Dinner at The Shack

WARNING-This is the longest blog entry I’ve ever posted.  Don’t start it late at night.  It’s a composite of lots or conversations I had throughout the South.  I took the liberty of putting all those words in the mouths of a  real couple I actually met at a very good restaurant.  It took a while to write and I couldn’t figure out how to shorten it or break it in half.  Hope you enjoy it.

The menu at The Shack was the South’s greatest hits.  Smoked meats, gumbo, hush puppies, fresh seafood, all the good sides.  I had trouble deciding what to order.  The mullet won out.  I hadn’t had it in a long time. 

The Shack is quite the joint.  A model train runs all around the dining room on a track suspended from the ceiling.  Six deer heads in a group dominate one wall.  Old time signs for farm equipment, grease, beer, you name it, plaster the other three walls.  Used license plates are starting to cover the  ceiling.  It had everything.  Now if the food just matched up.

I took a seat and Shirley came over.  I like name tags instead of self-introductions.  She had her order book and a pencil ready.  None of that “Hi, my name is _______, and I’ll be your server tonight.”  No drink order first, food order later.  Shirley was all business from the start.

“What’ll it be?”

“How’s the gumbo Shirley?”

‘Homemade and fresh.  We drive to the beach every week and buy our own seafood.  You’ll like it.  Plenty of crawfish and shrimp, sausage from just up the road.”

“I’ll take a cup of that and the mullet.  That’s fried isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Think your cook could grill it?”

“I suppose he could, but he never has that I know of.  Does a fine job frying it though.  It’s not heavy or greasy or nothin.  You’ll like it fried.  Besides, he’s touchy.  I hate to ask.”

“All right.”

“You get two sides.”

“I’ll have cole slaw and baked beans.”

“Good choices.  You want a long neck beer?”

“Anything on draft?”

“Nope.  Just long necks.  What kind?”

“What do you have?”

“Bud lite, Coors lite, Miller lite, Michelob lite.”

“No beer that’s not lite?”

“Nope.  Pretty simple place.”

I laughed.  “I’ll have a Miller lite.”

It felt good to interact with someone.  I realized I hadn’t spoken a word, to myself for anyone else, since I ordered into the speaker at the Sonic back in Selma.

“All righty then.  I’ll bring that beer right out with your gumbo.”

As she walked away, I felt a hand on my shoulder.  Sort of startled me.  I turned and looked up.  A man about my age was way too close to me.  He smiled and talked softly, almost in my ear.  Too familiar.

“Darrell, what the heck you doin’ down heah in our neck of the woods?”

I didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t say anything for a moment.  I drew back and his smile started to fade.

“I’m sorry sir but I’m not Darrell.”

He looked confused.

“Oh my god you look just like him.  Sound like him too.  I thought it was Darrell, and my wife, she just knew it was Darrell.”

He looked back at a woman sitting alone at a table across the room.

“Lola it’s not Darrell.  Do you believe it?”

“You are KIDDING me.”  Lola came over, stared at me, and started talking very fast.  Loud too.

“When you started talking, your voice sounded like Darrell and then when you laughed, we just knew it was him.  And you’re wearing a golf hat and Darrell is a big golfer.  And you’re big like Darrell.  And with the gray hair and glasses and all.  I can hardly BELIEVE MAH EYES.”

Lola looked at her husband in wonder and turned to me and laughed.  Nice laugh.  Her husband spoke next. 

“Well if you’re not Darrell, who are you?”

“Dave McClure.  I’m from Illinois.”

He stuck out his hand.

“Don Ackland.  This is my wife Lola. 

I shook Lola’s hand too.

“Glad to meet you.  I’m sorry but this is just too much.  You’re a dead ringer for our old friend Darrell Ebner who moved to South Carolina a couple years ago.  I should have known he woulda called us if he was comin’ this way.  Wait till I tell him about this.” 

Lola spoke next.

“We just ordered our dinner.  Would you like to join us?  I hate to see anybody eat alone.”

“Uh…sure.  Don’t mind if I do.  It’s been a long day.”

I picked up my silverware, or rather a plastic fork and knife wrapped in a paper towel, and followed Don and Lola to their table.  Shirley the waitress was right behind us.

