One Last Time

By late 1951 Ralph knew that he'd soon be in Korea. And he began to take stock of himself and his short, sweet life. It had been fast cars and pool rooms; cheap beer and fist fights; it had been girls and hairpin turns; it had been fun. His daddy worked in the cotton mill, and like all mill workers, wanted something better for his son. So, Ralph grew up knowing his life's path wouldn't be strewn with cotton lint; and secure in the thought that he'd do big things - bigger things than his father did. But duty called and Korea loomed like a cold, distant planet, interrupting his plans and adding a cloud of uncertainty like he had never known. 

After he received his orders to report to Fort Jackson to begin his deployment, Ralph used his precious time to say goodbye. There were somber, heartfelt farewells and often his shoulder would be damp from the tears of past sweethearts as they said their goodbyes. He sought forgiveness as well and he searched his memory for anyone he thought he had wronged; with hopes of rectifying transgressions and soothing old hurts. He had his hand shaken by friends and and his back slapped by his numerous uncles and cousins. His dreams were vivid and the recall of long forgotten events flooded his mind in a continuous reel. With heightened senses, he walked through his families small home and, even when alone, he could he could hear the sweetness of his mother's voice echoing throughout the house - and his daddy's stern baritone bounce off the plaster walls. And the days passed quickly.

He decided that he would spend his last day in Poinsett with his family. His sisters hugged him often and spoke hopefully of a quick end to the war. His parents were quiet; but beneath their tranquility lay the fears and sorrow they hid from the family; from him. It was also decided that his Uncle Otis would drive him to the airport the next day; that the families goodbyes would be done privately. That night Ralph dreamed deeply; awaking only once to smile at the warmth of his bed, the smells of his room, and the hum of the nearby mill. And the night passed quickly.

That morning, the tears flowed and months of dread drenched Ralph's face. In the little kitchen, gentle sobs from his family hung in the dim morning light and enveloped them all in melancholy. Ralph saw the lights from his Uncle's Ford as it pulled into the driveway and felt relieved. He was ready to leave; he was ready to let go. His bags loaded in the trunk, Ralph sat back in the passengers seat and saw the Carolina sunrise as he had never seen it before: the reddish hue of the sun bouncing off the mill, the elongated shadow of the water tank on the houses across the street, the cooing pigeons; it was as if he was experiencing it all for the first time. As they turned to cross the bridge over the railroad tracks, Ralph turned to his uncle and said, "Uncle Otis, could you stop here for a second"? "Sure son". He stepped from the car and stood on the bridge that overlooked the village. His eyes followed the tracks below until they disappeared around a bend. He smiled at the hint of honeysuckle in the air. "Thanks Uncle Otis, I wanted to see Poinsett one last time".

A few weeks later Ralph's family learned of his death.

Some Chick I Knew

I think that I last saw her
Thumbing her way west
She wore a golden sari
With a diamond studded vest

She told me that she loved me
And then she turned to stone
She hit out for the freeway
I hit the trail for home

A democratic vixen
With perfect lilac eyes
She flashed them on like lightning
To cover up her lies

Her days were filled with charity
Her nights were all her own
And though she reeked of loneliness
She never was alone

She wanted my attention
She tried to own my soul
She left me feeling bitter
I left her in the cold

A sympathetic siren
With ice beneath her chest
Who wears a golden sari
And a diamond studded vest

Although my days are numbered
I’ll harbor no regret
For I was like the debtor
Who’d finally paid his debt

So, should you see her coming
Beware this siren’s test
A cold and golden sari
With a diamond studded vest

Excuse me, I must climb the pole and take a call...

