January 7, 2016--On the Road: Ava Gardner Museum

One year, driving west-to-east on a back road across northern Missouri, there was a road sign that pointed toward Marceline. "The Boyhood Home of Walt Disney," it said.

"He grew up here?" Rona mused. "All I see are corn fields." Shaking her head, she said, "He grew up in a corn field?"

"Let's go and see. It's only nine miles. We're in no hurry."

As we drove, peering out the window, as if to herself, Rona said, "Nine miles of corn fields."

True, there was pretty much nothing but corn and some fields of grain. And an occasional farmhouse. Most of them battered from the weather and lack of upkeep.

"Looks pretty poor," I said. "Not much going on."

And then, down a rutted road, we were in Marceline. A proverbial one-horse town. With a single exception--downtown, if one can call a three-block main street downtown, there was a well-preserved movie theater. The Uptown Theater. Ambitiously named for such an otherwise woe-begotten place.

"Look at this," Rona said, "I wonder what's the story."

"Look. Next to the entrance there's a bronze plaque."

We pulled over and got out to take a closer look.

"No surprise," Rona said, "Walt Disney appears to have paid for its renovation and maintenance."

"And it says he came back to the Uptown in 1956 for the premier of The Great Locomotive Chase. Amazing."

"Let's see what else there is to see."

A few streets behind Main was another well-kept place also with a sign. It was in fact the boyhood home of Walt Disney. The place where at an early age he first manifested his talents. These were noted, it said, by a family friend, a retired doctor, Doc Sherwood, who gave young Walt his first commission--a crayon drawing of Doc's old horse Rupert.

The rest is history.

As we headed out, Rona said, "You know I'm not a believer, but it's as if the hand of God reached down to this place and touched Walt Disney. You don't have to grow up in Chicago or New York to be talented and successful. That can come out of anywhere. Even a seemingly forgotten place like this."

She added, "And with all this corn."

This year, earlier this week, on route to Florida, not taking many back roads this time as we wanted to get there as quickly as possible, on I 95, as we approached the Smithfield, NC exit, the road sign listed the one attraction to be seen in Smithfield--the Ava Gardner Museum, which it indicated, could be found in its downtown.

"Ava Gardner has a museum?" Rona said. "All that and Frank Sinatra too?"

"She was a great beauty. And not that bad an actress. You're too young to remember Mogambo, The Barefoot Contessa, and Bhowani Junction."

"You're right about that, but you seem to be up on your Ava Gardner."

"You had to be there. I mean back in the 1950s. And it helped if you were a lustful teenager."

"She was big enough to deserve a museum of her own? I don't know. But I suppose these days everything's showbiz. Next thing we'll know there'll be a Donald TRUMP museum in Brooklyn."

"Not a bad idea. Want to check it our?"

"Which museum are we checking out?" She was joking.

"It's only a few miles. What do we have to lose?"

And there it was again in a version of a downtown in yet another long-forgotten place.

The museum itself is sort of worth a detour. Not by Michelin standards; but considering that I 95 is a driving desert, endlessly boring with the only excitement an occasional pro-life billboard, it's worth a half hour to see Ava's movie costumes and to relive the gossip surrounding her affair and marriage to Old Blue Eyes.

And there's a Dunkin Donuts by the I 95 exit that is now serving a delicious new donut--a crunchy sour cream confection.

Now that's worth a detour! Which we did three or four time along the way.

In our hotel Tuesday night, in beautiful, historic Beaufort, SC, seven-hours north of Delray, scanning the Internet for other out-of-the-way places, I did a little googling about Smithfield and other towns where we had stayed the night or pulled off to take a brief look or get a donut or some BBQ--to check out their histories and, especially, with Ava and Walt in mind, to see who else might have been born and raised in unexpected places.

In Beaufort, for example, in addition to being the place where Harriet Tubman (soon to replace Alexander Hamilton on the 20 dollar bill?) led a Union raiding party to victory over an unsuspecting Rebel encampment at Combahee Ferry, freeing 700 slaves in the process, also born and active there were heavyweight champion Joe Frazier, actor Tom Berenger, novelist Pat Conroy (Stop Time), and Candice Glover, the American Idol season 12 winner.