“Thought I lost ya there for a minute.”

Don spoke.

“Shirley do you remember our old friend Darrell Ebner from over by Owassa?  Worked at the fertilizer plant?

“Can’t say that I do.” 

“Well this gentleman heah looks just like him.  Just like him.  I’m afraid we bothered him for it.  Can you bring his meal out with ours?”

“Course.  I’m going to get him started with this gumbo and a beer.  You and Lola need anything else?”

Lola answered.  “I suppose I could use a refill of sweet tea.  Don, you want another Bud Lite?  That’s a silly question ain’t it?  Sure, bring him another Bud lite ” 

Shirley retreated to the kitchen.  Don spoke next.

“So what brings you down our way Mr. …uh…McClure.  Or is it Dave?”

“Call me Dave please.  I’m making my way to Pensacola, going to golf with some fellas that are flying down from Illinois.  I’m on a solo road trip to, you know, acquaint myself with this part of the country.  Been following the Civil Rights Trail.  I was in Selma this morning, Montgomery and Birmingham before that.  Learning a lot about Alabama.  My wife is joining me after the golf, we’re going to spend a week or so with some relatives, then head home slowly.  May stop in Memphis.”

“I hope you’re enjoying Alabama Dave.”

“Well, your weather beats ours all to heck, I’ll tell you that.

“What part of Illinois you from?”

“Ottawa.  Town of about 18,000 ninety miles southwest of Chicago.”

Lola had been scrolling furiously on her phone and now held it up.

“There’s Darrell Ebner, just so you don’t think Don and I are getting Alzheimers.  Now isn’t he just about your double?”  She passed me her phone.

I looked on the screen and a grinning gray-haired man in a Titleist cap peered back at me.  It was like looking in a mirror.  It’s happened to me before.  I think the doppleganger thing is real.

I stopped at a junkyard in Tennessee to ask directions a couple years ago on one of the first road trips when a guy my size walked out of the back of the place wearing bib overalls and asked me where I was going.  When I told him Florida, he told me I was lost.  We both laughed the same laugh at the same time.  He had a beard exactly like mine.  The spooky feeling I had that day was the same one I felt looking at Lola’s phone. 

“My god yes.  Let’s hope I’m not his evil twin.”

“I bet not,” Lola said with a toothy smile.  Don followed his wife up quickly.

“So, what are you learning about us Alabamans?”

“You eat well, for one thing.  And you like your beer nice and cold.” 

I took a big swig of my long neck, which was sweating from the heat.  Heat in February.  Nothing but a screen door and windows open there in The Shack.  You gotta love it.  I felt far from home.  I wasn’t sure how much to say about what I’d been thinking of Alabama.

“You eat here often?” I said.

“Yes we do.  Beats cooking,” Lola said.  "I can’t make dinner cook as well as the cook here at The Shack anyway.”

“What county am I in?”

“Conecuh,” Don said.  “Little county less than 13,000 people.  We’ve lived here all our lives.  And Lola never forgets anything.  If there is something you want to know she is the one to ask.”

“We are keeping you from your supper Mr. McClure.  Don’t mind us.  Eat that gumbo before it gets cold.  It may be the best you ever eat,” Lola said.

I had a spoonful and agreed with Lola.  It had the holy trinity of delta cooking; celery, onions, green pepper, along with okra in a pale roux.  The stew was heavy with crawfish, shrimp, and chunks of fish.  In lots of gumbo one or more of the seafood items are overdone and rubbery, but in that cup each were cooked just right.  The best thing about the The Shack’s gumbo though, was the sausage.  Spicy and smooth, but not greasy.

“Wow,” I said.

“What’d I tell ya,” Lola said.  “That’s more of a creole dish with the light-colored butter roux.  Cajun gumbo is darker, made with lard a lot of times.  I prefer this kind.  And that sausage is made right here in Evergreen.  Conecuh sausage company.  Been around since 1947.”

Don wasn’t into talking about food. 

“So what have you been learning about Civil Rights in Alabama?”

I swallowed a mouthful of gumbo and paused.

