This will be a long post, but if I told this short, Id do dishonor to the dead of which I speak. This is silent but true Clinton history. I am burdened with the obligation to tell it. And, you, my fellow sTalkers are burdened with either reading or scrolling past. Sorry. Back in the last century, there was this place called Hudgey’s. You know the building as The Butter Churn, on Lakeview, near Hwy 80. They had the best, greasiest home cooking in town. The booths were made of torn leather, chrome and formica. The waitresses called you “hon.” Every morning about 5:30, old men started gathering for coffee and breakfast. By 9:30, they filled the front half of the café, along with their cigarette smoke and rude, crude, inane jokes and innuendos. (Kind of like Real Talk, but in person and they ended it before lunch time.) One of them walked from table to table telling the same joke every day. Have you ever seen a Blue Jay? Then hed reach in his breast pocket and pull out a piece of blue metal bent into the shape of a J. (Yeah, it was exactly that funny back then too.) These crazy old men called themselves the DP Club. My Dad was a proud and loyal member. If he couldn’t get himself there, one of the other members would pick him up before day light and bring him home before lunch. Daddy loved telling me stories about the DP Club. He told me about the time a woman ran for Mayor of Clinton. Oh, those old men thought that was hilarious. You wouldn’t believe the jokes they had with that one. Daddy said he didn’t go along with them, because he admired that woman’s spunk. I got the impression the DP’s had some particularly rude, crude things to say, some of the DP’s might have even been involved in dirty campaign tricks. But, Daddy wouldn’t tell me--just like he wouldn’t tell me what DP stood for. Later on, after that woman was elected Mayor, she decided that 25 years was long enough to talk about whether Clinton needed a North/South corridor, and she started pulling things together to get that road built. Well, you can imagine what the DP’s thought of that. They were incensed. “Have you seen the plans?” they yelled. “She wants to tear down those historic MC tennis courts!” My Dad sat there and quietly asked, “You mean the tennis courts with the pot holes and the weeds tearing down the chain link fence around them?” “Hell, we don’t need another high speed road around here! We already got I-20 and Hwy 80! That’s plenty speed!” Daddy blinked under his ratty old baseball cap, thinking about the ticket he got for going 40 in the 30 mile zone on Northside in the curve near Cascades. “They’re planning 35 mph. That’s high speed?” “Who the hell needs that road?!! Ain’t nobody need to get anywhere so fast they can’t wait for a minute and let a train cross.” Daddy thought about his years of teaching first aid. He remembered the many accidents he had rushed to at the intersection of 80 and Lakeview before I-20 was built. “If your house is on fire or you have a heart attack, how long do you want the firemen or ambulance to wait at that crossing?” Of course, that lady Mayor got her Clinton Parkway. I dont know whether the DPs ever gave her credit, though I saw each of them driving on it at some point. Daddy is gone now, as are nearly all the DP’s. So, I guess it’s safe to tell you what Daddy whispered to me before he died. What DP stood for. Dead Peckers. PS. I rarely tell the 100% unvarnished truth on sTalk, but this is honestly a true story. Now you know why I love the people of LTC, RTC and LsTC. Every person reminds me of long-gone Clintonians--heroic, kind and smart, as well as misguided, misinformed and full of smoke. Loved them then; love them now.
Posted on: Sat, 26 Jul 2014 00:56:04 +0000
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