For the first time in numerous years, this morning I had cause to be on Hanging Moss Road in Northwest Jackson.  It brought back many memories, and one especially bizarre one!  

My high school girlfriend at the time was close friends with one of our  classmates, Bonnie Crumbley, who’s family lived on Hanging Moss.  I was in their home numerous times beginning from ’57.  During one visit, Bonnie’s mom told us a truly bizzare story about Bonnie.

Mrs. Crumbley told us than one day in 1941, she was suddenly overcome by severe stomach pains.  The pain simply wouldn’t go away, so thinking that it surely must be a stomach ulcer or possibly appendicitis… she was taken to the hospital.

The doctors told her that she was IN LABOR, to which she replied that NO she wasn’t… and couldn’t be… because she was NOT pregnant.  But yet, she was, and had been for some time!  Soon the huge suprize that was Bonnie was delivered!

True story! 




WARNING! This story of last night’s DREAM is NOT for the squeamish or easily offended by old southern food-stuffs or food preparation. My intent is only that you ‘hurl’ laughter, and nothing else!

The soft rock classic ‘DREAM WEAVER’ by Gary Wright was released on the Warner Bros. label in mid 1975.  I suppose you can say that’s MY SONG!  For as long as I can remember, I’ve weaved dreams in my sleep each and every night.  As I age, with more ‘memory-material’ to draw from, those dreams get more and more weird.  Last night’s doozie is a case in point.

Last night I dreamed that Carol and I were starting up a home ‘food service’ business.  We’d cook up delights in our kitchen, and deliver them to homes in our area.  The super-weird part is that our specialty was deep fried FROG LEGS!

I can’t remember when the last time I’ve had frog legs… and yes, I have.  You may have heard that ‘they taste like chicken,’ and they sorta-kinda do… but with much less meat on the bone.  

When I was a child (in the 40s) an older (and very unique) cousin who lived next door frequently went frog-gigging.  Once he accidentally left his knife at home, and because the gigers always brought home only the legs… he BIT them off!  (Remember, I warned you!)

Back to last night’s froggy-dream:  Carol and I wanted to BEST fried frog legs possible.  They were to be our signature dish.  Now I have never gigged a frog in my life, and don’t care to start.  So we had to purchase the legs from an outside source.  But… because we wanted them to be the freshest of the fresh… we shied away from commercial pre-packed, frozen legs, which I’m sure are available somewhere, somehow, someway.  So, we found a soggy feet Mississippi frog-gigger who could supply us with fresh from the water frogs!

Now the ‘gig’ that is used (or at least was when I was a child) is a 3-pointed ‘trident’ spear similar to what the gods Poseidon (Greek) or Neptune (Roman) carried.  These modern day tridents are of course much smaller in scale… so they usually don’t actually kill the frog… only injure them.  That said, our supplier was to delivered to us, in large plastic 5 or 10 gallon buckets, fresh, WHOLE FROGS. 

The plan was to remove the legs immediately before cooking.  

I’ll pause here to tell you that my dreams are not only extremely vivid, but also detailed to the extreme!

Now we had ‘compassion’ for these aquatic hoppers who were unwillingly donating their lives and legs (rear legs only) for our personal dining pleasure.  We had a method by which we quickly ‘dispatched’ the now leg-less frogs.  This sad ‘cast off’ went into another bucket to be disposed of.  It’s about this time that I now wished that our dogs had felt the need of going outside to potty… and awakening me to taken them out… and end this froggy nightmare.

But no… I slept on… and dreamed on.  Now it was time to empty the ‘cast-off’ bucket.  Garbage day was days away.  Disposal had to be by another method.  Ah… down the drain seemed a good idea!  But NOT down the kitchen drain… where coffee cups, glasses, and cereal bowls often dwell!  Aha!  The toilet.  So I lugged then heavy container of you-know-what down the hallway to the bathroom.  Lifting it to the rim of the potty… my hand somehow slipped… and the pail tipped backwards and onto the floor… emptying gallons and gallons of smelly semi-liquid frog on the bathroom floor… out the door… and into the hallway!  THEN I AWOKE! Oh why not earlier?

