As I sit here writing the sun is streaming in my southernmost window and it is a freezing 29 degrees. The warm sun reminds me of my introduction to small town America. My husband grew up in a small town in Arkansas. He learned how to play checkers when his grandfather took him to the fire station where there was always a game to be found. The fire station was next to the ice plant where the old men lined up chairs and passed the time of day. The Cotton Belt railroad tracks were next to his childhood home, and there was always a train chugging by with a smiling engineer who tooted the horn for any kids who waved. A short drive away was a small hill they called the “Old Indian Mound.” It didn’t take much digging to find old arrowheads and every kid in town had a couple in his possession. A 10-minute drive away was a riveting sight–Old Man River–The Mighty Mississippi River. We climbed down the bank to get a closer look, and the river ran so fast it was scary to look at the barge receding into the distance. Later I was told a lot of snakes could be found at the edge of the river! Some of the stores on Main Street had people’s last names carved over them, and most of them were still in business with a 3rd generation minding the store. At the other end of main street were the large mansions of the town fathers. They were two and three stories with large oaks and wide, shaded verandas.
This was a cotton town–and it still had a gin or two, and there were faded pictures from a cotton picking exhibition held there. On Friday nights the farmers would bring their families to town to have a restaurant meal, and to do their grocery shopping. There was even a building for the Greyhound Bus and the terminal has been restored and is now a small museum. Everyone knew their neighbor and if you were just visiting, people would turn to look at you in the restaurants, speculating if you were just passing thru or looking to set down roots. The eating places had cozy names like The Sharecropper, Rustic Inn, Dixie Pig, Old Hickory Inn, and Kream Kastle.
Like a lot of others, this small town is now dying. The younger generations have moved away to pursue better paying jobs in the big city. The ice plant is going to be torn down. The old grammar school was replaced by a Piggly Wiggly grocery store. Foreign steel companies now provide a living wage. Most of the Main Street stores are boarded over and the newer stores are over by the freeway off ramp next to the Wal-Mart.
I am glad that I got to experience this small town in its heyday and the memories almost seem like some rosy dream now. The memories belong to yesterday, and they are fading fast. Too bad.