“I learned civil rights for black people were pretty hard to find until the 60’s when they had to fight to get them.  I knew about what was happening in Birmingham, because I was a kid then and saw it on TV, and I’d read about Montgomery with the freedom riders and what happened on the bridge in Selma.  But I didn’t know what brought it on, and how bad it was for so long after the Civil War ended.”

“I was a kid then too.”

“How old are you Don?”

“I’ll be 69 comin’ up here soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be 68 in August.  I remember seeing young people being knocked down with a fire house rolling down the street.  I saw them sic the dogs on black people that looked to be just standing there.  But what I remember most is the look on the faces of those cops.  How hateful they looked.  I didn’t understand it back then.  Not sure I do now.”

“Yeah, it would be hard for a Yankee kid to know what it was like down heah then.”

“How’d you feel when that was happening Don?”

“Scared.  I thought everything was breaking loose and I didn’t know what it was going to be like next.  It was like people my parent’s age were losing control.  And they were pissed.”

“White people you mean.”

“Yeah.  I think they were scared too truth be told.  But they were so mad.  At the federal government and the news media as much as the black people.  Looking back I think the leaders of those protests wanted that to happen in front of the TV cameras and we played into it.  They got the upper hand on that one.  It’s never been the same since.”

“Would you want it to be the same?”

“No.  But it didn’t have to happen like it did.”

“It was shameful,” Lola said.  “I just felt ashamed.  I didn’t say it to my parents.  But when they killed those four little black girls with a bomb in their Sunday School?  They was my age those little girls.  I couldn’t believe it.  I was scared because I didn’t know how far we would go to stop those black protestors.  So, I guess I was scared too in a different way.  I was afraid lots and lots more black people would get killed and they’d bring the army in.  And they did bring the army in.  It was a terrible time for Alabama.”

“I suppose you went to the new lynching museum in Montgomery that Stephenson fella put together.”

“Yeah I did.  You been there?”

“No.  Not going neither.”

“It’s really pretty well done Don.  Straightforward and factual.  It’s not just about Alabama but the whole South, the whole country for that matter.  We lynched black people in Illinois too.  That was news to me.  I mean it happened.  I didn’t realize it was anywhere as big a number as it was though.  4,000 they could document.  Surely more we’ll never know about.  Maybe double.  I had no idea.”

They were both quiet.

“I mean, I don’t blame you.  The whole country was responsible.  The North took damned little interest in stopping it.  Trouble was the country was run by nothing but white men for all but a few years after the Civil War.  The slaves may have been free, but they didn’t have any rights.  Couldn’t vote.  It was a different time, but still it happened.  I think we all have to own it.”

Our dinner came, which was good timing.  My dinner companions were having BBQ.  Lola had a pulled pork sandwich with slaw on top (the Slaw Slammer) and Don had the Smoked Butt plate.  My plate had a big pile of mullet.  When the waitress asked if she could bring us anything else, I ordered another beer and asked Don if I could buy him one.  He shot a look at Lola.

“Go ahead.  I’ll drive home honey.  I can see you’re gonna have a good time talking.”  She turned to me.  “My husband likes a good discussion, as you might have caught on to.”

Don went on.  “It might be we all have to own it, but you know as well as I do the rest of the country puts it all on guys like me.  Alabama good old boy born and bred.  White, redneck, NASCAR watchin’, gun totin’, racist cracker.”

“I think you pretty much got all the stereotypes wrapped up into one there, Don.  It might work for some people but not me.  Presumes too much don’t you think?  I imagine you have your ideas about Yankees too.  But I’d rather not be anyone’s typical anything if I can help it.”

“I know that, but I have you figured as a Democrat just the same.”

“You’d be right.  I am a Democrat.  I’m a retired social worker.  I ran a private not for profit that worked with kids and families.  We took government money so we could provide foster care and therapy.  We also did day care and immigration work.  A lot of the people we worked with were poor.  Being a Democrat, especially in Illinois, kind of goes with that territory.”

“That sounds like a tough job.”

“It was.  But satisfying too.  Those programs work you know.  Not every time but they work.  What did you do for a living Don?”

“I ran an insurance agency.  Took it over from my Dad.  I started out selling life insurance, ended up being something of a financial advisor.  That business changed so much.  It works too, if people stick with it.”

“I bet you helped a lot of people, a lot of families, get ahead and stay there.”

