Sitting outside an old country store somewhere between the real world and what used to be sat an old wrinkled man in a swing, straw hat on his head, tobacco chew in his lower lip with a tin coffee cup for the waste. He had his legs crossed sort of funny; I could tell that the age of his body made him feel uncomfortable. I could almost feel his back as it ached. As I got out of my car an old hound dog moved slowly to the old man’s side. Above the old man was on old tin Coca Cola sign mostly rusted away by time. I stopped for a moment and looked at the old store front. It must have been a vintage from somewhere around the turn of the twentieth century. As I passed by the old man on the bench, I nodded my head and the old man reached up for his old ***** straw hat and tipped the front of it slightly. He having greeted me in his way as I had greeted him with mine. I pushed on the old wooden screen door to hear its spring stretch and the hinges creak and after I entered I failed to catch the screen door and I shuttered as it slammed shut. Above me was an old silent ceiling fan whispering out a slow gyrating motion as it passed down the air around me. A peaceful majestic feeling came over me. Looking around the store I saw no glass fronted coolers, thirst was why I had stopped. “Do you have any soda’s?” I asked the lady behind the counter.
“Sho do,” she replied , “They’s over thare.” I looked to where she was pointing, it was like a big long flat freezer, painted red with several silver stainless doors on top of it and Coca-Cola embossed on it’s front. Arriving at the freezer I opened the lid and looked inside. “Jest’ put yer money in the box,” the feminine hillbilly voice continued.
On the front of the box and on each side of the box it had a hand written note which read, “Please Put .06 Cents Here.” ‘Six cents,” I thought – surely I must have gone back in time.” I asked, “How much are the sodas?”
To which she replied, “They be just six cents.” I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out my change, located six pennies and put them through the slot in the box. Then I looked back into the cooler to find that the only choice was Coca Cola inside. I took one and opened it up and took a big swig.
Walking back to the counter I asked the lady, “ How in the world can you afford to sell a soda for just six cents?”
She answered me with, “Well, did ya see Uncle Hap on the front porch?”
“The old man with the straw hat?” I asked.
“Yep, dat be Uncle Hap, go ask him how he can afford to sell a Coke for jest six cents.”
Interested, I walked back under the old ceiling fan and through the squeaking door. The old man had his hat pulled low on his eyes. “Sir,” I began, “I have a question to ask you.”
“Yes sir, sonny, and jest what be yer question?” he answered tilting his hat back high on his head.
“Well sir, just how do plan to make a living selling a coke for just six cents?”
The old man smiled and said, “That’s an easy one son, I ain’t a plannin to make any money offen them thar cokes.” I know I must have had a puzzled look on me but before I could inquire more he continued, “Has yer ever mined for gold?”
“No, I’m afraid not, sir,” I replied wondering what that had to do with the price of a coke.
The old man continued, “Well yer see Sonny, when yo be a minin, yer works real hard sometimes. You see, yer digs and digs and digs some more day after day – sometimes not seeing anything but more dirt but once in a while you be a finding jest a little bit a ore. Then ya comes back da next day and yer dig some more.” More confused than ever I sat down beside the old man in the swing taking another drink of my six cent Coke. He continues, “Trouble is yer see, you get hooked on that little taste a ore. It jest keeps ye a comin back fer more.”
Finally I had to ask, “But what does all this have to do with the price of coke?”
'Hold on sonny. I’m a gettin to that part but yer see yer got to hear da whole story.” I sat back in the swing deciding that maybe I’d just let the old man do his thing. “Now yer see, it was about 1920 I reckon when ever dis here young fellow come by dis here store a sellin this new fangled thing he called stock. Now he wanted me to buy some stock in dis here company he was a promotin. I was a minin at da time a-course and I’d just hit it a little lucky that week and I had some xtree money in me pocket. So fer five hunerd dollars, a whole lots a cash back den, I buyed a 1000 shares of that thar boys stock.” The old man then looked me in the eyes with a big smile on his face. “Yer see sonny, I works hard all my life a digging holes in the ground most times not seeing nuttin atall but I jest keeped on a diggin. I must say I always did believe that even if’n I fount no gold at all at least at the end of every day I could sit back and see whar I’d been. But yer jest never knows whar that real gold is. Sometimes yer find it in the strangest of places. Well sonny, I’z figures that 100 shares of stock musta split no less than 25 times since 1920. So yer see, I be one them whatcha might call million dollar aires. So don’t you fret that head o urin over’n what I charge fer that thare coke cola yer a drinkin. Matter of fact, if’n yer wants to, why don’t you go right back inside and buy yerself a whole **** case. Yer see, thar’s gold in them thare bottles. Yep, gold I tell ya. That 100 shares of Coca Cola stock sho was a golden God send. And wid me bein da onliest one a chargin just six cents a pop, well you can be one – o – da lucky ones to find soma dat gold. Who knows, the whole **** vein might be a sittin right side ya right now. You jest never knows. Just keep on a digging, Sonny. At least you can see whar ya been.”
The old man smiled as he turned to wave at a car as it passed by.
Me, I guess I’ll just keep on digging. But you know what? The old man was right. The gold is all around us. So if you ever find this place where soda’s are just six cents, well maybe it isn’t gold but believe me, the gold is all around you too.
Jest keep on a digging. At least yer can see whar ya been.
I love to sit down with people older than myself and listen to them tell me about their life. I am always amazed at how much different (and the same) our experiences can be (or think they are) when only a few decades are the mark by which we gauge those differences. In this piece I hope to be able to capture "Hap's" personality as well as his beautiful story as well as let the reader listen in on 'our' conversation on his view on life. I hope that you enjoy it.