Cotton Tail?

On my walk this morning up ahead of me a fox ran across the road. Interesting , it had a fluffy black tail with a white fluffy tip, like Peter Cotton Tail, the Rabbit. True. I wished I was quick enough to take its picture. I wonder if this was the result of an affair between a fox and a rabbit?

John Rafas Hunter & Family

This is John Rafas Hunter (1870-1940), son of William A. Hunter/Trammell and Emaline Ray and his wife Lillie Belle Hill (1875-1973). Lillie lived just a few months short of 98 years. They are both buried at Bascomb Methodist Church, near Woodstock, Cherokee County, Georgia. The first picture, taken about 1891, their children: Elaine Jenny Hunter and Emma Viola Hunter. The next picture was taken about 1905. The children: The back row Elaine (1891 - ? ) and Emma (1896-1992) The front row: Walter Clarence* "Brother" Hunter and Ida Guyrine Hunter (1901-1919) *John's brother Frank also had a son named Walter Clarence, about the same age. That may be the reason Frank's Walter Clarence Hunter went by "W.C." John's son Walter Clarence was nicknamed "Brother". Neither Walter Clarence Hunter went by their given name. Elaine married Paul Willliam Poor and the moved to Lorain, Ohio, where they spent the rest of their lives. They had five children. Emma married Andrew Joseph Abercrombie. They first lived on Sixes Road in south Cherokee County, then they moved to Birmingham, Alabama to work in the steel mills. They had four children. Ida Guyrine died of a rare disease at age 18. Walter Clarence went north to work in the steel mills. He married Elsie Elizabeth Mohle He died in East Chicago, Il, at the young age of 31. They had two children.

Marietta National Cemetery

Pictures by me. MARIETTA NATIONAL CEMETERY - Horace Crowder is my first cousin, once removed. He is the son of Tom and Annie Tyson Crowder. He was killed during the Normandy Invasion and died in front of his best friend and first cousin Stanley Hunter. He had a son named Terry which I doubt if he ever met. I think Terry and his mother moved to Ohio and he would visit his grandmother, my great Aunt Annie in the summers. We were about the same age and played. I remember Terry's birthday was on Leap Year, February the 29th. I kidded him about being only 3 years old when I was 12. At his aunt's funeral he told me he was living in San Francisco. Incidentally, he barely remembered me or my existence. Norman Carsley is my late friend Sam Carsley's father. He was born in England, and probably had dual citizenship. His part of the ship was hit by a Japanese Kamikaze plane. His body was never found. His wife Hazel Baldwin Carsley never gave up hope that he would return. My father was Sam's surrogate father, which Sam reminded me all his life how much he appreciated that. Henry Cole. Henry donated the land for the National Cemetery when there was an immediate need for Northern soldiers burial grounds. Within the grounds is a plot for the Cole Family. Henry owned a hotel on the northwest corner of the Square. It is/was believed by many that Henry Cole was a Union spy. Psst! Click on each picture to make it bigger and more meaningful.

Charles & Paul Foster Saluting

Charles and Paul Foster. This is Anna's uncles, her mother Marie's two brothers, the youngest is Charles Jones Foster (1925-2012) and saluting Paul Everett Foster, Jr (1922-1995). In school Paul worked part time as a projector operator at the Strand Theater in Marietta. He joined the Marines and fought in the Pacific. After the war he reenlisted in the Air Force. After that tour he joined the Marietta Post Office where he retired. He married Barbara Shea, no children. Charles also worked for the Strand Theater while he was in school. He was in charge of getting the weekly programs printed and delivered. During WWII he enlisted in the Army, went to Pilots school and flew supplies in Europe during the war. Afterwards, he continued being a pilot for TWA until he retired. He married Florence Rogers and they moved to Kansas City. After he retired they moved back to Marietta. After Florence died he married Jane Johnson. Charles an Florence had three daughters.

