Текст книги "Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe"

Автор книги: Фэнни Флэгг

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"But Aunt Idgie never had one thing taken." He laughed. "Of course, that may have been because of that shotgun she kept by the bed . . . she was as tough as pig iron, wasn't she, Peggy?"

Peggy called back from the kitchen, "Tougher."

"Of course, most of that was just an act, but she could be a hellion if she didn't like you. She had this running feud with this old preacher at the Baptist church, where Momma taught Sunday School, and she would give him fits. He was a teetotaler, and one Sunday he preached against her friend Eva Bates, and it made her so mad she never did forgive him. Every time a stranger came to town looking to buy some whiskey, she'd take him outside the cafe and point to old Reverend Scroggins's house and she'd say, 'See that green house, down there? Just go over and knock on the door. That man's got the best liquor in the state.' She'd point out his house when some of those old boys was looking for something else, too."

Peggy came out of the kitchen and sat down. "Stump, don't be telling them that."

He laughed. "Well, she did. Always doing something mean to that man. But, like I say, she just liked for people to think she was mean . . . inside, she was as soft as a marshmallow. Just like that time the preacher's son, Bobby Lee, got arrested . . . she was the one he called to come get him.

"He'd gone over to Birmingham with two or three boys and gotten himself all liquored up and was running down the halls in his underwear, throwing water balloons out of the seventh-floor window; only Bobby Lee had them filled with ink and had dropped one on some big city councilman's wife when they were going into the hotel for some shindig.

"It cost Aunt Idgie two hundred dollars to get him out of jail and another two hundred dollars to take Bobby's name off the books, so he wouldn't have a police record and his daddy wouldn't find out . . . I went over there with her to get him, and coming home, she told him that if he ever let anybody know she had done it, she would shoot his you-know-whats off. She couldn't stand anybody knowing she had done a good deed, especially for the preacher's son.

"All that bunch in the Dill Pickle Club were like that. They did a lot of good works that nobody knew about. But the best part of the story is that old Bobby Lee went on to become a big-time lawyer, and wound up as an attorney general for Governor Folsom."

His daughter, Norma, came in to get the rest of the dishes. "Daddy, tell him about Railroad Bill."

Linda shot her mother an exasperated look.

Stump said, "Railroad Bill? Oh Lord, you don't really want to hear about Bill, do you?"

The boyfriend, who really wanted to take Linda out parking somewhere, said, "Yes sir, I'd love to hear about it"

Macky smiled at his wife. They had heard this story a hundred times and knew Stump loved to tell it.

"Well, it was during the Depression and, somehow, this person called Railroad Bill would sneak on the government supply trains and throw stuff off for the colored people. Then he'd jump off before they could catch him. This went on for years, and pretty soon the colored started telling stories about him. They claimed that someone saw him turn into a fox and run twenty miles on top of a barbed-wire fence. People that did see him said he wore a long black coat, with a black stocking cap on his head. They even made up a song about him . . . . Sipsey said, every Sunday in church, they'd pray for Railroad Bill, to keep him safe.

“The railroad put a huge reward up, but there wasn't a person in Whistle Stop that would have ever turned him in, even if they had known who he was. Everybody wondered and made guesses.

"I got in my head that Railroad Bill was Artis Peavy, our cook's son. He was about the right size and as fast as lightning. I followed him around night and day, but I could never catch him. I must have been around nine or ten at the time, and I would have given anything to have seen him in action, so I would have known for sure.

"Then, one morning, right around daybreak, I had to go to the toilet. I was about half asleep and when I got to the bathroom, there was Momma and Aunt Idgie in there, with the sink running. Momma looked at me, surprised, and said, 'Wait a minute, honey,' and closed the door.

"I said, ‘Hurry up, Momma, I cain't wait!' You know how a kid'll do. I heard them talking and pretty soon they came out, and Aunt Idgie was drying her hands and face. When I got in there, the sink was still full of coal dust. And on the floor, behind the door, was a black stocking hat.

"I suddenly figured out why I'd seen her and old Grady Kilgore, the railroad detective, always whispering. He'd been the one who was tipping her off about the train schedules . . . it had been my Aunt Idgie jumping them trains, all along."

Linda said, "Oh Granddaddy, are you sure that's true?"

"Of course it's true. Your Aunt Idgie did all kinds of crazy things." He asked Macky, "Did I ever tell you what she did that time old Wilbur and Dot Weems got married and went on their honeymoon at a big hotel in Birmingham?"

