The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop Read online

  “You’re kiddin’ me.”

  “No. I go every Sunday. It still feels a little weird to be worshipping in the same place where I used to buy my produce, but he’s an awful good preacher, Gladys. He puts out a good, positive, things-to-live-by message, and you always feel good when you leave.”

  After she hung up, Gladys was still in a state of shock. “Jessie Ray Scroggins? A preacher at the Piggly Wiggly supermarket?” But she guessed it must be true. You couldn’t make that up if you tried.

  * * *

  —

  JESSIE RAY HAD been clean and sober ever since he came back from Florida, and had completely turned his life around. He had his church, his wife and children back, and was doing great. But they say that no matter how long you are sober, you can still have a slip.

  One night, Jessie Ray found himself sitting in a neighborhood bar. He suddenly realized he was drunk. And he knew he had to get home right away. He somehow found his car keys and stumbled to his car. He was almost home, only a few blocks away, but as drunk as he was, he still felt a slight thump as he drove over it. He must have hit a speed bump.

  The next morning the police were at his door, and he was being arrested for a hit-and-run felony. That slight bump had been the body of a ten-year-old boy he’d run over and killed. As the police were handcuffing him and dragging him to the squad car, he started screaming at the top of his lungs for his wife. “Help! Help!”

  Then Jessie suddenly woke up, bathed from head to toe in a cold sweat with his heart pounding. He sat up in bed, gasping for air, and realized it had been a dream. He kept repeating, “It was just a dream. It was just a dream. I’m still sober! Thank you, God. Thank you, Idgie.” He quickly threw back his covers and jumped out of bed, and ran into the kitchen to give his wife a great big hug. He hadn’t gotten drunk. He hadn’t run over a little boy after all. He was not going to jail today.

  OFTEN PEOPLE SAY “Let’s keep in touch,” and then don’t. This was not the case with Evelyn and Ruthie. After their short time together when Bud was in the hospital, they called and chatted with each other almost every day. A few times Ruthie even went over and spent the weekend with Evelyn in Birmingham, and Evelyn would sometimes drive over to Pine Mountain, Georgia, not far from Atlanta, and meet Ruthie for lunch. And as friends get closer, they start to tell each other everything.

  Today Ruthie was telling Evelyn about her daughter, Carolyn Lee. “Now, I love her, but we have never been very close. Certainly not as close as I would like. Carolyn can be…well…a little shallow. But I blame that on Martha Lee and her influence on Carolyn. Anyhow, it’s a disappointment. I’ve tried. But when we do get together, all she really wants to talk about is what outfit she is going to wear to the next party, or the important people she has met.

  “Her husband, Brian, is a nice boy, but they’re both caught up in the Washington social life, always going from one party to the next. I just hope that the marriage holds up, because if Carolyn was ever thrown into the real world…I worry. Now, my son, Richard, is, well, he’s cut from a different cloth than Carolyn. He’s his own person, and he was always pretty much that way. When he was younger, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he said, “I’m not sure yet, Mother, but I do know I don’t want to be unhappy.”

  Evelyn said, “Wow, I wish I’d been that smart. When I was young, I always knew what everybody else wanted me to be, I was clear on that. And both of my children seemed to always know what they wanted to be, and they went out and did it. But I never knew what I wanted until I met Ninny and started working at age forty-eight. But what about you, Ruthie? What did you want to be?”

  “Oh, gosh, Evelyn, you’re going to laugh if I tell you. It’s so lame.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Well, when I was younger, I was always kinda shy. But there was this restaurant in Baltimore where we used to go for special occasions, and when you walked in, this beautiful lady would greet you at the door and make you feel so welcome, and escort you to your table.”

  “Like a hostess?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s what you would call it, a hostess. Anyhow, at the time I thought she must have the most glamorous job in the world, looking pretty, greeting people, making them feel special. Isn’t that the dumbest thing you ever heard?”

  Evelyn shook her head. “No, not at all. Hey, when I was sixteen I wanted to be a nun, and I’m not even Catholic.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said Ruthie. “Just think, I could be here talking to Sister Evelyn, or, knowing you, Pope Evelyn the First.”

  CHRISTMAS 1997

  From: Dot­Weems@­hotmail.­com

  Hey gang,

  I hope you got my last one. I am still not sure how well this email thing works. I keep pushing the wrong button. Hard to teach an old dog new tricks, I guess.

  * * *

  —

  So, another year and we are still alive and kicking. The highlight of our year was that our old friend Opal Butts, who was on her way to Florida, stopped by here to say hello. She is still as pretty as ever! Remember in 1927 when Opal was crowned Miss Whistle Stop and represented us in the Miss Alabama contest and we all went to cheer her on?

  We still think she was robbed. How many girls do you know who can tap-dance and play the spoons at the same time? No matter who won, Opal will always be our Miss Alabama.

  By the way, don’t you miss all the good old movie stars? I do. We saw Pillow Talk on the classic movie channel last night. What a hoot. And they just don’t make movie stars like Fred and Ginger anymore. Try as I may, I can’t seem to get excited about the new ones. I don’t even know their names and couldn’t tell you one from another. I guess it happens to us all. My mother had been wild-eyed about a heartthrob named Rudolph Valentino. “Who’s he?” I remember asking. See what I mean?

