Small Town Thoughts

They say as you get older you begin to meditate on your mortality … and how close you are to it.    My mind wanders to places I have lived and people I have known who contributed to who I am today.  Some of them should be ashamed and hopefully some of them would be proud.  Although I was born and spent the first ten year of my life in Columbus, most of my “growing up” years were spent in Harris County.  I spent a year or two living in Shiloh, but a lot of time in Wavery Hall.

I heard the old post office is a pretty good restaurant now.  Those wide but short steps out in front hold a special place for me.  In 5th grade I would walk down to post office to check our box, and dream of a letter from my girl, Kathy, in Columbus.  She would put the stamp upside down, or write S.W.A.K. across the envelope.  We never kissed, but hoped someday to make that a reality.  Her interest in me quickly waned; out of sight and out of mind.  She moved on, but my heart still returns to those steps wondering what happened to her, how she is, and if she still remembers me.

Next door to that old post office with cavernous brick building that used to house Newberry’s general store.   I seldom had money since my parents didn’t believe in giving an allowance.   Once in a while I pick up enough Coca-Cola (we pronounced it Co Cola) bottles to be able to buy some candy and Coke.  I would wonder into the store, and be reminded of the general stores in the Gunsmoke episodes on television.  Two or three old men would be there sitting around talking and smoking “roll your own” cigarettes.  The smell of fertilizer, sweet feed and cigarette smoke linger like a fog in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife.  They never acknowledged a youngster like me, but kept right on talking.  I can remember going in there once after part of it had been converted to a barber shop.  It didn’t last long past the one haircut I got there.

Train tracks still ran through downtown Waverly Hall back then.  You could sit on the front steps of the post office and look across at Reeve’s Furniture Company on the other side of high way.  Next to it was Pemberton’s gas station (a Gulf station I think). Mr. Pemberton used to growl at us kids as we walked by his auto repair place next door.  That gas station holds two memories for me.  I stopped there one cold morning walking to Waverly Hall Elementary School and spent my lunch money for a hot chocolate out of the machine at the gas station.  It was a long day without lunch, but the free orange juice given to every student in the mornings helped me make it through.    I also remember that was the year Apollo 11 landed on the moon.  I had a book from the Gulf station that my dad bought me comemorating the moon landing.  I can’t see a Gulf station or drive through Waverly Hall without thinking about how great that hot chocolate tasted, and how cool it was that we landed on the moon.

         You are probably wondering why ol’ man Pemberton would growl at kid who walked by his station.  Well, everybody picked his crabapples when they were ripe because the Highway 280 sidewalk went very close to his tree.  Also, behind his station was the Georgia DOT yard with it vast gravel piles.  We would sneak into the DOT yard and play around in the gravel piles to the sound of Mr. Pemberston hollering at us as if he personally owned the gravel.  I don’t know if he had children or grandchildren, but he always seemed to be in a good temper until a child showed up.  Maybe he had childhood issues that caused him to resent any child that seemed to be happy.  When I was driving, my stepdad once recommended I ask Mr. Pemberton about a problem I had with my car.  My stepdad assured me Mr. Pemberton wouldn’t remember me, but he surely did.  He didn’t growl at me, but he was not very helpful.    I wanted to walk out of his shop, climb the fence and dance around the DOT gravel pile.  I don’t think the workers would have appreciated it much.

My parents have both gone on to be with the Lord.    I haven’t visited Waverly Hall since my mother passed several years ago.  But each time I see that name on a map, or see a Facebook post from “You know you are from Waverly Hall if …” my mind goes back to the steps of that post office.  Hope you have had a good life kathy.  Still remember chasing you around Uncle Don’s front yard, and the letters you used to write.  S.W.A.K.