Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe (15 page)

Idgie threw up on the side of Julian's car, all the way home to Alabama.

MARCH 30, 1986

Ed Couch had picked up Big Momma from the nursing home on Easter morning, and she had spent the day with them. Evelyn had wanted to invite Mrs. Threadgoode, but Ed said that it might upset Big Momma, and God knows we didn't want Big Momma upset; as it was, she might not go back. So Evelyn had cooked this huge meal for just the three of them, and after dinner, Ed and Big Momma went in the den and watched television.

Evelyn had planned to ride back to the nursing home with them so she could at least say hello to Mrs. Threadgoode, but her son had called her long distance, just as they were headed out the door. Big Momma, who had whined all through dinner about how she hated Rose Terrace, was dressed and ready to go, so Evelyn told Ed to go on without her.

Consequently, it had been two weeks since she had seen her friend, and when she did, she got a surprise . . .

"I went to the beauty shop and got my hair fixed for Easter. How do you like it?"

Evelyn didn't know what to say; someone had dyed Mrs. Threadgoode's hair bright purple.

“Well, you got your hair fixed."

“Yes. I always want to look my best for Easter."

Evelyn sat down and smiled like nothing was wrong. "Who did it for you, darling?"

Mrs. Threadgoode said, "Well, believe it or not, it was a student from the beauty college over in Birmingham. Sometimes they come out here and do our hair for free, just to get a little practice. Mine was a tiny little thing and she worked so hard, I tipped her fifty cents. Now, where else in the world can you get your hair shampooed, colored, and set for fifty cents?"

Evelyn was curious. "How old was the girl?"

"Oh, she was a full-grown woman, only she was tiny, she had to stand on a box while she did my hair. I'd say she was about two inches away from being a midget. Of course, I don't let any handicap like that bother me, and I love a midget. . . . I wonder whatever happened to that little midget that sold cigarettes?"

"Where?"

"On the radio and TV. They used to dress him up like a bellboy, sold Phillip Morris cigarettes. You remember!"

"Oh yes. I know who you're talking about now."

"Oh, I used to get the biggest kick out of him. I always wished he would come to Whistle Stop so I could sit him on my lap and play with him."

Evelyn had brought dyed eggs, candy corn, and Easter chocolates, and told Mrs. Threadgoode that they would celebrate all over again this week since she had not been with her on the actual day. Mrs. Threadgoode thought that was a fine idea, and told Evelyn that candy corn was her favorite and that she liked to bite the white tips off first and save the rest for later, and she proceeded to do so as she reported on Easter.

"Oh Evelyn, I wish you could have been out here. The nurses hid eggs all over. We put some in our pockets and in our rooms and the entire third grade from Woodlawn came out and they were the cutest things, running up and down the hall. Oh, they had the grandest time! And it meant so much for these old people out here, most of them are just starved to see youngsters. I think it cheered everybody up. Old people need to see children every once in a while," she whispered confidentially.  "It lifts their spirits. Some of these real old ladies they have out here just sit in their wheelchairs all hunched over . . . but when the nurses give them a baby doll to hold, you'd be surprised at how they just sit right up, holding on to their dolls. Most of them think it's their own babies they've got.

"And guess who else came out here Easter?"

“Who?"

"That weather girl from the television station... I forget her name, but she's famous."

"Well, that must have been very nice."

"Oh, it was . . . but, you know what?"

"What?"

"It just dawned on me. Not one famous person ever came to Whistle Stop... except Franklin Roosevelt and Mr. Pinto, the criminal, but they were both dead at the time, so it doesn't count. Poor old Dot Weems never did have anything exciting to write about."

"Who was he?"

Mrs. Threadgoode was surprised. "You never heard of Franklin Roosevelt?"

"No, Mr. Pinto."

"You never heard of Mr. Pinto?"

"Pinto? You mean like a pinto pony?"

"No honey, like a pinto bean. Seymore Pinto. He was a famous murderer!"

"Oh . . . no, well, I guess he was before my time."

"Well, you're lucky, because he was a mean somebody. I think he was half Indian, or maybe he was Eye-talian, but whatever he was, you wouldn't want to meet up with him on a dark night, I can tell you that."

Mrs. Threadgoode finished her candy corn and bit the head off one of her chocolate bunnies. She looked at it. "Sorry, mister." Then she said, "You know, Evelyn, I guess I'm the only one out here that's having myself two Easters. It may be a sin, but I won't tell anyone if you won't."

MARCH 28, 1940

Famous Criminal Comes to Whistle Stop

Mr. Pinto, the famous murderer, passed through Whistle Stop on the 7:15 from Mobile. The train stopped for only ten minutes, and Stump Threadgoode and Peggy Hadley got a picture of the dead man, and when it is developed, Idgie will put it up in the cafe.

Idgie took her Cub Scout troop over to Birmingham, to Kiddyland Park, and then to the Five Points Theater to see
I Was a Fugitive from a Chain Gang
, which they all enjoyed.

Idgie says that she has a genuine shrunken head from headhunters in South America, and it is on the counter at the cafe, if you want to see it.

