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Prologue
Way Down Yonder in Dixie
Meet the Southern Fried Folks
We Don't Have a Sputnik
Charlie
Cherokee Lakes
Lucy
Tinahsee
A New Decade Begins
Jekyll Island
Moose Wuz Called by Jesus
George Who?
Blue Chevy
The Fabulous Fox
Life on the DMZ
A Travel'in Man
Letter from the Editor
Epilogue
I grew up during the 1950's in what's called the Deep South, which is not like Virginia or those other uppity states; it comprises the lowest row of Southern states, namely, South Carolina, Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi. It is a place where only sweet tea is served and there is plenty of gravy at every meal.
Some people would say the Deep South obviously should include Florida, but the presence of so many Yankees down there automatically disqualifies it. Besides, everyone knows that nothing good comes out of Florida except I-95.
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We had gas stations on every corner, and one time they had an all-out price war. I don’t know who started it, but for a while there you could fill up for 10 cents a gallon, unless you had New York license plates, in which case you were charged the customary 25 cents per gallon.
Back in the '50's, it seemed that every resident of New York City thought it was mandatory that they drive down US 1 to Florida once each summer.
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