I don't remember when I became aware of that far-off-from-Barnett Crossroads, Alabama place, but I knew I needed to see it. The need to "SEE ROCK CITY" way up in Tennessee somewhere stayed on my list of things to do and see. "Bucket list" hadn't entered the lexicon of this little country girl at that time. On top of a mountain near Chattanooga, I planned to tour the “ROCK CITY GARDEN,” “RIDE THE INCLINE,” “SEE SEVEN STATES” and go deep underground at “RUBY FALLS.” I knew that Blue Star Highway # 31 running from Mobile to Chicago went thru Birmingham because Uncle Rudy Smith told me so.
Uncle Rudy, my daddy's baby brother, was in the Navy and had traveled all the way to Seattle. He was so worldly in my eyes. I never knew what to do after Birmingham, but surely whomever I was with would find our way there. Uncle Rudy had visited these places and told us that he could see seven states from “LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN.” Daddy grumbled to Uncle Rudy not to put that mess in our minds. Uncle Rudy smirked and said, “Earnest you wouldn't know because the only place you ever went to was Little Rock, Arkansas to drive a log train.”
Those two brothers had an uneasy time of it when they spent more than a few hours together. I loved Uncle Rudy for two very good reasons. One: for having a red Ford convertible, and two: for always taking us for a ride with the top down to buy large bags of candy bars from Clyde Hawkins’ old store at the Barnett Crossroads. Time moved slowly during my childhood years as I made plans to travel the world. ROCK CITY being numero uno. I saw pictures of country roads bordered with Burma-Shave signs in our only subscription magazine, The Progressive Farmer. Train approaching/Whistle squealing/Stop/Avoid that run-down feeling/Burma-Shave…
My siblings and I played "red truck, no pinch back." We looked for old barns with "SEE ROCK CITY painted on roofs along with “JEFFERSON ISLAND SALT” slanted on the sides. We tried to read the posted-apart BURMA SHAVE signs when we got to go someplace in the bed of our old 1952 Chevrolet "Blue Goose." I dreamed of far-off places and fancy dresses until I reached that magical time of graduation from high school.
The W. S. Neal Class of 1959 was honored to take a senior trip to visit the nation’s capital in Washington, D.C. that spring. Oh, my goodness, the travel itinerary placed us in Chattanooga, Tennessee to “SEE ROCK CITY,” “SEE SEVEN STATES,” “SEE RUBY FALLS,” and “RIDE THE INCLINE.” My clearest memory of that time was watching the sun rise over Lookout Mountain as we drove into the Greyhound bus station for breakfast before starting our tour on the mountain.
Greyhound bus stations were loud and busy in those days. People rushing to and fro, checking to see if others were keeping up. Samsonite luggage being dragged and banged around. Coats draped across arms holding purses or newspapers. The smell of diesel exhaust was something that was strangely enticing to me. The growly-sounding buses were parked in spots marked with yellow lines. Some rolled in as others rolled out to take people to places I could only dream about. That was a heady experience for this country girl.
I vowed that day that I would ride Greyhound buses across America when I got a job and saved some money. I didn't know then that Greyhound travel was in decline. The Interstate system was in its infancy; which would take those travelers away from small towns all across America. The very towns I planned to see as I traveled. Many of those places would simply dry up and disappear in the coming years because of the traffic being diverted away. Interstate travelers got to exotic destinations faster; but in my opinion something wonderful was lost in the hustle bustle of it all.
Our group shuffled to tables for our breakfast of grits, eggs, bacon, buttered toast and orange juice. The waitresses wore neat dresses, starched and ironed to a crisp. They had cute hats perked on bouffant hairdos.
That was class…
Laughter was in that place. Cups clattered against saucers, silverware tinked… Plates made sounds of potential breakage from the stacking. Loud banging of pots and pans and sounds of grease sizzling came to us from the pass-through of the kitchen. We could see the cooks working the stove were wearing white chef hats with starched white shirts and pants. Orders were announced loud and urgent. Smells made my hungry stomach retract. I gawked…
We all tried to act cool, but failed there in that busy dining room at the Greyhound Bus Station at Chattanooga. We loaded back onto that Greyhound bus to ride up the winding road to the top of Lookout Mountain. The bus growled and pulled while changing gears, causing my heart to flutter as I gazed out through the tree tops and across the blue haze of Chattanooga far below. All night travel from Brewton fogged my brain but not my heart. I had made my first trip away from home and farther than Montgomery. I was here to SEE ROCK CITY.
***I rode a Greyhound bus only once since those wonderful days of ignorance and bliss, from Pensacola to Flomaton circa 1962. I took my precious children to SEE ROCK CITY circa 1978.***
Earline’s first book “Life With the Top Down” is now available for sale in paperback at: http://www.lulu.com/shop/earline-crews/life-with-the-top-down/paperback/product-24146318.html
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