Carol!!! Bring the mop!


10 . 2 . 4

The 2022 end of the year holidays are over, and we’re beginning to take down the decorations… while reliving all the joys and excitement that the holidays always bring. Of course, the holidays of 2022 were about as different from 2000 as 200 was from, say, 1950. What is it they say? Time marches on… and time usually brings change.

This year Carol and I brushed off a tradition that we got into around the beginning of our marriage… enjoying HOT Dr. Pepper! You simply heat Dr. Pepper to almost boiling, add a slice of lemon… and oooooh so delicious! That’s the way we remember it. But alas, this year, it just didn’t taste the same… and we were a bit disappointed.

Dr. Pepper and I go way back. We go back to the 10, 2, and 4 days.

Beginning in 1951, I worked after school on Thursday and Fridays, plus all day Saturdays at the Jitney Jungle located in Mart 51. My Dad was the store manager at the time, so being so young was considered as OK. I worked there until graduation from Central High.

It was sometime during these years that Dr. Pepper began pushing the 10, 2, 4 theme. They sent folks out to cafes, restaurants, and lunch counters and gave out shined new One Dollar coins to everyone actually drinking a Dr. Pepper at 10, 2, or 4. And Jitney had a lunch counter! So I ‘managed’ to either be on break at the lunch counter at those bewitching hours, or else have a Dr. Pepper in my hand at those times. Yes, I actually did get a Dollar once on the sidewalk outside the store… and several others at other times inside the store.

I still enjoy Dr. Pepper… just not HOT anymore.



   I was introduced to words and reading through this series of famous/infamous little books.  It was 1947, first grade, George Elementary School.  Pauline Wilson was my teacher.

   From the very beginning, I had a strange love/hate relationship with reading.  I began with a weird issue with the ‘th’ words.  They seemed to ‘look’ the same to me.  I confused the ‘the’s, theirs, those, and that’s.  But eventually, I got that early issue straightened out.

Thanks to Viola E. Lake, George School had a fantastic library.  And once I mastered reading, the library was my favorite place in the school.  Today I have a few books on my shelves that are copies of books I read while enrolled at George!

But it wasn’t just what the books spoke me that fascinated me so… it was also the WORDS used to tell the story or teach the message.  Early on I somehow realized that words are simply TOOLS which are used to transfer THOUGHTS and UNDERSTANDING from the writer to the reader.  Some writers have better tools at their disposal than others.  The same is true in the speaker/hearer relationship.  A correct use and understanding of the word-tools are VITAL to transferring and receiving accurate information!

This word/tool/usage consideration has been with me for most of my life, and this is testified to buy the ‘prophesy’ attached to my name and photo in our Central High School yearbook, Class of 1959.  It said of me, ‘In arguing, too, this person owing his skill… for even though vanquished, he could argue still.”  This is an amazingly accurate ‘prophesy’ huh?   

Even today, I often find myself pondering a word, and asking myself, if I truly understand this word… it’s origins… it’s true definition… how and why it may have come into use and abuse… and if the speaker/writer is truly using the correct tool for the job.  I’m often told by others that this trait is like beating a dead horse.   

My debate ‘prophesy’ (including debating myself) goes back much farther than high school.  When I was not much more than ten, I attended the annual Halloween Carnival held in Battlefield Park.  That year, they had a ‘fortune teller’ booth.  Kids reached into a glass fishbowl and withdrew a small slip of paper on which was written our ‘fortune.’  Mine said that I’d be a LAWYER!  Funny that I clearly remember that casual event of so long ago.  But I suppose that memory speaks volumes.  Just as an attorney does at trial, I find myself ‘examining and cross-examining’ LANGUAGE… written, spoken, and thought! 

This past week a single word drifted in front of mind’s eye, and my questioning began.  It was a simple three-letter word, but one that I cannot specifically remember being used in the  FUN WITH DICK AND JANE books of yesteryear.  That word is CAN.  Could the writer/editors of these books have understood the true depth of meaning to this simple, very small word — and that it was beyond the understanding of the average six year old?       

