On the way down to Destin this year, I found myself inspired by a road. By some of the things I saw and thought and didn't see. This post has kinda been in the back of my mind ever since.
US Route 331.
I don't know if it is possible to develop an emotional attachment to a span of pavement, but if it is, then I have. I love that road, and have driven every inch of it several times.
Coming out of Montgomery, as I-65 turns southwestward for Mobile, 331 heads almost due South towards the Emerald Coast of the Florida panhandle and her white sand beaches.
For 150 miles--nearly all of it two lanes--331 leads you through quiet countryside and quaint towns. None of which have populations of more than six or seven thousand. Towns such as Luverne, Opp, Florala, and Brantley. The latter has a sign proudly proclaiming it as the hometown of former NBA star Chuck Person.
They are hushed little towns where time may not have stopped, but it surely has slowed down. There's a simpleness there that I long for. There are town squares with time-worn buildings and empty storefronts, where I imagine that not too awful long ago you could go into the local drug store and find a real soda fountain. And just maybe, in one of them, you still can.
In between towns, there is more countryside. Houses, farms, and fields, interrupted only by the occasional gas station or roadside cafe. There are homemade signs for antique shops and a flea market, and a billboard inviting you to stop in at the It Don't Matter Family Restaurant. I always think about stopping, but haven't yet.
You will inevitably come upon a train of four or five or seven cars with out-of-state tags on their way to or from the beach. Having its southern terminus at Highway 98, a few miles east of Destin, 331 has been a popular route for beach-goers. But traffic has declined in recent years. For every open store there seems to be at least one other that's closed down. And at times, I'm overtaken by the sense of what I don't see and the feeling of what no longer is.
Several years back, there was talk of four-laning 331. But as other beach routes--supposedly quicker and passing through fewer towns--gained in popularity, that never came to fruition. And I for one, am kinda glad. I already get my fill of four-lanes and interstates. So I'll keep taking the road less traveled, literally.
Besides, little towns where people live and work and go to church, mow their grass and grow their gardens, raise their kids and put tacky lawn decorations in the yard--as the song says, ain't that America? Maybe not an America we hear much about anymore, but one that definitely still exists. You just have to slow down sometimes to see it.
"There's a place where mornings are an endless blue, and you feel Mother Nature walk along with you. Where simple people livin' side by side still wave to their neighbor when they're drivin' by..."
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The man in the red suit
I intended to post this yesterday, but I never could get it to come out right, so I decided to scrap it. Then when I went running tonight, instead of counting my steps to 100 and making sure I took exactly five steps on the short bridge and eight on the longer one, all I could think about was this post. I came home and wrote it, though I'm still not sure it came out right.
The first thing you notice about the man in the red suit is his outfit. The bright red coat, pants and tophat would stand out almost anywhere. But especially so on a steamy afternoon near summer's end, at a football game. That is when I first saw him.
Everyone else wore shorts or at least short-sleeves, except for the man in the red suit. He walked alone and at his own pace, a bit slower than the rest of the crowd. He seemed to be the definition of the phrase "in his own world."
Almost subconsciously, I filed him away in my mind as just an eccentric old black man. But as the weeks passed, I came to realize the man in the red suit was fairly well known around town. Or at least recognized. A couple of people even knew his name. And I began to ask questions.
Everything I know about the man in the red suit comes from things others have said. He draws a check from the government. He is always behind on his bills, but he pays them the best he can. No one seems to know if he has any family, but they have witnessed him speaking to his imaginary friend. And of course, there's the suit. No matter the season, no matter the weather, there is always the suit.
Casually and not really expecting an answer, one day I asked why he was the way he was. The answer came back in a single word.
Vietnam.
It was spoken as if that one word should explain it all away--the curious attire, the imaginary friend, the struggling to make it on a fixed income. As if I am to accept it as that's just the way it is.
Vietnam.
