The Cherry Cola Book Club (21 page)

“But there was more to it than that,” Becca continued. “I was such a mess when Justin had his heart attack and I thought I might lose him. But all of you rallied around me and kept me going. Connie was the reassuring voice of medical authority, and she and Douglas piled me into the backseat of their car and wrapped me up in a blanket of kindness all the way up to Nashville. His brother and sister-in-law in Brentwood were just as soothing to me, and then you inspired all those balloon bouquets. I remember turning to Stout Fella one evening as he was propped up in bed and saying, ‘Nothing bad can happen with all these pretty, playful things floating around us. No one's ever sad at a children's party.' ”

Then the two women hugged. “That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me,” Maura Beth told her. She glanced at her watch and gave a little gasp. “But I think we need to get started. Our big moment has finally arrived.”

 

After Becca had made her initial announcement about the upcoming “In the Flesh” meetings at the library to the delight of her fans, Maura Beth took back the podium and opened the program in earnest.

“I trust all of you have enjoyed plenty of this delicious food, courtesy of various members of The Cherry Cola Book Club,” she began after introducing herself. “It's one of the perks you'll enjoy if you join us, which we hope all of you will do. But the time has come for us to tackle our Southern classic novel,
To Kill a Mockingbird,
written by Harper Lee and published in 1960. As everyone surely knows, this was her only work, but it won the Pulitzer Prize for her, and the film version won several Academy Awards, including Best Actor of 1962 for Gregory Peck.” She paused to point toward the Gregory Peck posters and waited for a ripple of female sighs and buzzing to dissipate before again consulting her notes.

“For those who are visiting us for the first time, we do things a bit differently here in The Cherry Cola Book Club,” she continued. “Anyone can summarize a plot and express emotions like admiration, disapproval, or even indifference as a result. Such is the subjective nature of literature. But we prefer to relate that plot to our own lives or even wider issues. So I'm going to suggest that we discuss
To Kill a Mockingbird
tonight in the context of the changes that have occurred here in our beloved South since its publication. That said, do I have a volunteer to go first?”

Jeremy's hand went up immediately. “If you don't mind, I'd like to propose that one of my students begins this discussion with a poem he wrote right after reading the novel.”

“I think that would be a lovely beginning,” Maura Beth replied, stepping aside and smiling at the fresh-faced New Gallatin Academy contingent sitting on the front row in their navy blue blazers and red ties.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Jeremy continued while getting to his feet. “I'd like to introduce to you Mr. Burke Williams of Nashville, Tennessee.”

There was polite applause as the lanky young man with big ears and a deferential demeanor rose and took his long strides toward the podium.

“Thank you,” he began, after taking his notes out of his pocket. “Before I read my poem, I'd like to say a few words. My teacher, Mr. McShay, told our class all about The Cherry Cola Book Club, and I wanted to be here no matter what. I know I'm only sixteen and don't know much about the real world, but after I'd finished reading
To Kill a Mockingbird,
I felt like I at least knew a little something. I live in the new millennium, not in the 1930s when the novel is supposed to take place, or even in the 1960s when it was published; but
To Kill a Mockingbird
was like a time machine for me. It enabled me to understand what life was like for a wrongly accused black man like Tom Robinson. I understood how things worked back then and how easy it was for justice to be swept under the rug. So, this is my poem in honor of what
To Kill a Mockingbird
did for me.”

He cleared his throat and looked up from his prepared speech. “I know this part by heart.” The audience laughed gently and he acknowledged them with a grateful smile. “Okay. Here goes: ‘On
To Kill a Mockingbird,'
by Burke Williams:

The polite reception of a few minutes earlier became healthy applause, and the young man blushed, hanging his head at first. But Jeremy's hand signals urging him to lift his chin had an immediate effect, and Mr. Burke Williams accepted his moment in the sun with an ingratiating, boyish smile.

“That was beautifully done, Mr. Williams!” Maura Beth exclaimed, after he had resumed his seat and the reaction had finally died down. “Your insights show a great deal of maturity.”

Before Maura Beth could ask for another volunteer, however, Mr. Place stood up, gently waving his hand. “If you don't mind, Miz Mayhew, I have a little something I'd like to contribute. Could I speak next?”

“Of course, come right on up.”

Once he was comfortable behind the podium, Mr. Place caught his mother's eye with a smile and began. “Ladies and gentlemen, although Cherico is my hometown, I didn't know what to expect when I left Memphis after losing my job as a pastry chef at the Grand Shelby Hotel. I'd been working at that for decades and would have retired at it up there, too. But you may have read that the hotel went out of business and was torn down recently. So that brought me back home to live with my mama for a while until I could find another job.”

He paused to acknowledge first Maura Beth and then Periwinkle with nods and hand gestures. “I found one a lot quicker than I thought I would, thanks to Miz Mayhew here and Miz Lattimore sitting right there on the front row. In case some of you didn't know, I'm now the pastry chef down at The Twinkle. As we like to say here in the South, ‘Y'all drop by and see me sometime, ya hear?' ”

A spate of warm laughter erupted, and Mr. Place wagged his brows until it tailed off. “So that brings me to our topic tonight—how things have changed here in our South since
To Kill a Mockingbird
appeared. I saw the movie when I was a boy. That's what I want to talk to y'all about next. It played here in Cherico at the old Starbright Theater on Commerce Street, which as we all know, got torn down a while ago. You have to go somewhere else to see movies these days. At the time, my mama made extra money for us by babysitting for white families, and she'd take me with her now and then. I made friends with the son of one of those families. You good folks might remember the Wannamakers over on Painter Street? Since I got back, I found out they don't live here now.”