SUNDAY FUNNIES!! MAD Comic's #20 take on PAUL REVERE'S RIDE by H.W. Longfellow

This is about the 5th or 6th I ran this story. Directed by editor Harvey Kurtzman and art by Jack Davis

Colonial Cemetery in Savannah

This is the Colonial Cemetery in downtown Savannah. The people buried in this cemetery are some of the original settlers of Georgia, including one signer of he Decoration of Independence. I don't know if you noticed or not, but I have a plan I am working on. I have taken and accumulated a lot of pictures over the years. Not all are pictures I have taken, they are family genealogical- related pictures as well. I am trying to get my money's worth out of them... get more mileage out of them, so to speak. Hopefully, daily I will have a picture up. Or at least until the novelty wears off.

Memorial on Halloween Night

Actually this post has been posted before. Copied & Pasted, or Here We Go Again, or Getting More Mileage, or Getting On The Memorial Day Bandwagon. Betsy Ross’s Tattered Flag. I was stationed at NAS Lakehurst, New Jersey. In some of the neighboring cemeteries it wasn’t rare to see a grave for a Revolutionary War soldier and sometimes a whole section of a cemetery was for their remains. I think it was Halloween evening 1964, we were getting loaded at the base’s E.M. Club during Happy Hour. We were running our mouths when one of us said since it was Halloween we should visit a graveyard and we were immature, so why not? About a mile on the road to Toms River is a old cemetery. I remember we did not go into the driveway of the graveyard, but parked on the side of the highway and climbed a small bank. I don’t think we knew where the driveway was. It has some Revolutionary War soldiers buried in it. One was buried near the road, there is a black and white picture of me, somewhere, lying beside the grave. But, except for the lights of passing cars on the highway it scary dark. One of us remembered a nice cemetery in downtown Trenton, New Jersey, which is probably over 30 miles away. We reasoned with the town lights of Trenton it should be well lit up, not as scary. We drove to Trenton. We were in luck, the cemetery was well lit. It was just a stone’s throw from the Delaware River, that Washington and his men crossed the Delaware near Trenton and Emanuel Leutz painted the event on canvas and it is very popular* . We took time to appreciate the ancient art of tombstone making and Revolutionary Soldiers’ graves. One of us, reverend or not, stole a weathered Revolutionary War flag, the kind with 13 stars, the kind Betsy Ross designed (although there is a dispute among historians that it might not have been Betsy after-all). By the time we got back to the barracks it was after 10pm, which meant lights out; bed time; or bunk time. We went to the cubical of Dick Hyatt, who couldn’t go with us because he had duty that evening, to tell him about our adventure and he was sound asleep. We tried to wake him up but he just mumbled in his sleep. We draped the tattered American Revolution flag over his torso, like a second blanket and tiptoed out. But then one of us (not me) wanted to keep the flag and ran back the cubical and snatched the flag off Dick. That morning in the chow hall we were eating breakfast and Dick Hyatt said he had the strangest dream last night. He said an American Revolutionary flag floated inside his cubical and draped itself over him and then leaped up and flew out! We told him he was nuts. Then we told him he shouldn't have been drinking on duty last night. Then we asked him what he had to eat before he went to bed. * I heard recently that some experts believe the "Washington Crossing the Delaware" by Emanuel Leutz is fraudulent. The blocks of ice like that is more likely in the water in the very north such as Iceland.

Jesse Bookout, my progenitor

Attention my Petty first cousins. Being it is near Memorial Day, here is our 3rd great grandfather Jesse E. Bookout (1810-1887), who fought in the Indians Wars. He was born in Lincoln County, NC, lived briefly in Powder Springs, Cobb County, Ga and finishing up his life in Murray County, Georgia. In Murray he worked for Chief Vann for a short time until it caused a ruckus. It was unlawful at that time for a white man to work for an Indian. He married Patricia Martha Rollins in Murray County 17 Oct 1836, They are buried in Sumac Presbyterian Cemetery, Crandall Community, Murray County, Ga. He was a private in the Bishop Company Militia, Indian Wars.

