By Dr. Curtis Varnell
Early morning and the sun was just peeking through clouds in the east. A beautiful morning, like so many other Arkansas days. Patterson’s 22 café was abuzz, voices raised in a crescendo of sound from each of the packed tables arrayed on the hard tile floor of the café. Smokey tendrils drifted upward from scattered ashtrays, joining with the delicious odors of frying bacon, fresh biscuits, and scrambled eggs.
Solving the world’s problems was the business of the day and various of the gentlemen waxed eloquent on topics arranging from Nixon’s impeachment to why our team lost Friday’s football game. A daily occurrence, it was morning coffee and gossip time in my hometown and in many others scattered across the South.
Not only did the men like sharing the latest of news, they enjoyed the practice of picking at each other and playing pranks on their best friends. The more extravagant the prank, the more enjoyment for the crew and the more fun in the sharing of the exploit in the coming days, months, and years. “Yonder comes Woodrow,” one of the men blurted with a gleam in his eye. I knew something was up. Woodrow was one of the regulars. A large, stout truck-driver and a known prankster, he stopped by most mornings to begin his day. Woodrow stomped in, cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth, and seated himself at one of the tables. Taking off his cowboy hat, he threw it upside down on the floor beside his chair and began holding court.
One of his friends, seated directly behind him and feasting on pancakes, used the remainder of his syrup bottle to quietly fill Woodrow’s hat. A half-hour or so later, Woodrow was in a hurry to get to work. Still talking, he grabbed his hat and smashed it onto his head. Immediately, a brown torrent of Karo syrup cascaded over his head and washed over his shoulders. Some of the gooey liquid found its way down the length of the cigar and dripped from the stale ashes onto the floor. Speechless and furious, Woodrow exited the café to the howls of the crowd within.
Just one of many pranks originating in the café, one had to be careful of your actions because paybacks were heck. One morning the crew placed a broken class decal over the windshield of a friends’ vehicle. Looking exactly like a shattered glass, the pranksters even placed some broken glass and a rock on the dash. When the customer exited the café and glimpsed his vehicle, he was thoroughly convinced someone had thrown a rock through his windshield. Without a thorough examination, he ran back into the café and reported it to the local police. While he made the call, his prankster friend removed the rock and decal. The local police, in on the prank, arrived in minutes with lights flashing. The gentleman was certainly amazed and embarrassed to discover that his window was undamaged and none of his friends would collaborate his story about the damage he had seen previously.
So many stories, so little space in which to tell them!!! The group once sat up a Grit newspaper stand for Bentley Allen to subsidize his low teaching salary and to provide enough money for him to pay for his breakfast. The group arranged for a local deputy known for sleeping on the job to have his car, with him in it, rolled out into the middle of highway 22 while he was on night duty. He awoke the next morning with cars circling on either end of his vehicle, parked on the center-line of highway 22.
An early morning visit to the Dinner Bucket, Mel’s Highway 10, Old South in Russellville, the Charbroiler in Waldron, or Workman’s in Ozark and you can still see the continuation of this tradition. A part of Southern life, men still meet to enjoy coffee and conversation. As a friendly reminder, watch your back-side if you’re a frequent visitor!!
