Flop County Follies

Here in Flop County, Constable Beauregard (Pronounced: Boo-regard) Johnson McDaniels is all that stands between international terrorism and the good citizens. "Boo John," as the locals call him, uses the county helicopter for nighttime deer hunting with the infrared sniper scope provided by The Department Of Homeland Security. "You let dem deer over populate and first thang you know they's blockin da road in a dang mergency," Boo John laughs as he pounds laughing county commission Pete Pyle on the back during a social hour at the Flop County Masonic Lodge.

Flop County was named for legendary Civil War personality Major Audacious Flop whose name has become synonymous with operations resulting in less than successful conclusions. The most famous landmark in the county is also the oldest continuously operated hotel in the state. The Flop House has housed travelers since before the Civil War. A franchising scheme designed to put a Flop House in every major city during the 80's was less than successful for reasons still perplexing to the local investors.

Bubba Bodine has the talk show during morning drive on the local 1000 watt FM blowtorch. Bubba also disguises his cigarette crafted voice and serves as the station traffic reporter and pretends to report from a helicopter. Few 50 year old men can pull off being known as "Bubba" without looking foolish. He is no exception. His real name is Barry and he often refers to his military service as proof of his patriotism. "I fought fer that Bill of Right an' I din get my butt (or sometimes leg, arm, hip, head or shoulder) shot up so someone can criticize my government or its leaders and I'll be damned if they'll do it on my program—unless they're talkin' 'bout a liberal."

This same radio station features a weekend show called "Obituary Radio" where people can report local deaths over the air. There are long periods of real dead air when no callers call in their reports. Speaking of dead air, the station engineer routinely misses the pick up of satellite feeds of syndicated shows—sometimes for as long as 15 or 20 minutes. At other times he manages to broadcast a satellite news report or commentary at the same time as he broadcasts the regular program. You get two shows for the price of one and it is so garbled that you get just what you're paying for. Sunday features wall to wall religious broadcasting. Sunday morning used to feature a one hour show where the son of the station owner did card tricks on the radio. You could just imagine local people huddled around their radio in amazement as one trick after another was broadcast! The program had to be moved to Saturday morning when the religious folk complained about card playing on Sunday. It is a pretty decent lead in to Obituary Radio.

The college also discovered 87% of local residents favored the display of the Ten Commandments in all public places and government buildings as long as they were in their original form and language from the King James Version. Pastor Jimmy Jacklag of the Mt. Of Blessing Baptist Church (larger than all local churches with the exception of The Flop Gathering Of God main congregation) sums up the feeling of his congregation this way: "The good Lahd wrote it down just like we got it and we got the guns to see it gits forced. He's a good god but he can be jealous. There ain't never been no abortion done in a clinic what got the Ten Commandments displayed in the lobby. Do them gays what got married in Boston read the Ten Commandments at their wedding? Of course not, not when it says right there that the homersexual is sin."

Football is king in Flop County. On a typical Friday night thousands of fans can be seen heading toward Community Stadium, home of The Flop County High School Rebels. Grown men greet each other with loud, shrill rebel yells and point fingers in pistol mimicking motions while chanting: "Who dey think gonna beat dem Rebels?" Flop Schools have fifteen elementary schools and five junior highs scattered around the large county but they maintain one huge high school in order to keep the football team in the top Class One-X of the enrollment based state athletic association classification system. In a progressive move, the Flop School Board maintains a system of county wide units of the Senior High which are located in different neighborhoods designed to maintain a cultural "identity" for the various ethnic groups served by the system. Of course promising athletes enjoy early release and a daily bus trip to the main training facility. Flop won the state championship in 1961, '70 and again in '89. Judging by the results of my interviews, there must have been somewhere in excess of 450 men who played in each championship game. Half of them made a game saving play. Football is of such value to the reputation of a family that parents have been known to demand schools retain their students in earlier grades so that they will be more physically mature to compete in high school.

