Cracker

 

About fifteen years ago I was looking at Hemmings Motor News and I saw a 1950 Studebaker, Starlight Coupe for $1,000. It was ninety miles away in Naples, Florida. So I mentioned it to Mark. He knew that I liked Studebakers, and he said "Let's go see it." I borrowed a pickup truck from a friend, rented a car trailer just in case, and we drove to Naples. I didn't really like the condition of the car when I saw it, but Mark told me to go ahead and buy it. After loading the Studebaker onto the trailer and paying the guy, we pulled out and headed for Alligator Alley, which is what they call the highway back to Fort Lauderdale. As we neared the highway, the sky opened up and dropped one of those South Florida deluges upon us. We couldn't see more than two feet in front of us, so we pulled into a Cracker Barrel parking lot. I had never been to one of those restaurants, but we were hungry and went on in. Quite the ambiance. Lots of rocking chairs and wood planks on the outside. On the inside you have to go through the gift shop to reach the restaurant part. If Mammy Yokum was a hoarder, that is what it would look like. Crap, lots and lots of crap for sale.

"Are you dining with us today?" Asked the elderly lady.

"Um.. yes, two."

"Oh, you're together."

I used to get that a lot. People often wouldn't think Mark and I were together. I don't know why......

"Okay, this way.."

We were ushered through a large room of tables populated by happy folks, all looking pleased with the piles of food before them. But we didn't stop there. We were escorted into a smaller room and seated at a table in the corner. From my position I could look out at the whole room.

"Notice something, Mark?"

"What?"

"I'm the only white guy in here."

Yes, I opened that can of worms. Mark looked around and saw that everybody there were mostly Black with a few Mexican looking people thrown in.

"Oh no. No, no, no, we are not eating here." And Mark summoned the waitress.

"Can I help you sir?"

 "I want to sit in the white peoples room. Out there."

"I don't understand. We don't have that here."

"There are open tables in that big room. The room with only white people sitting in it. I want to be seated out there."

The waitress left and a minute later the original lady who had sat us in the room for 'colored people' came over. Mark got louder.

"I want to eat out there." He pointed to the big room.

"Sir, there's no difference between those tables and this table."

"Really? Look around. Do you see any white people here?"

Mark was getting louder and people were staring. Mammy Yokum, or whatever her name was, couldn't have moved any faster.

"Please, come with me."

And we followed her out to the main dining room. She sat us at a table dead center in the room. I felt bad for all the folks we left back in the segregated, colored room. Maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe that's how people had entered the restaurant and were seated in order. There was no sign saying colored over the door. No sign saying Whites Only in that main room. But it sure felt wrong.

As for the Studebaker. I sunk nine thousand dollars into it, trying to get it running right. I got to drive it once before it died, never to run again for me. I tried and tried to figure out why it wouldn't start again before I sold it do some guy from Arkansas for $1,000. He looked like the kind of guy who would eat at Cracker Barrel, so I know he probably got that thing running.