  Had to take Wilbur to the emergency room in May. The crazy fool was out on the pier feeding the seagulls by hand, and one of them missed the oyster cracker he was holding up and nicked his nose instead. Needless to say, he was not a pretty sight with the big bandage on his nose, but it’s all healed up now.

  By the way, speaking of unexpected things, I had a rude awakening at the doctor’s this year. The gal taking my weight and height told me that I was five foot three and I said, “No, that’s not right. I’m five feet four and a half, and I’ve always been five feet four and a half.” I made her measure again, and sure enough she was right. Gang, I have shrunk! No wonder my pants are too long. It’s me! I’m too short.

  But on a happier note: Did you know that once you pass seventy-five and you are still alive, it means you have a better than average chance on making it past ninety? So let’s keep on going! The way they are curing all these diseases and replacing body parts left and right, who knows, we could live forever. My question is, would you want to? Write and tell me what you think.

  Well, signing off for another year. They tell us it’s not PC to say Merry Christmas anymore, but Merry Christmas anyway, everybody!

  Your faithful scribe,

  Dot

  BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

  1972

  OPAL BUTTS HAD three sisters, Ruby, Pearl, and the baby, Garnet. It was clear her mother had been hung up on jewelry. And Opal had been hung up on fixing hair since she was eighteen. After she married Julian Threadgoode, she started a small beauty shop in their kitchen. It might have been one of the reasons for their divorce. Every time he came home, there were at least three women in the kitchen and two more in the living room, chatting away, waiting to get their hair fixed. All weekend, there were women in and out of the house at all hours, and it had driven Julian crazy. Finally, he gave Opal an ultimatum and she chose the beauty business. After he moved down to Florida, she opened up her own beauty shop two doors down from the cafe and was very successful.

  But in 1954, Opal had to close
her beauty shop in Whistle Stop, and wound up moving to Birmingham and working for a beauty shop in a downtown hotel. It was so different. At her own shop she had known all of her customers, but now the customers were mostly walk-ins. And almost nobody wanted a permanent wave anymore.

  But Opal’s main preoccupation now was heading up her condo association, and the job was turning out to be extremely stressful. So stressful, she had just ordered a T-shirt that read KILL ME IF I EVER VOLUNTEER AGAIN. The main problem was that her neighborhood was in flux. As the older residents left, young singles were moving in, and the atmosphere was changing. And oh, how the singles loved to party. Now that it was summer, every weekend at the pool, someone was having a cookout and playing loud music, and who did everyone call to complain? Opal was so tired of having to get up out of bed, go out, and ask them to turn down the music and keep their voices down. They were usually pretty good about it, but within an hour, it was just as loud. Sometimes she had to call the police to get them to be quiet.

  Noise was one thing. She understood they were just trying to have a good time, but these kids had all kinds of people showing up at their parties. People they didn’t know. A lot of the older residents were worried that some of these strangers might come back and rob them. It was a valid fear. There had been a lot of holdups and carjackings going on lately.

  One night just last week she had stayed late at work. A group of girls, in town for a bachelorette party, came into the salon pretty drunk and wanted her to dye their hair pink to match their dresses for the wedding, and they didn’t leave the shop until after ten that night.

  She had closed up the shop and was walking to her car when she noticed a scruffy-looking man in a long coat who seemed to be following her. She looked around the parking lot, and most of the cars were gone. When she realized she was alone, she began to walk a little faster, and so did he. She was now convinced this guy was up to no good. Oh Lord, he was probably going to rob her and steal her car or worse. She didn’t know, all she knew was she had to think fast.

  As she got a little closer to her car, she slowly reached inside her beauty supply bag, pulled out a curling iron, then quickly turned and pointed it at him. And in the deepest and loudest voice she could manage, she growled, “You come one step closer, sucker, and I’ll blow your head off.”

  It must have scared him, because he backed off and went the other way. As she stood there and watched him leave she felt just like John Wayne, and, boy, did that feel good. That bastard wasn’t going to get her tip money, not tonight. Not as hard as she’d worked.

  ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  IT WAS HER father’s eighty-fifth birthday, and Ruthie had invited Evelyn to come over to Atlanta and have dinner with them as a little surprise for him. Evelyn was delighted. She really liked Bud, and enjoyed talking about the old days in Whistle Stop. It was almost like being with Ninny again.

  * * *

  —

  THAT AFTERNOON, RUTHIE picked Evelyn up at the airport, and as they were turning in to Caldwell Circle, Ruthie said, “Evelyn, look over at the big house. Do you see a face in the window yet?”

  Evelyn looked. “No, not yet.”

  “Well, keep looking.” And as they got out of the car, a curtain was suddenly pulled aside in one of the upstairs windows, and a face peered out. Ruthie said, “There she is, right on schedule.” Ruthie faked a quick little smile and waved at her, and the face quickly disappeared behind the curtain.

  “Who was that?”

  “My mother-in-law.”

  Evelyn said, “Oh dear, I knew she lived close by, but not that close. She really is right on top of you, isn’t she?”