If football is king, politics would not be far behind as a spectator sport in the white parts of Flop County. The county is home to what locals call the Blue Tick Democrat. Basically, a Blue Tick Democrat is a registered Democrat who votes a straight Republican ticket in national and state wide elections. One might ask why they don't simply switch their registration. The simple answer is tradition. Youngsters still grow up being told about the evils of Abraham Lincoln and his Republican carpet bagging Northerners. When questioned, several local people recounted promises they made to their death bed bound parents and/or grandparents to "never become a Republican or marry a Yankee." To make it in Flop politics one is best served to be a registered Democrat but be endorsed by the Republican party. Of course individuals choosing to run for a national office or a state wide position will generally schedule a press conference where they will announce their switch to the Republican Party. "I do this with a heavy heart but I am consoled by the thought that I haven't deserted the Democratic Party, it has deserted me," was the way a teary eyed Robert "Bobby" Snopshield explained his move on the night he announced his candidacy for the US Congress. Known simply as "Snop" to his circle of God fearing buddies, Snopshield cited flag burning, abortion and gay marriage as an axis of evil (he called it an "axel" of evil) that would be the major target of his tenure in Congress. Sweating heavily while holding court in the fellowship hall of Burning Bush Baptist Church, he spent almost five hard breathing minutes recounting the evil mechanics of "men lying with men as with a woman." When asked if he would concentrate on family values during the campaign he responded, "Yes sir, they can take my gun when they pry my cold dead fingers off'n it."

Southern men have the infuriating habit of saying "Yes ma'am/yes sir" or "No ma'am/no sir" in situations where you know they don't mean to be respectful. You get the idea they believe they can tell the biggest lie and get away with it with a polite "yes ma'am/no ma'am." It drips of almost a politician's saccharine phoniness. A workmen will come to your house and make a bid on some work.

"Yes ma'am. But that's about what it costs here, I've actually given you a low estimate."

The "yes ma'am" also disguises the existence of almost a Third World work ethic. Work often begins just before Noon in situations where workmen are to come to a private home. The only liberal thing in Flop County is the lunch break which is often interrupted by the need to start packing up the tools for the day. A one day completion estimate actually means at least three or four days. If someone gives you an acceptable bid and says: "We'll get it started Monday" you can plan on Wednesday...unless the weather is (or looks) bad.

The answering machine is a godsend for Flop County "craftsmen." Apparently the return call is optional here. When shopping be aware that when a business advertises its hours as 9 to 6 this is taken seriously only by newly relocated shoppers. The whole county seems to run on its own version of flex time. "Starting at 9" means the employees begin pulling into the parking lot at 9 or reasonably thereafter. Most Flop County businesses could out source to Bangladesh and not miss a beat.

Flop Countians have developed the excuse for not showing up to work into an art form. My two favorites were presented by a tree surgeon and a roofing contractor. The tree guy promised he'd attend to our work the "first thing" on Sunday. "Right after church," was how he put it. "I may work on Sunday but I always see that the Lord is honored," was how he further assured me he'd fulfill his promise. Of course he didn't show up or call. I called him the next day and he apparently made the mistake of answering his cell phone instead of allowing it to go safely and conveniently to message. His excuse for not showing up? "I was finishing up a job on Sunday and was working alone when an enraged raccoon wouldn't allow me to climb out of the tree. The dang thing had me trapped for three hours." I asked him if he was coming today to complete his work and he said: "Well, I broke my climbing shoe spike when I threw it at the raccoon and I'm waiting for a new one to be over nighted from the company that makes them. We never heard from him again.

The roofing guy was also excellent. The day after he failed to show up he finally returned my calls. It seems he was just going to drop off some debris when he arrived to find the dump on fire. He promised to find somewhere else to dump his load and be right over. Of course he never showed. He finally returned one of my calls the next day. His excuse? Priceless! It seems he was heading for my house when he spotted the fire department finishing up dousing a fire at a house along the highway. He stopped to organize an effort to collect clothes and belongings for the people who'd lost things in the fire. He never contacted us again. I'm worried that possibly his truck caught on fire the next day.

