I sit lightly rocking in the cool night air. The frogs are so loud you can hardly have a porch conversation. My neighbor is passionately debating my silent protest of his political opinions. I wonder if I will have another beer. As I peer out across my lawn a figure approaches. For a moment, my mind goes to my lawn under those tennis shoes as the figure approaches. My neighbor startles me as he yells. "It's Robin Evans' girl from up the road!"
She is sultry cool as the young southern girls tend to be these days. It's amusing how hard they try to be original in fashion but end up looking like their mothers in costume. She smiles at us and waves. Her catwalk up my freshly mowed lawn was a perfect display of model sophistication. Her voice was unmistakably deep south. "Hey Y'all!"
Catherine sat with impeccable balance on my banister as I handed her a beer. My neighbor points at her questioning her age and asks if she is old enough to drink. My eyes narrow as I remind him Catherine is on the city council and a member of the Historic Society. She smiles and raised her head sliding the cold bottle down the long length of her neck. I remind my neighbor, "Cat is here to talk to us about the annual Jimmy Rodger's Festival."
Jimmy Rodgers was a semi famous Mississippi folk singer/songwriter from here in Meridian, Mississippi. His family lives just down from us and he is buried at Oak Grove Baptist Church also on our road. Each year, tourists come to ride along our beautiful country road and take pictures of Jimmy's head stone. Truth be known, Jimmy is richer now than he could have ever hoped to be in life. He was an icon of this area over three generations ago. I honestly have never heard one of his songs. As I sit here, I think to myself, The only thing historic here are Cat's long legs propped on my porch railing and the way she drinks her beer.
It occurred to me at that moment there was more of historical value here than Old Jimmy. Here I was the grandson of a bootlegger and the son of one of the Mississippi's most "un-notorious" outlaws. My neighbor across from me came from a family with ties to organized crime who still has family in law enforcement. Even Cat here purring on my porch has a bit of mystique in her family. Her grandfather got his start up capital for his trucking company by hauling liquor across the county line into Neshoba to deliver to my aunt's cafe.
There was a time not so long ago we were being chased by the law and shunned by the community. Now we are the law and pillars of the community. I don't feel so differently now that my last time before a judge was decades ago. Our families never felt famous even though we were made so during the stir of controversy regarding "Mississippi Burning." I asked Mr. Freeman once soon afterward, if he thought my Uncle Doris Smith was a racist? He laughed heartily as he envisioned my uncle pinned uncomfortably beneath the spotlights of national attention.
I think now at how wonderful it would be to sit and talk with the tourists that will come to our small country road this year. After all, isn't it our duty as pillars of the community to accurately represent our historic past? With the festival less than a week away I foresee this being the best one yet. Cat will finish her beer soon and give us our Historic Jimmy Rodgers wreaths to hang on our doors welcoming you to our town and wishing you a pleasant day... "Y'all"
Previously Posted on FullofKnowlege.com
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