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Flagpole Magazine
December 11, 1991
William Orten Carlton = CRT.
Special Correspondent For The Flagpole.
Last week, I left a tew things out. This time, I’ll attempt
to be more spatially inclusive.
After making it to Auburn, I discovered that city to be
Athens’ basic opposite: where Athens is a city with a
university in it, sure; Auburn is a university with a city built
around it as a resultant. “Which came first, the chicken or
the egg?" is a question not asked in the geographical sense
very often, but I have done it here.
Leaving Auburn for the afternoon, I ventured to Opelika.
The Goodwill Store there is in a converted supermarket
downtown. An even dozen books for 500 seemed like a
good idea at the time, but the clerk suggested otherwise:
“Getchaa croker sack ’n’ fill it plumb up for $5.95. You don’t
got to pay no flat 500 per thataway," he confided. It was a
good idea; I came away with two running-over sacksful plus
37 leaking out, and he refused to charge me more than
$11.90 plus 7% tax. I was overjoyed, my day plumb made.
I returned to Auburn past the Jesus Only Church and more
fried chicken outlets than Minnie Pearl could ever live to
count. Steve and I pigged out on all-you-can-eat barbe
cued chicken for cheap and slept soundly, dreaming
atonal thoughts.
I toid you last week about going to Tuskegee. While
there, I drove around and iooked at the city, one of the most
interesting places I’ve ever been. This was my second visit,
the previous being in 1977 on the way to work in Tulsa. The
square had seen little change in 14 years. The whole time
I was m Tuskegee I ran across a maximum of 20 white folks
and somewhere near 250 to 300 black ones, and it got me
to thinking: everyone was very nice to me, and I could only
hope that in the days before we were really working to
achieve racial equality I would have been treated just as
well had I been black in a majority white situation. I might be
able to say that better at another time, but it is rendered from
the heart and must stand for now: I somehow do not feel
eloquent tonight.
Leaving Tuskegee in gathering darkness and rain, I
drove northeastward through Notasulga, where there is an
old Umversalist Cemetery buried someplace in the endless
forking of sidestreets. I took the one that led to Loachapoka
and back to Auburn, noted some places to check out in the
future (such as Loachapoka’s non-generic post office), and
again slept well.
Thursday stomped up and I needed to head back. I
shook Steve’s hand a fond fare-thee-well and pointed
Ruby’s snout eastward, returning to Goodwill Industries of
Opelika. There is a fellow therewith Down’s Syndrome who
puts out the books; he took great glee in telling me that I
would just HAVE to grab another croker sack and fill it,
because he had restocked the shelves from the backroom.
Another $12.61 rolled down the tubes as two sacks were
procured, filled, and crammed in the overstuffed car.
I tel^scbpe alfea^T/ie rain pulled out, and'so did I.
From Riyerdale toward Athens'is easy:-just get on 138 to
Monroe and take 78 on in, right? Not if you're Ort. — I
decided to come through Gnffia^hips rounding Cape
Horn notwithstanding, it was a great idea~^'
Boy, was if A coupla ^ears ago, yvhehl first returned to
Griffinjafter„a many-yea^absencd;-^stumbled across a
book irade place onNorthTHill Street dowrown. It wasn’t
there ^rjymore, e “Sniff,M thought, "it’s gone out of business."
A few'.rmnutesVfranti^inquiry (and I DO .get frantic,Temme
assur^ you) lea me awaaay out Old U. S. 41, commonly
knowhfes GaJ3, from downtown north|ind west through the
part of GriffifCcalled Experimental even has its own post
office" 30218,1 think) t^ the newjocation of Je'b’s Books.
They-sell and tra3e hardbacks and paperbacks, yes, but
the bulk oj-y^hat they deal in seems to be comic books.
Everyot^wafeln a smt of consternation regards an overdue
shipment of same Character after character walked straight
out efih^pages of Philip K. Dick through the doors of Jeb's
asking for iheir favorite superhero, only to be turned down:
time after time I witnessed this. Knee deep in shelvesful of
obscuriana, I offered a benediction that perhaps U. P. S.
would indeed run late, thus the wares would arrive, and
thus the day would be salvaged. We all went on hope for a
long while. As closing time drew apocalyptically near, a
frantic, green-clad young man tore in the door, mouth fairly
frothing like a Bill Elder cartoon character would do in the
midst of having his foot tangled up in a carpet and thus
pulling three roomsful of furniture along behind him. (I once
drew a similar logo for YAAH! Records, but to no avail.) If
the Russians had come, we’d never have known about it at
Jeb’s as pandemonium reigned. Comics barely checked in
flew left and right into waiting hands, money magically sped
out of wallets, and an air of happiness filled the room. I
could have been in a Zen monastery in Tibet, it felt that
good. Jeb’sas wonderfully dusty, like an eccentric aunt’s
attic. I plan to become a fixture there, if only every two
months or so, when I gather enough stuff to warrant a trip.
They inspired me to write this, so you can imagine what they
could do for you. They also want me to bring them two
copies of every Flagpole from now to eternity, and if for no
other reason but to dc that, I hasten to do their bidding.
And that’s the trip. Griffin to Jackson to Covington to
Jersey to Monroe to Athens, and to sleep like I should be
now. But tonight was special: I spent some time with Donna,
and it was hard to leave her. I think of her even now, as I write
the above, sleeping soundly, of how good the barbecue will
taste, of how good it felt to hug her and to have her hug me
back with perhaps even more enthusiasm than I gave her.
Thanks for a wonderful time, D.
A hearty congratulations to The LaBrea Stompers, who
won the video contest at The Georgia Theatre tonight:
Saturday, late — or Sunday, early as I write.
As Donna is catching winks (as most sensible people
and cats are), I think to myself that it’s time for me to catch
(30) or so myseif.
P S Very important. Have each of you a Merry Christ
mas, Joyeux Noel, Happy Chanukah, or whatever you
celebrate (or don't). Please do so gently. If you find weird
brands of beer on the road, bring me a sample and I'll pay
you for it. Just enjoy in moderation, and God willing (and I
believe, myself, that there IS one) we 'Usee each other come
January 1, 1992, if not before. Thanks. From the heart, Ort
Now really (30 ).
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