Flop Countians apparently don't consider it a lie if they simply say something that is untrue but could have been true. A large appliance repair company had a technician out to repair an appliance. He would have to get a part "back at the shop" but would be there first thing in the morning. He called in to make sure the part was available and his schedule was clear in the morning. He had a computer and small printer with which he presented me a receipt listing the next day and time for my appointment. By now you know he didn't show up and when I eventually talked to him he denied making the appointment. His supervisor was better. He told me that his man "may well have given you a date and time" but that doesn't mean he gave you an appointment!

Religion seems important to many contractors and business owners. Some are subtle—simply placing a "Jesus fish" on their business card, yellow pages ad or on the advertising signs on their truck. Presumably, you are thus part of some semi secret band of believers when you enter into a contract with Brother Bubba. For others it is a slightly harder sell. Billboards, business cards and ads will proclaim in big letters that the owner is a Christian or my personal favorites: "Jesus is my partner" and "Salvation spoken here". Many display a Bible on their cluttered dashboard. Jesus apparently requires that his partners and followers not return phone calls or notify a client if they've found a more lucrative job and won't be there to complete the work they've contracted with you. Just the other day my mailbox yielded a directory. The cover invited me to let my fingers do the walking through The Christian's Guide To Business In Flop County.

Joe Ray Major is the most visible politician in Flop County. Twice convicted of corruption and bribery, he has never had serious opposition in a political contest. A fiery but folksy orator, Major reminds some of Boss Hogg. Joe Ray currently holds a seat on the seven member county highway commission from his cell in the state penitentiary. The job pays $50,000 a year and nicely augments Joe Ray's main business. He owns Joe Ray's Drive-In Funeral Home Theater and it features the only drive in theater that by day doubles as a funeral home and chapel. Visitors can simply pull up to a speaker stand and listen to the service before being able to drive past and view the deceased. Somehow the highway commission saw fit last year to pave the entire drive in as well as a private gravel road leading to it. Thanks to a FEMA grant, Major has invested in some elaborate video equipment that allows him to show viewing of the deceased and real time funerals on the big screen (for a nominal charge) after dark except on Fridays and Saturdays which are the big nights for movies on the big screen.

The Dopkins Family are local legends. They've been tearing up and down the county roads since the days of moonshiners and the revenuers who chased them in the mythic days before stock car racing became mainstream. The Dopkins clan is known for their hot cars and disdain for speed limits. Young boys go into a shrill, breathless enthusiasm when they come of age bragging: "If you can't drive like the Dopkins stay out of their lane." The passing lane on local highways is called the Dopkins Lane even by local adults. There is a small dirt race track in the county and Hoss Dopkins and his boys have dominated the Saturday night races for years. Rumor has it that Hoss Jr. is also now the king of local cock fighters. Though illegal, it is said that these popular local sporting events draw even Constable McDaniels. Junior was a legendary driver until he lost the use of his legs and one arm in a wreck on the first lap of a race in which he was trying out for a position with a nationally recognized race team. He now tours the county in an electric wheelchair. Local kids have been heard saying: "Man have you seen Junior Dopkins, he's got to have the baddest wheelchair in the county!" Two other Dopkins "kin" have made contributions to the legend by fatally wrapping their autos around trees while racing on local highways. Everybody in Flop County seems to be a race fan. Most everyone has a decal or bumper sticker that displays the race car number and name of their favorite driver. Fights have been started among grown men over disrespecting someone's favorite driver. School yard taunts of things like: "Your dad likes Rusty Wallace" or "Jeff Gordon kin whup Kurt Busch's butt" have led to many a young bloody nose. There is a loosely organized local club called the Race Car Papas. These men meet frequently during local racing events to drink beer with their buddies, avoid contact with their wives and children and swear their allegiance to the Republican Party—a more organized group that shares their prejudices and sense of family values.

