The Great Chili Incident

It was in April of 1985 when Mama, Daddy,Matt and myself drove up to Columbia for the wedding of my second cousin Mims Cave and Ron Rust. It was a beautiful service held at Shandon United Methodist Church on Devine Street and was attended by quite a few colorful characters. Mims was very active in the Theater Arts scene in Columbia and quite a few of her friends and acquaintances from that world were there. My older brother Wallace and my first cousin Harold Stubbs were a part of the wedding party, serving as Groomsmen for the affair and both of them were fidgety and nervous as both of their respective matrimonial ceremonies were a mere eight weeks away from this moment.

As we walked up to the steps leading into the vestibule, Harold came breathlessly running out to greet us. "Uncle Jackie, thank God you are here!" he exclaimed in a bit of a panic. "This place is filled to the brim with, well, a bunch of 'sweet fellas', if you catch my drift" he explained with a wild look on his face. He continued "I think about five of them have been staring at my butt because I felt it start to tingle and I sure need some back up in there in case it gets out of hand!" Harold was a pretty big boy and had inherited his Mother's physique. Aunt Connie, his Mother and my Daddy's sister had a backside that was epic! It was her defining physical trait and the butt of many family jokes, pardon the pun, please! Daddy roared in laughter and reassured Harold that since he had arrived everything would be okay. "Son", Daddy said, "You don't have to worry about a thing now that I am here. Once they see me they will forget all about you and start gushing over my handsome appearance!"

It was always a laugh riot whenever Daddy and Harold hooked up. The Johnson family was huge....there were eleven kids born to George Whitfield Johnson and Nettie Puckett Johnson, six girls and five boys. The Johnsons were a wild bunch that loved jokes, pranks and each other's company. We had an annual family reunion every Fourth of July at Daddy's sister Lena and her husband Dr. Jim Danner's lake house and those reunions were quite an affair, to say the least! It was pure comedy gold with that crowd of pranksters and jokers, and few things were as funny as the interplay between Daddy, Connie, Lena and Harold. Our sides ached from laughter when Sunday rolled around, and we would grin the entire two and one half hour return trip to Bennettsville.

The service went off without a hitch, and it was a beautiful service complete with an operatic solo performance by one of the lisping Thespians, a string quartet of classical music and a very colorful cast of wedding party participants with Wallace and Harold standing out like Hank and Bubba in a lineup of chorus girls. Mims, with her lacy Battenburg veil adorned with a spray of Baby's Breath and lengthy semi-Cathedral train; and the beautiful Ballerina gown with a prominent flounce and Empire corset of Charmeuse adorned with appliques and Pearl Beading was absolutely stunning as a bride, despite her also displaying the Johnson trait of the big behind; and Ron was stunningly handsome in his tuxedo which was complimented by the Grey Stroller tuxedos that the Groomsmen wore.

After the string quartet had sawn their cello, violins and viola; and the operatic soloist had shaken the rafters with his performance of "Du Bist die Ruh" and the vows recited Mr. and Mrs. Ron Rust were presented as "Man and Wife". What followed was one of the most epic performances of the night. Everyone was invited to the "Top of Columbia" Restaurant that is atop Capstone on the campus of the University of South Carolina for a reception. We loaded up and made the sixteen block journey to Capstone, arriving in style in that Buick LeSabre "Land Yacht" that would take three of us on a journey to Washington in just about twelve months. It was a swanky affair with a jazz combo providing some smooth music for dancing, lots of haute cuisine for our dining pleasure and an open bar. Matt and I decided it wasn't exactly our scene so we decided instead to go seek out an old pal from my one glorious year as a student at USC, Mr. Randy Mothershed of Camden, SC. We excused ourselves and wandered over to Preston dormitory where we found ole Mothershed entertaining guests and offering a potent version of "PJ" in a number ten washtub in the middle of his dorm room.

Matt and I visited with Mothershed and his guests for an hour or so, having a grand old time reliving exploits from the Fall '83 and Spring '84 terms at the University of South Carolina and sampling the fine potion that he had prepared in the number ten washtub that occupied most of the space in the middle of the dorm. You could always tell how good a batch of "PJ" was by the amount of detritus present in the washtub and this particular batch had, in addition to half-submerged Solo cups and various sections of citrus fruits a tattered USC baseball cap, four Bic lighters, two golf balls and a pitching wedge that was being used by his roommate "Up" Chuck Thornton to properly agitate the slurry into a drinkable viscosity. "Up" Chuck was a Chemical Engineering student and was working on a dissertation entitled "Determining the Specific Gravity and Boiling Point Rise in Grain Alcohol Suspensions" and he was concentrating intently on his research.

