison, and of course, the events before, leading up to, including and beyond the afternoon of The Note.

We laughed and had a great time, like friends do, and it was after I had already left town that I realized that in that 2 and a half hour span, we talked more than I think we had done collectively in 3 years around her in high school. The last real time I had spent with The Official Clouds in My Coffee High School Crush Julie Wise was hanging out at Beverly Day’s birthday party (1992?), which I think I was invited to only because I was in the band.

I also remember me and Chris McCall laughing as Beverly Day, Andrea Foreman, The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise and I think Stephanie Sheffield stood on a couple of tables in the yard and sang “I Like the Way (the kissing game)” by Hi-Five. I have a weird memory about things, I think.

Back to dinner, it was around 7:30ish, when it was finally time to depart… she had kids to get into bed, she had to get to sleep herself, and I had to begin a long journey back to the world I know now.

Like I had done with other faces that I had talked to earlier, The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise and I said our goodbyes, and agreed to stay in touch this time around, and hopefully when The Lovely Steph Leann comes with me, I can introduce the two women who meant a lot to me, albeit completely different stages of life.

At 7:30, I turned onto Highway 52, and headed out of Samson, toward Geneva, back from the direction I had already come. I had told Sandy Wright hours earlier that I would stop by her parent’s house and say hello, so when I came upon their county road, I turned right. It was paved, but only slightly… the Wright home is a house I’d been to many, many times as a teenager, both visiting and working. Sometimes I would just hang out with Cristie, other times I would help Forrest paint or clean or whatever, and he paid well. The restaurant closed some years after I started college, but the Wrights own a florist & gift shop in Geneva, and he does, or at least did at one point, sell fencing and siding.

So when I came to the Wright home, imagine my surprise when I couldn’t get in. They have a long white fence that wraps around the property, with a small driveway that I parked in. There was a gate. An immovable gate that I had no clue how to approach. Granted, I could have easily ducked between the wide spaces in the fencing, but the last time I was here, they had a couple of Dalmatians that were the size of Toni Rocky Honda, so I stood for a few minutes, staring at the house. Do I honk the horn? Do I duck under the fence and make a run for it, hoping the Spawn of Spotted Dog doesn’t chase me down and maul me? What do I do? It’s about 7:50 now, the light is fading, so who knows if they even recognize me?

Finally, I decided I would just leave a note. I grabbed a Sharpie, cause you know I lurves me some Sharpies and Toni Rocki Honda contains about 30, and scribbled down:

Forrest & Charlotte

Stopped by to see you both. Didn’t know how to enter the Wright Fortress. Hope you are well, hope to see you soon.

d$

I wheeled Toni Rocki Honda to their mailbox, opened it, put my note in, and left. There was one more stop to make, really, in my Samson excursion… Wal-Mart, though it was actually in Geneva. My purpose was singular… I wanted to walk the store front to back, side to side, and count the paces. Then I wanted to compare it with the Wal-Mart down the street from The Cabana on 280. Back to front, the Geneva Wal-Mart was 73 paces. Side to side, its 103. I’m not joking. And the Wal-Mart closes, which in a city that has about six of them within a fifteen mile radius that stay open 24-7, is unfathomable.

Finally, it was time to go. Through Geneva, back through Enterprise and up to Troy, where I made a quick stop at the FarmHouse Fraternity house to drop off a paddle that was given to me years and years ago by my big brother there… it was time the paddle found a home in the house. Met some of the guys, watched a few minutes of the NCAA championship game, shook some hands and then I was out.

My last stop before home was in Prattville at Steak-n-Shake… I wasn’t even that hungry, having eaten hours before with The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise, but I got a small burger, fries and a milkshake… because its Steak-n-Shake, and I never get a chance to go there. Truly, I miss Denny’s, but I do love some SNS.

My day in Samson was wonderful, not made so by any particular part of it, but by the combination of well wishes, familiar faces and throwbacks to days when it was so simple. I think everyone thinks to themselves how they would do it if they could go back, knowing now what you know. I would think I’d be the coolest guy in school, because honestly I wouldn’t care. Lord knows I’d have better fashion sense, and I’d probably have a change of clothes in my locker to put on as soon as I got to school.

