Kes: Making Silk Purses Out Of Sows’ Ears

I go downtown at 8 a.m. to get Irene to cut my hair, and I can’t find a place to park. Tourists are already there, buying wind chimes, purple scarfs, and cinnamon glazed apple fritters. I circled around town twice before I spied a Wisconsin car backing out of a spot next to Ace Hardware.

As I’m holding up traffic, waiting for Wisconsin to move on, I got to thinking about a trip to Green Bay with my youngest son. We saw the Packers play the Bears on the coldest day ever recorded in Wisconsin in November. It was a special father/son trip that will live in my memory forever….

I hadn’t hardly gotten out of my truck when a young couple stopped me, asking where they could find a good restaurant serving breakfast. I invited them to walk along with me as I was going right by Sisters’.

They were from Johnson City, Tennessee. Well now, I took a liking to them immediately! Johnson City is in the far eastern part of the state. We talked a little Volunteer football and the joy of the freshness of an early April morning in the Appalachian Mountains.

They “found” Port St. Joe because Molly’s parents had vacationed here years before. John worked at a hospital in Johnson City. They were childhood sweethearts, grew up in the same neighborhood, and went to the same high school. It was really a nice story. And they were a precious couple.

It crossed my mind to tell them I once played in a baseball tournament in Johnson City. But it was much more fun listening to them. We got to Sisters’ too quickly. John shook my hand twice and Molly gave me a hug. I invited them to stay at our house the next time they came to St. Joe.

I ran into an entire family as they were coming out of Sweet Buns. “How are y’all doing this morning? Where are you from?”

“Cleveland, Georgia.”

That was no surprise. Half of the state visits Port St. Joe on an annual basis. I asked if any of them attended Truett McConnell University; did they know the clockmaker in Cleveland, his name is Keith Seabolt; and did they ever visit nearby Toccoa Falls?

They were a delightful family. I leaned down to their youngest daughter, Angie, who was in the first grade and couldn’t wait to get to the beach, “You know Ang, if I had a chocolate covered donut as big as yours, I’d give you a bite of mine.”

I met Ken and Dorine Matthews standing in front of the old Port Theatre. They looked to be maybe a tad older than me. That is a feat in itself these days. They were from Upland, Indiana. We discussed watching Roy Rogers and Lash LaRue at our respective movie venues several decades ago.

Ken had on a Vietnam hat, and we spent a few minutes back in the late 1960’s. That somehow got us into Folk Music. So, we exchanged some of our favorite Kingston Trio and Peter, Paul, and Marry songs. I thanked him for his service, but he just waved me off like they always do, “That was a long time ago.”

I didn’t say it so as not to embarrass either of us, but he is still a hero to me. They all are!

Before I could invite them to stay with Cathy and me the next time they came to town, Irene had me by the elbow dragging me across the street. “Listen Coach, I got a business to run. Your appointment was an hour ago. You are messing up my whole schedule!”

“Yes ma’am.” You don’t argue with Irene. But I did ask her to take it easy on my sideburns….

There are folks in town who do not take kindly to all the visitors that bless our shores. It’s nothing personal, they just feel the crowds can be overwhelming at times. But I see this whole thing a bit differently.

And I owe it to my upbringing.

When I was a kid, we couldn’t get a stranger to visit our little town. We used to go out to the service station on the highway where the Greyhound bus stopped and hope someone would get off…and stay!

We’d hang out by Doctor Holmes' office just to wave at the drug salesman who came by on Tuesday afternoons. Yogi and I would lay on the train overpass counting out of state cars passing underneath, praying one would have a flat tire. We then could casually RUSH down and say hello!

Brenda Whitehead moved to McKenzie when I was in high school. She was from North Carolina, which seemed like a foreign country to us. There is something special about a new face. With fresh and different ideas. I don’t care when or where you live. It is an opportunity to make a new friend, and maybe expand your own horizons.

I asked Brenda to marry me the second day she was in town….

Respectfully,
Kes
kesley45@aol.com