A Visit to Jonesboro, Arkansas

This senseless killings of students and teachers at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas, brought back a memory of my visit to Jonesboro, Arkansas. Anna went on a business trip to Memphis in 1998. The meeting was to be about 5 days. I tagged along. We drove. One day while she was at a meeting I crossed the Mississippi River on a bridge to carry me into Arkansas. In Arkansas, I headed north to Jonesboro, Greene County, Arkansas. My great great grandfather Jason Henderson Hunter spent his last years in Greene County. He went through three wives and at least three mistresses. He sired children from all of them. He was also a state representative in his time. Before the Civil War he was a representative in Cape Gildraldo, Mo., and after the war a representative in the Greene and Craighead County area of Arkansas. I knew from research and correspondence that several of his children are buried at Oaklawn Cemetery just outside Jonesboro and I thought Jason was possibly buried there too. In Jonesboro, driving around town, I soon discovered that Oaklawn Cemetery was going to be hard to find. I saw a funeral home. If anybody would know where Oaklawn Cemetery is would be a funeral home. I pulled into their parking lot and went inside. I asked someone who worked there where was Oaklawn Cemetery. I forgot what the person looked like but I do remember getting the 3rd degree. Like, “where are you from?” “Do you know someone buried at Oaklawn?” and so on. They told me where the cemetery is. I found it. I did not find Jason’s grave but did find several of his offspring’s. About where the Hunter plots were, thousands of Dragonflies were flying all around me, intruding in my comfort zone. (just worth mentioning). While driving back to Memphis it hit me why the funeral people acted so strange. Just a short time before, maybe a month or so, in Jonesboro at West Side Elementary School four students and one teacher were killed. Two boys, ages 11 sat off a fire alarm at the school and shot people as they exited the building. One of the killers Andrew Golden was killed 22 years later in a car wreck with a head-on collision with a Daniel Petty, age 59. The Petty surname is my mother’s maiden name. I wonder? Driving south through Arkansas I got entertained by two immature crop dusters in their air planes showing off for each other. The did loops, nose dives, chicken with each other and even sprayed some crops.

My cousin Jerry Hunter (1941-1966)

Bus, Zelma, and Jerry Hunter Tuesday I was given a copy of a portrait of my uncle and aunt Bus (1906-2005) and Zelma Ogle (1909-1999) Hunter . In this portrait they look like they have already survived their son Jerry, a pilot, being shot down in Vietnam (1966) Jerry was one month older than I. Now, he is eternally 25. And I am now an old man.

Today, May 25, is National Tap Dancing Day

Shirley Temple Tap Dancing Take it away!

National Brothers Day

1979- Brothers Rocky & Adam, nose to nose.

What has GOD done this time?

On this date May the 24th, 1844, Samuel Morse tapped out "What hath God wrought" in the world's first telegraph message

Which Will it Be?

We moved here about 46 years ago. A few days before the closing I dropped by our future home to take a few measurements. While there, swapping pleasantries with the outgoing mother I brought up the news. I said something like, “Did you hear about the two girls in Smyrna, one killed and one raped?” She said it gave her chills to think about it. I should have thought before I spoke, she has a daughter about the same age as the two who was murdered and molested. I remember her daughter was named Hope, named after a girl about her age in DAYS OF OUR LIVES soap. Hope is still around on DAYS, but now a cop on a mission hunting down somebody, haven’t seen her in a couple of years. I went on to say that happened as the girls walked home from Richard Russell Grammar School, just around the corner of the where we were living. She changed the subject.. Today the front page of the MARIETTA DAILY JOURNAL reminded me of that terrible assault. The accused murderer/rapper, Virgil Delano Presnell, Jr is schedule to be put to death next week. His death sentence has already been postponed over a technicality. He is also scheduled for a clemency hearing. Which will it be?

