By “BUZZ” KING, guest columnist
This is a couple of short stories that came to mind, but don’t rise to the level of a full column, and I hope you enjoy them.
The first was sent to me by Dr. George Monroe, who grew up next door and taught school here. To my knowledge, George never got caught doing whatever he did on his own time.
We just got the May 29 issue of the BCD and enjoyed your column on Frank Hohenberger. I once had an unusual experience with him that could have killed me.
He had a black Model A Ford coupe that he tooled around town in at a little more than the posted speed limit, usually. One day, I was standing near the town pump at the town square (now Village Green) when I saw him coming south down Jefferson Street at a pretty good clip, so I stopped and stood still as he approached Main Street.
For some unknown reason, he made a last-minute decision to turn east. In an instant, his car flipped upside down right in front of me. He crawled out of the car and appeared to be unhurt, but the roof was smashed and he looked bewildered as he walked away without saying a word.
The incident may have been a factor in his liking the King boys or others to drive him about.
One of my fondest memories was visiting the Country Store in the Nashville House — a world of treasures, like lemon drops which were 2 for a cent, later 1 cent each, later still, 2 cents each, and so on. Two would likely last all afternoon.
And don’t forget the back door of the kitchen, where you could get two fried biscuits and apple butter if you looked pitiful. I soon found that more than twice a week did not work, and never, never on a weekend, including Friday. It is always best not to abuse or over use a good thing.
The store had all those wonderful pictures on the north wall, and the checkerboard barrel was great, too. My overall best item was the registration book where folks from near and far would sign in.
The Totem Post shop on Van Buren often had discarded scrap leather in their trash. That was a good thing to take home.
And one more thing, if you don’t mind. Wash day in the winter was nasty. There were hooks in every first-floor room and a cord wove its way through on which musty, wet, clean clothes were hung out to dry. Summer and dry days were the best when the clothes line in the back yard could be used.
Ever put your fingers in the wringer? Hurts, don’t it?
‘Til next time. — Buzz
