Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (10 page)

“She went over to see her friend who owned the tombstone place and had him make up a baby tombstone that had carved on it:

HERE LIES BUDDY JR’S ARM

1929-1936

SO LONG OLD PAL

She put it out in the field behind the cafe, and when he got home, she took him out there and they made a big to-do about having this funeral for his arm. Everybody came. Onzell and Big George's children, Artis and Jasper, little Willie Boy and Naughty Bird, and all the neighborhood kids. Idgie had some Eagle Scout come out there and play 'Taps' on the bugle.

"Idgie was the first one to start calling him Stump, and Ruth near had a fit, said it was a mean thing to do. But Idgie said it was the best thing, so nobody would call him anything about it behind his back. She thought he might as well face up to the fact that he had an arm missing and not be sensitive about it. And she turned out to be right, because you never saw anybody that could do more with one arm . . . why, he could shoot marbles, hunt and fish, anything he wanted to. He was the best shot in Whistle Stop.

"When he was little and there was somebody new in the cafe, Idgie would bring him in and have him tell this long, tall tale about going fishing for catfish down on the Warrior River, and he'd get them all caught up in the story and then Idgie would say, 'How big was the catfish, Stump?'

"And he'd put out his arm, like the grown fisherman used to do to show how long the fish was, and he'd say, 'Oh, about that big.' And Idgie and Stump would laugh over the expressions on the people's faces, trying to figure out how long that fish was.

"Of course, now, I'm not saying he was a saint, he had his little temper fits, just like the other little boys. But in his whole life, the only time I ever knew him to complain or be upset is that one Christmas afternoon when we were all sitting around the cafe, drinking coffee and having fruitcake, when all of a sudden he started carrying on like a crazy person, just a-mashing up all of his toys. Ruth and Idgie went in the back room where he was, and in as little time as it takes you to say "butter the biscuits,' Idgie had him in his coat and out the door. Ruth was upset and worried and ran after them and asked where they were going, but Idgie said, never mind that, they would be back in a little while.

"And, sure enough, they were back in about an hour, and Stump was laughing and in a good mood.

"Years later, when he was down at my house cutting my yard, I had him come up on the porch and handed him a glass of iced tea. I said, 'Stump, do you remember that Christmas when you got so mad and stomped your Erector set that Cleo and I gave you?'

"Well, he just laughed and said, 'Oh Aunt Ninny—that's what he called me—he said, 'Aunt Ninny, I sure do.' "I said, 'Where did Idgie take you that afternoon?' "He said, 'Aw, I cain't tell you, Aunt Ninny, I promised I wouldn't."

"So I still don't know where he went, but Idgie must have said something to him, because he never worried about his arm being missing again. He was the nineteen forty-six Champion Wild Turkey Hunter ... and do you know how hard it is to shoot a wild turkey?"

Evelyn said, no, she didn't.

"Well honey, let me tell you, you have to shoot those turkeys right between the eyes, and their heads are no bigger than my fist! Now, that's a good shot!

"He even went on to play all kinds of sports . . . never let that arm stop him in any way. . . . And sweet. You never met a sweeter boy.

"Course, Ruth was a good mother, and he adored her. We all did. But Stump and Idgie were special. They'd take off hunting or fishing and leave us all behind. They enjoyed each other's company more than anyone else, I guess.

"One time, I remember, Stump put a piece of pecan pie in his pocket and ruined his good pants, and Ruth was just a-fussin' at him, but Idgie thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

"Now, Idgie could be rough with him. She was the one that threw him in the river when he was five, and taught him how to swim. But I tell you one thing, he never sassed his mother like some boys will do. At least not when Idgie was around. She just wouldn't allow it. Not at all. No sir. He minded his momma, not like Onzell's boy Artis. They couldn't do a thing with him, could they?"

Evelyn said, "I guess not," and noticed Mrs. Threadgoode had her dress on inside out.   

CHRISTMAS DAY, 1937

Almost everyone in town had gotten a cap pistol for Christmas, and most of them had gathered in Dr. Hadley's backyard that afternoon for a shoot-out. The whole yard smelled of sulphur from the caps that had been cracking in the cold air all afternoon. They had all been killed a hundred times over. Pow! Pow! Pow! You're dead!

Pow! Pow!