The word CAN presents itself in two-forms, as a noun and as a verb.  In the noun form, CAN refers to (usually) a cylindrical container, such as a can of soup.  We’ll not be considering the noun form… but rather, the verb form.  Of course, there are also dozens of examples of ‘can’ being used as slang to represent everything from one’s behind to a prison cell.  

The verb form of the word CAN means 1) To know how to do something, or to have the ability to do something.  It can also mean 2) To be allowed or enabled to do something.  And 3) To be possible.

As you CAN see, ‘can’ as a verb is quite a complex term, one that must take into consideration linked facts, truths, and aspects beyond itself.  To be a ‘simple’ three-letter word it is actually far more complex and all-important that it’s size appears.

Personally, I was quite ‘blown away’ by this revelation!

The mis-use of ‘can’ WILL get us into trouble if we allow it to.  I use the term ‘mis-use’ because people are pre-disposed to be what I refer to as ‘language-lazy,’  by slaughtering ‘the king’s English.’  Consider the following:

Wife to husband: Can you go to the store for me?  We need milk.

Husband: Yes.

(Two hours later)

Wife:  Did you get the milk?

Husband: No.

Wife: Why not?

Husband: You didn’t ask me if I WOULD go to the store, but if I COULD go. 

I COULD but I didn’t want to. So I didn’t.   

I told you that ‘CAN’ is a huge word to have only three letters!  Try the above silly little above example sometime yourself and experience just how important this small three-letter truly is!

Consider this: How many times have you walked into a store and been asked by a sales-clerk, ‘Can I help you?’   Let’s carry that question through to a detailed and accurate answer to that question. 

Clerk:  Can I help you?

Customer:  That remains to be seen. 

Clerk:  Do what???

Customer:  You asked me ‘Can I help you,’ but I don’t know as yet if you can or cannot.  What you actually should have asked is ‘May I help you,’ and the answer to that would have been ‘Yes you may.’  At that point either you would have asked my reason for wanting or needing your assistance, and next you would have answered with the reason you could or could not assist me with the item that I wish to buy and possibly of the availability of it here in your store.’

But we don’t want to be accurate, we want to be lazy.  This is how the clever prosecuting attorney ‘tricks’ the guilty party into admitting to a crime — or in the case of the defense attorney, tricks the jury into hearing and believing something that is not completely accurate.  They take advantage of people’s language laziness.  

Words matter.  Their basic meanings matter. The understanding of these meanings matters.  And, their usage matters.  ALL WORDS matter, the large, and the small. Respect them, and they will respect you.

Trick or Treat is a kid’s event at Halloween… not a method of communication.



Without a doubt, the most destructive trait in human nature is that of conceding to assumptions.  Notice that even the descriptive verb (concede) paired with this word is in the negative context!  But we have many other words linked to assumptions,  such as falling to or jumping to assumptions.  These words all describe some form of movement, change, or relocation from one place (or thought) to another.  

Change is NOT always a negative thing!  Without change, there could never be a  progression from poor to better and then onto best.  But change also can be, and more often than we might think, a very negative thing.

This very distinct possibility that a change in anything, whether it is thought, reason, understanding, or belief… only opens the door to the always present possibility that this change will prove to be both damaging and dangerous, and thus, prove to be our undoing. 

In my opening sentence I stated what I believe to be the number one reason that  we so easily fall into error… our propensity to assume.      

Among the most tragic examples (plural) of erroneous assumptions comes from the ill-fated HMS Titanic, then the largest man-man object on earth!  It sank on April 15, 1912, drowning 832 passengers and 685 crewmen in the frozen waters of the North Atlantic … while on it’s maiden voyage!

The designers and builders had constructed a true modern marvel, with specific features designed to make the ship unsinkable.  That was the design.  That was the plan.  That was the assumption.  But we know that the truth and outcome proved to be something horribly different.  There was a ‘slight’ collision with an iceberg, a mere glancing blow, and hours later… the ‘impossible’ happened. She went to the bottom. 

The builders assumed that what the designers told them was true, and build her according to that (flawed) design.  The captain then believed the builders.  The passengers in turn believed the captain.  And tragically fifty-three young children perished that night assuming that their parents would somehow save them. 

