Фэнни Флэгг - The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop

Bud smiled. “I did. I knew all the railroad men. They’d all come in for breakfast. Everybody in town ate there. But we also had a lot of people who’d heard about the place, and you never knew who was liable to walk in on any given day. Yeah, I met a lot of interesting people there. And one pretty interesting dummy, too.”

“Who was that?”

Bud laughed. “Well that’s a long story.”

“I’d sure like to hear it,” said Billy, biting into his sandwich.

1937

ONE HOT, MUGGY August afternoon, a dark green Packard with a cardboard placard on the back that read THE OATMAN FAMILY SINGERS TRAVELING FOR JESUS slowly pulled up to the front of the cafe. A few minutes later, a large woman wiggled her way out of the back seat and walked up to the screen door of the cafe, threw it open, stepped inside, and announced in a loud voice, “It’s Minnie Oatman! I’m here to get me some of them famous fried green tomatoes. Am I at the right place?”

A startled Ruth looked up at the woman who was as wide as the door she’d just entered, and was speechless. But Idgie, who had seen Minnie’s picture on a poster on a telephone pole over in Gate City, recognized her right away, and said, “You sure are, Mrs. Oatman. Come on in.”

“Oh good. Me and the boys was doin’ an all-night gospel sing over in Gate City and I told my husband, Ferris, I said, I’m not leaving Alabama till I get me some.”

Minnie waddled over to the counter and looked at the stools.

“Honey, you’re gonna have to charge me twice. I cain’t fit on that one little bitty stool.” She then heaved herself up and sat down on two stools and asked Idgie, “What’s your name, hon?”

“I’m Idgie, and this is Ruth.”

“Well, hey, glad to know you. I left the boys sleeping in the car. They’d rather sleep than eat. Not me. I want me a plate of fried green tomatoes and some sweet tea.” Sipsey peeked out over the double doors to the kitchen and snuck a look at Minnie. Minnie saw her and called out, “Is that Sipsey Peavey I see?”

Sipsey said, “Yes’m.”

“Well, gal, that woman who told me about this place said you are the best cook in Alabama. Is that right?”

Sipsey giggled. “Yes’m.”

Just as Minnie was ordering another dozen fried green tomatoes and a half of a coconut cake to go, seven-year-old Buddy Threadgoode walked through the cafe on his way back to his room. As he went by, Idgie grabbed him by the back of his shirt. “Whoa…stop. I want to introduce you to somebody. Buddy, this is Mrs. Oatman, and she and her family are famous gospel singers.”

Buddy’s eyes got wide. He had never seen anybody that fat before.

“Well, hey there, Buddy,” said Minnie. Then looked at him and asked, “Where’s your little arm, honey?”

Ruth jumped in. “He had an accident, Mrs. Oatman.”

Minnie made a sad face and said, “Aww, ain’t that too bad….Well, the good Lord giveth and he taketh away. How old are you, little Buddy?”

Buddy managed a weak reply. “Seven.”

“Seven? Well ain’t that something. I got somebody out in the car who would just love to meet you.”

She looked at Idgie, “Honey, run out there and wake Floyd up and tell him to bring Chester in here. I got somebody I want him to meet.”

A few minutes later, a disheveled-looking man walked in the door carrying a small wooden ventriloquist dummy with red wooden lips and painted freckles, wearing a blond wig and dressed in a small red cowboy suit and red cowboy hat. He was known professionally as Chester, the only scripture-quoting, gospel-singing dummy in the world.

Minnie said, “Chester, this here is Buddy….Say hello.”

Chester suddenly sprang to life. He looked at Buddy, blinked his eyes, and shot his eyebrows up and down, and said, “Hello there, Buddy. How are you?”

Buddy’s jaw dropped. He had never seen anything like this in his life. “I’m fine,” he said, barely audibly.

Chester said, “How old are you, Buddy?”

“Seven.”

“Whoo-whee. Me, too! Would you like to be my friend?”

Buddy nodded. “Yes.”

“Great!” Let’s shake on it.” Chester stuck out his small wooden hand, and Buddy shook it.

Then Minnie said, “Hey, Chester. Why don’t you sing Buddy a little song?”

Chester said cheerfully, “Okay, Minnie!” Then Chester looked up at Floyd. “Hey, Floyd. What song should I sing?”

Floyd shrugged and then said, “How about ‘Ridin’ the Range for Jesus’? Or, ‘When It’s Round-Up Time Up Yonder’?”

Chester looked at Buddy. “Which one would you like to hear?”

“Umm…I guess, the round-up one?”

“Good choice, Buddy, one of my favorites.” Minnie then got up and walked over to the old stand-up piano in the corner and sat down and played, while Chester sang and yodeled “When It’s Round-Up Time Up Yonder.”

By now, people in town had heard that the famous gospel singer Minnie Oatman was in the cafe, and the place was filling up fast. Opal Butts and several ladies still in pin curlers and hairnets were the first to arrive from the beauty shop next door.

After Chester finished his song, they all applauded. Then someone standing in the back of the cafe called out, “Minnie, could you please sing just one song for us?”

Minnie looked around and noticed she had drawn a crowd and said, “Sure, hon.” Then she began to play and sing at the top of her lungs her now famous rendition of “Can’t Wait to Get to Heaven.” Afterward, people lined up to get her autograph. Her husband, Ferris Oatman, finally came to the door and called to her, “Minnie, come on now, hon. We got to be in Pine Mountain by five.”

After the Oatmans left town, Buddy Jr. was still awestruck and a little confused by the whole experience. He said, “Aunt Idgie…was Chester a real boy?”

“Why, sure he was. He looked right at you, didn’t he? And talked.”

“Yes, but he was so little. Why was he so little?”

“Well, Buddy, that’s the thing, everybody’s different. Some people have one arm, some have two. Some are fat, some are skinny, some are little…and some people, like myself, are smart.” Idgie looked over at Ruth and said, “And then some people I know aren’t all that smart.”

Ruth picked up a biscuit and threw it at her. Idgie dodged it and laughed. Ruth waited until Idgie had turned her back and threw another one that bounced off the back of Idgie’s head. Idgie looked back at her, holding her head. “Hey!”

Ruth smiled and feigned ignorance. “What?” she said.

“You hit me with that biscuit.”

Ruth winked at Buddy. “What biscuit? I didn’t see any biscuit.”

Idgie said, “Buddy, you saw that.”

Buddy said, “No ma’am. I didn’t see anything.”

Idgie then stuck her tongue out at them both and went into the kitchen.

—

LATER THAT NIGHT, when Ruth was tucking him in bed, Buddy said, “Momma, I sure did like Chester. Do you think he liked me?”

“Oh, I’m sure he did, sweetheart. He signed a picture for you, didn’t he?”

“Hey, Momma, do you think Chester might write to me sometime, like a pen pal?”

While Buddy was sleeping, little Chester had been put back into his suitcase, headed out of Georgia to another town, never knowing what a hit he’d been with Buddy, or that every once in a while, Buddy would be getting a postcard sent from one of the many places they traveled, saying “Hello, Buddy,” and signed, “Your friend, Chester.”

(WHISTLE STOP, ALABAMA’S WEEKLY BULLETIN)

August 17, 1937

OUR SURPRISE VISITOR

I’m sure we are all still not quite over our town being visited by some famous folks. And, looking back, not to brag, but yours truly might have been to blame.