After a fine ninety minute observation of the project and much discussion we bid our farewells and adieus to the fair Spanish maidens in attendance, shook hands with the research team of Thornton and Mothershed, and proceeded shakily out of Preston in the general direction of Capstone. When we arrived what we witnessed can only be described as unbelievable! The reception was closing, and the party was spilling out the revolving restaurant and into the parking lot of Capstone. Daddy and Harold had been in the sauce and they were having themselves the largest of large times! Mama was absolutely mortified at the behavior of Daddy which was plainly evident in the pursed lips and dagger eyes she was exhibiting. Daddy and Harold were the "Life of the Party" and had there been lamp shades available they would certainly have adorned them as crowns to celebrate and signify their status as "Royalty of the Rust Reception".

Down in the parking lot Mama had, by this time, had absolutely enough of Daddy's behavior. "Jackie", she hissed, "Go sit in the car, you're drunk!" Daddy wheeled around, eyebrows raised and with an expression best described as a "Likker Face" slurred "now jush hole on a minnit! If I wash drunk, could I do thish?" With that he pivoted on one foot, toed a stripe for a parking space and proceeded to walk the line as if performing a field sobriety test for a stone-faced State Trooper. He heel-toed that line as perfect as you please while saying "Boogity Boogity Boogity", then heeled around at the end with a flourish and did the "Boogity Boogity Boogity" chant on the return trip. Harold nearly hit the pavement in a fit of laughter and joined in, both of them stepping the line and chanting "Boogity Boogity Boogity" in a hilarious state of inebriated bliss. Dear old Moms wasn't too impressed with their hotfooted antics and grew more incensed with each "Boogity". "Jackie, in the car NOW!" Mama commanded. "You are drunk and creating a scene!" Mama was furious and Harold tried to calm her. "Aunt Sootie" he began, "We ain't drunk, we just drinking!" which prompted he and Daddy to break into a vocal performance of the old Albert Collins song. "But you so hiiiiiiiigh, yes you so hiiiiigh! You so high, stay drunk all the tiiiiime!" they shouted, over and over. Mama couldn't take it any longer and quietly walked to the car and sat down with "that" look on her face and stared straight ahead.

We finally coaxed and cajoled Daddy away from the scene and into the backseat of the Land Yacht where Matt was tasked with keeping him safe. I slid behind the steering wheel while Mama sat speechless, not daring to make eye contact with any of us. I could see that fire roaring behind her eyes as little wisps of smoke emanated from her ears. Mama was NOT happy!

I navigated the Buick over to Assembly Street to make our way to Gervais Street where I could pick up 277 for a quick trip to Interstate 20 which would get us back home. Daddy was giddy, cracking jokes and singing while good ole Moms remained silent in a state of seething fury. We passed a Wendy's and Daddy spied it; like a moth to a flame he couldn't resist. "Pull in, I'm hungry!" he mumbled. Matt and I were hungry as well, for we had forsaken the haute cuisine to participate in Mothershed and Thornton's dissertation on Grain Alcohol and I wheeled the Buick into the parking lot. Mama stayed behind as the three of us went in, and Daddy ordered chili. "Daddy, you better not eat chili" warned Matt. "You are gonna get sick and then Mama really will have your number!" Daddy was intent on eating chili, and ordered a bowl with a bunch of crackers to go with it.

There was a low brick wall out behind that Wendy's and Daddy sat upon it, looking for all the world like Humpty Dumpty with a googley look in his eyes. One thing that I have learned in life is that being stoned drunk beyond the age of fifty isn't a good look on anyone. He slowly and methodically ate the entire bowl, pausing to blow on every spoonful and cool it down. Of course he had peppered it up and added some hot sauce, and the sweat was beginning to bead up on his brow giving him the appearance of a man exiting a swimming pool. He ate the entire large bowl of chili and most of a Frosty until he clumsily knocked it off the wall and it ended up as an abstract stain on the pavement. With that, he decided it was time to return to the car so he stumbled off the wall and staggered to the car where Moms still sat, staring straight ahead and stewing like a teakettle about to explode.

We made it about seven or eight blocks when Daddy said something that sounded like "pool hover". I asked for clarification of his request as we pulled up to a traffic light that had turned red. Daddy didn't repeat his request; he flung open the back door, leaned out and proceeded to barf all of the chili and most of the Frosty out onto Assembly Street. It made a most disturbing sound, kind of like someone pouring a bucket of water onto a sidewalk and accompanied that with the most horrible wretching I have ever heard. Mama never uttered a peep nor did she ever break her steely stare. She sat in simple silence, staring into space. Daddy repeated his performance two more times on Gervais Street and passed out on 277 before we reached Interstate 20.

It wasn't necessarily a silent ride home as Matt and Daddy were both passed out and snoring but it was without conversation. I was afraid to utter even a peep and Mama never broke her stare. We arrived at 105 South Cook Street and Mama exited the car and went in the house to prepare for bed without even once attempting to rouse Daddy. Matt and I woke him up and helped him in the house where he took a spot on the couch after kicking off his shoes and doffing his sweat-soaked dress shirt.

It was pretty tense for a few days following that caper and I never heard Mama nor Daddy talk about that night. I have often wondered how the reconciliation took place, if it even happened or did it just kind of vanish into a memory. One thing is for sure, Daddy didn't touch a drop for many years following that night!