Road Trip: A Mall, A Wal-Mart Before Wal-Mart and Burgers, Fries and a Shake

Another road trip I recall from my younger days happened a time or two a year. Much like some of the other trips remembered so far, me, my mom and dad and an aunt and uncle hopped into a car on a Sunday afternoon but these times we drove northwest to Cleveland, TN. Cleveland is located about half an hour east of Chattanooga. From our Georgia home, it was probably about 50 miles to Cleveland. The trip though took over an hour usually because of a stretch of Highway 64 we always called the River Road. Some call it the Old Copper Road since it was the road that led  into the copper mining town of Copperhill. We called it the River Road because it rested down deep in a valley beside the Ocoee River. That stretch of road is curvy and dangerous. Trucks have to drive it slower and those who are not native to the area drive it slower. Most natives respect it enough to tap their brakes once or twice during the ride. All this causes the drive time to be extended.

A few times each year, we went to Cleveland. Usually when we went there we went to the Village Mall. For those of us from a sleepy Georgia mountain town, this mall seemed like the largest place in the whole world. Usually, we visited Kresge's. Kresge's seemed to be a good spot for our group of five to begin. They had enough variety that each of us could spend some time there before venturing off  into other directions. While the Village Mall was like a city unto itself, my memory doesn't stretch far back enough to recall a lot of details about the other places there. I do recall the mall had a downstairs floor that housed a bowling alley. There were times we bowled a few games while there.

Another place we visited in Cleveland was near this mall. If I recall it was across the street a bit. It was a store called Gibson's. From what I recall Gibson's could be likened to today's Wal-Mart. They seemed to have everything from groceries to clothing under one roof. There are two vivid memories I have about two separate road trips to this Gibson's in Cleveland.

The first was in cold weather. I recall walking down a wide open aisle toward the food section of the store. As I looked in that direction, I saw a man in heavy clothing. What startled me though was he had a weird cap on his head. Now today I would recognize that cap as some sort of pilot's cap. Back then though in my tender years I don't ever recall seeing anyone wear such a cap. When I saw this man stride down the aisle in the clothing and the cap, which I though was some sort of mask, I just knew the store was being robbed. I thought how we were a group of plain ordinary country people who had gone to the big city to do a bit of browsing and shopping only to walk into a robbery in progress. I relayed my concerns to someone in our group who quickly set me straight how the man in the weird clothes was not in disguise but was just probably looking for some decent looking porkchops at a fair price. Their confidence made me realize this man was in no way there to terrorize the employees and customers of the friendly neighborhood Gibson's.

The second incident at Gibson's involved my aunt and uncle's car. I don't recall the model year of the car but looking at pictures on-line I tend to believe it was either a 1966 or 1967 model Plymouth Satellite. It was yellow. We referred to it as "the Lemon," although it always seemed to be a very dependable car for my aunt and uncle. I remember the console between the front bucket seats. My aunt and uncle were major country music fans, so this car had a modern eight-track tape player which complimented the AM radio quite well. My uncle dressed his car out with shiny chrome wheels. He washed it often making it shine and sparkle every time you saw it.

Outside of my brother's deep blue Plymouth Barracuda, "the Lemon" was my favorite car. I have no idea how it ran, no clue about gas mileage or oil usage. All I knew was it looked cool.

One summer afternoon, me, Mom, Dad and my aunt and uncle got into "the Lemon" then drove to Cleveland. One of our stops was at Gibson's. I don't recall much about the trip until we were ready to leave Gibson's. My uncle was an auto mechanic. He more than knew his way around a car. We walked out of the store. I spotted "the Lemon" off by itself in the parking lot. I took off in a mad dash to be the first to the car not really realizing the adults were not about to take off in an effort to get to the car before me. I remember getting there and the windows to the car were down. It was summer so it was hot. It was also the 1970s when you could trust leaving your windows rolled down. I don't recall thinking how I should not open the door to the car so I did anyway. When I opened the door, my uncle's homemade alarm was triggered and the car's horn blared throughout the parking lot. I do remember turning around to see my uncle running frantically toward his car in an effort to quiet the alarm. At that point I remembered how I had done this before on other trips and knew better. Between these two trips to Gibson's, I am not sure we were welcomed back there.

Usually on our way home from Cleveland, we stopped at a burger joint just outside town called the Shake Shack. This place is still in operation now although I am not sure if it is still under the same ownership. Each time I drive by there now I recall times when we ate there. Although they do have indoor dining, we usually ate in our car. You could walk up to a window and place your order or someone would come to your car to take your order. This was during a time when eating out was more a novelty than a way of life, so each stop for burgers, fries and milkshakes was special.

After this, we pulled away from Cleveland headed down by the Ocoee River in the days before it became a must-visit for whitewater fans. We drove the snaky curves in the shadows of the mountains. My uncle, who often was on call for wrecker trips on this stretch of road, shared stories from time-to-time of those who did not respect the twists and turns of the River Road. Soon enough if we were in "the Lemon", my uncle pulled into our upper driveway. We exited the car. Usually, I watched in amazement, how my uncle did not use a spot by a walnut tree to turn his car around instead choosing to back his car up the driveway into a the drive's curve then out into the highway before pulling away. I watched him do that dozens of times over the years and it always amazed me. As they drove away, I usually stood there waving at them wondering when the next road trip would happen and where it would take me.