In Lumberton, NC, in addition to our all time favorite breakfast place--Betty Carol's--born and active there were James Jordan, father of Michael, Dr. Johnny Hunt, president of the Southern Baptist Convention, and wouldn't you know it--at the opposite end of life experience--Carmen Hart, the pornographic actress.

And where Ava was born and grew up, also from Smithfield, were the successful Christian self-help author, John Townsend, a host of big league baseball and football players, and two professional wrestlers--one male, Gregory Helms, and one female, Amber O'Neal.

What a country.

The hand of God indeed.

March 20, 2015--Betty Carol's (Concluded)

There were not just a few folks squeezed together at a table by the window. The rest of the place was bustling. There were about ten tables and all but one, which we slipped into, were full. And opposite an open kitchen, along a counter, there were six stools, five of which were occupied. There was also a line at the counter of at least six men waiting to pick up takeout food.

The grill was sizzling and at least half the people were talking simultaneously so the place had a homey buzz. And the aromas emerging from the kitchen incited our appetites, which on their own were quite advanced.

"Are you sure it's almost ten o'clock Rona whispered. "I mean, look at this place. Lumberton seems to be quite a small town and it feels as if half the people who live here must be having breakfast."

"And, it looks as if they all know each other."

There was lots of cross table talk as well as joshing and back slapping at the counter. Black and white together, though at the tables white folks appeared to be sitting primarily with other white folks and the same was true for the black customers. But there was enough cross-race byplay to make it feel far from segregated. I was reminded of the fact that Greensboro, where the lunch-counter sit-in movement began in the 1960s, was not that distant.

"How far we've come," I said to as if myself. But I know Rona heard me, understood, and nodded.

"Let's order," she said. "I'm starving and could go for some eggs and grits."

"Me too," I said. "And I see they have country ham. My favorite. All for $4.75. You can't beat that price."

"Don't get used to it," Rona said, "We're headed to Manhattan where, if we go to Balthazar for breakfast, half a grapefruit costs $11.00."

"Maybe more," I said."We were there three months ago and there's inflation to consider." I was attempting to make a joke.

"Let's just enjoy ourselves," Rona said, "and for once not think about the cost of things."

By then one of the waitresses came by with a steaming pot of coffee. With a smile she poured two cups and said she'd be back in a minute to take our orders. And as promised, she was and we both ordered scrambled eggs, grits, country ham, and homemade biscuits.

Looking over at the table behind Rona I ogled the stack of biscuits. The man who had ordered them winked as if to assure us that we chosen wisely. And um, um did we ever. The eggs came perfectly scrambled, floating on top of a large plate of anything-but-instant grits; and a sliver of country ham, just as leathery as I like it, accompanied it on a second dish with our own stack of biscuits.

Everything was delicious and as we gobbled the food the waitress returned repeatedly to refill our cups. Though it was easy to see that we were not locals, in fact from the location of Betty Carol's and the fact that Lumberton has few if any tourist or historic sites (I learned later that it was the setting for David Lynch's Blue Velvet) anyone unfamiliar had to be from out of town. But, as a sweet courtesy she asked, "Are you from here?"

"Not really," Rona said. "We're from the city. I mean, New York City."

"Now that's some place to be from," she smiled broadly. "I think about getting up there one of these days. I have family in New York."

"Where's that?" I asked.

"Never been there but my mother says right by the capital."

"That would be Albany."

"That's what she thinks. She's never been there neither. It's just somethin' we time-to-time think about doing. Helps keep us going."

"Well, if you do visit, try to work in a few days in New York City. It's not that far from Albany," Rona added.

"They say things up there cost a lot." I thought again about the $11.00 grapefruit.

"True enough. But if it's . . ."

"Be right by, honey. They're makin' a racket over there. Can't pour 'em coffee fast enough. If that was me, you'd have to carry me out a here, what with all that caffeine. But I'll be right back."

While she was serving the men at the counter, the stream of people coming in for takeout didn't abate, though it was getting close to the time they shut down breakfast and switch to a buffet lunch. Having noticed that, Rona and I had wondered if we should stop eating our breakfast and also think about lunch. I had gone to the bathroom and needed to skirt by where they were cooking fried chicken and okra for the buffet. I had reported to Rona what was in the works.