"No, I don't think so."

Peggy said, "Stump, don't be telling that story in front of the children."

"It'll be all right, don't worry. Well anyway, old Wilbur was a member of the Dill Pickle Club, and right after the wedding, Aunt Idgie and that bunch got in a car and drove over to Birmingham as fast as they could, and bribed the hotel clerk into letting them into the honeymoon suite, and they put all kinds of funny stuff all over the bed . . . God knows what all . . .”

Peggy warned him, "Stump . . ."

He laughed. "Hell, I don't know what it was. Anyway, they got in the car and came back home, and when Wilbur and Dot got back, they asked Wilbur how he liked his honeymoon suite at the Redmont, only to find out that they had been at the wrong hotel, and some poor honeymoon couple had gotten the shock of their lives."

Peggy shook her head. "Can you imagine such a thing?"

Norma stuck her head under the serving counter. "Daddy, tell them about the catfish you used to catch down at the Warrior River."

Stump's face lit up. "Oh well. You wouldn't believe how big those catfish were. I remember one day, it was raining and I got a bite so hard, it slid me right down the bank and I had to fight to not be pulled into the water. Lightning was striking and I was fighting for my life, but after about four hours, I pulled that grandaddy mud cat out of the water and, I tell you, he must have weighed twenty pounds or more, and he was this long . . ."

Stump held out his one arm.

The skinny would-be chiropractor sat there with a stupid look on his face, seriously trying to figure out how long the catfish was.

Linda, exasperated, put her hand on her hip. "Oh Granddaddy."

Norma just cackled from the kitchen.

SEPTEMBER 28, 1986

Today, they were enjoying a combination of things: Cokes and Golden Flake potato chips, and for dessert—another request from Mrs. Threadgoode—Fig Newtons. She told Evelyn that Mrs. Otis had eaten three Fig Newtons a day for the past thirty years, to keep her regular. "Personally, I eat 'em just 'cause I like the taste. But I'll tell you something that's good. When I was at home and didn't feel like cooking, I'd walk over to Ocie's store and pick up a package of those little brown-and-serve rolls and pour Log Cabin Syrup on them and have that for my dinner. They don't cost all that much. You ought to try it sometime.”

"I'll tell you what's good, Mrs. Threadgoode, are those frozen honey-buns.”

"Honey-buns?”

"Yes. They're like cinnamon buns. You know."

"Oh, I love cinnamon buns. Let's have some sometime, want to?”

"All right."

"You know, Evelyn, I*m so glad you’re not on that diet of yours anymore. That raw food will kill you. I hadn't wanted to tell you this before, but Mrs. Adcock nearly killed herself on one of those slimming diets. She ate so much raw food that she was rushed to the hospital with severe stomach pains and they had to do exploratory surgery on her. And she said that while the doctor was examining all her insides, he picked up her liver to get a close look at it, and dropped it right on the floor, and it bounced four or five times before they got it. Mrs. Adcock said that she has suffered with terrible backaches ever since, because of it."

"Oh Mrs. Threadgoode, you don't believe her, do you?"

"Well, that's what she said at the dinner table the other night."

"Honey, she's just making that up. Your liver is attached to your body."

"Well, maybe she got mixed up and it was a kidney or something else, but if I were you, I wouldn't eat any more of that raw food."

"Well okay, Mrs. Threadgoode, if you say so." Evelyn took a bite of her potato chip. "Mrs. Threadgoode, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. Didn't you tell me one time that some people thought Idgie had killed a man? Or did I just think you said that?"

"Oh no, honey, a lot of people thought she had done it. Yes indeed, 'specially when she stood trial for murder with Big George over in Georgia . . ."

Evelyn was shocked. "She did?"

"Haven't I ever told you about that before?"

"No. Never."

"Oh . . . Well, it was awful! I remember the very morning. I was doing my dishes, listening to The Breakfast Club, when Grady Kilgore came up to the house and got Cleo. He looked like someone had died. He said, "Cleo, I'd rather cut off my right arm that to do what I'm about to do, but I've got to go take Idgie and Big George in on charges, and I want you to go with me.'

"You know, Idgie was one of his best friends, and it liked to of killed him to do it. He told Cleo that he would have resigned from office, but he said that the thought of a stranger arresting Idgie was even worse.

“Cleo said, 'My God, Grady, what’s she done?”

“Grady said that she and Big George were suspected of murdering Frank Bennett back in ‘thirty. Here, I didn't even know he'd been dead or missing or anything."