Road Trip: A Mall, A Wal-Mart Before Wal-Mart and Burgers, Fries and a Shake playlist:

Raspberries "Drivin' Around"

Joe Ely "If You Were A Bluebird"

Waylon Jennings and Jessi Colter "Storms Never Last"

Johnny Rodriquez "We Believe In Happy Endings"

The Wreckers "Tennessee"

Daryl Hall and John Oates "Abandoned Luncheonette"

Starbuck "Moonlight Feels Right"

The Doobie Brothers "Rockin' Down The Highway"

Steve Miller Band "Take The Money And Run"

Ronny and the Daytonas "Bucket T"

Hoyt Axton "Boney Fingers"

Margo Price "Tennessee Song"

Voice

I see her sitting in that chair, slumped slightly to her left. As I focus on her face I see her mother and father, her brothers and sisters, her aunts and uncles all in the features handed down to her. I know these features as I share them with her and her other children, her grandchildren and her great grandchildren. 

I watch her perk up then I wait for her voice. Sometimes, now, it's a bit shaky as if her vocal chords are trying to steady. Other times, it's a bit more clear. No matter how it is, soon enough it hits the pitch and speed and volume I have known all my life.

Usually a smile comes across her face. That is a natural reaction for her. Now, though, it is sometimes masked behind some physical pain or maybe even depression. Still, she tries, and for a time, all is as well as it can get now.

We catch up on things. Her life now is the most limited it has ever been. Time and disease has taken away most of her eyesight. The vivid scope of life she knew all these years has grown limited, darker and blurry. Simple everyday tasks she tended to are no longer doable easily or at all. The more complicated things she was responsible for are now distant memories for her.

Sometimes it all slips off the rails. She begins talking about things the rest of us do not understand or cannot comprehend. She seems certain beyond any doubt that what she says is the way things are despite clear evidence that things are not the way she imagines. It is hard to know what to do then. I know I should probably just move on without saying much but it is hard to know how to reign in what you think you should say even if you understand why you should just keep quiet.

In time, some semblance of normalcy returns. Her smile returns. Her voice seems a bit stronger.

As much as I can hope and wish for in this situation, the days from the past when life unfolded seemingly without a hitch are gone, taken for granted because they were days where all seemed right. Now, I accept what is left, whether I like it or not.

I search for her smile. I listen for her laugh. I try to find that place where her voice is still strong. While there are things she told me I was always remember I listen for something else now in her voice. I listen for that place where whatever she says is running over with a confidence that assures me I can do whatever I set my mind to do. I search for that because I know I will need to lean into that to see all this through.

Screen Door Slamming

It is a simple sound. Some people might label it as noise. Some of us though hear the sound and it reminds us of days gone by. Maybe it's a Southern thing. I suppose it might really be more of a rural thing, something that many in small towns across America shared without really thinking too much about it. Recently, I heard the sound again, recognized it as some lost piece of my childhood and smiled about hearing it again after all the years in between.

Our recent house renovations took an oft-unused part of our house, our deck, and transformed it into a screened-in deck. The previous deck was nice. We had an outdoor table and wrought iron chairs there. Our grill lived there as well. The major issue we always had with this deck though was how it caught sunshine during the heat of the day making it the hottest spot in the summer. Often if you could tolerate the elements, the bugs showed up to feast on our flesh.

With the renovation, we covered the top of the deck and screened in the sides, added a ceiling fan and light. Now, we have a much more tolerable place to hang out on lazy days or eat a late dinner while the sun slides behind the trees in front of the mountains in the distance to the west. Our contractor built an additional walk-out to the end of the deck so we could use our grill in the open air. He separated it by the screen and a screen door.

Recently, we were on our new deck when Hannah stepped out onto the extended deck. This extension is pretty cool. It is in the open but allows you to feel like you are looking out over all you see, even if what we actually own and pay property taxes on just extends down to the fence in the woods midway to the next neighborhood behind us.

Hannah likes this extension. On this day, she pranced around for a moment or two out there. Then she returned to the deck briefly before going inside the house. As she left the deck extension, the screen door slammed behind her. This was music to my ears.

We had a screen door part of my childhood. One set of grandparents had such a door as well. I remember hearing it throughout my childhood.

When you hear it close, or slam, it is a distinctive sound. When I hear it I think of times when I rushed out that door into the wide outdoor world and the possibilities that then became available. True, sometimes that door slamming behind me was because a parental figure just wanted me out of the house, still, rushing out that door was a change of scenery that was needed at just the right time. That screen door slam could also be made when coming in from the outside back inside as well. That direction usually had a different, but still, memorable meaning even then.

Maybe that sound, that noise to some, is a welcome reminder of the past. Our schools had no screen doors. Church didn't as well. Growing older, I discovered work did not have screen doors either. Maybe that sound is a reminder of home and childhood.

That sound was the door opening literally and figuratively to adventure, fresh air, imagination and good times. Sometimes, especially when it slammed from the outside in, it was because you knew you had returned to a safe place.

One generation often assigns a meaning to something that another generation assigns some other meaning to over time. I have no idea what Hannah's generation will think of a slamming screen door. It may not register at all. It may just be part of the chatter and noise that swallows so much of life. When I hear it now, I think when I was Hannah's age now. Somehow that sound takes me back to a time when just being a kid was really all that mattered.

Some part of me hopes one day that simple sound will echo in Hannah's ears and it will take her back to her childhood home. She'll remember the screened-in deck with the screen door. She may think of specific memories made there. Maybe she'll recall times when that deck was her playhouse for her imagination. Maybe she will think of times when we listened to the birds sing in the morning sun. Maybe she will remember times we had supper there with the ceiling fan on low so it wouldn't blow out the candle on the table. Maybe that simple sound will remind her how sometimes we just sat there at the end of a day or week and found comfort being at home and being family. I hope then it brings a smile to her face and warms her heart in a moment when she really needs it.