Bootleggers of West Lauderdale County

In the time of my growing up, bootleggers were what seem to be the drug dealers of today. Many of the off spring of the bootleggers I knew of growing up are selling drugs today. There is no need any more to sell whiskey, because most of the towns are wet. The Tennessee Line was the only place to go for beer in the seventies. My family’s favorite drink was not beer. It was probably whiskey; also moonshine. It was made or sold up in our neck of the woods by the Patrick’s, Easteps,Whites and Jacksons. The Whites and Patricks were all related, somehow.The Jackson's also bought scrap metal. They worked on cars and tractors. The color they were was proof that they did dirty work. They were so dirty that the whites of their eyes shined as they approached you. They were crooks to my brother and I. We collected scrap metal for weeks; hoping to get this large sum of money for all our work. They came to the house finally to pick it up and only gave us twelve dollars for a trailer load. The old man looked like the preacher on the Poltergeist movies. The son was a small and even dirtier than his dad. He must have been the one that crawled under the cars; the worker I guess. My daddy would almost have drunk rubbing alcohol if he didn’t have the real thing. The Jackson’s were always stopping by to deliver their latest batch of wild cat. Daddy always had to hide the bottles from my grandmother and I was always searching for the bottle; just to tell on my daddy. I got some pleasure out of Grandmother finding it and pouring it out. There was one time he hid it at the edge of the yard in some rocks. This place was on the other side of the car; I guess he didn’t want to take the trouble to go very far to get a drink that day. I found it by accident, really. The strange thing to me was there was no label on the bottle; I had found my first bottle of homemade whiskey. The Whites, Easteps and Patrick’s bottles were transported and were five bucks a bottle. This was home brew and only three bucks a bottle. My daddy walked up just about the time I got the bottle out of the grass. When he saw me with it he grinned and told me, “That is the only bottle of whiskey that I will pour out.” I held the bottle up and looked; it was grey in color and had slime floating in it. The whiskey the Jackson’s made was as dirty as they were.

Just Gloom and Doom

I was asked the other day about, how long my daddy had been dead. This reminded me of the events that lead to his death. It was a couple of days before the actual whole story came to me. The strange thing about is was the time of day that the specifics and facts came to me. It was four am on Tuesday. I had been asked on Sunday. On the front porch in the dark; I out loud said to myself, " I can't believe that it has been so long since I have even thought of this event.
Daddy had already started doing the things that a doctor had told him before we left the north. He had been having an occasional sezure from his heavy drinking. My fourteen year old niece has asked about him recently. It is hard for my brother to specify the exact cause of his death to her. He does not want to talk badly of our daddy. He was probably a much better man than many think. He let wild-cat whiskey turn him into something he really was better than. Good looks was something the Garner's always were proud of; there really are no ugly people in our family. My aunt and one of the cousins dwelled on that fact, possibly to cover-up the faults of many of them. My grandfather had this curley thick hair, and was a small man. He was a drunk and begot sons that were, drunks too. The question I often ask is being a drunk passed down? Nope, because I ain't and my children ain't. One of the boy cousins has terrible addiction problems. Maybe some get it and some don't. I do think that some of the unfaithful sexual tendencies have seeped into the later generations, but who is to say that is genetic. I try hard not to be what they were and want my children to be even better than I was. Wisdom is garnered even from watching people mess up.

On the Lighter Side

A senior citizen said to his eighty-year old buddy: 'So I hear you're getting married?' 'Yep!' 'Do I know her?' 'Nope!' 'This woman, is she good looking?' 'Not really.' 'Is she a good cook?' 'Naw, she can't cook too well.' 'Does she have lots of money?' 'Nope! Poor as a church mouse.' 'Well, then, is she good in bed?' 'I don't know.' 'Why in the world do you want to marry her then?' 'Because she can still drive!'