Evelyn said. What made them think that Idgie and Big George did it?”

“Well it seems that Idgie and Big George had threatened to kill him a couple of times, and the Georgia police had that on record, so when they found his truck, they had to bring them in . . .”

"What truck?"

"Frank Bennett's truck. They were looking for a drowned body and found that truck in the river, not far from Eva Bates's place, so they knew he'd been around Whistle Stop in nineteen thirty.

"Grady was furious that some damn fool had been stupid enough to call over to Georgia and give them the tag number . . . Ruth had been dead about eight years, and Stump and Peggy had already married and moved over to Atlanta, so it must have been around nineteen fifty-five or 'fifty-six.

"The next day, Grady took Idgie and Big George over to Georgia, and Sipsey went with them; nobody could talk her out of going. But Idgie wouldn't let anybody else go with her, so we all had to stay home and wait.

"Grady tried to keep it quiet. Nobody in town talked about it if they knew. . . Dot Weems knew, but she never printed anything in the paper.

"I remember the week of the trial, Albert and I went over to Troutville to be with Onzell, who was terrified because she knew if Big George was found guilty of killing a white man, he'd wind up in the electric chair, Just like Mr. Pinto.”

Just then, Geneene, the nurse, came in and sat down to have a cigarette and relax.

Mrs. Threadgoode said, "Oh Geneene, this is my friend Evelyn, the one I told you about who's having such a bad menopause.”

"How do you do."

“Hello."

Then Mrs, Threadgoode went on and on to Geneene about how pretty she thought Evelyn was and didn't Geneene think that Evelyn should sell Mary Kay cosmetics?

Evelyn was hoping that Geneene would leave so Mrs. Threadgoode would finish her story, but she never did. And when Ed came to get her, she was frustrated because now she would have to wait a whole week to hear how the trial came out. As she left, Evelyn said, "Don't forget where you left off."

Mrs. Threadgoode looked at her blankly. "Left off? You mean about Mary Kay?"

"No. About the trial."

"Oh yes. Oh, that was something, all right . . ."

JULY 24, 1955

It was just before a thunderstorm; the air in the courtroom was hot and thick.

Idgie turned and looked around the courtroom, the sweat running down her back. Her lawyer, Ralph Root, a friend of Grady's, loosened his tie and tried to get a breath of air.

This was the third day of the trial and all the men who had been in the barbershop in Valdosta, the day Idgie had threatened to kill Frank Bennett, had already testified. Jake Box had just taken the stand.

She turned around again and looked for Smokey Lonesome. Where the hell was he? Grady had sent word that she was in trouble and needed him. Something was wrong. He should have been here. She began to wonder if he was dead.

At that moment, Jake Box pointed to Big George and said, "That's him. That's the one that come after Frank with the knife, and that's the woman that was with him."

The entire Loundes County Courthouse murmured with uneasiness over a black man threatening a white man. Grady Kilgore shifted in his seat. Sipsey, the only other black in the room, was up in the balcony, moaning and praying for her baby boy, even though he was almost sixty at the time.

Not even bothering to question Big George, the prosecuting attorney moved right on along to Idgie, who took the stand.

"Did you know Frank Bennett?"

"No sir."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes sir."

"You mean to sit here and tell me you never met the man whose wife, Ruth Bennett, was your business partner for eighteen years?"

"That's right."

He twirled around, with his thumbs in his vest, to face the jury. "You mean to say you never came into the Valdosta barbershop in August of nineteen twenty-eight and had a heated conversation in which you threatened to kill Frank Bennett, a man you did not know?"

"That was me, all right. I thought you wanted to know if we had ever met, and the answer is no. I threatened to kill him, but we were never, what you might say, properly introduced."

Some of the men in the room, who hated the pompous lawyer, laughed. "So, in other words, you admit that you threatened Frank Bennett's life."

"Yes sir."

"Is it not true that you also came to Georgia with your colored man in September of nineteen twenty-eight and left, taking Frank Bennett's wife and child with you?"

"Just his wife, the child came later."

"How much later?"

"The usual time; nine months."

The courtroom broke out in laughter again. Frank's brother, Gerald, glared at her from the front row.

"Is it true that you spoke against Frank Bennett's character to his wife and made her believe that he was not of good moral fiber? Did you convince her that he was not fit as a husband?"

"No sir, she already knew that for a fact."

More laughter.

The lawyer was getting heated. "Did you or did you not force her to go to Alabama with you at knifepoint?"