Assumptions can be both dangerous and deadly.  Assumptions can readily derail (as they say) the best laid plans of mice and men.  My first marriage is a prime example.

We were both nineteen.  I understand that age alone is not always a prime requirement for marriage readiness.  But maturity sure is!  Maturity should give us a more healthy ability to reason properly and clearly.  

Our parents saw beyond what our clouded eyes were capable of understanding, and they pleaded for us to wait!  And so we did, for a full year.  But alas, a year was not enough time for us to awaken from the dream we shared… and that dream was our assumption that what we felt for one another was true, real… LOVE.  

It didn’t take long after the happy I do’s for us to awaken from our assumptions and begin walking in reality.  We were forced to admit that we’d been totally wrong from the start!  Neither of us really understood what LOVE actually is!  We’d only been ‘playing house’ and playing it badly!  This was not some he/she issue.  The issue of assumptions was one thing we actually shared equally!  

 Assumptions can really hurt!  They can hurt all of us.

Boys being boys as they are (Now THAT’S an assumption if there ever was one!) I’ve always liked dinosaurs.  As a kid, the big question was, ‘What killed off the dinosaurs?’   Perhaps someday in the future, an alien craft will land on a barren and lifeless Earth, and they’ll ponder the questions, “What killed off all the inhabitants of this planet?”  I know the answer!  It will be assumptions that’ll be the end of us! 

I know what you’re most probably thinking:  Assumptions do have a possibility of being correct!  And you are correct about that!  

My point is that assumptions MUST BE thoroughly researched, dissected, studied and examined in minute detail.  You’ve head it said that it’s better to be safe than sorry.  I’m saying that assumptions have proven themselves over and over again to have the very real potential to contain hidden poisons which can both damage and destroy.  It’s far better to be safe now… than to be sorry later.

                     ~~~~~~~~~  Thanks for reading this!  ~~~~~~~~~~~~  


You Know What

Believe it or not, I have a long running association with this product… and it began many years before I was blessed with a wife and four daughters.

It all began in 1952, when I was in the 5th grade at George School…   My father was the manager of the then new Jitney-Jungle #19 in Mart 51 in Jackson, MS.  It proved to be a very sucessful grocery store.  The weekends always drew large crowds.

So Dad put me to work in the store, on Thursday and Friday afternoons after school, and all day Saturday.  Jitney-Jungle was, as were 90+% of the merchants in Jackson in 1953, closed all day every Sunday.

My main job was to keep the grocery carts properly coraled, to keep the trash containers at the check-out stands emptied, and to run errands.  Shortly, I was given another responsibility.  Making the ‘sanitary napkins’ fit for public display.

Things were MUCH different in 1953 than they are today… on many fronts… especially things dealing with sexual/physical matters.  Pregnancy was a very ‘private’ matter.  Pregnancy outside of marriage was wrong… and a shameful matter.  Items such as sanitary napkins were super-private, not spoken of or displayed among the general population.  

So when a new shipment arrived, it was my job to ‘gift-wrap’ each and every package!  I did this in the stockroom of the store.  As instructed, I used brown kraft paper, and carefully wrapped each box as if it was a Christmas or birthday gift… less bow and ribbon.  I then put these wrapped ‘presents’ on the store’s shelf.  

The ladies knew what was in the wrapped packages, I knew what was in them, and no doubt all the other customers (male and female) also knew.  But at least madam shopper, during ‘this time of the month,’ did not have to advertise it up and down every aisle of the store!

Fast forward to 2003.  I was working as a teacher’s assistant in a local Middle School, in a special needs class.  One of our favorite students was a lovable teenage boy, sadly with the mental/physical abilities of very young child.  He wore a form of diaper that fit into his underwear, very much like a very large ‘sanitary napkin’.  Now this was a large fellow, so it took two of us to lift him onto the changing table and get the job accomplished.  My mind went back to 1953, and wrapping the Kotex packages… so I began calling his pads… Boytex!  The name stuck for as long as he was in our classroom!    

Like I said, Kotex and I go back a long way! (Oops, I actually said it!)   