As simple as it seems, though, I am truly blessed to be sitting here in front of my laptop, sitting on a wooden TV tray, which is sitting on an expensive designer rug, sprawled out in front of our leather couches, in a living room directly under the bedroom where the most wonderful, beautiful woman I’ve ever known is sleeping peacefully. All of this is in The Cabana, our house we bought last year, sitting close to a major highway in our town, which means we’re close to everything, including both jobs that we possess and love.

I do have a new found love for my hometown of Samson, and one day, maybe in a few decades, maybe sooner, maybe never, I might go back. Maybe with The Lovely Steph Leann in 2020, maybe as a widower in 2061. And I do have a love for the people I left behind, be it The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise, or Chris McCall or my other two Samson BFFs Tonya and Greg, and friends like Jason Howell (who I’m dying to spend some more time with) and Rona Mock and her husband Ryan (who I’m going to call for dinner in the next two weeks) and especially my mom, who will most certainly die in this town, probably in the next few years. I’ve already decided I’m going to make it a more frequent trip, perhaps once every two months, maybe once per month during football season…

..but in all my remembering where I come from, I’ll be careful not to forget where I am now. And where I am right now is the most blessed place I could be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna click this laptop off and go upstairs and sleep next to The Lovely Steph Leann.

(one more authors note... when I finish and publish a post, which usually takes me forever, as The Lovely Steph Leann can attest, I read it on the actual website itself, usually to make sure it flows and posts correctly, is spaced correctly, et al. Tonight as I did this for Part IV, my website playlist played "When I Get Where I'm Going" by Brad Paisley and Dolly Parton. I thought it was kinda cool. Course, if this were 1993, "You Don't Bring Me Anything But Down" might've sufficed for my dinner guest. Ha!!)

Thanks for reading.

Samson Blog Part III: High School Highs... and Lows

Thanks for coming back--I've already stopped off in Troy, visited Jennifer, run into a few old faces that I recognized and now its time to run into another, and re-visit the school that taught me how to... well, do whatever it is that high schools teach. Previous posts include...

Samson Blog Part I: "...Knee High to a Puddle Duck"
Samson Blog Part II: Tammy Ward & the Library Books

PART III... HIGH SCHOOL HIGHS.. and lows


The brick sign that wasn't there when I was there

Back when I was in school, there was a middle school and a high school, though the lines between the two were very blurred. The building on the south part of the school was primarily junior high (at what point did they stop being called junior high and start only going as “middle school”? Is “junior high” a bad thing? Really?) leaving the north part as the high school, but the ball field was shared by both, the small business building in the middle was shared by both, the recess yard was shared by both…. Really, it was all one big school, 6th grade through 12th. Maybe 600 students. Might be more, might be less.

Some number of years ago, though, they built a new Middle School and placed it next to Samson Elementary, which was building in 1984. I only know this because I moved there in 4th grade, and it was just opened the previous month. We couldn’t lean on the walls, it was so new. Imagine telling a bunch of 9 year olds you can’t lean on the walls. Right.



With the middle school gone, Samson High School truly is just a high school. As I walked onto Broad Street, I noticed that a couple of the buildings where there, and a few were now gone… I can only guess they were gutted and torn down, probably a good thing. I walked onto the sidewalk that runs in front of the entire school, walking slowly to observe. Another teacher had just come out of one of the buildings, and said, “Can I help you with something?” I smiled and said, “No, thanks. I’m an alumnus, and I’m just checking out the school.” I added with a grin, “I thought it best to wait until all the students were out, so as not to be that creepy guy wandering around the campus.” She smiled and said, “Good idea.”

I stopped in front of the Samson High sign to snap a few pictures, and noticed a familiar face up ahead. She was with a young boy, and she moved between a furniture delivery truck and another group of people. I slowly made my way past the group, snapping more photos of the surrounding school monuments and scenery, but kept glancing up at her. Is that…? I mean, could that be…?

She said something to the group, they all chuckled, and she led the boy inside the school doors. I followed her, but when I went inside, she had already disappeared into the next set of double doors. Another teacher was there, looked up and asked, “Can I help you, sir?” I stopped, not taking my eyes off of the door, pointed and said, “Was that Renee?” She smiled and said, “Yes! Go through these doors and take a right. Mrs. Adams is on the left, you’ll see her door.”

