Terry Rose Crowell came in to Annie Laurie’s Antiques where I was hawking Smelterville: A Work in Progress and Snapshots of Cape Girardeau on First Friday. In the course of our conversation, she mentioned that select members of the Class of 1965 meet for lunch on the first Saturday of each month at BG’s Old Tyme Deli and Saloon. (“Select” means anybody who shows up.)
Marilyn Dudley Seyer
I hoped this might finally be my chance to set at the Cool Table, something that always seemed out of my reach when I attended Central High School. My odds were enhanced when Brenda Bone Lapp posted on Facebook that everybody usually fits around one table. It was hinted that table dancing was known to transpire. In fact, I was told confidentially, it was Marilyn’s turn this month.
Such gyrations much have occurred when I went out to the car to switch out camera bodies because it didn’t happen in my presence. I did notice a glow on Marilyn’s forehead (ladies don’t sweat), so I might have been gone longer than I thought.
Carolyn Lee Barks
When I commented that I felt a bit outnumbered at the table, I was told that guys have been known to show up; Jim Feldmeier, in particular.
There was a long discussion about how women were discriminated against before Title IX, but how things are getting better. We talked about how spring sports got the short end of the stick because of early yearbook deadlines. There was also a debate about whether girls participated in track and field sports in our day. I couldn’t remember shooting any.
Susan Valle Perry
Talk turned to Cape’s movie theaters, particularly the Rialto, which was owned by Carol Klarsfeld’s mother. Carol got all the money deposited in the penny scale in the theater, something I didn’t know. We longed for the days when you could get Black Cherry soda out of the soft drink dispenser in the lobby. Popcorn, at a dime a box (or with real butter for two bits) was a real profit center. The box, which cost a penny, was the most expensive part.
Accounts of Carol shenanigans became a major topic of conversation. It’s a shame Carol was taken from us at an early age by breast cancer because I’m sure she’d still be doing crazy stuff as a grandmother.
Pat Wright Vogelsang
Birthday cards, some of which were AARP-Rated were passed around. I blush easily, so I tried to avoid reading the insides, but they made me do it. This is a rough crowd.
Pat Wright Vogelsang is vamping for the camera while Susan and Marilyn are looking through some of my old Cape photos in the background.
Donna Eddleman Mason
We talked about favorite teachers (Miss Sadler for English and Grace Williams for math), best pizza (Tony’s) and best steak (Wayne’s Grill), the fact that The Missourian always referred to women by their husband’s name (Mrs. Joe Smith, not Mrs. Jane Smith or Jane Smith) and how few kids back then drove their cars to school.
All in all, it was a pretty good day at the Cool Table. They were nice enough to score some books and calendars and even paid for my iced tea. If I had just been around when Marilyn rocked the table, the day would have been perfect.
I shot this magnolia blossom at an undisclosed location that did not appear to have surveillance cameras around. Right after I photographed it, it inexplicably fell off the tree at my feet. I thought it might be possible to resuscitate it, so I took it home to Mother just like I would any other stray. (You can click on the photos to make them larger.)
When we got up this morning, the blossom had turned a beautiful shade of brown. The petals were still soft, but they had changed color. The undersides of the leaves had turned brown, too.
This one, by the way, didn’t fall off the tree. Maybe another day.