Model planes are my hobby,  my go-to for rest and relaxation.  They always have been, and it appear that they always will be.  Some men play golf, some hunt, some fish (as my Dad), and some (as my e-mail pal in South Carolina), do marathons.  That’s too much like WORK for me!)

My first airplane model was made of card-stock, and I made a huge mess of it in my attempts to assemble it.  But in my defense, I was only 4 or 5 at the time!  I’ve improved with age.  My favorite type model planes are scale model, rubber band powered, free-flight, tissue covered.  But, I’ve also built my fair share of plastic models, and radio control aircraft, both electric and gas powered.  The largest model I ever constructed is the subject of this story.

The year was 1969.  I’d recently met Carol, soon to be my wife.  I was working for Jitney-Jungle, in the graphics/advertising department on Mill Street.  Somehow, I also maintained a busy after-work schedule of activities. I was the vice president of my Civilian Club, an adult volunteer for Junior Achievement, and almost a full year earlier, I’d volunteered to help with the upcoming Mississippi Art Festival, Children’s Division, as set designer and one of the builders.  

As our venue, our small group of volunteers had one of the livestock buildings at the fairgrounds.  That year, the theme was American History.  We began this walk-through, interactive history lesson, with the American Indians meeting the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock… and ending with Neil Armstrong landing on the moon.  I build the walk-through lunar module in the carport of my home.  

This festival gave me the opportunity to build by far my largest model airplane… the WRIGHT FLYER!  I’d wanted to build it actual size, but the livestock arena presented space limitations.  I had to settle for a Wright Flyer modeled at 90% scale.  This made it 36 feet, 3 inches from wing tip to wing tip!  Now thats a big model airplane by anyone’s standards! 

This model was not built with balsa wood, but with pine.  It was not covered with linen, but with butcher paper.  The engine was not cast iron, but cardboard.  However, viewed from when it hung from the ceiling of that livestock building, it looked very close to the real McCoy!  My one big concession was… that I didn’t cover the top side of the wings, as that was actually unnecessary.  The top couldn’t be seen from below.

In order to spend more time with my future wife, some of the construction was done on her Mom’s kitchen table.  I assembled all of the wing ribs there.  The actual wing assembly had to be done in a larger area… as they were over 36 feet from tip to tip!  I had access to not one but two warehouses where I could work.  Of course, the final assemble, such as attaching the wings to the ‘fuselage,’ and adding the wing struts and the top wing had to be done ON SITE… as this thing was far too large and too fragile to risk transporting on city streets, even in the dead of night.

I added a 4-point bridle to hang it,  from points on each wing, nose and tail.  I must have done a good job of calculating/estimating the center of gravity, for when we hoisted her off the ground in that livestock building… she hung straight and level!

I know that pride is a horrible vice, but I just couldn’t help myself.  I was proud of that model airplane! 

The Art’s Festival lasted a full week.  And the Flyer never once had to abort its overhead flight!  As the festival neared its end, we were approached by the Civil Air Patrol… they wanted the Flyer!

Now I had my insane idea of what I wanted to do with it also.  And what I wanted to do might have become by ‘famous last wish.’  I foolishly figured that I could put the Flyer on a dolly, and after the Fairground’s Midway had been cleared away… climb aboard the Flyer… and have someone tow me down the midway until I lifted into the air!  Looking back, discretion really is the better part of valor.  I bowed to the request of the Civil Air Patrol… and they hauled it away.  I never saw it again, but… I did live to tell the above story!

I’m not sure what the CAP did with it.  They must not have similar plans such as I had.  I never read in the paper nor saw on TV that some fool Civil Air Patrol Cadet was splatter all over Mother Earth when attempting to fly a flimsy home-made version of the original Wright Brother’s airplane. 

Happy Flying!   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  



Every metropolitan city has its Mill Street, that well-worn, warehouse lined, blue-collar worker street with its industrial atmosphere.  That’s never where one finds the fine dining establishments.  But that’s not to say that you can’t fine plenty of good eatin’ establishments!  There’s a big difference between great food and fancy wallpaper!  I suppose it depends on what you’re trying to feed… your face and belly… or your image and ego.

