savannah's

I expect this to need fleshing out after this wee entry.
So I ask my brother J. where Savanna's is, Alabama or Mississippi? Without hesitation he says Alabama, which by the way is what I think.

Days later he is relating some of the story connected and says "where was that? Alabama or Mississippi?" as if we didn't just go through that. I guess being a DiCara and past 60 merits some allowances.

Savanna was a rotund black Southern woman with a small eatery a 1/4 mile from a ferry landing on the East side of a river. Not much else nearby. A large open dinning area where you could see what was going on in the kitchen area; a jukebox and a 9 year old daughter helping out. No menu, just whatever was being cooked that day, all you wanted for a reasonable if not cheap price. Catfish, fried yardbird or pork chops, a mess of greens, black-eyed peas, hush puppies etc. good eats. Since when we descend on the place the food demand goes up pretty severely we would spend a pretty long time before completing dinner.

Like any band of misfits who are used to working and playing hard we took full advantage of the jukebox and consumed mass quantities. There was one visit where you could hear the young miss say "Mama, is all white folks that crazy?" I sure don't remember what Savannah answered, I think it was a laugh and a shushhh maybe accompanied by a little swat. But I'm sure she probably answered differently after we left. She sure treated us well and we tried to do the same. I sure could go for some sweet potato pie right now.

decadence a way of life

So the season is winding down in Florida and I spent some days in Gainesville where I ate some Skeeters Big Biscuits and picked up a T-shirt; purple with the slogan "DECADENCE A WAY OF LIFE" emblazoned across the chest. Later that summer I went dancing in a club in Portland Maine with G. and the bouncers were bidding on my T.. Needless to say I did not part with it even when the bid hit $40. (this was back around 1980, I had paid $6 for it)
Back on the row, the following season, in the hinterlands of Alabama where the famous white breakfast is the extent of morning choices in the local eateries. White toast, eggs over, grits and biscuits with white gravy. I caved due to my pangs and was in consumption mode when a heavily accented voice was persistently asking for some attention. In an accent you could cut with a chainsaw I hear, hey was' tha' theer Dee-Kay-Dense some kinda cult? So in my most accommodating sonorous voice I replied that no it was not a cult; but that it is a sect of Zoroastrianism. The conversation terminated.

crew list

Some of the Hoedad crew I worked with in the three years on the row.
I planted a million trees in AL, AK, TX, GA, LA, MS, & FL

• Z - Waco TX. ex-con with his (cha who-a who-a) killer
• JD my older brother (1st year & we shared the original trailer, it was way f**king small)
• the Tough Tomatoes - three ex-military lesbians (one did some chiropractic)
• Juicy and Busey - I can't remember her name but she was the hottest chick on the row, he was also called OD
• Bruce and Mother Superior - crew chief 1st year
• Big Mike - overboss 1st year, Napoleon complex
• Kevin and ? - I want to call her Denise but that's wrong
• Captain Quaalude
• the Banker
• the Dells - Smiling Js - Jim Judy John Joan - never cracked a smile but they did have some pickled weasel saddles in their larder
• the Bookends or Books for short and they brought a Short Story - D9 with them the next season
• Linda Lou
• Gravy, and Kat came along the 3rd season
• Charlie and Sue - crew boss 2nd and 3rd season
• M-
• Farm Boy - a refugee from "The Farm"
• Crimson White Feather
• ?????? the crew changed and there were a lot of others I can't remember names of (hey this was over 25 years ago)

hollywood

So, Hollywood, that's what they called me. At least towards the end of season two and thereafter. It was May and we moved from the Mobile area down into the peninsula in the area of Cross City. The weather was hot for the intensely physical demands of hoeing the row. Gravy and I in usual fashion would hit the row early and hard, slam in a bag, approximately 1000-1500 loblollys. While the rest of the crew was still afield we figured it was too f***ing hot to go back out while the sun was directly overhead. So like any adventurous wild men we decided we'd hit town for a while. Town was a pretty small affair with little to offer, but there was a bar, with a drive through window, a guy on a horse rode up and got a six-pack while we were there, pool tables and simple fare. We had lunch more than a few beers and shot a few games. Around 3 PM we figured we should head back to get another bagful in the ground. Charlie saw our sorry state and wouldn't let us back on the row so I went back to town to prowl around the thrift stores to find some row threads. Our crew had developed an interesting habit of dressing up or down or maybe sideways for the row. This helped to lighten things up and infuse a bit of humor to the hard work and long days. I found a bright yellow shirt with quarter sized blue polka dots and a pair of red white and blue skiers sunglasses. Deciding a little more overhaul was in order I stepped into the back of my home on wheels and shaved off a six months beard exposing some very white flesh comparing to the tan the rest of my skin sported. Getting back to the site decked out and feeling pretty good, I emerged from my vehicle in stealth circumnavigated a few other interesting rolling dwellings and was greeted by Johnny Z's loud exclamation "who's that Hollywood dude?" and there you have it and so did I.

wishin' stick

So, back to the story. It's not a big one but it has stuck in my mind all of these years like a possum in a croquet wicket.
One of the bookends, the shorter rounder one, I surely cannot remember his name, about 6'3.5" weighing in @ 18 stone, was around the nightly white man's fire with 6 or 7 others. Buzzes were aplenty, also as usual, and some music played. Guitar, some eefing or body percussion, bamboo shakahatchi and voices. Things were winding down to a mellowness when our book took center. He started dancing around the fire like a wounded bear, thumping , staggering with a little grace thrown in; when he decided that he needed a partner. I guess he hadn't gotten laid in a while. Seeing that the only women in attendance were either clearly gay or obviously involved he decided on some firey branched stick almost as tall as himself that was, yes, in the fire. I thought that he was going to cath afire himself as he began singing loudly "Oh wishing stick, wishing stick, my stick, my wish, my wishin' stick....." and began the rythmic horizontal dance of a madman. The show lasted for 15 or 20 minutes. Of course we applauded and helped to create the soundscape, having a merry time watching as he moved a little more beyond the norm, ironically joining with the majority of his fellow hoedadders.

wishin' stick intro

It's time to get a little old story out. Or maybe just introduce it as I believe I shall retire for the evening soon due to the old paycheck generator.
This is going back to the hoedad days, there have been some new rings in the cedar, I can tell you.
Bookends, yep background here, two large clean cut firemen/boy scouts from? Illinois I belive.
Big fifth wheel rig in the midst of a band of misfits, dope growers, ex-cons, back to the landers, military lesbians, a "the Farm" refugee and assorted other counter culture types. Most with primative versions of 70's and earlier RVs, including tow alongs, pop-ups, truck bedded units, my own was home-made, a school bus and a tenter or two in the mix.

For crying out loud, I was even locked in my own rig with my own lock with Gravy's wife as I was trying to convince her to leave, by Gravy his own self. It sure screwed up my plans for the next assignment as I had volunteered to go to one of the LA. parishes in the Lake Charles area with "the banker" early the next morning and I was going to try to convince M... to come along. Probably had an 80->90% chance before this incarceration came down.

There are some good stories from these dog-earred pages of my life. Stay tuned...