Look, Melba and Mrs. ‘Fras, time is running out for the annual pre-Christmas tour of my hometown. I’ve arranged for two pickups. That should be enough to carry everybody.
I have spoken rather sharply to Dr. Whoopee. Last year, you’ll recall, he hadn’t completely cleaned out his truck after hauling that truckload of hogs. He promised things would be better this year, nice clean hay or pine straw.
Again, there’s the problem of going through Tuscaloosa; you nearly have to. All I can say is, keep your head down low, don’t wave any AU signs, don’t make eye contact and hope for the best.
Then there’s the choice of the upper route, which means crossing Hell’s Creek. I think, stress “think,” that the war lords along there are fairly reasonable people. Maybe a small bribe?
The lower route means going through Gordo. Be sure to slow down for the speed bump, and be sure not to hit any of the people who will be standing there watching their new traffic light switch from red to green and back again, and on and on.
By the way, I have scouted out a couple of ideal places for rest stops along Highway 82, places where the bushes grow real thick. Men on one side of the road, ladies on the other.
Now when we get to my home town, there are several places to eat — Wimpy’s Place (best hamburgers anywhere), the Lamar Cafe, Guy’s Cafe, Sanitary Cafe. Also the Rexall Drug Store makes the best malted milks on earth.
You’ll want a tour of the heavy industry there: the cotton gin, two blacksmith’s shops and four water-powered grist mills within two or three miles of downtown. Turner’s Mill mill pond serves as the city swimming pool.
Then, for your shopping pleasure, there’s Falkner’s, with the pretty Christmas window, where you can buy anything from a sack of 6-8-4 and mule harness to a lady’s frock to a Frigidaire.
And there’s the Yellow Front and Clearman’s, and Thomas S. Lollar’s, and on and on. The prospects are limitless.
Enjoy the Christmas decorations and the huge blue-lit star on the water tank, appropriately located on Water Tank Hill. Better hurry, ladies. Time’s running short.
Behave yourselves. But if you should get into trouble, I have connections in the courthouse. My uncle is the tax assessor and my cousin is the tax collector.
Now, you need to realize that it’s been a few moons since I was around there, so there may have been a few minor changes since I’ve been away.
Bob Sanders is a veteran local radio personality, columnist, author and raconteur of note. He can be reached at bobbypsanders@gmail.com.