The heart of Jackson Mississippi has its Mill Street, located downtown in the very heart of the city.  It’s an old street, well worn from decades of traffic, history, commerce, and labor.  I’m blessed to have worked on Mill Street… putting in almost a decade of good times, satisfying labor, and countless fond memories.  Many of those memories have to do with dining out, on and around Mill Street… and a few miles beyond.

Among my first memories of ‘Mill Street Dining’ didn’t actually happen on Mill Street, but just a block away.  My introduction to a life-long love of Krystal Hamburgers was in the mid 1940s.  The Krystal was located on the North side of Capitol, on the East corner of Capitol and Roach.  Those delicious burgers were only 5c each at that time!  Oh well… back then gas was only 25c a gallon.  But… a ‘good’ hour’s wage was then only a very few dollars an hour… if that much!  

I began work on Mill Street (the first time) in the Fall of 1960… working in the Jitney-Jungle Sign Shop after school, while attending Mississippi College.  But this was after lunch, and before supper time… so I didn’t do much Mill Street Dining during this period.  However, I was back on Mill beginning in the Fall of ’67, when I started full time employment with Jitney… again working from the corporate office on Mill… and dining out quite a bit!

I’ll say this though, not every meal was ‘dining out.’  That wasn’t necessary.  The corporate office had a full kitchen, save for a microwave… as those were not a common household appliance back then.  So many folks brought their lunches. 

Most folks brought sandwiches and such, foregoing the need to cook.  But there was often an ‘issue.’  It was a common occurrence for someone’s lunch, even with their name clearly written on the bag… to be eaten by someone else!  I suppose that sandwiches, like watermelons, taste best when stolen!  So I devised a clever ‘trick’ which I felt might deter the food-thieves.  Instead of my name on my bag, I wrote HENRY HOLMAN, (the company PRESIDENT), on it instead!  Later I heard rumors that it might have been Mr. Holman himself who was satisfying his hunger!  Oh well!

The places where we ate were unique!  But several were off the charts in their uniqueness… so unusual that they were not always everyone’s favorite.  In no particular order they were…

I believe others will agree, that one of our favorite dining establishments was the WHITE HOUSE, located on High Street near downtown.  It was not your typical restaurant.  There was no menu.  Folks sat around large tables, and the delicious southern-style fried, stewed, boiled, or baked items were served in bowls or on trays, and one simply helped themselves… over and over and over again!  We waddled back to work… far too stuffed to be efficient back on Mill!   And then there was SCOTTIES, a much farther drive South,  located on Terry Road a few mile South of Highway 80.  True, it was a longer trip, but one that was well worth it!  I dearly loved their thick and cream milk-gravy and always asked for a double-serving.  One of my co-workers (Phil) once told the waitress that my wife made it at home… in 55 gallon drums! 

I can’t remember the name of the place, and as eat-joints go, it didn’t stay in business all that long.  It was not sit-down dining, but more like an ice-cream stand.  But they didn’t sell 41 flavors like Baskin-Robins.  This stand sold BURGERS… but they served somewhere close to 41 different burger-MEATS!  

It was located in the next block north on Mill, and on the same side as the McCarty-Holman Warehouse.  Just WHERE they secured this wild variety of weird and unusual burger-meat I don’t know!  I wish now I had asked.  But in addition to your normal beef and pork, they also had alligator, snake, buffalo, elk, deer, raccoon, rabbit.  The list was so strange, I really can’t recall it all!  I wanted to try the alligator… but was afraid to.  The buffalo was great!

Also, on the same side of Mill, and quite near the weird-meat place, was a cafe/honky tonk that sold the best fish sandwich I’ve ever eaten! The one ‘issue’ with the fish was NOT the taste… that was super-terrific!  The problem was the BONES.  The fish they used was BUFFALO FISH, noted for its plentiful bones.  

The sandwich was huge… and open-faced.  The bread was some type of French bread.  The deep-fried fish was placed onto the bread IMMEDIATELY out of the deep fat frier… I know… because the bread was soaked in delicious fish-flavored oil.  But on top, it was sprinkled with a very generous helping of bright red Louisiana Hot Sauce… very generous.

