Folks, the ol' Bloviator is at an undisclosed location down the islands, pursuing every aspect of the holy sun, suds, and surf trilnity with his usual excess. Thanks be to JL, my friend and soulmate from over there in Alabama, for sharing this highly appropriate posting with us. Just remember that if you come across a copy of the Declaration of Independence with some barbecue sauce smeared on it, JL would love to have it back.
EVEN UNCLE SAM HAS BAD DAYS
By JL Strickland, Linthead Emeritus
On the Fourth of July, we naturally think of Uncle Sam, our nation's favorite icon. While I try to keep a positive attitude about Uncle Sam in July, I can't forget the day the old man hurt my feelings in October.
Let me explain:
Back in the day, Fairfax Mill chartered a bus to take the mill-village Boy Scouts to the Southeastern Fair in Atlanta. As a proud member of Fairfax Troop 10, I was thrilled at the prospect of such a magical journey. Going to the Southeastern Fair was like a trip to Mars. Atlanta was a heap farther away then than it is now. So, early one glorious Saturday morning in October, we headed up Highway 29, giddy with anticipation. Unfortunately, the fun came to a rattling halt when the bus, as if pre-ordained, broke down in Newnan, Ga., right in front of Sprayberry's legendary barbecue joint. Sprayberry's barbecue pit was already in high gear. Not only was the pit in high gear, as country boys used to say, it was in grandmaw! Our scoutmaster left us waiting outside while he went in and phoned home for help. But, when the beguiling, heavenly aroma of barbecue wafted over us, we stormed into the restaurant, in a feeding frenzy, and started buying sandwiches, and Brunswick stew. And fried apple pies. And we went in again and again. Sprayberry's barbecue was more addictive than crack. This was in the early Fifties and the Valley cotton mills were on short time. While Boy Scouts wearing uniforms got into the fair free, none of us had much spending money. By the time another bus arrived to rescue us, four hours later, we were all broke; but packed full of Sprayberry's vittles. We arrived at the fair two hours before we were scheduled to return home. Little matter. We didn't have money left for the rides anyway. We could only mope around looking at the free exhibits, feeling pangs of buyer's remorse for splurging on barbecue. Then, as we were about to leave, an epiphany: A bearded man on stilts, dressed as Uncle Sam, was selling copies of the Declaration of Independence to passersby near the gate. He was carrying the copies in an American flag-colored bag hanging from one of the stilts. I ask to see one of the copies and he handed it down to me. The stilts made him look ten feet tall. The document looked like the real Declaration of Independence, with parchment-type paper, and that old-timey curlicue lettering. I had to have a copy. I asked Uncle Sam how much they cost. Peering down at me from his lofty height, he said they didn't have a set price; they cost whatever I could afford to pay.
He added dramatically, "Every American should have a copy of the Declaration of Independence."
I was in luck! I gave him all the money I had, one lonely, solitary quarter. After examining the quarter like he had never seen a coin before, Uncle Sam frowned at me like I had just shot Abe Lincoln. Then he leaned over, snatched my copy of the Declaration of Independence out of my hand, and flipped the quarter on the ground at my feet.
Drawing himself up to his full height, he shouted, "Look, hicker-nut head -- you can't buy no bloomin' copy of the Declaration of Independence for no durn quarter!"
In a huff, Uncle Sam stuffed the copy back into his bag and stalked off through the crowd. I was stunned. And more than a tad mortified. I could not believe that Uncle Sam would use that abusive language and tone of voice with a Boy Scout of America, who was in full dress uniform, including a sash almost full of merit badges. Not only did I play the bugle at assemblies, I usually led the Pledge of Allegiance, for gosh sakes! I learned a valuable civics/life lesson that day. You can buy a copy of the Declaration of Independence or you can buy a bellyful of Sprayberry's barbecue. You can't do both. But as traumatic as this incident was, it could have been much worse. It could have happened on the Fourth of July. Then it would have been like Jesus giving you a wedgie at Bible school.
