Friday Nights in a Dry County

I remember Papa

when he called Smith’s Taxi Stand

“222, operator”

then a taxi, he’d demand.

 

Friday nights, I’d watch him.

He’d be dressed up, fit to kill.

He’d wink at the taxi driver,

saying, “Take me to Baptist Hill!”

 -Joy S. Barefoot

 

(This just happened to be what locals called the "Bootleg" area in the 1940s where I grew up)