Fresh Loaf

In 1975, Dad took the sis’ and me down to Underground for an evening
of debauchery. It was like a family vacation in a bawdy 1890s railroad
town. Street musicians. Oil lamps. Public drunkenness. All manner of
people sharing cobblestone streets to create the cacophony that makes a
place exciting to a 15-year-old.

The image that sticks is standing outside former Gov. Lester
Maddox’s gift shop. Maddox was a genial segregationist who’d used
pick-ax handles, and a gun, to chase away three African-Americans who’d
tried to desegregate his Northside Drive restaurant.

Now, the recently retired governor was a tourist attraction. I
peered through the window while he signed souvenir pick handles for
tourists. A couple of black kids, just a bit older than me, were
laughing and waving to try to get his attention, and I joined in. The
goober governor waved back, with a plastic smile, as he shifted stiffly
from foot to foot. "Oh, Lester, you’re my hero," one of the kids said,
laughing.

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