Mrs. Adams? I thanked the kind lady and went through the doors. The school, for all its differences, still had the same look in the hallway. The floor was different, the lockers were bigger, the paint was newer, but this… this was Samson High School. I walked toward the first door, and saw the placard that said “Mrs. R. ADAMS”. I stared at the door for a minute, and then thought, “Holy crap, she’s a teacher.”

“So, uh, you got your name on the door and everything, huh? Think your somebody?” I asked, as I stood in the doorway, pointing toward the sign. Renee Carroll looked up from her desk, glared at me for a few seconds, then her face brightened. “Oh my gosh… d$!” she stood up, ran over to me and gave me a big hug.

Renee Carroll and I go way back, to… 1991? She was an 8th grader, I was a senior, and her step-father, Steve, worked as an excellent cook at The Wright Place Restaurant. Her mom, Carlene, also worked there for a time, and Renee washed dishes and helped out too. She had a crush on me. I don’t say that in vain, or in an arrogant assumption, I say that because she told me so. And as gently as I could, I told her I wasn’t interested in her. She didn’t talk to me for a month. I also remember she was obsessed with country group Alabama.

She looked great, her son Ryan is now 7 (or was it 9?), and she’s a teacher now at Samson High School. She has been teaching there for a while now, teaching all subjects to all grades at this point. Renee told me that there were plans for a memorial garden to be built behind the main school building, right outside her window, in honor of the victims of March 10th. We chatted a while longer, what I’d been up to, teachers that had come and gone (Mrs. Hutchison is retiring, it seems!) and who was still there. Mrs. Danley was still there. A few others had gone. Some had died.

We discussed Samson, how it was different, how it was the same, and Renee said the most amazing thing was that when she came back to teach, she went into the lunchroom… and it was so small! “I remember it being so much bigger, and now, it’s like, tiny. It was bizarre.”

It was great talking to her for a little while, and finally, we said our goodbyes. Who knows if and when I’ll see Renee Carroll Adams again? Hopefully soon.

I left the classroom, and as I rounded the corner, I locked eyes with Mrs. Danley. On her face was the now-familiar “Is that…?” expression, but I didn’t stop. I smiled and kept walking, right on out the back door of the main building, finding myself in front of the lunchroom. And as I peered into the window (it was locked), I could see a few new additions, notably a big cooler that said “DASANI” on it. But the big tiger painted on the wall was still there. And Renee was right… it was tiny. Did I really sit and have milk carton drink-offs with Chad Ward and Greg Avant right there? Unbelievably so. And there, on the opposite outside door of the lunchroom is the area that the freshman girls congregated—Chris McCall’s obsession Andrea Foreman, my first slow dance ever Angiejay (in this very lunchroom, by the way, but more on her in a minute), Manda Donaldson, Jennifer Herndon (yes, that one), Stephanie Sheffield and of course,The Clouds In My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise.

That slow dance was weird. It was, in fact, with Angiejay, who agreed to be my homecoming dance date, then bowed out because word spread all over school that we were going out. We danced to “Wanted” by Alan Jackson, and looking back, I think she did so because she felt obliged to do so, not because she wanted to. We were dancing close to Ryan Frary and Stephanie Sheffield, who were going out at the time, and Ryan leaned over and yanked my hand down to Angiejay’s bum. Luckily, I yanked it back in time to save the embarrassment, and though Stephanie smacked him, Ryan thought it was hilarious. Looking back, I do too.

Laughing to myself as I remember this monumental moment, I went down the sidewalk through the campus, passing the gymnasium, home of the 2 time defending girl’s basketball team, the Lady Tigers. The further I walk, though, the more I realize that yes, there is a new high school building… but most everything else on the grounds is exactly the same. I walk between the science building, where Mr. Holmes tried in vain to teach me Physics and Chemistry, and the Ag/Home Ec building, where I won top grade prizes for like, four straight terms…. In Home Ec, not Ag.

I stopped at the bandroom, and boy those memories came back as well. Renee told me that the last time the band was really, really strong was when we were in school. When I was a sophomore, we were 70+ strong, 6th through 12th grade, but over the years, the band has dwindled. It’s had it shares of highs and lows, but right now it was at a low point. Sad, really. The Blue and Gold rocked back in the day.