“Those that could afford it I did.  There are plenty of poor people round heah I couldn’t figure out how to help.”

“I’d guess you to be a Republican.”

“You’d be right about that.  My whole family is Republican.  Trump got 62% of the vote here.  Better than Mitt Romney.  State government’s pretty much all Republican.  Not much future in being Democrat in Alabama.”

Lola jumped in.  I felt bad about leaving her out.

“I don’t know what I am anymore.  Don’t know that I’m a Democrat, but I’m fixin’ to vote that way come the next election.  I think things are going crazy myself.  And it’d be wrong to think of Alabama as all red Republican.”

“Did you work Lola?”

“I started out working at our kid’s school, Sparta Academy, private.  Then I went and worked as an aide in the public school.  That opened my eyes.  Best thing I ever did was to see how the other half lives.  Oh, and I’m an election judge.”

“I am too Lola.  You had a special election not long ago that got pretty nutty.  Alabama was on the national news every night.  How did that happen Lola?”

“Oh boy, that’s a whopping long story Dave.  How’s that mullet?”

“Just like I hoped it would be.  Nice and fishy.  I get tired of bland white fish sometimes.  And the slaw is great.  Lots of places overlook the sides and they all end up tasting the same.  These beans are nice and spicy too with that same good sausage.”

“I’m telling you, you’re at the best roadside joint in Southern Alabama.”

Don swallowed a mouthful of smoked pork, took a swig of beer, and leaned back in his chair.

“That damn special election was a circus.  We were replacing Jeff Sessions right?  Who probably wishes he’d a never taken that Attorney General job, and it should have been a slam dunk for the Republicans, who started out behind Luther Strange.  But somehow they dug up Roy Moore and expected us to vote him in.  Strange was a perfectly good candidate, moderate, and damned if they didn’t put Moore on the ballot.  I still don’t know what happened.”

“The only thing crazier is they expected Alabama women to vote for him,” Lola added.

“I don’t believe quite all that sexist stuff about Moore like Lola, but they plumb overshot thinking they could get enough votes out of the cities and black votes to elect him in the general.  Put that scandal stuff aside and he’s too old school, even for Alabama.  At least I hope so.  I reckon even Alabama gets more fair-minded over time.”

“You think they’ll run him again against Doug Jones?”

“If they do that’s the only way Doug Jones gets re-elected.  Jones worked for the feds and prosecuted the boys that bombed that Birmingham church where the four black girls were killed.”

“Is that bad?”

“I’m not sayin’ it’s bad.  I’m just sayin’ that stuff is never forgotten in the South.  That background is not going to get you elected down here in a statewide election against any decent Republican.  Not Alabama, not Georgia, Mississippi,  any of the southern states.”

“But he’s an Alabama senator right now.”

“But he’s a Democrat.  He’s going to be a one termer if the party plays its cards right and starts looking at how Alabama votes these days instead of listening to people outside heah.  No way Alabama should have a Democrat senator.”

“Why aren’t you guys talking about the Donald?”

We both looked at Lola.  I didn’t especially want to talk about him.  I had a feeling my dinner partner didn’t either.

“He’s the elephant in the room.  How you going to talk politics and not talk about him?”

I looked up at my dinner companion and he looked at me.

Don said,  “You voted for Hillary and I voted for Trump.  Am I right?”

“You’re right.  You going to vote for him again?”

“To tell the truth, I don’t really want to.  I think he’s kinda dangerous. I mean we wanted him to shake things up and he’s sure doin’ that but I’m not sure he knows what he’s doin’ with foreign policy.  Not sure I trust him.  But unless the Democrats give me somebody I can vote for I’ll give him my vote again.  That’s a promise.”

“Just how bad would a Democratic candidate have to be before you’d vote for Trump again?”

“Well I’m not going to vote for a damn socialist I’ll tell you that.”

Lola spoke up.  “You know, we cancel each other’s votes out quite often, Don and I do.”

“Are you going to vote for Trump next election Lola?”

“I doubt it.  I voted for Hillary. And I voted for Obama the second time.  I thought Don was gonna divorce me.”

“Lola thinks the Democrats can do government programs that help poor people, and I say all they need is jobs and they can take care of themselves.” 

