She got it, and the theretofore man-dominated Methodist Asbury got an unexpected social shock to its sturdy limestone foundations.
Rumor hath it even that one of the old buildings took a decided list to the south and had to be shored-up. More shoring was to be had as the years passed . . . . Cordially,
FINDING 'THE BEST PLACE TO EAT' ON THE ROAD
March 15, 1953
Mrs. Lacy Stoner
Holly Bluff, Mississippi
My dear Mrs. Stoner, A week ago, just about this time, Frank and I were arriving at the Stoner homestead in far-off Holly Bluff—home of pecky cypress at its best, and Frank was getting a second look at his beloved paneling. . . Frank is well-pleased with his lumber purchases, and with the trip generally. But coming up from your home . . . he was like an old mare headed for the barn. . .
We made Cairo, Ill., just before dark. As we started into town, I said, "Let's stop and eat at some good place." Frank said, "All right. I'll look for a good place as we go through." Pretty soon we were out of town. It had been raining off and on, and now it began in rather good earnest. In fact, come to think of it, it rained about all the way.
When we reached Marion, Ill. I said, "There is a time and place for everything. Drive up to that Standard station on the left. I want to ask him the best place in town to eat." He did, and I did. The fellow cited us to "The Hut." Enroute, I said, "Frank, I'll bet three to one The Hut is a dump. Whenever they recommend Huts or Mike's Place or Pat's Place or Joan's and Joe's or any Dinty Moore's, you can just about bet your wad they're dumps." I looked while he parked. It had eight revolving stools. I said, "Let's walk to that filling station yonder. I know this town has a better place. I saw an intelligent first class looking trucker just outside and asked him, telling him I hadn't eaten anything except segments of big Hershey bars all day long and I wanted good food and a table to sit at. He directed us "around the Court House following the traffic, then north to the place next-door to the Adam Shoe Store with the big electric shoe hanging out in front—you can't miss it." The place looked rather shoddy but it had three pine booths and nine revolving stools. A trifle desperate, we sat down. A fuzzy fat girl came from behind nowhere with one menu. I asked her for a big tall glass, two or three cubes of ice and an open bottle of Coca Cola. She said they had no ice. I looked at the menu but it was hard to read on account of the samples of soup thereon. I said to Frank, "Let's go." And we did.
Outside, I met an old codger. . . I asked the old question. He sent us up the street "thataway, the best place in town, anything from soup to nuts." I asked, "Does it have tables?" He said, "Why hell, yes—and pepper and salt too." I felt we were on the right track. And indeed, compared with the others it was the "Empire Room" in the Waldorf-Astoria. Quite nice waitress, and I got my tall glass, etc. . .
Arrived home at 12:45 a.m. A trifle short of 650 miles. Thus endeth our pecky cypress safari. . . Cordially,