The automoble was introduced to Flop County in 1912. Apparently, it was a car with technology far ahead of the curve, so to speak. Old records frequently mention various Flop County notables driving in an "Alcohol Fueled Stupor." To this day, Flop Countians tend to ignore open container laws with the same resolve that results in the avoidance of seat belts and motorcycle helmets.

Shortly after moving here to Flop County I sought out a place to continue my practice of Yoga. Back in the North I found it to be a valuable source of relaxation. I found classes advertised in a local junior college adult recreation flyer and registered by mail for Intermediate Yoga. I arrived and parked next to a red Ford sedan plastered with several bumper stickers. Amid the usual flag decals and religious slogans I saw a sticker that read: "I don't care how you did it up north." Omens are funny things.

I took a position in the back and spread my mat. I began stretching as the gym filled. The instructor introduced herself and gave us some information about her background. She was a former Army sergeant and learned the basics of Yoga in various military rec centers. I started to get a little nervous. This is a military area with several armed forces establishments. The military influence is everywhere, apparently even among Yoga aficionados. She asked each of us for a name to check off on her list. I gave my name and it dawned on me I was the only man in the class.

"We usually don't get men taking Yoga." It was said in a way that indicated my manhood had been opened to debate.

"I'm sorry, back where I came from we always had a few men in the classes." Wrong answer.

The instructor gave me a forced grin of sorts and drew several head nods and grunts from the others when she said: "Honey, you need to read my bumper sticker." Things quickly deteriorated from there.

Unfortunately, we had already closed on our house when we read about the free exercise of religion in Flop County. Three young women made the mistake of taking out a small ad in the local paper. They wanted to form a coven and advertised for kindred spirits to meet with them one morning at a picnic spot they had reserved in a local park. They drew two new women for there meeting but the biggest surprise was the well organized gathering of Christian preachers and their followers. As the five women tried to share their beliefs with one another the Christians, some armed with bullhorns, circled the group in an unbroken ring to shout them down and disrupt the meeting by walking among them to preach loudly in their faces. The frightened women were followed to their cars by the shouting, bible waving mob. As people pounded on the cars of the departing women, a reporter asked Deputy Constable Wayne Putzman why he didn't intervene and he replied: "Those preachers got free speech too."

Judge Dorothy Cuthbait is a stickler for law and order and hard work. She earned her law degree through a correspondence course while working full time as a dispatcher for Constable McDaniels...a distant cousin. (Many people in the ruling elite of Flop County appear to be related. Actually, there is a suspicion that most long time residents are related. A sarcastic man might be tempted to say something about the local gene pool.) Judge Cuthbait was elected county judge on largely a bumper sticker campaign proclaiming that she is "pro flag, pro family and proudly pro police."

In her most celebrated case to date, she found a bewildered Charles Brown guilty on six counts of theft for passing six bad checks to local merchants. She sentenced him to the maximum six years in prison and repeatedly asked the prosecutor if there was any evidence Mr. Brown could have been carrying a weapon while passing his bad paper. (State law allows added penalties for using a weapon in the commission of a crime.) Mr. Brown was defended by public defender Raymond Johnson who argued unsuccessfully that his elderly client suffered from Alzheimer's and could neither read, write nor remember his name.

"He couldn't have written them your honor. As a matter of fact he is the victim of identity theft. I intend to show that he was not capable of opening the checking account from which..."

"With all due respect your honor, I have witnesses who will testify that the man who opened the account was a young white man and as your honor can clearly see, the defendant is an elderly black man."

"Race, race, race. It's always race with you people. You'll not play the race card in my court."

The mullet haircut is still the dominant coiffure for young men in Flop County. A few trendy older men still sport the mullet of their girl chasing days but older men tend to gravitate to something akin to a military cut although the flattop still has its devotees. One barbershop proudly sports a sign in the window: "This Ain't No Beauty Shop." I'd say that was a safe bet. Probably because of the military influence, you can sometimes go days without seeing a man in a beard.