I had to speak up.

“Don, didn’t Obama help poor people with the Affordable Care Act?  Wasn’t he on the right side of the health care problem?”

“Dave, I used to sell health insurance.  Obamacare was a mess.  Still is.  The government has no business in health care.”

“If you ask me the government is knee deep in health care.  Medicaid, Medicare, the Veteran’s program.  That’s government health care.  Tell me, when you were selling insurance before Obamacare, could you find decent individual policies poor people could afford?”

Don shook his head no.

“I worked with poor families Don.  Without Medicaid they had practically no mental health or substance abuse coverage, and even when it was included in the private insurance some were able to buy both had serious limits.  I’m sure you both know people without insurance who are hurting.”

“Yes we sure do,” Lola said.

“Obama gave us a start to figuring out healthcare but we’ve done nothing since.  Trump and the Republicans wanted to repeal Obamacare and replace it with something else and they had nothing.”

“I just know Obama was a big threat to people down here,” Don said.

“Oh Don,” Lola said.  “I have never heard you ever say it like that before.  Who did he threaten?”

“He threatened what America stands for.”

I got back in.

“Don, don’t you think Obama did a lot of good.  Don’t you think he was decent, represented us well in the world, made thoughtful decisions?”

“Well I’ll give him this.  Obama did a lot for black people.  But I don’t think he did much for me.”

I had taken a bite of mullet but stopped chewing it.  Then I resumed and swallowed.  Washed it down with the last of my watery lite beer.

“So Don, I live in a part of Illinois that is not very diverse.  Farm country.  Small businesses.  We had factories with good paying jobs close and tourism and what not took their place.  Earnings went down.  We don’t have many black people where I live.  But we have poor people.  Lots of kids get free lunch in school.  We have a big opioid addiction problem.  Overdose deaths.  Obama was helping those people too not just black people.  Maybe down here that equates to black people, but I see expanding health care as trying to bring everybody up.  Floating all the boats.  You know what I mean?”

“I know what you’re trying to say.  I’ve heard all that.  But just a minute ago you used the word ‘equates.’  Please don’t go all Yankee liberal on me and start using big words.  I may be a redneck but I’m listening.  I get it.”

He called across the room “Shirley can you bring us a couple more beers?”

Lola got up.  “I’m going to the ladies room.  Are you boys going to be OK while I’m gone?”

“I’ll be good honey,” Don said.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Shirley brought over two more long necks.  Don resumed his thoughts on our previous president.

“Look, even though Obama was black and a Democrat he was smart.  I’ll give you that.  And I respected him for being a good family man.  I think I gave Obama a real chance.  You know when I lost all respect for him Dave?  It was that deal with the black professor, the Gates fellah.  Shot his mouth off then tried to make it all better by having a beer with them, brought Biden along to referee.”

“You’re talking about Louis Gates.  Has a TV show about genealogy on public TV.  Yeah.  He’s and Obama are friends.  Both taught at Harvard.  Gates still does.  He has a PhD.”

“And both are black.”

“So?  The cops arrested Gates on the front porch of his own house, suspected him of being an intruder.  White neighborhood, black man.  I bet you’d be pissed Don, if it happened to you or a friend of yours.  I would.  I’d be pissed as hell.”

“That’s not the point.  Obama called the policeman who made the arrest stupid.  It’s unforgiveable for the President of the United States to say that about law enforcement.”

“Is that right?”

I scooped up the last of my baked beans with a chunk of hush puppy, put it in my mouth, and tried to compose myself.

“You know when I lost all respect for Trump?

“When?”

“When he mocked the disabled reporter.  When he bragged about assaulting women.  When he called Central American immigrants at our southern border murderers and rapists.  When he immediately said the murder of a Saudi journalist in their own embassy shouldn’t interfere with us doing business with that country.  When he purposely separated kids from their parents and put them in cages to send immigrants a message.  When he claimed there were good people on both sides of the demonstrations in Charlottesville and gave credence to white supremacists.  When he ruined the grain markets for midwestern farmers with his tariff idea.  I could go on.”

“I’m sure you could.  Look, he’s not like other presidents.  He puts his mouth in gear before he engages his brain.  But he says what a lot of us think.”