"Augh! You got me! . . . Auggh!"

Eight-year-old Dwane Kilgore grabbed his chest, fell to the ground, and took three minutes to die. When he had jerked his last jerk, he jumped up and unrolled another red strip of caps and reloaded in a frenzy.

Stump Threadgoode was a late arrival to the shoot-out, and had just finished his Christmas dinner up at the cafe with the family and Smokey Lonesome. He hit the yard running, and he had timed it just right, because everyone was loaded and ready to go. He ran behind a tree and took aim at Vernon Hadley. POW! POW!

CRACK CRACK CRACK . . . Vernon, who was behind a bush, jumped up and yelled, "You missed, you dirty varmit!"

Stump, who had shot all his caps, was busy trying to reload when Bobby Lee Scroggins, an older boy, ran up to him and let him have it.

CRACK CRACK CRACK . . . POW POW POW . . . "Got ya!"

And before he knew it, Stump was dead . . .

But Stump was game. He reloaded time and time again, only to be killed in the process, over and over again.

Peggy Hadley, Vernon's little sister, who was in the same class as Stump, came out, all bundled up in her new maroon coat, with her new doll, and sat on the back steps to watch. All of a sudden it wasn't so much fun to be getting killed over and over, and Stump started desperately trying to get one of them, but there were too many of them and he couldn't reload fast enough to protect himself.

CRACK CRACK CRACK . . . killed again! But he kept trying. He made a desperate run and got behind a big oak tree in the middle of the yard, where he could dart out and shoot and jump back behind the tree. He had already killed Dwane with a lucky shot and was working on Vernon when Bobby Lee jumped up behind him from behind a stack of bricks—Stump turned, but it was too late.

Bobby Lee had pulled two guns on him and let him have it with both barrels.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK

Bobby Lee shouted, "You're dead! You're double dead! Die!"

Stump had no choice but to die in front of Peggy. It was a quick, quiet death. He got right up and said, "I've gotta go home and get some more caps. I'll be right back."

He had plenty of caps, but he wanted to die for real. Peggy had seen him get killed over and over.

After he left, Peggy stood up and yelled at her brother, "Ya'll aren't playing fair. Poor Stump has only one arm and that's not fair. I'm gonna tell Mother on you, Vernon!"

Stump ran in the back room and threw his cap pistol across the floor and then kicked his electric train set against the wall, mad and crying with frustration. When Ruth and Idgie came back, there he was stomping his Erector set that he'd already smashed flat.

When he saw them, he started crying and screaming at the same time, "I cain't do anything with this thing," and he began hitting at his missing arm.

Ruth grabbed him. "What's the matter, honey? What happened?"

"Everybody's got double holsters but me! I cain't beat 'em, they've killed me all afternoon!"

"Who?"

"Dwane and Vernon and Bobby Lee Scroggins."

Ruth said, stricken, "Oh honey  . . .”

She knew this day would come, but now that it had, she didn't know what to say. What was there to say? How do you tell a seven-year-old boy that it would be all right? She looked to Idgie for help.

Idgie stared at Stump for a minute and then got her coat, picked him up off the bed, put his coat on, and took him outside to the car.

"Come on, mister, you're going with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Never mind."

He sat there in silence while she drove him down to the river road. When they came to a sign that said WAGON WHEEL FISH-ING CAMP, she made a turn. Pretty soon they came to a gate made out of two big white wagon wheels. Idgie got out and opened the gates and then drove on through, down to a cabin by the river. When she got there, she blew the horn, and after a minute, a redheaded woman opened the door.

ldgie told Stump to stay in the car and she got out and went up to talk with the woman. The dog inside the house was beside itself, jumping up and down, yapping, it was so excited to see her.

Idgie talked for a few minutes, and then the lady went away for a second and came back and handed Idgie a rubber ball. When she opened the screen door, the little dog flew out and was about to wiggle itself to death, so glad to see her.

Idgie walked down off the porch, and said, "Come on, Lady! Come on, girl!" and threw the ball up in the air. The little white rat terrier jumped at least four feet and caught the ball in midair, and then ran back to Idgie and gave it back to her. Then Idgie threw the ball up against the house and Lady jumped straight up and caught it again.

That's when Stump noticed that the little dog only had three legs.