If you ever have occasion to make the long boring journey across the Southern Coast from Florida to Texas, be sure to stop at Red's Diner off Interstate Highway 10 at the Flop County Landfill Exit. You will find this establishment to have some of the finest dining available from Florida across Southern Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and Texas. You'll also get a reminder of those wonderful days of traveling across America on Route 66. That was but one of the things brought up as I visited Red's.

Decor is simple and vintage 50's. Red has chosen off-white formica topped tables with stainless steel legs to carry out his 50s motif. Wooden chairs surround some of the tables. Your eyes are quickly taken to the curled fly paper strips that flutter and flap gently in the loud humming breeze of a more than adequate window air conditioning unit.

The ambiance is further heightened by sounds emanating from a small portable radio. It is a bit of chance taking as this part of America is often called "radio hell" because of the almost unlistenable quality of the local stations. They had a radio tuned to some sort of apparent talk show that featured a guy who repeatedly called himself something that sounded like "Rush" or "Russ." The illogical prattle seemed to please a few of the patrons so I will conclude it was some sort of parody or local absurdist theater. I must admit that at first I thought it was a skit from one of those syndicated comedy shows.

You'll want to study the hand lettered menus for daily specials. In my case, it prevented a serious faux pas as I was prepared to ask the red haired man at the stove if he was the "Red" for whom the restaurant was named. I motioned another customer to go first as I debated my options. He said: "Hey Blue, gimmee a hambuggah en' fraaas." It was spoken in that wonderful Southern Patois that is so reminiscent of the 60s civil rights resistance where stalwarts such as Faubus, Thurmond, Conner and Wallace stood bravely against the little girls and boys who threatened civilization with their desire to attend good schools.

I realized right away Blue was no stranger to the rigors of board of health inspections. He removed his well chewed cigar stub while managing to drop very few ashes before wiping his hands on his apron. He unwrapped what looked like a prime cut of a semi frozen square patty of a meat like item. Blue's been here before—he deftly scraped an open spot on the griddle before depositing the entree. Fries can be a tricky item for a chef but he had little trouble shaking loose a full serving from a heavy brown bag he took from the freezer. He quickly submerged his fry basket in the vat of roiling, sputtering fat while smoothly kicking an errant fry under the stove. Blue is obviously an animal lover.

I went with the Roast Beef and Potatoes Special and was not disappointed. The chef scraped himself another clean griddle spot and deposited a beautifully formed square frozen patty of the meat like item. I decided to check the menu for drink options while Blue reached for that familiar brown bag of potatoes to complete my order.

Red's has an interesting method of serving drinks. In a novel presentation that should become standard in the industry, patrons serve themselves from a chest style cooler containing a selection of colas and local favorites Mountain Dew and Dr. Pepper. I selected a Coke that was chilled to several degrees below room temperature and returned to the counter to be served my well cooked roast beef patty and crinkle cut potatoes. There was one long moment when Blue produced a ladle and grunted: "Groovy?" Surprised at hearing him say something so out of place but not wanting to create an incident, I responded: "It sure is." I'm now almost sure he may have been mumbling: "Gravy?" That explains the confused look on his face.

My particular meat serving was thoroughly cooked and produced little of the freezer burn aftertaste that made the potatoes so unique. It was probably the size of the meal (which was served with a firm slice of white bread and several green beans that had been gently sautéed well past al dente) that kept me from being able to finish everything on my plate. You can usually get yourself a filling meal for under five dollars unless you go with one of the pricier specials. Even at that, my bill came to just under $7. I certainly was served quite a bit more than I wanted and dessert was out of the question despite seeing a tantalizing cherry pie that sported what appeared to be several more raisins than I had previously noticed when I arrived. Interesting presentation!

