December 6, 2011--Take Back America

We were about 75 miles north of Mobile, hungry, and our GPS indicated there was a BBQ not far from us. The Real Pit BBQ just off I-75.

"Sounds good," Rona said. "I could also use a pit stop."

Fifteen minutes later we spotted it nested among the usual sprawl of gas stations and fast food joints one finds off the interstates. But it appeared to be authentic, not a chain like a Sonny's, and so we pulled up. From the look of it, well tattered more than around the edges, it had been there for some time, well before all the Taco Bells that had sprouted up around it.

Rona smiled, "Once again the old GPS came up with the real deal. It smells great. Now I'm starving."

It was small place not unlike many of BBQ shacks throughout the South. No more than ten-by-ten, about the size of a one-car garage, it had a couple of battered picnic tables around back of the order and take-out window. Four decidedly middle age women were standing around, apparently having ordered; a couple, the husband with a cap that indicated he had been in the Navy during the Second World War; and another man who, from the bulk of him, had made many stops at the Real Pit.

I thought he'd be the right person to ask, "Anything to recommend?"

"Just 'bout anything they serve. I always have the platters. They come with two sides and a drink is included."

"Pulled pork? Ribs? I like both."

"You won't be disappointed with neither." Rubbing his considerable stomach he snorted, "Back in the day I could woof down both at lunch. But now, thanks to my heart, I promised my little lady I'd go easy. So I'm havin' just the ribs today. A platter." He winked at me.

After ordering--a pork platter for me and a sandwich for Rona, we agreed to share my sides--having to wait for the proprietor to put our order together, I stepped back away from the window to take in the scene while Rona went over to the BP station's convenience store to look for a bathroom.

"I see you checking out ma bumper sticker." It was the man who I had asked for recommendations.

"To tell the truth," I said, "I was just looking around." In fact I had noticed it. Affixed to the rear window of what I then took to be his muddy SUV was a sticker that featured a vivid flag and read, Take Back America.

Grinning, he watched me uncomfortably dissembling. "That 'bout sums it up for me." I diverted by eyes and mumbled something that I hope would kill enough time before Rona got back and the food was ready.

"I can tell from your license plates that you're not from 'round here." There was no denying that. Our car with its New York tags was pulled right up next to the Real Pit. "You call it the Big Apple, no?" He got a big laugh from that. "Wouldn't want to live in no place named for a fruit."

I took his full meaning and was not surprised that his version of a rude joke caused him to slap his thigh and double up with laughter which in turn led to coughing and phlegmy spitting. I didn't say anything, again hoping very soon to be able to get lost in my pork platter. I knew, though, it would take a while since the World War Two couple still hadn't been served. But by then Rona had returned.

"I'm sure you're curious what we mean down here 'bout takin' America back."

I wanted to say, "Not really," but thought better of that. So I kept staring at my feet.

"From them illegals. That's what we mean by that. They're takin' over." I knew about Alabama's recent immigration law. It requires schools to check the legal status of children and police to arrest anyone without proper documentation.

"I can see what you're thinkin'. I'm sure you get all your news from that New York Times of yours and CNN and PB-whatever. We'll, from them you'll only get part of the story." I continued to look away, shifting from foot to foot.

"I got a grandson graduated from the university. Took courses in business and I think economics. He's a good boy. Willin' to work hard. Not one of them entitleds. Been lookin’ for a job now for moren two years. Not for somethin' fancy. Just 'nough to help him get a place of his own. So he can marry his girlfriend and move out from his folks' double-wide. But there ain't nothin' for him. What jobs there are have them illegals takin' 'em."

"Sounds rough," I finally said, still not looking up. I could sense Rona glaring at me for mumbling even that much.

"I know you're wonderin' why, if he's so willin' to do anythin', why he doesn't try to get a job in a kitchen or somethin'."

I was wondering that but didn't even mumble something.

"Well, I'll tell you. He's got his pride. Not much else left to him, what with the way things are goin' these days. That's why we have to protect our own. If you ask me 'bout the police stoppin' folks who don't look white, well, I don't feel good 'bout that. No sir. But what we gonna do?" He didn't pause for me to say anything. "As it says right there, we have to take our country back."

Shifting tone, he continued, "I'm not your usual redneck. I don't think Obama's the devil or born in Africa or nothin' like that. I know what he inherited when he took over. I read the paper. I watch TV. Fox, I'll grant you. But some of their programs are balanced enough for even the likes of you." I was happy to see him wink again.

The couple ahead of us had been served. I thought it wouldn't be long now.

"We all have to swallow some pride. The world's changed. We may not be number one like we used to be. 'Nother of my grandson's in the Army. To be truthful with you, i should say used to be in the Army 'cause he got blown up over in Iraq. Three years ago. Still can't get over it.” Now he was looking at his feet. “He signed up right after 9/11. Did four tours. Then they sent him home in a box.”

Still averting my eyes, I managed to say, “Sorry to hear that.”

“He joined up to protect our freedom and because of what they did up there where you folks live. That was an attack on all of us. So he did what he thought he needed to do so his younger brothers and sisters would have a better life and have a good example to follow."

"I'm so sorry," Rona said, reaching toward him. "Not about what he did, which is--was--noble, but for what happened to him. We shouldn't have . . ."

"Let me cut you off right there honey. We did what we had to do. Or least at the time thought was right. Even liberals voted for that war didn't they?" We both nodded. "That's why you have to try to see things from our perspective. I mean those of us who don't have lives like yours."

He quickly added, "I don't mean nothin' by that. I respect you and what you think and how you live. You're here on some sort of vacation and I've never been up to New York. But that's OK by me. I don't resent that. We'll maybe just a little." He grinned at that. "Things can be real complicated. You need to remember that."

"Pork platter, pork sandwich's ready for you. Come and get it."

"Looks like our food's ready," I said. "It’s been good talking to you.” I looked him square in the eye and we both knew we were OK with each other. “I think we'll go 'round back and sit at one of the tables. Thanks for your recommendation about the platter. I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

"I'm next," he said, "I think I'll suck on my ribs in my car." I was glad to hear him laughing and coughing again.

"One thing we agree about," I said to him as we headed for the table, "Things sure can get real complicated."