That produced a buzz of recognition among the crowd, and Mr. Place waited for it to die down. “Anyway, I became good friends with Jamie Wannamaker, who was about my age, and we played together out in his yard, doing things that little boys do together like catching fireflies and hide-and-seek. Then, my Mama saw where
To Kill a Mockingbird
was coming to the Starbright. That was back when the
Daily Cherico
was still in business, and she read an article all about it in the paper. She told me, ‘Baby, I'm taking you to see that movie. I believe we both need to see it!' ”

Mr. Place paused and smiled thoughtfully, shaking his head at the same time. “I didn't understand at the time why she felt that way. Now, of course, I do. But the world is full of strange coincidences, I've found out. Don't know why they happen, but when they do, there's always a lesson to be learned, it seems. Turns out, the very afternoon my mama took me to see
To Kill a Mockingbird
at the Starbright, Miz Wannamaker decided to take Jamie to see it, too. Back then, everybody bought tickets at the booth in front, but only the white people got to go in that way. The coloreds, as they called us back then, went around to the side door to enter the colored section. Some of you might remember that it was much smaller than the white side, but there was a thin wall separating the two.”

Again, there was a ripple of noise throughout the audience. “I'll never forget what happened next. Jamie said to his mother right after he'd spied me, ‘Oh, this'll be so much fun. We can all sit together.' And she had to tell him that he couldn't sit with me, and I couldn't sit with him, and you could tell she didn't want to go into an explanation of the white and colored thing—just that there'd be a wall between us. Then Jamie started crying, and he wouldn't stop. It was the strangest thing. I was the one who felt real bad for him. I was the one comforting him. You see, I'd been to the Starbright before, and I knew where the coloreds were allowed to sit. So I said, ‘Jamie, maybe we can't sit together, but we can be right next to each other. We just have to pretend the wall isn't there.' And he said, ‘But how will we know where to sit if we can't see?' And this is what I came up with. I decided that we'd move slowly along either side of the wall, row by row, and make a pounding noise each time. When we'd both found a seat we liked on the edge, we would pound five times. Fortunately, both our mothers didn't make a fuss and let us do it. But I've never forgotten all the trouble we had to go to just to pretend we were together. Today, anyone can go to the movies over in Corinth or up to Memphis, and they don't give a hoot about anything, not even how much noise you make. I sure wish they'd crack down on that—and the prices you have to pay for candy and popcorn.”

That produced some much-needed laughter. Then Mr. Place continued, “So it's my belief that
To Kill a Mockingbird
helped tear down that wall in the theater between the whites and the coloreds. Everywhere else, too. That book and that movie helped to make all the fair play we take for granted now possible, and that's pretty much what I had to say here tonight. That, and it's good to be home again in Cherico with my mama and a great job. And don't forget to come by and sample my pastries at The Twinkle. Even if you're on a diet, treat yourself once in a while.”

A round of applause even more vigorous than that for Burke Williams erupted, as Mr. Place headed back to his seat, nodding graciously all the way.

“Thank you for that interesting and heartfelt testimony, Mr. Place!” Maura Beth exclaimed. “So much food for thought along with good food to eat.”

Then Miss Voncille stood up. “I think all this has inspired me to contribute something, too.”

“By all means, step up. We welcome what you have to say.”

Miss Voncille approached the podium with gusto as Maura Beth stepped aside. “I had no idea I would be saying anything tonight. I'd made up my mind just to sit and listen. But as young Mr. Williams was talking, I realized that I, too, had a story to tell. It's about my long career as a schoolteacher here at Cherico High. Looking out into the crowd tonight, I can see many familiar faces that I taught. Only, some of the names seem to have changed. When you were my student, Justin Brachle, Stout Fella had yet to see the light of day. And your wife, Becca Heflin, was a few years away from her alter alias of Becca Broccoli on the radio. Then there's Edward Badham, who now goes by the name of ‘Chunky,' I believe; and ‘Gopher Joe' sitting right next to him is the former Josephus Martin. Of course, I must point out Councilman Durden Sparks, who decided to leave his name alone.”

Everyone mentioned was nodding and chuckling, and Miss Voncille paused briefly for a breath. “But let me not forget Mr. Parker Place, who went by the name of Joe Sam Bedloe when I taught him. He was, in fact, a member of my very first integrated classroom, and a very good student he was.”

Mr. Place smiled big at his former teacher and gave her a neat little salute. “And you were a great teacher, Miss Voncille. Tough, but great. But I don't remember being all that good a student in your history class. I had trouble remembering dates.”

“But you were attentive, and you tried hard. Anyway, none of that is really the main point,” she continued, returning his smile. “I wanted to confess something here in public for the first time. I remember the fall Cherico High was getting ready for the first wave of integration. Of course, all of my fellow teachers were white, and some of them were very apprehensive, including myself. Mrs. Johnnie-Dell Crews was the most vocal in the teachers' lounge. ‘I don't know what to expect,' she would say all the time while we were having our morning coffee and doughnuts. ‘Do you think there'll be any trouble with the coloreds?' ”

Miss Voncille seemed a bit hesitant to continue but finally gathered herself. “That was the way people talked back then, and it was definitely on our minds. So I'm here to confess that there were moments when I allowed myself to succumb to my worst fears, and I'm not proud of it. There were those at the time who thought the world would come to an end because Cherico High was going to be integrated. But the world kept on spinning when it finally happened. I found that I had worried needlessly, and when I got students in my class like Joe Sam—I mean, Mr. Place—I felt ashamed that I had doubted myself and my ability to teach even for an instant. Helping him learn was what it was all about—the same goal I'd always had for every student I ever taught.”