It was on those railings on the sidewalk leading to the door on the right that, in October of 1992, I waited outside for Angiejay, after the Homecoming Ballgame. She said already said yes a few nights ago. Then she sent someone (Tracy Lassiter?) out to tell me that "she would just meet me there". I was crushed. Am I still bitter? Not at all, it was 17 years ago, but its still fun to talk about. And the fact she rejected me on Facebook last year makes it all the more fun. Hence, the decision to make Angie Jay a villian in the book. Ha!

The tennis courts sat across the street. Samson was always too small to have a tennis team, but we did have courts. During my sophomore year, I became infatuated with Jennifer Capriati, a young tennis star, so I bought myself a 18 dollar racket (a huge sum when you are 15) and taught myself how to play tennis. Over the course of that year, I lost about 30 pounds, gained much leg strength and went through two pairs of tennis shoes—wore a hole slap into the soles of them. See, our court wasn’t grass, or clay or even a regular hard court, our court was asphalt and gravel. And there was a big sand pit right in the middle that you would slide through if you weren’t careful. The back fence was about four feet from the back baseline, so there was lots of slamming into the chain links, and the net was such that you had to hook it back onto the posts when you played. Sometimes the ball would go through the gap between the netting and the white border, so you had to argue over whether it was actually a Let or not. (you can read more of this, and some of the same, in a post from June 2006 called "Game Set Match", if you feel so inclined)
By my junior year, there were lots of people playing. I’d like to think I was at least partly responsible for the tennis resurgence from 1991 to 1993. Names like Ryan Hutchison, Juice Williams, Jason Lambert, Wade Rials, Bren Finch, and of course, Ryan Frary and myself—the Federer and Nadal of our day. For two years, we were gods of the court. Every single day, until the light was gone, and even then sometimes into the night, using the one single yellow light that shone on half the court. The summer between my junior and senior year, I collected $5 from 16 court regulars, bought some paint, went out in the hot July sun and painted lines on the court. Then we had ourselves a tennis tournament. And it was a beautiful thing.


You can barely see the yellow of the lines that were painted all those years ago. Some of the weeds might be the exact same, though. But this is the court we played on.

Now? The lines are faded away. The dirt is piled high in various parts of the court, the fence has bigger holes in it than before, the weeds grow tall through the asphalt, the post has an old plastic cup on top of it, and the net is nowhere to be found. Doesn’t matter, though, because where the net would go is taken up by a big greenhouse nursery sitting smack in the middle of the court. A messily handwritten note on the door of the greenhouse said, “If you need plants, call…”


The abomination that sits on our courts. Ryan (can't remember if it was Frary or Hutchison) and I actually scheduled a meeting and went to the mayor, asking for the council to look at devoting some money to renovate the tennis courts. There were only three courts and a few thousand tax dollars would be all that was needed to put up new nets, fix the light(s) and give it a light touch-up. They rejected us out of hand.

Sighing, and a piece of my soul now dead on that court with the knowledge that there would probably never be another Snuff City Invitational Tennis Classic, I walked back to the campus, and entered the football stadium. It was here on this very field that I graduated high school, coming now upon 16 years ago. They put in metal bleachers sometime around my junior year, maybe a year earlier, but that’s just for the home side. The visitors still have the old concrete bleachers, and they still look exactly the same.

I walk around the football field, past the concession stand that sits boarded up for the offseason, and just take it all in. Lots of memories here too. Marching saxophone in the band, chomping on stadium burgers and $1 M&M bags, sitting with Jason Howell and admiring how hot Claudia Sorrells was in her majorette uniform, enjoying those late October/ early November Friday nights when the temperature is around 45 degrees… is there anything better than high school football in cold temperatures? Sipping on watered down hot chocolate that burns your tongue? I’ve already resolved to come to homecoming in 2009, and perhaps a few more games if I can make it.

The grass is about six inches too high now, this being the offseason and daily care not necessary. Its Alva Hawke Stadium, though I have yet to figure out who Alva Hawke is. And I still don’t know the alma mater song, though I can reel off that fight song. Or could, at one time. There is a ton of junk piled under the bleachers—stadium lights, wood, trash, a small hauling trailer—and it just looks messy. I smile as I stand next to the chain link fence, a fence that 16 years ago I stood next to, wearing a hot blue uniform with a poofy feather thing jutting out of my hat, holding an alto saxophone, joking with Jason Howell and Kelli White, close to Chris McCall who kept stealing glances at Andrea Foreman, all while I was stealing glances at The Clouds in My Coffee Official High School Crush Julie Wise in a majorette uniform, while Jason stole glances--who am I kidding, he just plain stared--at Kelli White, all of us awaiting marching orders from drum major Tonya Windham, and wondering if I would actually keep in step this time around, and knowing the answer would be, probably not. But that’s okay. We marched on.