Lola had come back and caught the last part of our conversation.

“It doesn’t do any good to argue with Don about the Donald,” Lola said.  “I do it regularly and it gets me nowhere.”

I kept talking to Don anyway.

“Can you really look at Obama’s presidency and say he didn’t accomplish good things for you?”

“Nothing comes to mind.”

I was a little stunned.  Lola helped.

“He did away with your pre-existing condition Don.  You know that helped you.”

“How about you let me talk to my new friend here so I don’t get ganged up on two on one.  Could you do that Lola?”

“As long as you tell the truth.  Besides that, he’s my new friend too.”

“Yeah, well that figures cause he thinks like you.”

“If you don’t mind I’d like to talk to both of you.  We can do this I think, don’t you think?  Without it getting out of hand?”

Don leaned back.  I couldn’t resist the next question.

“You’re not armed are you?”

He smiled.  “The pistol’s in the truck.  Got a permit.  You’re safe.  We haven’t plugged a Yankee down here since the carpetbaggers I don’t think.”

“Not true.  The Klan killed white sympathizers from the North during the Civil Rights demonstrations.  I’m just finding out about that.  But still I feel better you’re not carrying.”

I decided to keep my views on gun control to myself.

“Where were we?”

“Don was telling me to shut up I think.”

“Dang it Lola, I wasn’t.”

“All right you two, how about local voting?  What happens in local elections?”

“It’s pretty much over after the Republican primary, least it used to be,” Lola said.  “Except when it came to that year Obama first won.  That changed everything.”

“How so?”

“Obama won our county.  That’s how big the black turnout was.  I couldn’t believe it.  Nobody could.”

“It just shows you what could happen,” Don said.

“That what could happen?”

“That black voters could drive elections in the South if they got their shit together.  Them and the liberals in the cities.  It’s wrong to think of Alabama, or anywhere else in the South, as all one way.  We got the same tension between cities and rural folk as everybody else.  Thank God our cities aren’t that big.  You got Chicago up there to contend with, like California’s got LA and San Francisco.”

“But so what?  What if Democrats did drive elections?  What do you think would happen?”

“We’d have better public schools around here for one thing,” Lola said.

“Yeah, and be taxed to high heaven paying for them.  This little county?  Conecuh?  They’d spend our little county budget up so fast it’d make your head spin.  We got so little tax base left it’d all be levied for property taxes on our houses.  And if we took that Medicaid subsidy?  All downhill from there brother, mark my words.  Before you know it, the feds’d back out and we’d be paying for it with higher taxes right here in Evergreen.”

“I think  the biggest injustice that happened in reaction to Obamacare is when the red states   refused to take those federal payments to insure their own citizens with Medicaid.  It’s criminal to deny them that care, I think.  If not criminal its damn cruel.”

“Now you sound like Lola. She tells me that about once a week.  Keeps finding ways to feel sorry for those folk without insurance, without this and that.”

“And you don’t?”

“They can get a job with an employer that covers them.  They can get an education so’s to get that kinda job.  They can work for it, ‘stead of getting it handed to them.  I did.  I assume you did too.  You ended up managing an outfit.”

“Oh, yeah.  I worked for it.  I did.  But I had advantages too.”

“Like what?”

“Well I was white for one.  I was a man.  And my family owned land.”

“Thank you very much,” Lola said.  “Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Shirley the waitress showed up table side with her book out again.  Her timing was impeccable.

“How about dessert folks?”

“What do you have?”

“We got lots of stuff but the best is the bread pudding.”  I looked at Lola who nodded.

“I’ll take it, with a cup of coffee.”

“How about you Lola?”

“Don and I’ll have one too. Two spoons.”

Lola and I commenced having a bread pudding conversation.  She puts a lot of stock in the  flavor nuances of real vanilla extract and whiskey.  Once again Don seemed eager to return to politics.

“So, who do you like coming out of this gaggle of Democrat presidential candidates?”

“I’m for whoever is going to get your vote Don.”

“I’m afraid that democrat won’t show up, unless you end up picking Biden and I’m afraid he’s screwed already.  Now Lola here, she’d vote for any one of them.”

