A Height Requirement–No Minimum Drinking Age…


whisky jugHOWDY, Y’ALL GENTLE REEDERS,

How ‘r youins’ doin’. I’m doin’ rite gud, thank ye. I grow’d up in a holler in south-central West-by-God Virginia called Cabin Creek. The name of arn’ little town wuz Decota. We’uns wuz so poor we couldn’t afford a name of arn own for the town so, we’uns stole one from a state and then misspelled it. Ta’ tell the truth, I dun been told that the Postal Office people named the town when hit applied for a Post Office.

This here is coal country. They’uns dun took enuff coal outta’ the mountains here to kick-start that there global warmin’ thing I dun heerd about. My pappy wuz a Gee-ologist for a coal cumpany so, we’uns had it better than most. All us youngin’s dun been ta’ skool and got arnselves a college degree. I kin rite my name reel gud and do simple ciphers, two.

Wud you’ins believe that that there coal cumpny minted hits own money? It sure enuff did! Hits called script and for eighty cents of guvment In God We Trust they’d give ya’ one dollar of that there funny money. Course, you could onliest spend hit in the Cumpny Store. The prices in that there store wuz higher than “Eightball” Carver on payday.

I dun fergitted what I wuz a ritin’ about. I’m a gittin’ a little older now and fergit stuff kwicker than moonshine hits yer belly. Oh yeah, that there height thingy. They wuz a l’il ol’ gin joint a piece down the road called Toto Billo’s. Ol’ Toto would sell most ’bout anything; fireworks, moonshine, tipboard numbers and script ta name the polite commodities. He had a sign up at that l’il dive what said YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO DRINK. No minimum drinking age-a height requirement.

I kin still heer ol’ Toto say, “Ya gist don’t measure up, boy”!

Tom and LaVerna Vickers