There was an institution in Bennettsville known as "The Ice Plant" that was one of Daddy's favorite hangouts. It was officially "City Ice and Groceries", and was owned by BK Barrow and operated by Robert "Greek" Gandy. The Ice Plant was a cinder block building, situated down by the railroad tracks that crossed South Parsonage Street, and was an old-fashioned precursor to the modern-day convenience store. Ice was made there using the evaporative Ammonia process and could be purchased in fifty or one hundred pound blocks, or in twenty five pound bags. I assume it was established in the days before refrigerators were common, and folks had "ice boxes" in their homes. From what I had been told, it's proximity to the rail line allowed them to supply ice to freight companies that shipped perishables by rail. Ice blocks would be packed in hay in special compartments of refrigerated cars or "Reefers" so that the harvested cucumbers, tomatoes, pork and beef that was produced in Marlboro County could be shipped without fear of spoilage.
The Ice Plant also sold groceries, hardware, fishing bait and tackle, and ice-cold beer....lots of ice-cold beer! There was a tin sign that spanned the entire front of the establishment that advertised their wares that included the aforementioned groceries, hardware, bait and tackle, cold beer along with picnic supplies and included the admonition that they were open "seven days-come alive!" It was a sort of "Alice's Restaurant"....you could get anything you want at the Ice Plant, which also included such less than honorable pursuits such as untaxed whiskey (moonshine), Parlay cards or even a date for the evening (provided your standards were a bit, ahem, low)!
Daddy liked to go there to just hang around, drink those little six and one-half ounce Coca Colas and catch up on all the news around Bennettsville because in the pre-social media days it was the "nerve center" of town and the source of every bit of gossip that circulated. Hardly a day went by that Jackie Johnson and his brother Dusty couldn't be found there about five PM, lipping a little Coke bottle and sharing jokes. There was a real crowd of interesting individuals that hung around including Greek whom wore glasses so thick you couldn't see his eyes and always had a cigar clenched in his teeth that was rarely lit. I think he ate them as opposed to smoking them.
There was Cecil (Greeks brother, who was forever the butt of jokes), BK Barrow (the largest man I had ever seen, he weighed over 300 lbs), and Mr Ocean ( a black man that was losing his pigment and was, for the most part, the definition of that Richard Pryor character "Mudbone"). Of course, Daddy and Uncle Dusty added to the colorful characters that always made up the diversity of the crowd in there and it was magical to sit and listen to them talk of the things I had no understanding of. They talked about town news, politics, social issues and racing......lots of racing talk! BK Barrow owned a race car and Tommy Bostick drove that blue number 33 car for BK, and the race shop/garage was incorporated into one end of the Ice Plant. I loved nothing better than when Mr BK would let me go in the garage, and allow me to sit inside that car. I would marvel at the padded roll cage, the padded steering wheel, the sparse instrumentation and the row of toggle switches that had (to me) mysterious functions. I would imagine myself leading the pack at Dillon Speedway, throwing dust in the air as I went sliding out of turn four to take the checkered flag, and get to kiss the trophy girl!
As we three Johnson boys came along and reached the age that Daddy could take us out into the world, he would haul us up to the Ice Plant to introduce us to his social group. Wallace was the first, and whenever he was taken there he liked those Jack's cookies that were in the huge jars situated by the cash register. The Greek would give him one every time Daddy carried him in, and like Pavlov's dog he automatically asked "Cookie? Cookie?" upon every visit. When I became of age I liked those Lance peanut butter crackers and, like Wallace, I begged for a treat except I said "Cracker? Cracker?"
When Matt finally reached the point of introduction Daddy carried him up there to meet the gang. Greek took one look at Matt and exclaimed "Aw Hell, Jackie.....that boy is nothing but a crumb!" The die was cast, and the rest is history. We three boys were forever "Cookie, Cracker and Crumb". Greek referred to us by those names up until our adulthood and to his death. They were names we took honor in! Have a rice day, y'all!