I haven’t picked up an alto saxophone in at least five years, and then it was only once. Before that, it was high school band. I've thought about picking it up again, memories of Kenny G songs still flowing through me head... I could actually play "Songbird" at one time. But, alas, I've also thought about learning how to play the mandolin I've owned for 8 years, and that hasn't happened either...

I stared out into the football field a while longer, making verbal notes into my voice recorder, discussing my own characters that are dancing around in my head and how a football field might come into play when Peter and Barrow are discussing what to do for homecoming. But that’s later, I think. I decided it was time to go, enough nostalgia for one day had been accomplished.

I walk back down the same sidewalk, pausing for a moment from talking into my voice recorder as an older gentlemen walked by. No sense in sounding stupid. Er. I make another walk around the school, out onto the front lawn and back down Broad, then Farmer Street. A few blocks later, I was back in my own home, sitting and talking with my dear mother again.

She’s addicted to judge shows…. She doesn’t care for Judge Judy, but Judge Judy comes on between Judge Joe Brown and some other judge, so she doesn’t bother to change the channel, she just sits and complains about how much she doesn’t like Judge Judy. Love my mom.

It's around 4pm, and I'm getting hungry. I've got an hour before dinner, though, one that should be fun. I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend, and shake her hand. I hope the Pea River is as blueish green as it has been in my dreams.

I hope.

And finally, the last part of The Samson Blog... Memories in a BBQ Dive

Samson Blog I: Knee High to a Puddle Duck

The following is an overindulgent walk down the Memory Lanes of Samson, Alabama, my hometown and where I'm from. What started out being a three page post ended up being an 11 page post that I've been forced to break up into 4 parts for better readability. Part of it was that you could read and learn more about your author, and perhaps identify things in your own life, in your own upbringing that were similiar, or were perhaps far off. Part of it was to just remember the day as it was... just about perfect. In weather. In time. In smiles. Overall. Not perfect. But close. Anyway, here's part one...

Part I... "...Since You Were Knee High to a Puddle Duck..."

"You have this obsession with the past, don’t you?” I was asked recently. Pondering this thought, I replied, “No. I just want to remember where I came from, I want to remember the parts of my life and the people in my life who made me who I am… plus, I want these memories fresh so that I can draw what I need from them as I write my book.”

It’s always a funny thing when I go home. Sometimes I expect to see everybody, and see no one. Other times I think I won’t see a soul that I knew from back in the day… and I see more than one or two familiar faces. Such was my trip last Monday.

I had a couple of days off from The Happiest Place in the Mall, and since I worked at The Most Caffeinated Place on 280, I thought I could make a day trip of it to my hometown of Samson. I hadn’t been back since Thanksgiving (direct all comments about what a bad son I am to me, with the subject heading “too busy”), and especially since the events on March 10th.

For those of you not familiar with the lay of the Alabama land, or unsure of where I was headed, I took I-65, after a quick stop at Whataburger for breakfast, down to Montgomery. Typically, you would get on I-85 headed to Atlanta for about 7 miles, get off on Taylor Road, cut across to Highway 231 and head to Troy. I actually got off of I-85 this time on Perry Hill Road, went over to Vaughn Road and up to Eastern Boulevard. The only difference really is this is an extra 10 minutes or so, and I went through a little of Montgomery, rather than avoiding most of it on the roads described above. From Eastern, I turned onto 231, and it gave me a glimpse of the Montgomery Mall. I used to work there in 95 and 96 at The Disney Store, but over the years I think the cost of complimentary Kevlar to customers was too expensive, so they shut the whole mall down. I heard it was pretty dangerous there for a time.