HHHMMmmmmm

Several years ago we became hummingbird watchers. We did not go out looking for their habitat or anything like that. We simply put a hummingbird feeder on our deck and of course they were welcome to come and entertain us. We quickly learned they some of heir habits. I think the one habit one couldn’t help but notice was that each season one hummingbird will claim it is his feeder and if any other hb approaches the nest it will quickly be cased off by the one guarding it or they go into aerial combat, which is always entertaining, but probably not to the loser. We either read or heard that the hummingbirds in this area show when certain flowers bloom, which is July the 4th, Really! However we put a feeder our earlier this year. On Facebook we are hearing of local hummingbird sightings. My son and his girlfriend have seen plenty, but they live close to a creek which might be a draw. But also it is believed that plenty of the hummingbirds you see this early they are little travelers headed for a destination north of here. We put out a hummingbird feeder on the deck. Artificially dyed red hummingbird feeder is a no-no. All that red dye harms them, so we make a mixture of 1 part sugar and 4 parts water which seems to work fine. Yesterday while sitting on the deck we watched many ddhb come, drink, and go. Did they move on northward, or did they return in a few minutes? This morning I walked onto the deck to water the plants and a hummingbird fluttered past me. I cold feel his wings vibrating. He quickly chirped a chatter and moved on. I wonder if he said, “Thanks!” or “More sugar!” or “Less Sugar!” or “GET OUT OF THE FRIGGING WAY!”

SUNDAY FUNNIES!! Gilbert Shelton's WONDER WART HOG HOT! (HOT?)

Me Signing Books (remember, this blog is mostly all about me)

This the book signers' table. The two photographers were book ending the writer/editor Bobby Buccellato. Bobby and the other photographer signed with pens. I signed with a magic marker, they were out of crayons. My autograph is thick and boldly black, much bigger and bolder than the other two. Think of John Hancock.

Bobby Plains Book Editor, Son, and My pictures

This is Bobby Buccellatoo holding his son Craston at the Carter Center February 1st this year. . Bobby compiled and edited the Arcadia Press book JIMMY CARTER IN PLAINS, THE PRESIDENTIAL HOMETOWN. Ahem! The book has eighteen of my pictures in it.

Anna's grandfather Paul Everett Foster, Sr (1895-1936), closest to the camera, taking a spin in a studio's car prop.

Our First House and my Decorations

When my grandmother Minnie Victoria Tyson Hunter died in July 1948 it left my grandfather Frank Pariss Hunter alone. We moved in with him. My parents had some remodeling done, such as underpinning; and indoor bathroom; brown outside siding; and counter and cabinets in the kitchen. It was an old house. My grandfather Frank, died in March 1950. I moved into his bedroom. His bedroom was a smaller room off from the kitchen. In 1954, when in the 7th grade, I discovered MAD Comicbook. Not only did I read and reread them I cut out figures to use as clip art, like getting the most out of them. On one wall of my bedroom I used wild “Mad” clippings and attached them to the wall. I also did the same with clipping out of LIFE Magazine clippings. Each clipped figure from MAD or LIFE interacted with the figurer on the wall next to it. I wished I had taken a picture. Daddy became chief of the Cobb County Police and it was time to buy a new house. We put the house on Manget Street up for sell. I remember a single man by the name of Todd came to look at it. He said he would buy it. My mother, embarrassed by my clipped art on the wall said, “Of course we will remove these cut up magazine pictures from this wall. Todd said, in so many words, “You do and I will not buy this house.” And he bought it, “As Is! Todd only lived there two or three or years. He went to prison for molesting a little boy living nearby.

Herman Talmadge Quote

One time Herman Talmadge told the newspaper reporters something like this: "I don't care what you say about me, just spell my name correctly!" Sadly, that is true. Name familiarly is a big chunk of the game. (picture by me).

How?