“If its between one of them and the orange Cheeto, which it’s gonna be, you damn right I’ll vote for any one of them.  Any day.”

“You like Joe Biden?”

“Joe’s old.  We gotta be bold to get the young voters.  We’re not going to get any Republican votes anyway.  I don’t care what Don says.”

“But we need independent voters on our side.”

“We need new thinking you ask me.  I like Pete Buttigieg.  He’s a veteran you know.”

Don butted in.

“Hello.  That’s never going to happen.  You think you are going to get black votes with a gay candidate?  Think again.”

“Don, do you and Lola have kids?”

“Two.  Boy and a girl.  Both living in Atlanta.”

“Same as my wife and I except our kids are in Chicago.  Where are they on the LGBTQ issue?”

“Are you sure you got all the right letters there?  Seems like they add one every couple months.”

“I’ll tell ya, it isn’t an issue with our kids,” Lola said.  “And that after growing up in a house with Don Ackland.  I’m amazed, but I’m also proud of them.  They think for themselves.  They’re good smart kids.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.  I’ve never seen a social issue turn as quickly as the country’s attitude toward gay people and then gay marriage.  If we can change that much that quickly on an issue that seemed ingrained in our country, anything is possible.”

“Even socialism?” Don said.

“Yeah, even socialism.  I don’t for a minute think we’re going to be a socialist country.  They can try to scare you with Venezuela but that’s an absurd argument.  Look, if you can get past the label and look a little closer, we can adopt policies and create programs that really help people.  It doesn’t mean we’ll turn into a socialist country.  It will cost us more, and we’ll have to shift our spending, but it will make the country a much better place to live for so many people.”

Don looked out the window at the driveway and Lola looked closely at her husband.

“You know, to hear a decent fellah, an otherwise smart guy like you, say that kind of stuff just scares the hell out of me.  We’re not that different.  Same age, both raised kids, had OK jobs.  We couldn’t think about the future any differently.  I just know spending money on the kind of shit that props people up and shields them from real work is not what made America great.  You do that, you spend our money on people who don’t earn the right to be real Americans, and this country will never be the same.”

I took the last bite of my bread pudding and washed it down with some coffee.

“Well, I gotta say it scares me just as much to think a guy like you with good values supports a man like Donald Trump and is starting to decide who’s a real American and who’s not.  We’ve got a constitution and we have got to pay attention to it.  The country is not the same place we grew up in Don.  The middle class we raised our families in is damn hard to find.  The country is changing.  It’s OK to change with it.  There’s no reason to be scared.  Listen to your kids if nothing else.  We’re going to be all right, but we have to work together and take care of each other.”

“OK Dave.  We’re not going to agree there.  It’s getting late but let me ask you one more thing.  How’s your 401(k)?”

“It’s fine.  I bet yours is too.”

“Mine is more than fine.  It’s booming.  Who do you think gets the credit for that?”

“All the people in government that worked to restore confidence after that huge recession.  Bankers and businessmen who made use of technology to better their operations, a whole bunch of people.”

”You can’t give Trump credit for anything can you?”

“I’m not sure Presidents, Obama or Trump or any of them, should get much credit for the performance of the economy.  That Trump tax cut, did it help you or your kids?  And if Trump removing restrictions on polluting the air and water that big business complained about juiced the economy, I’d gladly give up some of my 401(k) gains to have them back.  I think he’s doing real harm to the environment.  Hell, he won’t even acknowledge climate change.”

Lola stepped in.  “Let’s not talk about climate change.  We’re having dessert.”

“OK fine.  To get back to your 401(k) question, my wife and I are fine financially.  I think we’ll be OK regardless of what happens politically.  That’s not my concern. But let me ask you this, how’s your kids’ 401(k)s?”

“That’s a different story,” Lola said.  “They got student loans, pay a lot of rent, can’t even think about buying homes.  Living in Atlanta is not like living in Conechuh county.  We were able to save money.  I’m not sure they ever will.”

“That’s who I’m worried about.  My kids and their kids.  Automation and technology are going to continue to wipe out jobs.  It’s going to be a different world for them.”

“Yeah, well we’ll just have to see what happens won’t we?”  Don said.  “One thing I know is that people count on our votes down heah.  The South is not going to turn blue while the Democrats keep going in the direction they’re headed.  And who knows?  One day you Democrats might want our votes. 