  “Oh yes, and in more ways than one.” As they entered the house, Ruthie stopped in the entrance hall and said, “Hold on a minute, Evelyn,” then walked over to the house phone and waited. Five seconds later, it rang. Ruthie rolled her eyes and answered.

  “Hello, Martha.”

  “I see we have a visitor.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  Ruthie counted to five on her fingers, and waited.

  “Do I know her?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Martha,” she said, looking at Evelyn. “She’s an old friend of mine from Alabama.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, have a nice day,” she said and hung up. Ruthie shook her head. “Sorry. Anyhow, come on in; this is home, such as it is.”

  Evelyn put her bag down, walked around the living room, and peeked into the dining room. “Oh, Ruthie, this place is just beautiful. And these colors. I just love this shade of yellow on the walls, and all these gorgeous slipcovers, and your rugs. Who was your decorator?”

  Ruthie shrugged. “Just me.”

  “You did all of this by yourself?”

  “Yes, it was a hard-fought battle getting rid of all the big, dark antique furniture Martha Lee had in here, but it was one battle I won, thank heavens.”

  “I should say so. I had to hire an army of people to do my house.”

  “Of course, it took a while. I had to replace the wallpaper and put in all new light fixtures.”

  “Well, you did a great job. You have a real talent, Ruthie.”

  “Why, thank you, Evelyn.”

  “You must entertain a lot.”

  “No, not really. We used to, but when Brooks died, most of our friends were married couples, and when you’re suddenly a single woman, your life changes. But I do miss the fun we all used to have.”

  That night, Ruthie dropped Evelyn off at the restaurant and then picked up her father at Briarwood Manor. Bud had assumed it would just be the two of them, but when he walked in and saw Evelyn sitting at the table, his eyes lit up. “Well, look who’s here. It’s my friend Evelyn. What a great surprise!”

  They had a festive evening talking about the old days, and Bud said, “Hey, Evelyn, did Ninny ever tell you about the time Aunt Idgie shot that guy who was trying to kill her cat?”

  “No.”

  “Or the times when she and my mother threw all the government food off the train to the poor sharecroppers?”

  “Yes, she did tell me that. But tell me again.”

  Ruthie sat back and listened as Bud told a story she’d heard at least a hundred times, but she was just so happy to see him having such a good time.

  Later, as they were taking him back to Briarwood, Bud said, “Thanks for spending my birthday with us, Evelyn. Let’s do it again next year!”

  Evelyn said, “You bet, Bud. I’ve already got it down on my calendar.”

  Bud got out of the car and walked up to the front door, then turned around and waved goodbye. As she waved back, Ruthie said, “Oh, Evelyn, sometimes he just breaks my heart. I know he’s lonesome. But he’s so brave, never complains, always tries to be cheerful. But I think that’s the reason he tried to find Whistle Stop again. He really misses home.”

  “I’m sure he does. I see how he lights up when we talk about it.”

  “Oh yes, and the sad part is, his home’s not even there anymore, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.”

  “It is sad. But, Ruthie, don’t forget, he has you. And as he says, you really are the best daughter in the world. That cake you ordered for him tonight was just beautiful.”

  Ruthie smiled. “It was, wasn’t it? But have you ever seen so many candles on one cake in your life? I thought the poor waiter would never get them all lit.”

  “It was a lot of candles,” said Evelyn. “But God bless him, he blew them out. Every last one of them. I wonder what he wished for?”

  Ruthie shook her head. “I don’t know, Evelyn. Another year maybe?”

  “Well, whatever it was, I hope he gets it.”

  * * *

  —

  BUD HAD MADE a birthday wish that night, but it hadn’t been for him. It had been for Ruthie. He wished that she would find something or so
meone to make her happy again.

  FAIRHOPE, ALABAMA

  January 1988

  I am sure that by now you have all heard about Big George’s passing. His daughter, Alberta, who is now a chef in Birmingham, called us with the sad news. He will be missed. Nobody could barbecue like Big George. Alberta said he was still cooking right up to the end.

  On a happier note, Wilbur and I spent our New Year’s Eve over at the Elks Club, and I won twenty-five dollars in the fill-your-card bingo game. That was a very nice way to start off the new year. I am also happy to report that Wilbur survived his second childhood moment. This is the story of why I have twenty more gray hairs today.

  The kids that live next door to us got a huge trampoline for Christmas and have it sitting out in their yard. And lo and behold the next morning while I was washing my breakfast dishes, I happened to look out the window just in time to see my crazy husband bouncing up and down at least six feet in the air! I tell you, it liked to have scared me to death. Needless to say I dropped everything and ran out and made him come down off that thing. Men! No matter how old they are, they never grow up, do they? The old fool could have broken every bone in his body. He said he had a lot of fun bouncing on that thing, but it was no fun for me. I could have been a widow today if I hadn’t stopped him. Honestly, folks, I just never know what he will do next. Oh well, can’t live with him, can’t live without him. I guess I’ll just live with him and hope he doesn’t give me a heart attack next time. And so, until next time, don’t take any foolish chances, because life is too short as it is. Just remember, no matter what time it is, it’s always later than you think.