Troy is 45 minutes down the road from Montgomery, and I would turn right onto Highway 87. This time, though, I took a shortcut in Troy over to downtown, stopped by WTBF to say to my old program director, Doc Kirby, but he wasn’t there. I stopped by the house on Three Notch Street where Wookiee and I lived from June of 94 to May of 95, lamented melancholy about the fact the Crowe’s Chicken was now some cheap Chinese takeout.



This old house was actually broken into two or three apartments, owned by Mr. & Mrs. Ferguson. Wookiee and I lived in the back part, one huge bedroom, heated by gas heaters that you had to light (meaning high, high gas bills) and ten foot ceilings. And there was a trampoline in the back. I split my favorite pair of Duck Heads when Lisa Murphy, Kathy Hollingsworth and I were jumping on it, in 1994.

Stopped over at The BCM, stepped in, talked to our old campus minister Brad Bensinger, and then took a walk around the campus. I actually kept my eyes peeled for a few people that I knew at Troy, but alas, to no avail.

What’s amusing to me is how I’ve carried on about how much it has changed, and when you go into the Adams Center, this is totally apparent. The food court has gone from The Grill/Trojan Room to an open court area with an A&W Root Beer stand, a Chick Fila, a smoothie place and more. I just wanted to grab some freshman, shake them and say, “Do you realize what you have here? This is a gold mine, I tell ya!” See, when The Lovely Steph Leann and I paid off all debt last year, much of it was credit cards. If I had access to an A&W and a Chick Fila on campus, I can’t imagine how bad it would have been.



How does the food court look like this? There was a wall running right down the middle back in the day, separating two rooms!

Beyond that, the landscaping now added (with a fountain!) to the class building quad and a few touch ups to the athletic areas, really… not that much has changed. There is still the porch swing where Heather Howell and I sat and… you know, I can’t remember if I asked her out the first time there, or she broke up with me there. Good times? Bad? I don’t know. Anyway, the big hill is still the same.

Walk through the Barnes & Noble (!) and you get to the student offices, and the big open couch study area—it’s the same. Alumni Hall is pretty much the same, just with newer tile. I went in, and it smelled the same. Even went into the restroom to visit my favorite stall from back then—and it looks the same. Yeah, I know, they’ve redone it, but there is only so much you can do to a place like Alumni, short of leveling the place and rebuilding, a la Clements or Dill Hall. Clements is now what Cowart was back in 1997, and Dill is gone completely, replaced by Hawkins Hall. I stopped a sorority girl and asked her what Hawkins was, and she told me it was education. She then turned her nose up and walked off. Must have been a KD. (Oy!)

Did my tour, snapped some photos of old and new, then got back in the car, drove around to both Thomas Circle (the Wookiee/Dave dig for 95-96) and Willow Terrace (the Wookiee/Dave/Brunson crib for 96-98) then got back on 87 for the remainder of the trip. About 8 miles out of Troy, you come to a fork in the highway… well, you can go straight or veer a slight right, and the slight right will take you through the towns of Jack, Alabama (home of the Zion Chapel High School rebels, our band rivals for like, a year or two—and I really don’t know why), then through Elba, Alabama (where it flooded in 93—water was up to the clock tower, so if you ever go through there, you’ll see it) and then to Samson.

I, however, stayed on the straight and two-laned, headed to Enterprise, Alabama, if for no other purpose than I just wanted to. Took the highway (after all this time, I still can’t tell you the roads through Enterprise). Stopped at the Cannon Food Mart for gas—again, a nostalgic venture… I would wait tables at The Wright Place in Samson, then leave around 10pm, drive to Enterprise and get on the air at midnight until 9am. Elisabeth Bradshaw told me she used to sit up and listen to me. Made me blush. But I would always stop at the Cannon Food Mart, if not for gas then at least for snacks.

Took the country roads towards Samson, and came upon Five Points. Now, in Birmingham, Five Points is a thriving little community of clubs, bars, dives and such… Five Points in south Alabama is a junction where five county roads come together. One, the one I was coming from, leads to Enterprise. Take an immediate right and you’ll go off somewhere to a dead end. Take the other right and you’ll go through Sellersville and get to Samson. Take a left, you’re in Coffee Springs in three minutes. And go straight, which I did, and you’ll run slap into Highway 52. I got to Highway 52, took a left, and went towards Geneva. I stopped and saw my friend Jennifer for a few minutes, did some talking, left and was on the road to Samson.