The Republicans came to us in 1948, and what was a solid Democrat South turned Republican.  Strom Thurmond and the Dixiecrats all of a sudden jumped to the GOP.  But to do that the Republicans had to come around to our issues, and they did.  Still do.  You’re going to have to turn around some of your own Midwestern states, cause it’s not going to be the South that wins you back the White House."

“OK, let’s see what happens.  But on election night, after Lola and I both get home from the polls, I’ll be thinking of you down here and looking to see how Alabama goes in the election, particularly this little county.  We got a lot on the line the next election.”

“What did you think of the bread pudding?” Lola asked.

“It’s good but there’s a lady in Forest City Arkansas, wish to God I would have gotten her name, that’s got it beat.  Somehow hers was light and airy.  This pudding has good flavor, but it’s a little heavy like a lot of them, and chewy.  Love the restaurant, I wish it was in my hometown, but the bread pudding was not the best part of the meal.”

“You Yankees are so damn picky,” Don said smiling.

“Can’t help it Don, just saying what I think, which you like right?”

“It was nice talking to you Dave.  It’s hard to have this kind of conversation anymore.”

“I’m real glad you asked me to your table.  I’ve had a lot on my mind.  Sometimes it helps to talk.  I get to listen to what I’m thinking.  And it helps to put a face and a voice to views that aren’t my own.  Makes it more personal and real.  I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“Not at all.  You made my day,” Lola said.  “I don’t feel quite so lonely down here now.”

“Yeah,’ Don said. “But I’m afraid you did nothing but encourage her.”

“It’s OK Don.  We don’t grow horns or anything cause of the way we vote.  After we leave the polling booth, we’re all still Americans.”

“Remember that applies to me too,” Lola said to Don.

“I figure your political differences keep you two voting.  I have a sister and brother in law the same way.  Cancel each other’s votes out every time.  But neither dares not vote or the other gets the advantage.”

Lola laughed.  “Drive careful.  Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

I gave Lola a hug and shook Don’s hand.  He was a guy with a strong handshake too.  We tried to outgrip each other.  He has a very genuine smile.  I was glad I met them both.  Frank conversation keeps us grounded.

With that I paid my bill and made my way to the Buick.  It wasn’t far to the Florida line.  Usually I don’t like to drive in the dark on unfamiliar two-lane roads, but that night it felt good.  I rolled the windows down.  No moon and very little artificial light meant it was just the just the swath of brightness made by the Buick’s headlights sweeping along the highway.  Somewhere between Riverview and Dixonville on Route 41 I saw an illuminated billboard in the distance.  As I got closer, I started to make out the words.  It was one of those religious messages you see across the South rather than a commercial advertisement, probably paid for by a local evangelical church.  There in big letters, as if to mark an end to my road trip, it said:

HELL.  I’D FORGOTTEN ABOUT THAT.

Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.’  Matthew 25.41

Isaiah 66:24       Mark 9:43           Luke 3:17

(Note to billboard companies-that’s way too much information for anyone to read going 60 miles an hour.)

I didn’t get all the verses, but each is, like that first verse from Mathew (it had to be those on the left didn’t it?) a scary warning of the eternal agony suffered by evil doers who pass through the gates of hell.  Quite a collection of horrors recorded there.  It reminded me of the homemade billboard I’d seen in Indiana at the start of my trip, which was much simpler and to the point.

HELL IS REAL

If hell is real, I believe it’s man-made.  I think we create our own hell on earth.  At age 67 I’d found fresh new hells in America I’d overlooked.  The horrors of slavery, 4,000+ lynching deaths, the disenfranchisement of millions of people in the South for 100 years following the civil war, the specter of white supremacy and its influence on our country still today.  My close look at Alabama opened my eyes.  If it was just Alabama it would be easier to handle.  It’s not.  It’s in us, this propensity to exclude, marginalize, and cast out “the other.”

Don Ackland wouldn’t like me using the word “propensity.”  Let’s just say habit.  We have a bad habit of fearing each other, believing there is not enough for all of us, feeling superior.  We have come a long way, but we have a long way to go.  Let’s get to work.