I was looking through my Pat Conroy Cookbook for a recipe this afternoon and came across this story that I had forgotten. I made MrDDS sit still while I read it to him. He says he got it, but didn't get why it was funny.
Tell me this isn't a great Southern story:
I'm abridging this version, but you can find it in The Pat Conroy Cookbook, Chapter 18 about the Vidalia onion.
Pat writes,
But what I love most about the Vidalia onion is that it led me straight into the path of th greatest Southern story I have every heard. I call it the perfect Southern story because all participants are Southern, because it involves peculiarity, madness, liquor, good high humor, fotball, snappy dialogue, and more liquor.
Pat tells that his neighbor in Ansley Park, Atlanta was a diehard Volunteers fan names Knox Nobbins. It came to pass that Knox invited him to attend a football game between his beloved Tennessee Volunteers and the University of Georgia Bulldogs in Athens. The only caveat was that they would be forced to sit on the Georgia side becauses the tickets came from a banker friend who had graduated from UGA...
When I took my seat near the fifty yard line on the Georgia Bulldog side, a diminutive but formidable lady in her late seventies sat to my immediate left, and she drank from a silver cup filled with ice. She was drinking freely of a brown liquid known as Wild Turkey. She introduced herself and said she'd never seen me, and where was the son of bitch who usually occupied that seat? I assumed she meant the banker, but did not know for sure, so I turned and studied the Tennessee lineup with Knox...
When we rose for the kickoff , I experienced a moment of sheer anxiety when the birdlike woman to my left began to bark like a Georgia bulldog. "Arf, arf, arf, arf, arf, arf!" You get the picture, but it did not let up, so after five minutes I was nearing hysteria as the woman's barking increased in intensity and volume. She would quit barking only for the several delicious moments when she took a fast swill from her drink and shouted into the sunshine-sweetened air: "Let the big dog drink!"
The barking continued unabated as I became claustrophobic, which began to make breathing difficult. Finally, in desperation, I said, "Madam do you plan to bark like a bulldog for the entire game?"
She stopped, flashed her ferocious eyes at me, and said, "You're just like that sOB you usually sits here."
"Yeah, I can see why it must be a pleasure to surrender those tickets to a stranger."
"I'll bet you are for the GD Tennessee Volunteers."
"I wasn't when this game began, but I sure am thinking about it now," I said.
She answered me by barking, "Arf, arf, arf..." until halftime, when she mercifully stopped, took a last swallow, and screamed at me, "Let the big dog eat."
The silence seemed funereal when the woman stopped barking. Then she surprised me by turning friendly. "Hello. Now, son, I've got to rest my vocal cords for the second half. So tell me all about yourself. Where are you from, honey?"
"Madam, I'm from Beaufort, South Carolina," I said.
"Beaufort, South Carolina!" she screamed. "I love everything about Beaufort, South Carolina, eveerything about that pretty little river town. But do you know what I love most about Beaufort, South Carolina?"
"No ma'am, I don't."
"I love to get drunk in Beaufort, South Carolina." Then she turned to Knox Dobbins and said, "Sweetie pie, where you from, honey?"
Knox answered, "Knoxville, Tennessee."
Again she screamed, "Knoxville, Tn? Iknow everything there is to know about Knoxfille, TN. Everything, honey. You know what I love most about Knoxville, the really great thing?"
"No ma'am, I can't imagine," said Knox.
"I love to get drunk in Knoxville, Tennessee."
There was a pretty young woman sitting next to Knox whom neither of us knwo, but who had been dragged into the dance of the bulldog woman by mere happenstance and the laws of nearness.
"Hey sweetheart, you look down here now, darling! Where are you from, girl?"
"My hometown in Valdosta, Georgia," the young woman replied.
"Valdosta, Georgia? Now there's a place to remember. There's a town you can love. Do you know what I love most about Valdosta, Georgia? The very best thing you can say about Valdosta?"
"No ma'am, I don't."
The older woman paused, took another drink of bourbon, and said, "I love your g-d onions."
I told that story once in South Dakota and once in New Hampshire. The audience waitied for me to complete the story or get to the point. That's why I know it is the perfect Southern story--it doesn't travel well.
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I have to agree with Pat Conroy, it's the perfect Southern story. :)
