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Saturday, November 22, 2014
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    Southern Life

    God bless the South and Southerners

    by | May 21, 2011

    The South is known for its unusual characters, right? They populate the novels of Southern writers like Erskine Caldwell, Harper Lee, Flannery O’Connor, Carson McCullers. But we Southerners know, don’t we, that you don’t have to crack one of their books to find such a character’s prototype? Often they live right next door, or just down the street, or they show up at the other end of a conversation. To wit:

    Photo by Amphipolis

    In sending email, I routinely include a favorite saying or famous quotation in the message’s personal signature section, at the bottom of the page. Recipients often comment on the quotations, which I change from time to time, albeit irregularly because I tend to forget they need refreshing.

    Recently, I sent an email requesting information from an out-of-town bank. Louise, the bank’s computer teller, called next day to give me the information. “But first,” she said in a drawl dripping molasses, “tell me how you know my husband.  I asked if he knows you and he doesn’t.”

    “Your husband?” I said, puzzled. She was in Mississippi; I was in South Carolina.

    “Yes. You quoted him in your email. I was amazed to see that.”

    “Quoted?”

    “Yes,” she said. “I’ve got it right here on my screen: ‘Fortune favors the bold’ — Virgil.”

    The light bulb came on. “Oh,” I said. “That’s a quote from Virgil, the Roman writer.”

    “Oh, then that’s not my Virgil,” she said. “I don’t think he’s ever been out of Mississippi.”

    I wish I had had the presence of mind to ask Louise if she knew a young woman named Velma that I used to work with in Aiken, S.C. Velma glowed with vitality, but the glow did not extend far above her neck. (Nor did it need to; Velma was drop-dead gorgeous.) Anyhow, one day when the office staff was having a working lunch, the boss’s way of keeping our noses closer to the grindstone of commerce, somebody brought up that old parlor game in which one is asked to name 12 people they’d invite to a dinner party if they could include anybody who had ever lived. Soon, names like Jesus, Hitler, Lincoln, Joan of Arc, Elvis, the virgin Mary, Babe Ruth rang around the table — until it was Velma’s turn.

    So help me, Velma, in all seriousness, named 12 of her relatives: parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins.

    I’ve often wondered if Virgil’s wife Louise was one of those relatives.

    ###
    Robert Lamb

    Robert Lamb

    I grew up in Augusta, Ga., where I attended Boys' Catholic High. After a stint in the Navy, I attended the University of Georgia, majoring in English (Class of '61). I began my (wholly unexpected) journalism career on the old Augusta Herald, an evening paper, and went to work for The Constitution in, I think, 1976. I left in Sept. '82 to write The Great American Novel. That goal has proved remarkably elusive, but my first attempt (Striking Out, in 1991) was nominated for the PEN/Hemingway Award and my second (Atlanta Blues, in 2004) contended for an Edgar Award. My latest novel won no honors but might well get me nominated for a hanging. Titled A Majority of One, it is about a clash between religion and the Constitution over book-banning in a small Georgia town. I've also published a collection of short stories and poems: Six of One, Half Dozen of Another. Before retirement, I taught creative writing and American literature at the University of South Carolina and its Honors College, and feature writing in its School of Journalism. I maintain a now-and-then blog at boblamb.wordpress.com and I walk my dog on the beach a lot at Pawleys Island, S.C.

     

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    • Tom Poland

      Wonderful, Bob. A long time ago I dated a gorgeous woman named Wanda. One day I used that old figure of speech, “That cooked his turkey” upon which Wanda remarked, “Oh really? What temperature do you cook a turkey on?” I looked at her to see if she was playing along, kidding me. She was not. Then I had to explain what I meant. Beauty and brains: they’re not always booked on the same train,

    • Urban Reader

      Here are a couple of favorite stories from my childhood.

      In fifth grade, the teacher didn’t often point out our test mistakes in front of the whole class, but she couldn’t resist this one: Question: “Why are Nova Scotia, New Brunswick and Prince Edward Is. called the Maritime Provinces?” My friend Pam answered, “Because when people go there, they have a merry time.”

      A few years later, my sister and I were both studying Spanish, she in middle school, I in high school. One evening at dinner we were discussing this with our parents, and my sister said, “I know everything about Spanish.” I looked at her, astonished, and said, “Everything?” And she said, “Yes. Ask me anything.” So I said, “What is ‘La Sierra Madre Occidental’?” And not missing a beat, she answered, “I’m sorry, Mother, I had an accident.”

    • C Smith

      Mr. Lamb we who were born and live in the south can laugh at our excentric characters and comment to make them laugh along with us. The people that live elsewhere when they are called on a completely dumb statement will have that far off stare that is the brunt of every “blond joke” written male or female. I went to school with some people from New Jersey that had a pull string light swith installed just behind the ear.

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