"Didn't have to. She was already packed and ready when we got there."

He ignored this last statement. "Is it not true that Frank Bennett came over to Whistle Stop, Alabama, trying to retrieve what was rightly his—his wife and his tiny baby son and that you and your colored man killed him to prevent her from returning to her happy home and giving the child back to its father?"

"No sir."

The large, pigeon-breasted man was picking up steam. "Are you aware that you broke up the most sacred thing on this earth—a Christian home with a loving father and mother and child? That you defiled the sacred and holy marriage between a man and a woman, a marriage sanctioned by God in the Morning Dove Baptist Church, right here in Valdosta, on November first, nineteen twenty-four? That you have caused a good Christian woman to break God's laws and her marriage vows?!"

"No sir."

"I suggest that you bribed this poor weak woman with promises of money and liquor, and that she lost control of her senses, momentarily, and when her husband came back to get her and take her home, didn't you and your colored man murder him in cold blood to prevent her from returning?"

He then turned on her and screamed, "WHERE WERE YOU ON THE NIGHT OF DECEMBER THIRTEENTH, NINETEEN THIRTY?"

Idgie really began to sweat. "Well, sir, I was over at my mother's house, in Whistle Stop."

"Who was with you?"

"Ruth Jamison and Big George. He went over there with us that night."

"Can Ruth Jamison testify to that?"

"No sir."

"Why not?"

"She died eight years ago."

"What about your mother?"

"She's dead, too."

He was coming down the mountain now, and stood up on his tiptoes for a second and then twirled toward the jury again. "So Miss Threadgoode, you expect twelve intelligent men to believe that, although two witnesses are dead and the other is a colored man who works for you and was with you the day you abducted Ruth Bennett from her happy home, and is known to be a worthless, no-good lying nigger, you are asking these men to take your word for it, just because you say so?" Although she was nervous, the lawyer should not have called Big George those names.

"That's right, you gump-faced, blowed-up, baboon-assed bastard."

The room exploded as the judge banged his gavel in vain. This time, Big George moaned. He had begged her not to stand trial, but she was determined to give him an alibi for that night. She knew she was his only chance. The odds of a white woman's getting off were much higher than his; especially if his alibi depended on the words of another Negro. She was not going to let Big George go to jail if her life depended on it; and it very well might.

The trial was going badly for Idgie, and when the surprise witness was rushed into the courtroom on that last day, Idgie knew it had just gone from bad to worse. He came sweeping through the courtroom as pious and holier-than-thou-looking than ever . . . her old sworn enemy, the man she had tormented for years.

This is it, she thought.

"State your name, please."

"Reverend Herbert Scroggins."

"Occupation?"

"Pastor of the Whistle Stop Baptist Church."

"Place your right hand on the Bible." Reverend Scroggins informed him that he had brought his own, thank you, and placed his hand on his Bible and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.

Idgie became confused. She realized it had been her own lawyer who had brought him in. Why had he not asked her first? She could have told him that this man would have nothing good to say about her.

But it was too late, he was already on the stand.

"Reverend Scroggins, could you tell the court why you called me long distance and what you told me last evening?"

The reverend cleared his throat. "Yes. I called to tell you that I have information about the whereabouts of Idgie Threadgoode and George Pullman Peavey on the night of December thirteenth, nineteen thirty."

"Were she and her colored man not over at her mother's house that evening, as has been suggested here earlier in the trial?"

"No, they were not."

Oh, shit, thought Idgie.

Her lawyer persisted. "Are you saying, Reverend Scroggins, that she was lying as to her whereabouts on that evening?"

The reverend pursed his lips. "Well, sir, as a Christian, I couldn't say for sure if she was lying or not. I think it is a question of being mixed up about the dates." He then opened the Bible he had and turned to the back and began looking at a particular page. "It has been my habit through the years to write down all the dates of the activities of the church in my Bible, and while going through it the other evening, I show that the night of December thirteenth was the start of our church's yearly tent revival, down at the Baptist campgrounds. And Sister Threadgoode was there, along with her hired man, George Peavey, who was in charge of refreshments—just as he has been every year for the past twenty years."

The prosecuting attorney jumped up. "I object! This doesn't mean anything. The murder could have taken place anytime during the next couple of days."

Reverend Scroggins looked fiercely at him, then turned to the judge. "That's just it, Your Honor: Our revival always lasts for three days and three nights."

The lawyer said, "And you're sure Miss Threadgoode was there?"