As I drove, I began to think that I needed some good music for a drive through town… had to be something that I was listening to when I was in high school… Sheryl Crow? No. She didn’t pop up until college. Hootie? Same thing. Plumb? Geez, that was early 2000s… wait… what about… Janet Jackson. “Rhythm Nation 1814”. I put that CD right on in, and began to jam to “Miss You Much” and “Rhythm Nation” and as I hit Samson’s city limits, I heard the music of “Love Will Never Do (without you)”. It was awesome.



Samson, Alabama. This is the same picture that you saw in March, only this time I'm taking it, and this time there aren't cops and state troopers and police tape everywhere. This is just a typical Monday.

Drove into town, saw that there is now a Mexican restaurant in Samson, Alabama, and I laughed really, really loudly. Moved slowly, just soaking it all in. Didn’t know how the town had changed, wasn’t sure what would be different. The peanut mill still looks the same. Another feed store is going out business. Looks like another few store fronts are now empty. The old Piggly Wiggly that had become another grocery shop that at some point spent time as a tobacco shop is now nothing but an empty shell. Bill’s Dollar Store is nothing now. Choice Video has a new façade. And wouldn’t you know it, Merchant’s clothing is still there.



Choice Video... they are finally getting rid of VHS movies. They don't even rent them, they are just selling off their inventory of them. You know how places have a certain smell? Not a good smell, not a bad smell, just a certain scent? Choice has had that smell for 20 years.

I pulled up in front of Sandy’s Beauty Shop on Main Street, stopped and hopped out, hoping that Sandy would be inside. The Sandy I speak of is Sandy Wright, middle daughter of Forrest and Charlotte Wright, owners of The Wright Place restaurant that I waited tables at for something like 7 years. The oldest, Jennifer, was who I visited earlier in the day. The youngest, Cristie, was who I was supposed to marry, at least according to half the customers who came into the restaurant. Sandy? Well, let’s put it this way…

What The Angel is to Troy, Sandy Wright is to Samson. Just a vision, especially when you are in 9th or 10th grade and she’s graduating high school. But, alas, no one was there. I looked in, the store was empty, and so I just looked around the town. Glanced over at The Big/Little Store, which looks like nothing every happened. The bank looked busy as well, and traffic was actually a little busy through town—for Samson, anyway. Walked across the street, took some photos, and was walking toward the western side of town (mind you, downtown consists of two blocks long) when a car drove past me, slammed on brakes, backed up and swerved into a parking spot directly in front of me. I waved, not knowing who I was waving to, and it was in fact, Sandy Wright.


The old Wright Place restaurant I used to wait tables in. I was awesome. I could do the whole four-plates-on-one-arm thing, with three glasses of sweet tea in the other hand.

Her last name is no longer “Wright”, and she has a beautiful daughter now, but her accent and friendly demeanor hasn’t changed at all. We chatted for a minute, I told her I had been to see her sister, and Sandy asked me if I was planning on going to see Forrest & Charlotte. I told her I hadn’t actually seen my own mom yet, but I would try to make it out that way. Sandy left, on her way to Dothan for her daughter’s doctor appointment. I walked around a little more, then decided to slip into Choice Video for a minute.

Ms. Holland was behind the counter, and looked at me strange when I walked in. “Can I help you?” she asked, and I told her I was just looking around. Choice Video opened up across the street back in the 80s, and I remember getting my first ever video membership there, and my first video was “Coming to America”. Funny movie. I toured the store a few minutes, and again, she asked me, a little more suspiciously, “Can I help you find something?” I smiled and replied, “I used to rent here when I was a kid, a way long time ago.”

She tilted her head, paused and said, “What is your name?” I told her, “I’m d$.” Another pause as this sunk in, her face brightened and said, “Oh my gosh, d$... wow…” Now that the comprehension was complete, she said, “Well, you used to rent from me when you were knee high to a puddle duck!” Only in Samson, Alabama, really. We started chatting about the old days, the town, and of course, the tragedy of a month earlier. “It was a terrible day, d$. It was a terrible, terrible day,” Ms. Holland sighed. I asked her to give my best wishes to Wesley and Brandy, friends of mine from the old days, and left the shop.

Finally, it was time to head to my parents house, the house I grew up in. So I did.

Next... Part II: Tammy Ward & the Library Books