Cooking at home is also pretty much not adventuresome in the area. No store stocks much in the way of Asian spices or foreign foods although a few vegetarian items are available. The bigger grocery outlets do all right on staples like bread, milk and anything made from hog parts but out of the mainstream items like orzo, falafel or steel cut oats are squeezed out so that 173 brands and styles of grits can be offered. I am reminded of the time I asked in a restaurant if there were any vegetarian entrees. The waitress patiently explained: "You won't find much vegetarian stuff here. This is a farming county you know." It's a shame they don't have one of those factories where they make those plastic soy beans. I once inquired of a grocery clerk in a large national chain in town: "Can you special order some cumin seed for me?" Clearly irritated, she shot back: "What do you need that for?" I didn't have the courage to tell her we were starting a cumin farm and needed seeds. Who knows, she may have called Homeland Security or the sheriff. The last thing I need is a helicopter circling my house looking for my illicit cumin patch.

The professions are quite visible in Flop County. Although there are only about 240,000 residents in the entire county, there are 112 pages of attorney ads in the local phone book. Apparently a large part of the local economy consists of people suing and counter suing one another. Most of the ads are placed by personal injury and product liability lawyers although there is a decent smattering of divorce lawyers among the hundreds of advertisements. One can understand the plethora of personal injury cases just by observing local driving habits. Turn signals are apparently optional in Flop County and most have mastered the tricky cell phone to the ear blind lane change the area is noted for. I was confused by the radio ads of one local attorney. He referred to himself as what sounded like "The Dewey Man" in his commercials. He would also say: "Call the Dewey Man when you need him." He would also comfort his listeners with the admonition that he'd be there to help in the event someone picked up a Dewey on the way home. It remained a mystery and I was going to write it off as some local peculiarity when the attorney ran a full page ad in the local paper offering to defend those charged with a DUI offense! The attorney specialized in handling Driving Under the Influence cases...what a dignified profession! Next time you're facing 3 days in jail for picking up a 'Dewey' on the way home give him a call.

Local laws are made by a nine member county commission of overseers which is served by the typical staff of county lawyers, engineers, planning directors and such. No one can remember the last time the commissioners turned down a zoning change for a development. As a result, local traffic is a nightmare and septic fields are a constant source of complaint and disease. When controversial discussions are brought to a vote it is not unusual for one or more commissioners to quietly get up and slip out of the room without comment. They can later claim that they did not vote for this or that disaster. The law requires a quorum of 5 to be present and there have been a few heated confrontations as two or more lawmakers vied for that last position through the door before a vote.

In some locations he is known as a judge executive and in others he is a county administrator, city manager or mayor. In Flop County he is Beston R. Levioux. Known as "B.R." and also "Vo," he hires county employees, advises the the commission of overseers and runs day to day county business. Though technically an employee under the control of the overseers, "Vo" returned from a stint as an Army motor pool sergeant to assume his position about 30 years ago. He's a wheeler-dealer who also owns a used car lot in the county. Presently, he forbids the sale of the local daily paper in any county office or property. The ban has been in effect ever since the Flop Sentinel published a story about the last 21 sealed bid sales of used county property ranging from used police cars to houses confiscated for delinquent taxes. B.R. selects the items to be sold and he and several overseers were the winning bidders on all 21 recent properties. Mr. Levioux is quick to point out that all bids were sealed by his secretary and she has a reputation for integrity that is unmatched in county government. And Vo should know about her reputation because she is also his daughter in law.

There may be a chicken and egg debate about the relationship between the local medical profession and the abundance of lawyers. There are two hospitals in the county. Flop Central has as its unofficial specialty the post operative infection. The chief of surgery is Liam Petri and he doubles as the assistant county coroner. There is an oft repeated story that is probably mostly urban legend about Dr. Petri. As the story goes, he occasionally confuses his two roles and has had to be gently nudged back from autopsy to surgery mode. There are repeated guffaws exchanged among hospital employees when new patients find their surgeon introduced to them as the county coroner. The other hospital is called Flop County East. Locals lovingly refer to it as Hotel Sepsis. A few years back the hospital made one of those priceless typographical errors in their newspaper ad. Prospective patients were advised that they would know they had arrived at Flop County East Hospital when they encountered the warm staph the moment they entered the lobby. Unfortunately, the ad was run for almost two years before the error was detected.