That dog jumped and ran after that ball for about ten minutes and never once lost its balance. After a while, Idgie took the little dog back up to the house and went inside to say goodbye to the redheaded woman.

Then she came back out to the car and drove down a little road, where she parked by the river.

"Stump, I want to ask you something, son."

"Yes ma'am."

"Did that dog look like it was having a good time?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Did it look like she was happy to be alive?"

"Yes."

"Did it look to you like she felt sorry for herself?"

"No ma'am."

"Now, you're my son and I love you no matter what. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes ma'am."

"But you know, Stump, I'd hate like the devil to think that you didn't have any more sense than that poor little dumb dog we saw today."

He looked down at the car floor. "Yes ma'am."

"So I don't want to hear any more about what you can and cain't do, okay?"

"Okay."

Idgie opened up the glove compartment and pulled out a bottle of Green River Whiskey. "And besides, your Uncle Julian and I are going to take you out next week and teach you how to shoot a real gun."

"Really?"

"Really!" She removed the bottle cap and took a swallow. "We're gonna make you the best goddamned shot in the state, and just let one of them try and beat you at anything . . . here, have a drink."

Stump's eyes got big as he reached for the bottle. "Really?"

"Yes, really. But don't tell your mother. We'll make those boys wish they hadn't got up in the morning."

Stump took a sip and tried to act as if it hadn't tasted like gasoline on fire and asked, "Who was that woman?"

"A friend of mine."

"You've been here before, haven't you?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. But don't tell your mother."

"Okay."

(SLAGTOWN)

DECEMBER 30, 1934

Onzell had told her son Artis over and over again that she did not want him going over to Birmingham, ever; but tonight, he went anyway.

He jumped off the back of the freight that arrived at the L N terminal station at about eight o'clock. When he went inside, his mouth dropped open.

The station seemed as large, to him, as Whistle Stop and Troutville put together, with its rows and rows of thick, rich mahogany benches and the multicolored tile that covered the floor and the walls of the huge building.

SHOE SHINE . . . SANDWICH COUNTER . . . CIGAR STAND ... BEAUTY SHOP . . . MAGAZINES . . . BARBERSHOP . . . DONUTS AND CANDY . . . CIGARETTES . . . WHISKEY BAR . . . COFFEE . . . BOOKSTORE . . . HAVE YOUR SUITS PRESSED . . . GIFT SHOP . . . COLD DRINKS . . . ICE CREAM . . .

Here was a
city
, teeming with redcaps, porters, and train passengers, all under the seventy-five-foot glass ceiling. It was all too much for the seventeen-year-old black boy in overalls who had never been out of Whistle Stop. He thought he had seen the whole world inside that one building, and he staggered out the front door, dazed.

And then he saw it. There it was, the largest electric light sign in the world—twenty stories high, with ten thousand golden light bulbs glowing against the black sky: WELCOME TO BIRMINGHAM . . . THE MAGIC CITY . . .

And it was magic; billed as the "fastest growing city in the South," and even now, Pittsburgh was being called the Birmingham of the North . . . Birmingham, with its towering skyscrapers and steel mills that lit up the sky with red and purple hues, and its busy streets buzzing with hundreds of automobiles and the streetcars on wires, whisking back and forth, day and night.

Artis walked down the street in a trance, past the St. Clair (Birmingham's Up-to-the-Minute Hotel), on by the L N Cafe, and the Terminal Hotel. He peered in between the Venetian blinds on the window of the coffee shop and saw all the white men sitting there, enjoying their blue-plate specials, and knew that this was not the place for him. He made his way past the Red Top Bar and Grill, and over the Rainbow Viaduct, on by the Melba Cafe, and, as if by some primeval instinct, he found 4th Avenue North, where all of a sudden the complexion began to change.

He had found it: Here it was, those twelve square blocks, better known as Slagtown . . . Birmingham's own Harlem of the South, the place he had dreamed about.

Couples began moving past him, all dressed up, talking and laughing on their way to somewhere; and he was being pulled along with them, like a whitecap floating on the crest of a wave. Music throbbed out of every door and window and spilled down flights of stairs into the streets. The voice of Bessie Smith wailed from an upstairs window, "Oh, careless love . . . Oh, careless love . . ."