Is there anybody out there that can cure snoring? If so, come over to my house. My other half is about to drive me insane. I might send him out to the dogs.  Even one of his old hounds snores, just like he does. I told him the other day, it must run in the family. Ha. Ha.

The reward for Railroad Bill just went up again. Some people think he may be from around here. The big question is: Who is Railroad Bill? I would even suspect Wilbur, but he's too lazy to get up in the middle of the night.

The Elks Club named Rev. and Mrs. Scroggins's son, Bobby, Boy of the Year and we know they are proud.

. . . Dot Weems . . .

P.S. My other half came home from the Dill Pickle Club fishing trip without any fish again and with poison ivy to boot. He said it was Idgie's fault because she told him to sit there. Ruth said Idgie had a bad case of it too.

MARCH 25, 1940

Stump turned off all the lights in the back room and was lying on the floor by the radio, listening to “The Shadow." He was admiring the ring he had sent off for, the way it shone in the dark, and was waving his hand around, fascinated with the eerie green glow.

The man on the radio with the deep voice was saying, "
The weeds of crime bear . . . bitter fruit . . . crime does not pay
. . ." Followed by the maniacal laugh, "
Ha! ha! ha!!!
”

Just then, Idgie came in from the cafe and threw on the lights, nearly scaring him to death.

"Guess what. Stump? Grady just told me that Mr. Pinto is coming through here in the morning, on the seven-fifteen, on his way to be buried, and they're gonna change trains over at the yard."

Stump jumped up, his heart still pounding. "Mr. Pinto? The real Mr. Pinto?"

"Yes Grady said he was only gonna be here for a few minutes, just long enough to put him on the other train. I’d go with you, but I've got to drive your mother over to Birmingham for this church thing she's got to go to. But if you want to see him, Grady said you should be down there by six-thirty, and he said for you not to tell anyone, because everyone in town is likely to show up."

“Okay, I won’t."

"And Stump, for God's sake, don't tell your mother I told you."

"Okay."

Since Stump had received a Brownie camera for his birthday, he asked Idgie if he could take a picture of Mr. Pinto.

"You're not gonna see anything but his coffin, but if you want a picture of it, I guess you can. Ask Grady first, do you hear me?"

"Yes ma'am"

He ran over to Peggy's house to impress her with this privileged information about Mr. Pinto, who had been captured only after a long and hard gun battle at a cabin in north Alabama, where three policemen had been shot.  He had been apprehended with his girl friend, billed as Hazel, the Flame-Haired Murderess with the Heart of Steel, who had personally knocked off a lawman in Baldwin County. When he got the death sentence, headlines blazed all over Alabama: "MR. PINTO TO TAKE A SEAT IN ‘BIG YELLOW MOMMA.’”

That was the name given to the huge iron electric chair down at Folsom Prison that had claimed hundreds of lives over the years. But this was something special.

When he got to the house, Dr. Hadley was sitting on the front glider and told Stump that Peggy was    helping her mother with the dishes. So he went in the backyard and waited.

When Peggy came out, Stump told her the news, and she was duly impressed, like he'd hoped she would be. Then he proceeded to give her instructions.

"In the morning, I’ll come to this tree, right here, and l’ll signal you like this . . .”

He then made a bobwhite bird whistle, three times.

"When you hear me, come on out, but be ready about five o'clock, because I want to be there in case the train is early."

The next morning, Peggy was already dressed and outside waiting for him at the tree when he got there, a fact that irritated him because he liked the idea of a bird signal. He had gotten the idea out of a book he was reading at the time,
The Talking Sparrows Murder Mystery
. Besides, he had been up all night, practicing his bobwhite whistle; that is, until Idgie told him she would kill him if he didn't shut up.

That was the first thing that went wrong with the plan. The second was that the train was an hour late, so they had been at the railroad station for three hours now, waiting.

Stump must have loaded and unloaded his camera a hundred times, just to make sure it was in working order.

In another half hour, the big black train finally came rumbling on in and stopped. Grady and a crew of four railroad men came out of the switching house and pulled open the boxcar and lifted the large white-pine box in which the state had seen fit to ship Mr. Pinto.

The train rumbled off again, leaving the box on the loading platform, while the other men went to bring in the other train, and Grady stood guard, looking important in his khaki shirt and pants, with his leather gun-holster strapped to his side.

He saw Stump and Peggy running down the platform toward him and said, "Hi, kids!" and kicked the box. "Well, here he is, just like I told Idgie—Mr. Seymore Pinto, as big as life and as dead as they come."

Stump asked if he could take a picture.

"Sure, go right ahead."

Stump began taking pictures from every angle possible, while Grady reminisced about the time he had once been a guard at Kilbey Prison, in Atmore, Alabama.

Peggy, who was in charge of holding the extra rolls of film, asked him if he had ever seen any real murderers.

"Oh sure, lots of them. Even had a couple working for me and Gladys up at the house when we lived in Atmore."

"You had real live murderers in your house?"

Grady looked at her, surprised. "Why sure. Why not? Some of your best people are murderers." He pushed his hat off his forehead and said sincerely, "Yes sir. I wouldn't give you nickel for a thief. Now, a murder is usually just a one-time thing—mostly over some woman, not a repeat crime. But a thief is a thief until the day he dies."