Today I had slight computer problem. A certain process I have done many times in the past but it has been years since that same problem has came up, so simply, I forgot how to handle it. I wrote the company for guidance or suggestions. I got a notew back blinking from a technician that said something like “give me a minute.” About 90 minutes later I got a note, sort of like a routing slip, that listed 8 other technicians. It was handed off to one after another 8 times. But no one had any suggestions. They just handed it off to each other until they ran out of technicians. Then about a minute later I got another message from the company saying, “HOW DID WE DO?”

James Polk England and family, Hunter descendans

This is the James A. Polk England and Louise Akins Family. James is the son of Daniel England and Harriet Hunter, he is grandson to our ancestor John Hunter of Union County. Polk was born in Union County , Georgia, and died in 1916 in Oklahoma. They had 8 children and 6 were twins. Their children: Clarissa (1895-1897), Daniel Wofford (1896-1971), Maude (1898- ? ), Claude (twin of Maude) (1898- abt 1987), Jewell (1900 - 1971). Gene (twin of Jewell) (1900-1958), Rought (1905- ? ), and Roy (twin of Rought) (1905- ? ). The picture was probably taken about 1906-07. Clarissa died before the other 7 were born.

It Is All About Me

I don't normally allow people to use my blog. Unless, maybe, if they have some nice things to say about me, then, of course, it is a diferenr story. Take it away Par! believe my old friend, Eddie Hunter, knows every person he grew up with, went to school with, hung out with in greasy spoons (and some much nicer), and everyone he worked with at the Post Office, even though he retired decades ago. On the other hand is me, who can't remember anyone. Today Sally and I were in a grocery store and a man called me by name. When I turned to him he said to his wife, "I can tell he doesn't recognize me," and he was right. He told me he was an electrician at the school district where we both worked until we retired. He gave me his name which meant nothing to me. He even remembered my wife from her job at the school district. When we parted company I told Sally I did not remember the guy, nothing about him was familiar. He gave us his name and I didn't remember that, either. Eddie and I are the opposites here. He remembers everyone, I remember no one. I don't have anything to say to them, anyway. I haven't done a bit of work since I retired in January 2009, so I have nothing in common with most people (a streak of the anti-social runs through me) and Sally has volunteered at the Assistance League for years. She loves her volunteer work, and making friends along the way. More power to Eddie, Sally, and anyone who can remember people from the past. I daresay it's a gift. Since I don't care about former coworkers except when I see their obituaries, and Eddie can remember everyone, and perhaps he even has a diary of when people die. That's a joke...but only a kinda joke. Snort.

Boondocks

I came across this poster on Facebook getting word out that the late Billy Joe Royal would be at Acworth Beach as a regular entertainer on weekends. It reminded me of two or so years before that when one night Billy Joe, me, and a couple others were across the lake at a street that stopped at the lake. We were drinking vodka and some kind of mix, I forgot what. We decided to drive around to the beach and visit the beach hangout. We had to park across the street on a vacant plot of land with a bank at one end. We were in the car mixing more drinks when I saw a flashlight in the dark float in a fast motion manner down the bank.. when it got closer we saw an elderly cop was holding the flashlight. We probably looked like deer caught in headlights. Of course we were under age. He said he was arresting us. He asked for our names,, which he duly noted until he got to me. When I told him my name he asked was I related to Chief Ed Hunter. Yes, he is. My father I said. He let us go with a warning. Whew!

The Root House

The Root House is the oldest standing house in Mariertta. It was occupied by a druggist named Root. It was on Lemon Street and they moved it to the Marietta Parkway. Interesting when my mother and her sister moved to Mariette from Cohutte, Georgia, they rented a room in the Root House when it was on Lemon Street (2nd Picture)

SUNDAY FUNNIES From MAD Comicbook #14, MOVIE/ADS

Art by Wally Wood and script by editor Harvey Kurtzman. The last page is an outdated EC Comic adverrisemenrt, art by Jack Davis. Click on images to get a better, overblown idea of what you are dealing with.