Reverend Scroggins seemed offended that anyone would doubt his word. "Of course she was." He addressed the jury. "Sister Threadgoode holds a perfect attendance record at all our church activities and is the lead singer in our church choir."

For the first time in her life, Idgie was speechless, dumb, mute, without a comeback. All these years the Dill Pickle Club had spent lying and telling tall tales, thinking they were so good at it, and in five minutes Scroggins had put them all to shame. He was so convincing, she almost believed him, herself.

"In fact, we think so much of Sister Threadgoode at our church, the entire congregation has come over in a bus to testify on her behalf." With which the doors of the courtroom opened and in filed the oddest lot that God had ever put together on this earth: Smokey Lonesome, Jimmy Knot-Head Harris, Splinter-Belly Al, Crackshot Sackett, Inky Pardue, BoWeevil Jake, Elmo Williams, Warthog Willy, and so on . . . all with fresh haircuts from Opal's Beauty Shop and wearing borrowed clothes . . . just a few of the many hoboes Idgie and Ruth had fed throughout the years and Smokey had been able to round up in time.

One by one, they took the stand and testified solidly, remembering in great detail the river revival that December, back in 1930. And last, but not least, came Sister Eva Bates, wearing a flowered hat and carrying a purse. She took the stand and almost broke the jury's heart as she recalled how Sister Threadgoode had leaned over to her during the first night of the revival meeting and had remarked how God had touched her heart that night, due to Reverend Scroggins's inspired preaching on the evils of whiskey and the lusts of the flesh.

The skinny little judge, with a neck like an arm, didn't even bother to ask the jury for a verdict. He banged his gavel and said to the prosecuting attorney, "Percy, it don't look to me like you've got a case at all. First of all, there ain't no body been found. Second, we've got sworn witnesses ain't nobody gonna dispute. What we got is a whole lot of nothing. I say this Frank Bennett got himself drunk and drove himself into the river and has long been ate up. We're gonna call this thing, here, accidental death. That's what we've got ourselves a case of."

He banged his gavel once more, saying, "Case dismissed."

Sipsey did a dance in the balcony, Grady let out a sigh of relief.

The judge, the Honorable Curtis Smoote, knew damn well that there had not been any three-day tent revival in the middle of December. And from where he was sitting, he had also seen that the preacher did not have a Bible between the covers of the book he had sworn on. He had seldom seen such a scrubbed-up lot of down and dirty characters. And besides, the judge's daughter had just died a couple of weeks ago, old before her time and living a dog's life on the outskirts of town, because of Frank Bennett; so he really didn't care who had killed the son of a bitch.

After it was all over, Reverend Scroggins came over and shook Idgie's hand. "I'll see you in church Sunday, Sister Threadgoode." He winked at her and left.

His son, Bobby, had heard about the trial and had called and told him about that time Idgie had gotten him out of jail. So Scroggins, the one she had bedeviled all these years, had come through for her.

Idgie was floored by the whole thing for quite a time. But, driving home, she did manage to say, "You know, I've been thinking. I don't know what's worse—going to jail or having to be nice to the preacher for the rest of my life."

OCTOBER 9, 1986

Evelyn had been in a hurry to get to the nursing home today. She had badgered Ed to drive faster all the way there. She stopped, as she always did, in Big Momma's room and offered her a honey-bun, but as usual, Big Momma declined, saying, "If I ate that I'd be sick as a dog. How you can eat that sticky, gooey stuff is beyond me."

Evelyn excused herself and rushed down the hall to the visitors' lounge.

Mrs. Threadgoode, who had on her bright green flowered dress today, greeted Evelyn with a cheery "Happy New Year!"

Evelyn sat down, concerned. "Honey, that's not till three months from now. We haven't had Christmas yet."

Mrs. Threadgoode laughed. "I know that, I just thought I'd move it up a bit. Have some fun. All these old people out here are so gloomy, moping around the place something awful."

Evelyn handed Mrs. Threadgoode her treat.

"Oh Evelyn, are these honey-buns?"

'They sure are. Remember I told you about them?"

"Well, don't they look good?" She held one up. "Why, they're just like a Dixie Cream Donut. Thank you, honey . . . have you ever had a Dixie Cream Donut? They're as light as a feather. I used to say to Cleo, I'd say, "Cleo, if you're going anywhere near the Dixie Cream Donut place, bring me and Albert home a dozen. Bring me six glazed and six jelly ones.' I like the ones that are twisted, too. You know, like a French braid. I forget what they're called . . ." Evelyn couldn't wait any longer.