You felt that you were taking a double-whammy threat to your life in eating this sandwich.  If the hot sauce didn’t get you, the bones would!  But… these were large bones, rib bones, and very easy to find and remove.  Anything is better when one must work for it!  And those fish sandwiches were fabulous!  Of course, they were NOT eaten ‘like a sandwich.’

Farther north on Mill Street, but on the East side of the street, and up rather near but south of the Woodrow Wilson overpass was a place we called ‘Mac’s By The Tracks.’  I suppose that the actual name was Mac’s Restaurant… or Mac’s Diner or Cafe.  It’s no longer there.  It was not strange for it’s food-fare, but instead for it’s unusual layout.

Now remember, the mid to late 60s was a time not only of ‘weird’ things happening on the west coast… but it was a racially turbulent time in the deep south.  The ‘white only’ signs may have been coming down, but they were slow in coming down.  And in many places, like the water fountains of the Jackson Zoo, it was not simply a sign change/removal… those racial identifications were built into the structures.  And such also was Mac’s By The Tracks.

The basic building was somewhat square.  It didn’t have one ‘front entrance,’ but two!  The ‘front’ on the south side contained entrance one.  The opposite side/front contained entrance two.  Running east/west down the center of the building was an area that was much more narrow than the two opposite sides.  This center section contained the restrooms, the kitchen, and the storage area.  The south side, was the dining area FOR WHITES… and on the north side, the dining area for BLACKS.  

What made this doubly-unique was that from one side, you could easily see into the opposite side dining area!  The LARGE kitchen serving windows into both dining areas were perfectly aligned with one another!  Crazy huh?

Although eating there fairly often, I really can’t remember much about the quality of the food.  It was more the uniqueness of the building which stood out.

Although the above places were GREAT… the one food-fare that stands out as ‘extra special’ to me is still alive and doing well!  I think that I was the only one who dearly loved it, but I still do, and continue to stop by from time to time.  That place is the Big Apple Inn.  Their specialty, and my favorite, is the Red Hot Sandwich… and boy oh boy is it HOT!  They’re small, like a Krystal, but really pack a punch.  Personally, I get about one Coke per sandwich as they’re THAT hot!  They cost $2 each today, but back then they were only 50c each!

The story goes that the founder of the place approached Jackson Packing Company, and asked if they had any low-quality pork that was suitable for human consumption, but that they couldn’t sell.  And the reply was YES.  He took this pork, ground it, added his own special blend of spices and and such… and mixed this with his home-made coleslaw… and spred this blend of deliciousness on small Krystal size buns.  He had a winner! Ummm GOOD!  It makes my mouth water just thinking about it – just as they make my eyes water when I eat them.  And… the place was in walking distance from our offices on Mill.

I’ll wrap up this food-fest with a story unique to yours truly… a story that is no doubt still talked about among former Jitney corporate employees!  

Jitney prided itself in sincerely trying to make the customers happy… all of our customers.  Personally, I detest avocados… but that’s my problem.  We sold avocados galore to those who love them.  And… we sold some food products that, to be truthful, you might not even think of as food.  

I’ll clarify this by saying that the Murphy’s were active members of Grace Methodist Church on Winter Street.  As a youth, I was a member of the Methodist Youth Fellowship.  When we had a fund-raiser, we always had Spaghetti Suppers at the church.  When the adults had a fund raiser, they had CHITTERLING suppers (pronounced ‘chitlins’).  Yes they did!  And Jitney Jungle Stores of America (and Sack & Save) sold chitlins (always frozen) in the meat-market.  

It’s coming…  Yes I did!

Because the ad department CREATED the company’s grocery ads, we also photographed most of the products seen in these ads.  And chitlin’s came up this particular occasion.  So… I took this golden opportunity to cook up a small batch (breaded and deep fat fried) in the employees kitchen!  Sniff.  Sniff.  Sniff.  (The ad required only a photo of the CONTAINER… but I want the ad staff to experience chitlins!

Chitlins definitely do not have the same aroma as Sirloin Steak on the grill.  Not even close.  Most folks say they STINK.  So I created quite an uproar!  Folks up and down the hallways came looking for what surely must have died!  They definitely did not enjoy any of this intestinal experience! Needless to say, I was firmly forbidden to do that ever again!  Like I said… ole time corporate employees still remember that event today! 