Keeping Up With the Jones (Reunion)

Keeping up with the Jones!This is the 1929 Jones Family Reunion, in the area of the county line of Forsyth and Fulton Counties. The men are lined up on the left and the women are on the right. Two of the three boys on the left are Anna's uncles Paul and Charles. Behind them, is their father, the only man in line with his dark coat off. Anna's mother, Marie, then age about 9, is on the right with the women. Also, it appears that the men, in most cases wore dark, and most the women and children wore light clothes, with the exception of the granny-age females, who wore dark. click on image to enlarge and maybe even overwhelming.

Slobber Butt

Older classman Donald E. Donald had a way with wise cracks. He had good delivery with his wit. He called friends “Slobber Butt” which just imagining a butthole slobbering sent me in spasms of laughter. He had plenty of instant wise-cracks and deserves recognition. After we grew up Donald went to work for Atlanta Gas Light. In time he made field supervisor. I saw him at McDonald’s several often having breakfast with his underlings and handing out work assignments. We never spoke at McDonald’s, I doubt if he remembers me. Once an Atlanta Gas Light employee came to our house to hook up our new stove top and I asked him if he knew Donald. He did. I told him some of Donald’s wise cracks, like calling people Slobber Butt and he said, “That’s Donald!” When we were kids Donald could belch long and steady and even say belched words. My buddy the late Van Callaway lived in the Latimer Apartments on Atlanta Street, next door to Donald’s family. Van and I tried to do long belching and make belched words like Donald could but couldn’t. We went to his apartment and asked him how did he do it. “Eat a lot of olives” He said. We tried, it did not work for us.

Jason William Hunter

One of these men is William A, Hunter/Trammell's son Jason William Hunter (1875-1896). It looks like a formal portrait made in a studio. He lived only 21 years. The picture was taken within a year or two of his death. Jason married Fannie Emaline Medley. Fannie was luckier than Jason on living a long time. She lived within three months of 102 years. Jason and Medley had two daughters.: Lois and Jacie. Jacie Hunter married Vernon Tip Ingram. They had three children. Their son Hunter Davenport Ingram became a councilman of Woodstock, then Mayor. Lois married a Carraway but it did not last long. They had no children. Lois worked for Western Union in Atlanta. Lois or Jacie never knew their father. Lois was a baby and Jacie was not born yet. William A. Hunter/Trammell and Emeline Ray Hunter took the two girls and their daughter-in-law in after Jason's death and their welfare was became the grandparents responsibility. William A. Hunter/Trammell was the only father they knew. Lois ended up with the house that her grandfather had built. Then, in the 1980s I came along doing genealogy research. Lois showed me around the house and pointed out things of historical interest and old family pictures . She also showed me the barn William fell out of and broke his leg which put his health on the incline. I also waw grapes on a vine on a little fence by the barn that William had planted. I shooed them away the wasps and picked some grapes for Lois and I to enjoy. We were buddies. During my visits I asked her did she know about William being adopted? She said she didn't. I asked her about the story that William killed a man in Franklin, North Carolina. She said she didn't know anything about that but it was probably untrue. As research time went on I found out more of the details of killing and the adoption. William was the bastard son of Jason Henderson Hunter, so the court of Macon County, declared, and his mother Rebecca Trammell died before 1850 and he was raised by his grandparents, Jacob and Polly Hogshead Trammell. He did not murder someone but his uncle Van Trammell did, over an argument about the Civil War and William provided Van with a false alibi, which was proven wrong so a warrant went out for his arrest for being an accessory to murder, so he skipped town and changed his name to his paternal name. I typed up a letter and sent all my uncles and other interested parties, including Louis Hunter Carraway, my findings. Lois called me up so mad she was sputtering. She told me she knew all that and that was the only father she knew and she wanted to carry that trashy information to the grave with her to protect his good name. She said she had a some correspondence between Jason and William recognizing their father son relationship. I first instinct was that wanted to see those letters but I let her rant and rave. And knew she hated me at the moment so much I was not going to see those letters. That is the trouble when doing family research: Not every family member is highly successful and some of those who are did it my unscrupulous means. Like her mother, Lois lived a long time, over 102 years. She is buried at Bascomb Methodist Church Cemetery, near Woodstock.