And with that, my view of the man in the red suit forever changed. Instantly, I had great respect and admiration for him. And albeit from afar, I felt a certain compassion for him. Anytime I see him now, it touches a soft place in my heart.
I also grew much more curious about the man in the red suit. I wonder about his life. I wonder if he has any family. When the fighter jets fly over before kickoff, does he get tears in his eyes like me? I wonder what he thinks about. Then I'm thankful I don't know.
Most of all, when I think about him struggling to pay his bills, I can't help but wonder if the country he risked his life for has turned its back on him.
A few weeks ago, I spotted the man in the red suit inside the stadium. He was sitting just a couple sections over from us. The crowd began to do the wave and I watched anxiously to see if he would participate. He didn't stand up, but did raise one arm as the wave passed by. I smiled.
The first thing you notice about the man in the red suit is his outfit. And that's OK. I think he has more than earned the right to wear anything he would like. But if that's all you notice, you're missing a lot.
On gameday, many fans put Bama flags on their cars. They fit on the side windows and most people have two flags, one on the driver's side and one on the passenger's side. At the most recent game, I saw the man in the red suit in his car. (Out of 92,000 people, we had parked in the same lot. Go figure.)
He had a Bama flag on one side.
And an American flag on the other.
"Some stood through for the red, white, and blue, and some had to fall. If you ever think of me, think of all your liberties and recall, some gave all..."
The first thing you notice about the man in the red suit is his outfit. The bright red coat, pants and tophat would stand out almost anywhere. But especially so on a steamy afternoon near summer's end, at a football game. That is when I first saw him.
Everyone else wore shorts or at least short-sleeves, except for the man in the red suit. He walked alone and at his own pace, a bit slower than the rest of the crowd. He seemed to be the definition of the phrase "in his own world."
Almost subconsciously, I filed him away in my mind as just an eccentric old black man. But as the weeks passed, I came to realize the man in the red suit was fairly well known around town. Or at least recognized. A couple of people even knew his name. And I began to ask questions.
Everything I know about the man in the red suit comes from things others have said. He draws a check from the government. He is always behind on his bills, but he pays them the best he can. No one seems to know if he has any family, but they have witnessed him speaking to his imaginary friend. And of course, there's the suit. No matter the season, no matter the weather, there is always the suit.
Casually and not really expecting an answer, one day I asked why he was the way he was. The answer came back in a single word.
Vietnam.
It was spoken as if that one word should explain it all away--the curious attire, the imaginary friend, the struggling to make it on a fixed income. As if I am to accept it as that's just the way it is.
Vietnam.
And with that, my view of the man in the red suit forever changed. Instantly, I had great respect and admiration for him. And albeit from afar, I felt a certain compassion for him. Anytime I see him now, it touches a soft place in my heart.
I also grew much more curious about the man in the red suit. I wonder about his life. I wonder if he has any family. When the fighter jets fly over before kickoff, does he get tears in his eyes like me? I wonder what he thinks about. Then I'm thankful I don't know.
Most of all, when I think about him struggling to pay his bills, I can't help but wonder if the country he risked his life for has turned its back on him.
A few weeks ago, I spotted the man in the red suit inside the stadium. He was sitting just a couple sections over from us. The crowd began to do the wave and I watched anxiously to see if he would participate. He didn't stand up, but did raise one arm as the wave passed by. I smiled.
The first thing you notice about the man in the red suit is his outfit. And that's OK. I think he has more than earned the right to wear anything he would like. But if that's all you notice, you're missing a lot.
On gameday, many fans put Bama flags on their cars. They fit on the side windows and most people have two flags, one on the driver's side and one on the passenger's side. At the most recent game, I saw the man in the red suit in his car. (Out of 92,000 people, we had parked in the same lot. Go figure.)
He had a Bama flag on one side.
And an American flag on the other.
"Some stood through for the red, white, and blue, and some had to fall. If you ever think of me, think of all your liberties and recall, some gave all..."
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