Funny… nobody ever complained about our Krystal Hamburgers! 



    I see that ‘COLLEGE BOWL’ is back for another TV season!  That’s one of our favorite game shows.  It stars Peyton Manning and his brother, Cooper.  In the event you’ve not watched it, it’s a question and answer show for college students who represent their college or university… and they can win money for both themselves and their school!  Many years ago, I too made some cash off the Manning name… who knows, maybe one of the very first to do so!  Let me explain

    Peyton’s father was Archie Manning, who played for Ole Miss, ’67-70.  During his college days, Archie made quite a name for himself.  Sadly, the rest of the team didn’t quite meet Archie’s level of gridiron talent, so the scores didn’t truly reflect Archie’s accomplishments on the field… as he set records!  It was as if he ‘came out of nowhere… and when talked about among fans, many had never hear of this ‘miracle maker.’  It’s said that… an opposing team’s coach, one that had no idea of Archie’s ability (nor his name for that matter) when asked how he planned to defend against Archie… his reply was, “Archie Who?”  He soon found out!  And the phrase stuck!  It became the rallying cry for Ole Miss fans!

    The school year was 1969-70.  This was Archie’s last year at Ole Miss, and the year I met Carol.  Her sister was dating Jerry and it was through this connection that I met Carol!  

    Jerry was an entrepreneur, and he had the knack of making money appear when needed.  He put two and two together, and decided that the two of us could make a little dough off Archie… and he had just the idea!  And I had both some of the supplies and the all of the ability to make this scheme become a reality.  We’d cash in on this stadium chant… ARCHIE WHO?

    We took sheets of heavy weight, white, card stock, and cut it into pieces approximately 5 or 6 inches by 18 inches.  Then, I cut a stencil and applied it to a silkscreen frame, proclaiming the phrase ARCHIE WHO? in tall, bold lettering.  Next we glued and stapled 20 inch long thin rectangular wooden strips, as a handle.  We made at least 50 of these… and headed to Mississippi Memorial Stadium on game day.  

    I must insert here, that we didn’t bother with the niceties of such things as a vendor’s permit!

    We also didn’t cut into our planned cash windfall by purchasing tickets for the actual game… but hawked our signs to the eager fans flocking into the stadium.  Our ARCHIE WHO? signs were selling like hot-cakes!  And then, as if out of nowhere, the boys in blue arrived and asked to see out license/permit/approval to be selling our popular signs!  Not being able to produce said documentation, we were asked to leave… and promptly… and that this was a one-time friendly warning… or else!  We left.

    We didn’t sell all of our signs that day.  But we did sell enough to purchase a few steak dinners.  So, you might say, that Jerry and I were the first (or surely one of the first) to make a few dollars off of the Manning name.  I suppose we owe them some small recompense. 




Lately I see ads for the Neshoba County Fair.  My first memory of that fair was in when I was no more than 5.  My family was there.  And Dad and I rode the Ferris Wheel.  I must assume that at this time Mom was pregnant with my sister, Mary… because otherwise, she’d have gone on the ride also.  Mom enjoyed stuff like that.

This time it was just Dad and me.  But it turned out not to be all fun and games… much to Mom’s dismay.

Something ‘mechanical’ happened to the wheel.  It ground to a stop!  Dad and I were no more than one chair ‘below’ being right at the top when it stopped!  Over the side, I could see something smoking below… and several men throwing dirt on it!  As young as I was, I still KNEW that this was NOT a good thing!

Mom was on the ground, screaming and crying.  Mom’s first child, Emma, had died at birth.  Now her second was trapped at the top of a smoking ferris wheel!  The fact that Dad kept his cool was very comforting.

Yes, I survived this, my first trip to the Neshoba County Fair.  The motor fire was extinguished, and the gears disengaged to the wheel, and it was slowly turned by hand by several workers so that all of us could be safely rescued from the crippled contraption.

And such was my first experience at the fair… and on a ferris wheel!

The picture above is only an illustration of this story! Mom didn’t bring her ever-present camera that night, otherwise I’d have an actual pic of this event!