Letters

Alan

Tue, 12 Nov 1996

I found your site while searching on "Remerton", never suspecting I would actually find something. My wife (a damn Yankee, bless her pretty little heart) tells me Southern "literature" is all too doggone depressing; I'll have to turn her on to some of your stuff.

Anyway, I was reading your " Where Were You..." story and it reminded me of my story, so here it is:

I was born and raised in Remerton and for much of that time I lived at 1306 Edgewood, which if you know anything about the area, is right in front of one of Georgia Flash and Flicker's (no disrespect to your Dad!) substations.

Well, I was about ten or so and me and the family ( I know its not proper grammar, but by God I am from the SOUTH!) were sitting around watching TV, which until I discovered cars and girls was 'bout the only entertainment in town. Anyway, Alfred Hitchcock's really excellent thriller "The Birds" was on. None of us had ever seen it before so we were literally on the edge of our seats with suspense, ready to jump at the slightest sound. The scene where the guy had pulled into the service station to fill up was on. If you remember he is lighting a cigarette just as his tank overflows and the birds get him. At the exact instance that his match touched the gasoline, the substation behind our house went up like the end of the world coming and you ain't been good.

Everbody; that's Mom, Dad, Granny, Aunt Ethel and me, all dove for underneath the couch all at once. Course, me being youngest, fastest and smallest. I got there first. Unfortunately, that means everybody else landed on top of me and nobody in my family was small. I'm sure if I ever find a psychologist crazy enough to treat me he will attribute my trace of claustrophobia to this very instance. After a few seconds we were still alive so we decided that God hadn't come and Khrushchev hadn't attacked so we unpiled to see what exactly HAD happened. Man that substation was putting on a special effects show that put StarWars^® to shame. There were blue and red and orange and God only knows what other color of flames and sparks and explosions and hissing and smoke and just everything else We were too awed by the whole thing to even think maybe we were a little TOO close. But we all survived, though without power for a while, but man was it worth it. That was the most fireworks I'd ever seen 'til Mary Ann (you don't really think I'd give the last name do you), but that's another story.

Nice talking to yah,
Jim (or Jimmy as I prefer, but none of these northerners will use)

I think you need to put up your own web page with stories like that! Just goes to show that storytelling is just part of the culture down here

mg 9/1/97

Sat, 8 Feb 1997

I too am descended from Mary Queen of Scots. By way of N.J.-MD.-VA-Ga-NC-NJ. My mother was a Guice.

DuckRoy

I am still amazed at how few Guices can be found on the internet. There aren't many of us in the United States

mg 9/1/97

Dear Sir,

My friends told me to try this page because the writing sucked so bad that it was funny. Your writing doesn't suck. It isn't strong enough to suck. Sigh? Yes, maybe strong enough to sigh but suck -- no.

James Williams

Thu, 12 Sep 1996

My oldest daughter was born at Moody in 1953, and I loved it there, this is like going back. There was the cutest song on the radio about Moody and something about "dollar Bill", I have always wished I had a copy of it, have you ever heard of it???? Love your essays, etc. keep it up!!!

Snooky Heim Louisville, Kentucky

I don't believe that I have ever heard of that song. Maybe someone else reading has and can help us out

mg 9/1/97

Tue, 10 Sep 1996

A bright sunshine type of day - far better than most egotistical home pages a/k/a information pieces - Mother Goose died so your pages a free from those Internet lawyers pursuing copyright infringements - subjects and comments are appreciated by one of the oldest surfers on the Web (I am 73 pushing for 74) - ciao --

The Mansfield Moonlight Surfer

Tue, 19 Jul 1996

One of my friends has a link to your page-thanks for a good laugh when I needed one. I live in the Czech Republic, where life is often ridiculous but never funny.

Your page provided a much needed break from applying for college teaching jobs in the US. I think I have a good chance for one in Conway Arkansas. I have never been to the south except to New Orleans once for Mardi Gras, but I don't remember much except for some LSU guy throwing up all over my dress and then crying about his momma. I understand this sort of thing is very common in the south.

I will continue to visit your page, especially if I get that job and need advice on how to be southern.

Your fan
ann henry

Thanks for the kind words, Ann. Even in America the South is considered to be a foreign country.

mg 9/1/97

8/10/97

Just what embarrassing fraternal secrets have you exposed?

Anonymous

I believe you are referring to some stuff in my bio. I used to write a column in the old VSC Spectator and in it I did expose secrets of fraternities. Frats have secret membership rituals, secret handshakes, passwords, and stuff like that. Most of their mottos and symbols also have secret meanings. I held up all of this to ridicule and revealed secrets of frats that I had gained from any number of sources.

One of my projects is going to be to visit the microfilm area at the college and retrieve those old columns. Most of them, I suspect, are too dated to do any good but I may post some of them online as a kick for old friends who were around back then

MG - 8/10/97

Father Goose;

I don't remember the Buick. How about a "Fresh Egg" about the Volkswagen? The "Rolling Death Trap" deserved to be fabled in song and story.

YITBOS & stuff,
W.K. Postel

I did just that. The article that came from this letter was a fresh egg that was published May 1, 1996 called "The Thing With No Name".  The letter, BTW, is from an old fraternity brother who I feature in that article. YITBOTS is one of those secret things. . .

cmg 8/10/97

Dear Sir,
My foot is itching. Excuse me. (scritch scritch scritch). Happens every time. Bullshit, you know. The purer the strain the stronger the itch. On the BS Scale you are somewhere in the eights (scritch scritch) maybe early nines. Or it could be that it's going to rain. I forget.

Richard Almanac