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During the 1950's, we moved from a perfectly good concrete block home in the Miami area to a wooden frame house in the quaint little town of Highland City, Florida.
My grandfather was already living in
central Florida, and was the owner-operator of an establishment he named,
"The Dixie Pig." As I reflect on it now, I don't recall ever walking
through the front door. However, I do recall the cartoon-like caricature of a
pig on the sign which graced its entrance.
Over the next sixty something years,
(Yeah, I'm an old guy), I was under the assumption that "The Dixie
Pig" was a barbeque place. I mean, there was the pig and the title. What
else could it have possibly been? However, to be fair, I don't remember asking
my dad or mom about the place; (but then they never volunteered anything
either).
In the past couple of days everything
I knew and believed about that "barbeque place" (at least
figuratively) "went up in smoke."
For you see, there is a group page on
Facebook which is dedicated to that little unincorporated town in central
Florida, and I happened to post a paragraph or two about my granddad and his
"Dixie Pig." And, as you might imagine, I mentioned my perception of
the type of cuisine which this particular establishment served; (a faulty
belief which I had embraced for the past six plus decades).
And this is when the floodgates
opened, and all my illusions, (or should I say delusions), were (almost
literally) washed away.
For you see, with this, one person
after another offered me some enlightening comments about the nature of my
grandfather's business.
"Hmmm, if The Dixie Pig was a
barbeque place, those pigs must have been raised on a diet of pure grain
alcohol 'cause my dad was a regular customer, and he came home plastered every
night of the week!"
(and)
"I filled my tank there more
times than I can count."
(and)
"They even had go go girls
there!"
(Dear readers, can you imagine go go
girls in Highland City)?
But to top it all off, the most
surprising comment of them all.
"George Jones would ride up to
The Dixie Pig on his riding lawnmower!"
(And a couple more people dittoed this
remark).
But, as Paul Harvey was prone to say,
there is, obviously, a "rest of the story."
George Jones and Tammy Wynette had
built a home, (well, a mansion) a mile or two down the road. (The mansion is
still there, though old George and sweet Tammy have long since "left the
building").
George had been ticketed numerous
times for DUI. (There's even a Youtube video of the old boy resisting arrest).
And there's plenty of internet articles which inform us that Tammy always hid
his keys when he "got the urge" for liquid refreshment. It is said
that the country singer's first wife had resorted to the same course of action,
and that when he lived in Nashville, he had driven his... riding lawnmower to a
liquor store an hour and a half away. (All of which is "new and different"
to me since my wife made me aware of these stories, after I read the foregoing
social media comments about old George to her).
In my day and time, children were
"meant to be seen and not heard," (which pretty well sums up the
relationship I had with both my grandfathers). But "had I known then what
I know now" I would have quizzed old Webster about his memories of old
George, the lawnmower, and "The Dixie Pig."
The humble little "Dixie
Pig" and its Highland City version of "Porky Pig" out front has
been gone more than sixty years now, and has been replaced by a modern office
building. (When I sit in a current Highland City establishment called
"Catfish Country," and have lunch with several of my friends, and
look across the street, I can still envision it there).
To be sure, I don't drink, and I have
little or no use for people who get out on our highways in an inebriated state,
and put other peoples' lives in danger. (And it goes without saying, I wasn't
thrilled to learn that my recollections of "The Dixie Pig" and its
raison d'etre were woefully wrong).
But it is what it is, and it was what
it was, and to be honest, I would love to hear the stories my grandfather might
have told me about old George and the nights he drove his riding lawnmower to
"The Dixie Pig."
Did the bar patrons gather in the
parking lot to welcome him when the familiar roar of his lawnmower broke the
silence of a moonlit night? Did a drunken old country singer do an acapella
version of "A Girl I Used to Know" or "I Can't Get There From
Here" halfway through his nightly tenure at "The Dixie Pig?" Did
my granddad and old George strike up a lop-sided relationship?
Did
a guy named, Wilbur hear the roar of the lawnmower, shake his head, and remark,
"There ole George goes again." Did his wife, Winnie sit up in bed and
exclaim, "Run out there and stop him, and give him a couple of dollars to
mow the yard. You haven't bothered mowing it for three months!"
No
doubt, when it "was all said and done" the sand man sprinkled a
little more fairy dust into their eyes, and sleep overcame George's elderly
neighbors once again.
My memory has been irreparably
changed.
by Bill McDonald, PhD
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