"All you can eat for only seven dollars," I said.

"There you go again talking about the cost of things. Can't we just . . ."

Before she could finish her thought our waitress returned, still smiling. "All the fellas are askin' 'bout you. Specially when I told them where you're from. Jackie over there, the one dressed like Snoop Dogg--the one standin' by George-Willie--he has been tryin' to make things happen for himself here but there's nothing going on but this." She swept the room with a broad gesture. "Which is not big enough for him."

"What does he do?" Rona asked. I saw that he did in fact look a lot like Snoop Dogg. Minimally he was inspired by him.

"A musician," she sighed. "All the boys here are either musicians or playing basketball. Hoping they'll get a ticket out a here. Though as you can see, folks seem pretty happy to be in this place. Not just at Betty Carol's but in this town too. We do our complainin' but it's not such a bad place to be. Look around. People from all walks get along. Mind you, it's not perfect. What place is? But life's good here. Still, I understand. I have a couple of boys myself and all I hear about are LeBron James and Jay-Z. A lot of these boys don't want to work timbering or in one of the plants or do healthcare work. They have big dreams. Though I tell my boys it's the quality of life that counts. Family first but then there are all these fine folks here who have figured out how to live together. To my mind that counts for something.'"

"It does for me too," I said. "Those are good values."

"You folks plannin' on staying for lunch? Horace over there he makes some mean fried chicken."

"I'm all full up," Rona said. Her dish looked as if she has scraped it. "Maybe we'll take some with us to nibble on the road."

"Sounds good to me," the waitress said, all excited. "By the way, my name's Mary." She reached out to shake both our hands as we also introduced ourselves. "You prefer white or dark?"

"How 'bout a mix of both?" I said.

"Perfect choice," she said. "I'll have it for you in a minute. In the meantime, can I pour you some more coffee?"

"I've had more than my quota," I said, covering my cup with my hand.

"By the way," she said, "today's my 45th birthday. I know I don't look it," she laughed, "Gettin' to know you is my favorite present."

Back in the car, Rona said, "What did you mean about no one having any teeth? That wasn't very nice. They all looked fine to me. Mostly quite spiffy. Including that Snoop fellow. He had the Dogg's act down perfectly."

March 19, 2015--Snowbirding: Betty Carol's for Breakfast

I whispered, "I don't think anyone here has teeth."

Rona shushed me. We had made a long detour off I-95 shortly after crossing the North Carolina boarder to seek out Betty Carol's, a breakfast place in Lumberton that our GPS listed.

"It's almost ten o'clock and I'm starving. And you need to get some coffee into you before we get back on the interstate. The traffic is already building up and you'll need to concentrate."

We finally found it, seemingly an enterprise of Breath of Life Ministries, Inc. with which it shares a building.

"That must be why there are so many cars here," I said. "For the Ministries. At nearly ten, we'll be lucky if the place is even still open. In small towns like this everyone is finished with breakfast by eight. On the other hand, Betty Carol's must be where the Ministries gives homeless people coffee and something hot to eat in the morning."

"It does look as if all the lights are out. But," Rona said, squinting into the sun. "I think I see someone at a table by the window. Let's hurry. Maybe we'll at least be able to get a quick cup of coffee."

"Though maybe we'll have to pretend to be homeless." Gently, Rona slapped me.

Nearly two hours later we reluctantly left. "If we didn't have to get back to the city, I'd suggest we look for a place to stay for a couple of days so we could come back here for a couple of more mornings."

It was that good. In fact, anyone who follows these blogs knows we are devotees of breakfast places, ranging from the cool chic of Cafe Beaujolais in Mendocino, California to the very modest but cozy Bristol Diner in Bristol, Maine.

But for food, way off-the-road setting, the crowd, schmooziness, down-home-feeling, exterior and interior ambience, friendliness, and diversity it doesn't get any better than Betty Carol's.

"You know how we always say," Rona said, "Places with names made up of two first names often turn out to be terrific. 'Betty Carol's'--this place tops them all."

To be concluded tomorrow . . .