Rambling again..

... back when I was a sprout, a bootlegger named Bill ran a show on the bad side of Madisonville.... hard hooch... Ole Granddad.. Fighting Cock.. rough stuff... high octane corn squeezings.... his clientele being the type that was after the genuine busthead and frowned upon fine sipping whiskey... they sought the cheapest high around... and Bill usually had it laid on... how do I know this?... well, one does not grow up in the bald tire-haywagon area of the South without seeking fun and games... and I was no different...

... from early on, me and a few buds would slip into the black section of town and purchase a half-pint or two... then steal to the backside of the farm for a camp-out where we'd get hammered and dance like wildmen by the campfire... inevitably puke, fall asleep on the ground, and wake the next morning to find our jeans soaked by the dampness of the dew.. shivering.. hung over.. and tired... good times...

... not that I was a miscreant, no.. not at all... it was simply what was done back then by young snappers such as I...

... I actually met Mr. Black's niece in Pensacola while I was going through Crypto school.. a big, black, buxom lass... a SSGT in the Army at the time... she was teaching one class or another, I can't remember... I do remember that I was in awe of her technical abilities though... SSGT Black was a true cryptographic force of will.. crunching numbers and algorithms like a big number crunching thing...

... I'd known her for about two months before she finally told me that she was from east Tennessee... my 17 year old mind put two and two together, and I realized that this fine, upstanding woman who held a Top Secret SCI clearance was niece to a man who consistently got most of the youngsters, drunks, and deacons of Monroe and McMinn county wired up every given Friday night... it was an incredible revelation... and proof positive that the FBI currently crawling the county asking questions about my wayward childhood would find absolutely NOTHING to keep them from handing me my clearance when the time came...

... anyway, we had found a common thread, and it was beautiful... she a relative, and I, a customer of a fine bandit...

... she offered to give me a lift back to Etowah during the Christmas break from training... I immediately took the bait.. a great trip too... the long drive from Pensacola to Etowah zipped by in no time.. although, we must have been a strange looking couple... a fine black woman in her prime and a scrawny pup of a redhead with freckles tooling along the Alabama backroads in a 1985 Cadillac land-yacht..

... strange stuff, though... I heard a few years ago that Bill had checked out...died at home on the couch, I believe... and the neighborhood that he sold cheap liquor from was now in shambles... violence, drugs, and such... no more bootlegging there... meth and crack instead... no more kids sneaking off with a fifth of bourbon and a knapsack for an impromptu "camping trip"... instead, kids showing up with the trunk of their mustang full of stolen silverware and trying to score some rock... kinda fucking depressing, really....

by Eric on August 23, 2005 | Bullshit (2) | TrackBack (0) | SWG Stories
Bullshit So Far

a bittersweet denouement, but good times well remembered ... i think "high octane corn squeezings" is my new favorite phrase ...

Bullshitted by justrose on August 23, 2005 11:32 AM

justrose said it perfectly. bittersweet indeed, but it must have been such great fun while growing up.

Bullshitted by Michele on August 24, 2005 11:26 PM