I walked into The Pour House Cafe this morning and looked around for Leonard. I have been busy lately and haven’t seen him around. To tell the truth I have been hoping I wouldn’t run into him after our last time together when he showed me his song in progress about indoor toilets.
I strolled over to the round table in the corner and the usual crowd was there. Jelly, my big buddy, smiled and said, “Have a seat, Preacher, sit down and tell us something.”
I looked around the table and said my “how do’s ” to the two other fellows seated there.
“Well, Elvis, ” I said to the short, bald man directly in front of me.
“How’s your wife doing?” His wife had been sick with the flu.
Elvis was named Elvis about the time the other Elvis was in Jr. High. The name was all that they shared. He was short, bald and couldn’t carry a tune if it had handles on it. «Read the rest of this article»
My friend, Leonard had cornered me at The Pour House Café and asked for my help in writing a song.
“Ok, Leonard,” I said, “just what kind of song are you writing?”
“A protest song, I want to write a protest song.”
I hesitated, but knew I had to ask. “What are you protesting, Leonard?”
“Indoor toilets, that’s what, indoor toilets!” «Read the rest of this article»
Saturday afternoon was slow at the café. Most people were out working in their yards or shopping. The few people there were at the round table known affectionately as the “Liar’s Table.”
As I walked in the door I was greeted by the faithful locals at the table.
“Hey, Preacher, what’s that following you?”
The man asking the question was my 300 pound friend, Jelly. Alfred Whitmore was his real name but at 300 pounds you can figure out why they called him Jelly. Plus, he didn’t like the name, Alfred. «Read the rest of this article»
The Pour House Café is your typical small town café you find in most every little town in the U.S. The once white frame building sits on the corner of highway 41A and Slipknot Road. It is the place where problems are solved, gossip is started and grease is consumed.
Square foot for square foot more characters eat here than most any place south of Mayberry.
Things were busy at the Cafe Sunday. «Read the rest of this article»