Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

By Lloyd Albritton

Columnist

Peas and Potlicker! “Mama, get Brother Albritton a plate,” Mr. Jake told Ms. Bessie. “We are just plain poor folks around here,” he insisted. “We ain’t got much, just some biscuits and tomato gravy, and maybe some peas and potlicker, but we’re thankful to the Lord for what we got and we want to share it with you.”
Paul was at the house that day, as we had planned. Older sister, Thelma (called “Sis” by family and friends) and Ms. Bessie were there as well. We sopped some tomato gravy together with some warm biscuits that were still soft while visiting together at the kitchen table, with Mr. Jake doing most of the talking, never inquiring as to the reason for my unexpected visit. Mr. Jake soon launched into a flattering dissertation on the achievements of the younger generation. “Yessir,” he bloviated, “you boys have all done real good with yourselves. Ya’ll have done got that education and that’s what counts the most. Y’know, they can’t take that away from you. That’s the reason why I sent Paul off to college, so he could come back here and help me and Mama understand things here on the farm.”
Then he segued into a story that was on his mind about a recent visit to his farm by a young agent from the State Department of Agriculture. “This young feller came by the other day to show me and Paul how to plow our terraces to keep our land from washing away,” he went on. “I listened to what he was telling me, Brother Albritton, but what he was saying just didn’t make sense. I didn’t disagree with him, of course, because I knew he had that college education and everything and he knew a whole lot more about farming than I did. After he left though, I told Paul to just go ahead and plow them terraces like I showed him and that’s what we did. Well sir, a couple of months later that young feller came out and looked at them terraces me and Paul had plowed and said, ‘Mr. Hollingsworth, your land is draining off just fine. It’s a good thing I came out here and showed y’all how to plow them terraces.’ I didn’t say a word about me and Paul doing it our own way because I knew that young feller was a whole lot smarter than me, but I don’t believe he was any smarter than Paul. I sent Paul off to college over in Mississippi, y’see, and …”
And Mr. Jake just continued right on telling one story after another, each story clearly illustrating how “Dumb Old Uneducated Jake Hollingsworth” had outsmarted another young whippersnapper from the government with a college education. But, of course, each story ended with a confession of how ignorant Mr. Jake considered himself to be. A Bible-believing Christian to the core, Mr. Jake was determined to be a humble man.
Finally, with the evening slipping away, I decided to jump in and push forward with my sales pitch, so I said to him, “Y’know, Mr. Jake, a lot of older folks like yourself who have worked hard their whole lives to build a valuable estate are facing an estate tax problem that can take all that away from their children after they have died.”
Mr. Jake immediately responded, “Oh, I think I have all that taken care of, Brother Albritton, but I want to hear what you have to tell me on that because you young people sure do know a whole lot more than I do about it than me and Mama do.” He jumped up out of his chair and started barking orders to the family to move into the living room by the heater “so Brother Albritton can teach us some things about farming.” I had an ominous feeling that I was in trouble. “Mama! Sis! Paul! Let’s all get in here by the fire where we can stay warm while Brother Albritton teaches us.”
We moved into the living room and gathered around the little gas space heater, but no sooner had we taken our seats and settled in than Mr. Jake picked up right where he had left off at the kitchen table with another story about how “dumb old Mr. Jake Hollingsworth” had accidentally done something real smart. Finally, Paul impatiently jumped up out of his chair and took control of the conversation. “Daddy,” Paul said vociferously, “let me tell you what I think. I think you and Mama have worked hard all your lives to acquire all this land and when you die there’s going to be a lot of taxes for us to pay or we’re going to lose it. Now I don’t have any money to pay taxes and neither do the others, so, I propose that all of us children figure out a way to buy some life insurance on you and Mama so that when y’all die we’ll be able to pay those taxes and keep this land in the family.”
Paul had no sooner finished his statement when Mr. Jake literally came emotionally unglued. He leapt up out of his chair and started screaming at Paul, “INSURANCE? INSURANCE? PAUL, HAVE YOU DONE GONE CRAZY? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? I DON’T WANT TO HEAR NOTHING ABOUT NO INSURANCE. MY PAPA BOUGHT SOME INSURANCE ONE TIME FROM A SALESMAN THAT CAME AROUND AND THAT BASTARD TURNED OUT TO BE NOTHING BUT A CROOK. IF AN INSURANCE SALESMAN EVER COMES ON MY PLACE I’LL BE GETTING MY SHOTGUN AND THAT BASTARD CAN GO DOWN YONDER WAY OR HE CAN GO THE OTHER WAY, BUT THAT SON OF A BITCH HAD BETTER BE GETTING OFF MY PROPERTY OR HE’LL BE PICKING NUMBER ONE BUCKSHOT OUT OF HIS A** UNTIL THE LORD COMES!”
“B-B-But, Daddy . . . . . ,” Paul stammered.
“PEAS AND POTLICKER, PAUL! PEAS AND POTLICKER!” Mr. Jake screamed, as he waved his arms and literally jumped up and down on the living room floor in his rage. “DON’T BUY NO INSURANCE, PAUL! DON’T BUY NO STOCKS! BUY LAND! BUY LAND, PAUL! A MAN WITH LAND WILL ALWAYS HAVE PEAS AND POTLICKER TO EAT! THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO LIVE, PAUL, IS PEAS AND POTLICKER!”
Well, the room got real quiet and pretty soon Mr. Jake got himself calmed down and sat back down in his rocking chair. Finally, he turned to me and said, “Now, Brother Albritton, what else did you want to teach us?”
I sheepishly replied, “Nothing at all, Mr. Jake. Nothing at all. I just wanted to stop by and pay you folks a visit, but I have to go now. It’s getting late.”
I quickly said goodbye to the family and Mr. Jake invited me to come back anytime. He said he was always eager to learn new things from the younger generation. Mr. Jake never knew that I was there to sell him insurance and I was glad I didn’t get that far into my sales pitch or I might be picking Number One buckshot out of my skinny buttocks to this day. But, on the other hand, maybe Mr. Jake understood more than I thought, and had just outsmarted one more overeducated young whippersnapper.