Page 107 - some-stuff-i-wrote-and-some-stuff-i-didn't-(2011)-h-morris-williams
P. 107

Some Stuff I Wrote and Some Stuff I Didn't (2011) H. Morris Williams







              Mmmmm. Good.

              From  about  1942  to  the  mid-1950s,  Hurst made  his  living,  bought  a house  and

              raised a family, working out of his hole in the wall where no item cost more than a
              quarter.

              A  half block  to  the  south  stood  the  Grand  Theater.  Moviegoers  would  make  a

              purchase at Hurst’s then head for the “picture show.”

              Hurst’s cash register was a metal coin changer hanging from his belt. His inventory

              records existed firmly in his mind.

              “Good  afternoon,  sir.  A  nice  cold  drink  for  you  and  the  lady  on  this  hot
              afternoon?”


              During World War II, the local NAS sailors and their dates made an automatic stop
              there before and after the movie.


              Hurst’s business boomed during Saturday afternoon double features at the Grand.

              Hurst employed young boys to walk the streets by day selling his peanuts. “Fresh

              boiled peanuts, five cents a bag,” they yelled.

              Some few lucky ones were entrusted to actually run the store in Hurst’s absence.

              Hurst’s eye  for an honest kid was unfailing.  Stan Anders,  later a DOT engineer,
              worked for Hurst six years, grades 7 to 12.

              Before  Anders  it was  Ralph Hardee,  now  a DOT traffic  engineer.  After,  it  was

              Hoyle Bramlett, a deeply religious youngster.  Then it was Hinman Rizer,  later a
              scholarship football athlete and honor student at the University of Chattanooga.


              For over  15 years, one of the most popular stores in Lake City was Hurst’s nickel
              and dime business.

              Occasionally  a  quarter  item  would  be  sold,  though  always  after  dark.  A  young

              fellow  would  drive  his  car to  the  curb,  leave  his  motor  running  and  show  one
              finger or two and an unspoken signal.  Contraceptives, kept well-concealed under

              the  counter,  would  be  discreetly  delivered  to  the  driver  and  the  car  would  pull
              away.








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