I don’t know about you but I miss the old Charlie Walker, the one that could speak fluently about nothing for 20 minutes between phonograph records.
I miss smoking those big fat cigars. People would look daggers at me and I would return the stare with ballistic missiles. They seldom complained and those that did were shot down with sarcasm from my 45-caliber mouth.
I miss those Friday nights in the fall. I wonder if that old green press box on the Sandy Bay Road misses me as much as I miss it? I miss being on the road. Mishoe Oil Company in Greeleyville, Haselden Bros. in Hemingway, Brown’s store in Lane, S.A. Guerry in Millwood, McCall’s in Johnsonville, Reynolds’ Drug Store in Andrews, Marshall’s Marine in Lake City, Floyd Funeral Home in Olanta, B-C Fuel Co. in Pamplico, the IGA in Turbeville, Watford’s at Warsaw, the IGA in Manning.
I was king of the road. Now I’m in a prison in my recliner. I miss going to Cabbage’s Tire. If Candy’s Beauty Shop ever played Cabbage’s Tire for the gossip National Gossip Championship, it would go into overtime.
I miss going by Longstreet GMC. Dave Fenters has turned that dealership into a powerhouse. I’ve still got the car Dave sold me. Peggy is now my chauffeur. The Buick has 150,000 miles on it and the back window is covered with IPTAY stickers.
I used to visit the library every day. The written word is one of my greatest pleasures. And they still call me when a new book comes in they believe I would like.
I miss stopping by Billy Jenkinson’s and Sam Floyd’s law offices. Billy is never there but the legal Citadel is guarded by a half dozen Amazons who are as good looking as they are ferocious. They are sugar and spice and everything nice. Look but don’t touch unless you call 9-1-1 first.
I miss the Savings and Loan, the banks, the meetings at the hospital, where we always met on Thursdays and that was the day the cafeteria served chicken, which next to Peggy’s biscuits, is my favorite food.
I miss coming home and the smell of supper; fresh tomatoes, fresh corn, fresh butter beans, fresh peaches with half and half. And I dream about eating a rib eye steak the size of Black River.
There are many things that I took for granted that I will never do again. But in spite of my whining, I have much to be thankful for. So I’ll count my blessings, which are far greater than the things I complain about. Peggy reminded me I haven’t thanked you for all the visits, flowers, gifts, cards and letters. Thank you.
I miss the Café Ridiculous, the watering hole at Sandy Bay, the conversations that would raise your IQ quicker than the price of gas. A dry martini at Sandy Bay is a wet Martin that’s hung on the clothesline to dry.
I miss the Medicine Center and Mary Veanna Bell Inabinet Osean. I haven’t been inside but my money has.
I still visit Dr. Harry Floyd. He no longer invites me to bend over and enjoy the fickle flying finger of fate. He says Charlie Walker not being able to talk is the greatest thing that had happened until Obama introduced his health plan. Dr. Floyd says Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize was equivalent to Charlie Walker winning the Nobel Prize for Literature. Harry says next they will award Obama the Heisman Trophy for watching a football game on TV.