Once upon a time. I took a friend to the swamp bank. It was green with algae. Ugly. Not like it use to be.
I invited a cousin. Beloved.
We shared what we could. We answered questions. We wanted him (my new friend) to get familiar with the past. The old days of Whitehouse/Westide. It’s fringe. It’s fun and it’s dark. It’s Southern Gothic.
A lot was told. The Goat ( I call him that because of the stable life he has created for himself, his wife and his four daughters. He has grandchildren. He is a well known figure in the Westside community. Respected. ) made a statement about John Hysler giving the word to kill black men that were kidnapped and forced to work whiskey stills.
The writer ran with it. He mistakenly touted stills on Old Gainseville Rd. He made up a neighborhood where the men were kidnapped from. It seems to me like these are important facts. In a story where much is left to the imagination, I cling to the known. In my opinion he made many errors. It was disappointing to me. He had no interest in us. As a matter of fact he was demeaning. As he is with most all Whitehouse/Westside people. And yet, I still call him friend.
Continue reading Black Bottom 3
Fish Eye Farm 