"Mrs. Threadgoode, tell me what happened at the trial."

"You mean Idgie and Big George's trial?"

"That's right"

"Well, that was something, all right. We were all worried to death. We thought they never were coming home, but they finally got a not-guilty verdict. Cleo said that they proved beyond the shadow of a doubt where they had been at the time the murder was to have taken place, so they couldn't possibly have done it. He said the only reason that Idgie would have stood trial like that was to protect someone else."

Evelyn thought for a minute. "Who else would want to kill him?"

"Well, honey, it isn't a matter of who wanted to, but who would have. That's the question. Some say it could have been Smokey Lonesome. Some say it could have been Eva Bates and that gang out at the river—Lord knows it was a rough enough bunch, and those folks in the Dill Pickle Club stuck together . . . it's hard to say. And then, of course"—Mrs. Threadgoode paused—"there's Ruth, herself."

Evelyn was surprised. "Ruth? But where was Ruth the night of the murder? Surely someone knows."

Mrs. Threadgoode shook her head. "That's just it, honey. Nobody knows for sure. Idgie says that she and Ruth were over at the big house visiting Momma Threadgoode, who had been sick. And I believe her. But there are some who wonder. All I know is that Idgie would go to her grave willingly before she would let Ruth's name be involved with murder."

"Did they ever find out who did it?"

"No, they never did."

"Well, if Idgie and Big George didn't kill him, who do you think did it?"

"Well, that's the sixty-four-dollar question, isn't it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Well sure I would, who wouldn't? It's one of the great mysteries of the world. But, honey, nobody's ever gonna know that one except the one that did it, and Frank Bennett. And you know what they say . . . dead men tell no tales."

JANUARY 23, 1969

Smokey Lonesome sat on the side of his iron bed at the mission, coughing through the first cigarette of the day.  After the café closed, Smokey had wandered around the country for a while.  Then he got a job as a short-order cook at the Streetcar Diner No, 1, in Birmingham, but his drinking got the best of him and he was fired.

Two weeks later, Brother Jimmy found him, passed out cold under the viaduct on 16^th Street, and brought him over to the mission.  He was too old to tramp anymore, his health was bad, and his teeth were almost all gone.  But Brother Jimmy and his wife cleaned him up and fed him and the Downtown Mission had been his home now, more or less, for the past fifteen years.

Brother Jimmy was a good man, having been drunk himself, once, but as he told it, he had made the long trip “from Jack Daniel’s to Jesus” and was determined to devote his life to helping other unfortunates.

He put Smokey in charge of the kitchen.  The food was mostly leftover frozen stuff that had been donated; fish sticks and mashed potatoes out of a box were the staple.  But there were no complaints.

When he wasn’t in the kitchen or drunk, Smokey would spend his day upstairs, drinking coffee and playing cards with the other men.  He had seen a lot happen at the mission. . . seen a man with one thumb meet up with his boy there, who he hadn’t seen since the day he was born.  Father and son both down on their luck, winding up in the same place at the same time.  He had seen men come through that had been rich doctors and lawyers and one man who had been a state senator for Maryland.

Smokey asked Jimmy what caused men like that to sink so low.  “I’d have to say that the main reason is that most of them have been disappointed in some way,” Jimmy said, “usually over a woman.  They had one and lost her, or never had the one they wanted . . . and so they get lost and wander around.  And, of course, old man whiskey plays a role.  But in all the years I’ve been seeing men come in and out, I’d say disappointment is number one on the list.”

Six months ago, Jimmy died and they were renovating downtown Birmingham and the rescue mission was to be torn down.  Smokey would have to be moving on soon.  Where to, he didn’t know as yet . . .

He walked down the stairs, and outside, it was a cold clear day and the sky was blue, so he decided to take a walk.

He walked by Gus’s hot dog joint and down around 16th Street, past the old terminal station and under the Rainbow Viaduct, down the railroad tracks until he found himself headed in the direction of Whistle Stop.

He had never been anything more than just a tomato-can vagabond, hobo, knight of the road, down-and-outer. A free spirit who had seen shooting stars from many a boxcar rolling through the night. His idea of how the country was doing had been determined by the size of the butts he picked up off the sidewalks. He had smelled fresh air from Alabama to Oregon. He had seen it all, done it all, belonged to no one. Just another bum, another drunk. But he, Smokey Jim Phillips, perpetually down on his luck, had loved only one woman, and he had been faithful to her all his life.