Green Acres is the place to be, Faaaarm living is the life for me. For me? Well just maybe. I've at last wafted to that place in life where I just want to retire to the farm and commune with the soil. Much like Oliver Wendell Douglas, I want to work outside, far from the staleness of the boardroom, and even further from the claustrophobia of the cubicle. So, if all goes well, and God willing and the Creek don't rise (as they say), I'll soon be mixing and potting and propagating up a damn storm. I'll be fretting over frost...and cost and lack of rain. I'll be shooting the bull with Hank Kimball, the county agent; well, not the county agent, but then again, what were were talking about? Aphids? I'll be haggling with Mr. Haney; and feel pretty certain that I've wasted my money on the new equipment I just bought. I'll get to be known on a first name basis with the local general store clerk, Sam Drucker. I'll bore him to death with my former education and he and Mr. Ziffel's eyes will instinctively glaze over when I come in to the store. Back home, Ralph and Alf, the brother sister carpenter team are overcharging me for adding a master bedroom to the prehistoric farmhouse I connived my wife into buying. Meanwhile, out in the field, the ravages of mother nature are working me 16 hours a day just to stay ahead. I'm in full fledged war with pests, disease, and environment . I dream of leaf rot and smell like chicken crap - but I have faith. And what else is there after all? My faith may be an inch deep in places, but it's a mile wide and pretty damn deep when you get away from the shores of doubt and pain. And I'm up to my ying yang in tomatoes and that's a good thing. The Pomegranates are looking good and even an idiot could grow cucumbers. Occasionally, I see compatriots from my days in the cubicle and they look at me as if I have gone stark raving mad. From a man of the button down collar to the grimy little imp thrusting ears of corn at them. I can dig their consternation. Nevertheless, soon, I'll hop back in my truck with a pocket full of cash. As I drive, I'll look thankfully to the clear, blue skies and that big yellow ball that I know is heating up the Hothouse nicely. Later that evening I'll stand in the field and thank all mighty God for it all: the soil, the water, the light...and even the chicken crap.

 

Drive In Theaters are alive and...well? I was conceived at a drive in theater. Well, I can't be sure about that statement, except for the "I was conceived" part. But there has to be some infantile connection with drive in theaters because I feel so at home there. I don't know if it's the aroma of hamburgers or popcorn wafting through the air, the sounds of kids playing on the rickety, outdated playground, or the old time rock and roll music that penetrates the airwaves, but something definitely touches a nerve at these venues.
Recently, the wife and I found that the old Auto Drive In in nearby Greenwood, SC had reopened, and, was being operated by a couple of old acquaintances from our days in Greenwood (in the early eighties). Tommy McCutcheon and his wife have bought the old place and have added a screen, bringing the total to two giant screens. Tommy used to own the Civic Center Cafe, across from the Civic Center in Greenwood. We were among their first customers, and would visit there quite often. Even after we left Greenwood for Greenville, and eventually Newberry, we would make the drive and get one of Tommy's delicious hamburgers, made from fresh ground beef, and so big that the fries on the plate were hardly ever touched. The Auto show first-run flicks, unlike the drive-ins of my day when second-run features and 'b' movies were the standard fare. We caught "Snow White and the Huntsman", had a couple of Hot dog plates and enjoyed an evening of pure, unadulterated fun.
The Auto Drive In shut down in the late eighties. It soon became a flea market and eventually nothing but a weed farm. When the screen went dark, we all thought that an era had passed us by-forever. The Auto Drive In was once owned by a gentleman named Pete. He also owned several other businesses in town, including the local Burger King franchise. Although he was an astute businessman and could have spent his days lounging around the pool, counting his substantial income, Pete was always on hand at the drive in. You'd see him behind the counter, cooking up a batch of chili or slinging hamburgers to his appreciative customers. When I learned that he was a multi-business owner, I had to ask him why he chose to spend every evening at the theater. "These are my people", he replied. "I feel more at home here than I do at home". Rest in peace Pete! Over the years I have echoed his sentiments.
When Laura and I visited the Monetta Drive In, located about 60 miles SW of Newberry, I said the same thing: "These are my people". At the time, the Monetta Drive In, or the Big Mo', was the only drive in theater in the state, hanging on to that past which had almost forever vanished, in this state at least. Now, there are two theaters within pretty easy driving distance from us. The food at the Monetta is good, and pretty reasonably priced, but it's not Tommy's famous fare. The Auto's concession prices are kinda steep, but in perspective, I don't mind paying 8 bucks for a hot dog and fries versus 8 bucks for a small popcorn and drink at a typical walk in theater.
Way back when I worked at the White Horse Drive In,(see previous blog) , I popped the corn, slung drinks and helped at the box office. After the shift was over, I would catch whatever was left of the feature before I rode my bicycle home. The experience that I gained while working there was probably negligible, but the memories I made there were priceless. First real girlfriend, first kiss, first time rounding second base, first x-rated flick, etc. etc. Maybe it's trying to relive some of those times that makes my love for the drive in so overpowering. Although I will never again have a first kiss, I can somehow revel in those memories and feel, just for a moment, the rush of careless youth. Folks-lay on the horns-it's time to start the movie!