The Curious Concrete Block

I was recently in the drive through at Hardee’s and noticed a concrete curb that had obviously absorbed many impacts as evidenced by the gouges in the top of it, and chuckled. The crevices reminded me of the curious event of a Monday morning in 1981, the evidence of which still stands. It was a monument to teenage boredom, youthful pursuits and foolhardy behavior and few know the true story of its interesting relocation. I’ve illustrated quite often that Bennettsville, SC was bereft of opportunity for teenagers to blow out the pressure that builds when the fire of desire boils the brain into action; a generation of steam heat that was, according to The Ramones, the impetus for a hot new dance called the Blitzkrieg Bop. Hey ho, let’s go! The following events add legitimacy to the preceding statement and tell the tale of teen angst in small southern towns.

We arrived at Bennettsville High School after dropping Matt and Suzanne Taylor’s little sister Twig off at Bennettsville Junior High School, and immediately noticed a crowd gathering around something in the parking lot. I swung the Plymouth Volare around, threw the gear selector into “Park” and headed over to see what was gathering attention. Suzanne and I walked up and the crowd shifted just enough that I was able to see the object of so much focus…it was a big concrete block, about three feet square and four feet long. Leading away from this block that weighed well in excess of five hundred pounds was a trench of plowed dirt that stretched to the paved road leading into the student parking lot. The block was planted firmly in the center of the student lot and was as popular with the students as the Monolith was for those Apes in 2001: A Space Odyssey. As we wondered aloud where it may have come from the bell rang, and as we filed in to go to homeroom, I saw Larry Griggs with a grin on his face that could be described as the visage of a feline after consuming an avian typically used to test atmospheric conditions in Bitumen extrication processes.

All through the day the halls and classes buzzed with wild theories as to the appearance of the monolith. It was a mystery, an enigma; a phenomenon known only in its manifestation of dislocation. It was certainly out of place yet oddly familiar, like that of the serendipity of finding a lost book while searching for missing glasses. Some thought it had fallen off a truck and skidded to a stop while others posited the supposition that it had fallen from space and burned into this shape. Most of us knew better, as the four big threaded rods buried in one end and electrical conduit attached to it tattled on its former existence and when school dismissed the scrape mark was followed to obtain a clue as to the beginnings of the mystery.

The furrow of dirt became a bright white scrape on the black asphalt of Cheraw Street and it continued south towards Crooked Creek, and turned left on Market Street after passing over the bridge and past BB Sanders 66 service center. It delineated itself up Market Street as a white trail of mischief, seemingly mocking the Marlboro County Courthouse as it circled the Courthouse square and went up Broad Street, leaving some chunks of concrete at the railroad tracks as evidence of its unsolicited relocation. At the intersection of Broad Street and the 15-401 Bypass the scrape turned left and proceeded nearly one mile to the Kress parking lot, where the concrete pillar that supported a light pole that had been removed after Joey Howland hit it doing donuts in that bad Vega with the V8 engine was missing from where it had been last week, and the scrape led to that exact point!

The perpetrator, whom shall remain nameless was one of our own. He had gotten an awesome Toyota four-wheel drive truck for his 16th birthday, and a Saturday night challenge made by a Louisiana transplant named Jim DuMolt led to the pillar being chained to the truck and dragged with extreme prejudice and wild brazenness through the streets of Bennettsville to its final resting spot. Interestingly, it has spent more than three decades in its spot of relocation after spending only one in service. Your destination is important and may not be where you think it is, and the journey is worthy of a celebration. Have a Rice Day, y’all!