Before Ghosrtbusters

About 1964, Left to Right: Me and Navy buddy Dick Day in New Hope, Bucks County, Pennsylvania, in front of an antique store trying to pull the mystic spirits out of a pot. Maybe we were the original GHOSTBUSTERS.

My 60 Years Plus City of Chicago Traffic Ticket, an inside joke

I got word a couple of days ago that a Navy friend’s brother had died. He is survived by his brother (the Navy fiend) and his sister. Interesting, he was a Chicago cop that I think belonged to a special unit. I think he was probably in his early 70s, therefore probably retired. I feel for his family. I remember about in about 1965 or 66, I paid my friend a visit in Chicago. His brother, jokingly, wrote me a traffic ticket. Although it was a joke, it was still a real unpaid traffic ticket. I am a fugitive of the law. For real. It I should be pulled over and they run my vehicle’s registration they mlight find the unpaid parking ticket, some 60 years old. I might tell the cops the joke is on them as they throw away the key to the jailhouse.

Refundable Quarter Deposit

Yesterday’s Adventure: First. When you shop at Aldi’s if you want a grocery cart you must deposit a quarter into a slot which will cause the chain to release one cart. Then when. You leave you go through the procedure in reverse and get your quarter deposit back. Yesterday with a quarter in my hand I was trying to figure what sequence to insert my quarter (it has been a while) when a man behind reached over the carts with his quarter to show me how. He had an accent, he could have been a native elsewhere. He was dressed nicely. I thanked him and because he used his quarter to show me I handed him my quarter. For a brief moment he looked mad. I think he thought I was tipping him and was insulted. Then he realized I was just returning his quarter his quarter and smiled. Alls well that ends well.

For you who have read the same story by me, you are wasting your time. Move on. The TV doctor series RESIDENT is filmed in Atlanta. They use the High Museum on Peachtree and 15th Streets to represent he hospital. Last night they showed an aerial view of the hospital-museum and scanned across to show a bit of houses on 15th Street. I saw the old building that the GOLDEN HORN COFFEE HOUSE was in that we went to once in when we were in high school. Our experience I made a blog post about it. Here it is again, copied and pasted. Back in either 1959 or 1960 my friend Monty called me and wanted to know if I wanted to go to a Beatnik coffee house in Atlanta. “Beatnik coffee house?” I said. I wasn’t keen on going out on a school night when it was going to something I knew nothing about – in some of our misadventures back then when we went to a place we knew nothing about we suddenly had to scatter or suffer some consequences, and I was afraid this might be the case this time, and Atlanta is/was a long way away for a school night. Neither of us knew anything about beatniks or coffee houses. From TV we figured the males were bearded, wore berets and the females had long straight hair and wore black stockings. In the coffee houses we knew from TV all they did was hang around zonked on opium or espresso coffee and recited beat poetry. The most important lure for us was that we thought the females in their black stockings were all opened minded and all for free love….. which is just what a teenage boy would want. So Monty, I, and two more friends headed to Atlanta in Month’s mother’s Volvo PV544 on a dark foggy night. The place we were looking for was The Golden Horn on 15th Street. We found it without any problem. The Golden Horn was located on the street level floor of an granite building that was a three story apartment building, each level above street level had a porch or patio. It was across the street from the High Museum which was also known as the Atlanta Art Museum. The museum was facing Peachtree Street, but the side of it was along side 15th Street. Monty parked the car down the street about a block, you never know if what might happen that we would have to leave suddenly. We went in. To the left was a table full of tasty looking cakes, and behind that was a bar that did the serving of beverages. A lean lady with long black hair and black stockings came up and asked us did we want a seat and we said we did. Yep, she was just what we expected. The room was not that large. Maybe 10 or 15 tables in a dim lit room. On the far end was a small low stage. We sat down and expected someone to come out on stage and play some bongo drums or maybe recite poetry, or whatever beatniks do. The people at the other tables seemed quiet, chatting among themselves. I would guess they were college students, Georgia Tech was only a few blocks away. The dame with the long black straight hair and black stockings asked what did want and we said coffee. This is a coffee house – right? She brought back four coffees and our bill. A man in white skin tight leotards and a unicorn head climb up on stage and music was played… it was flute music. The man with the unicorn head starting lightly dancing, at times it was like a ballet because he would leap and tip toe and piloret.... all this to classical flute music. We were not music appreciators by any means. Any thing musical we like was on the top 40 radio stations. Our minds had not yet matured to appreciate good music or interpretive dancing. Monty would later become a disc jockey. Our whispering conversation went something like this: “Good god! We came all way down here to see this shit?” “Is this a queer joint?” “No, there is a couple of girls here.” “How much is the bill? Lets pay and get the hell out of here!” “Damn! It is sixteen dollars!” “Sixteen dollars?” “yes – that coffee must cost $4 a cup.” “Shit! Now what?” The thing is, we didn’t have $16 between us. We had something like $3 and some change. So, we made plans. While we were whispering making our plans the woman brought another round of coffees and added it to the bill. The table with the cakes were on a table, just a leap from the front door. We decided we would get up and stand over the cakes as if we were planning on which cake to pick out and run out the door the first chance we got. All four of us got up, went over to the table and stood there looking at the cakes. The wench with the long straight hair came up to watch us. To make it look like we were dead serious on picking out a cake I put my hand out, finger extended and said, “Hmmm Lets see….” She interrupted me by putting a sharp butcher knife up to my face and say, “Touch a cake and off goes your finger honey!” I let out a nervous laugh. The bitch said, “You think I’m joking!” and jabbed the knife in midair within inches of my stomach. I backed up. She jabbed at me again and I backed up some more….. how in the heck did I find myself in this mess? I thought. About that time the door slammed and we both looked at the door. We could see my three friends heads bobble by the window as they were running. Now she was mad. She jabbed again and I turned around and ran. Somehow to get away from her knife tricks I found myself on the stage with the unicorn, then she joined us. People in the audience were laughing. I jumped off the stage with her behind me swiping at me. This time the door was in front of me and she was in the back of me. I opened the door and ran out and ran down towards the car, but I was running scared and caught up with them before they reached it. We all had a good laugh when I told them what happened and we all climbed into the car. Monty said, “I lost my wallet.” “What did you do with it?” “I had it out when we were counting our money. I must have dropped it on the floor.” “Let it go, the dollar you had in there isn’t worth it.” “I an’t leaving without my wallet. My phony driving license is in there, do you know how long it took me to draw the Seal of Georgia on that thing?” Me: “I’m not going back in there for anything.” We agreed the other three would go back in and demand the wallet back and I would be out side with the Volvo running, and as soon as they ran out they would hop in and away we would go – back home. They went in and I sat in the drivers seat with the engine running, one foot on the clutch and the other foot ready to stomp down on the gas. I was the get-away driver. They ran out laughing. Monty had his wallet, which he put in his back pocket. “How did you get it?” I asked. As a last second inspiration, Monty and his two companions when they entered The Golden Horn fell down to their knees and began crawling all over the room squealing like pigs. Everybody cracked up laughing, even the witch with the long straight hair and butcher knife. While crawling, Monty made a straight line to the table we were at and saw his wallet on the floor and snatched it up. Alls wells that ends well.