Stump was already on his second roll of film, and Grady continued talking to a fascinated Peggy. "Naw, I don't mind murderers. Most of 'em are pretty mild-mannered, pleasant folks, as a rule."

Stump was snapping away, and threw in a question. "Did you ever see one of them electrocuted, Grady?"

He laughed. "Only about three hundred.... Now, that's a sight to see. Before they go to the Big Yellow Momma, they shave 'em as bald as a billiard, not an ounce of hair is left on their bodies, bald, as the day they were born. Then they dip these sponges in cold salt water and put it under the cap. That water, there, conducts the electricity faster. Last one I saw fry, it took 'em seven tries. Everybody in Atmore was mad 'cause it interfered with the electricity in town and messed up their radio show. And then the doctor had to stick a needle in his heart to make sure that nigger was dead . . ."

Grady looked at his watch and said, "What the hell is taking them so long? I better go over there and see what they're doing," and he left them alone with the box.

Stump lost no time. "Help me pull this lid off, I want a picture of his face."

Peggy was horrified. "You cain't fool with that, it's a dead body! You have to honor the dead!"

"No we don't, he's a criminal, so it doesn't count. Move out of the way if you don't want to look."

Stump was busy opening the lid and Peggy went over and hid behind a post, saying, "You're gonna get in trouble." After he got the lid off, Stump just stood there, staring into the box. "Come here."

"No, I'm scared."

"Come here. You cain't see nothing, it's got a sheet over it."

Peggy walked over and very carefully peeked in at the body that was, in fact, all covered up.

Stump, desperate for time, said, "You've got to help me. I want you to pull the sheet off his face so I can get a picture."

"No, Stump, I don't want to look at him."

Stump did not really want to look at Mr. Pinto's face, either, but he was determined to get a picture of him, one way or another; and so he devised a plan on the spot that would save them both from having to look.

He handed her the camera, "Here, you point the camera right where his head is, and I'll count to three. You close your eyes and I'll count to three, pull the sheet back, you take the picture, and I'll cover him back up and you won't have to see him at all. Come on, please? Grady's gonna be back in a minute . . ."

"No, I'm scared to."

"Please . . . you're the only person in town I told he was gonna be here."

Peggy said reluctantly, "Well, all right, but don't you dare pull that sheet back until my eyes are closed. Do you promise me, Stump Threadgoode?"

Stump gave the Boy Scout signal for Truth and Honor. "I promise. Now, hurry."

Peggy aimed the shaking camera at the sheet-covered head.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Now, close your eyes and when I count three, you take the picture and don't look until I tell you."

Peggy shut her eyes and so did Stump. He carefully lifted and pulled the sheet back and said, "Okay, one, two, three,
now
!”

Peggy snapped the picture on command, as planned, and Grady came up behind them and yelled in a loud voice, "HEY! WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING!"

They both opened their eyes with a jolt and stared right into the face of Mr. Seymore Pinto, still warm from The Big Yellow Momma.

Peggy screamed, dropped the camera in the coffin, and ran off in one direction—and Stump squealed like a girl and ran off in the other.

Mr. Pinto just lay there, burned to a crisp, with his mouth and eyes wide open, and if he'd had any hair left, it would have been standing straight up on his head.

Later that afternoon, Peggy was still in bed, under the covers with Mr. Pinto's face looming before her, and Stump sat in the back room, in the closet, wearing his Lone Ranger glow-in-the-dark belt, still shaking, knowing he would never forget that man's face for as long as he lived.

Grady came into the cafe about six that night, and he brought Stump's camera back.

He laughed. "You're not gonna believe this," and told them what had happened, "but they broke that poor dead bastard's nose!"

Ruth was appalled. Smokey stared down in his coffee to keep from breaking up; and Idgie, who was taking a grape drink to the back door for her friend Ocie Smith, spilled it all over herself, she was laughing so hard.

SEPTEMBER 30, 1924

When Frank Bennett was growing up, he had adored his mother, to the point that it had disgusted his father, a bull of a man who thought nothing of knocking Frank out of a chair or kicking him down the stairs. His mother had been the only softness and sweetness he had known as a child and he loved her with all of his heart.

When he came home from school early one day, with some feigned illness, and found his mother and his father's brother on the floor in the kitchen, all that love turned to hate in the five seconds before he screamed and ran out of the room: the five seconds that would haunt him for as long as he lived.

At thirty-four, Frank Bennett was a vain man. His black shoes were always shined to a high spit polish, his hair was always brushed, his clothes were perfect, and he was one of the few men who received a manicure at the barbershop every week.

You could say he was a dandy. You could say he was handsome, in a black Irish sort of way, with that head of thick hair and the steel-blue eyes; and although one was made of glass and the other was just as cold as shiny, it was hard to tell which was which.

But above all things, he was a man who got what he wanted, and he wanted Ruth Jamison. He'd had just about every available girl around, including, and preferring, the black girls he would take by force while his friends held them down. Once he had them, he was not one to want them again. One pale-blond woman, who lived on the outskirts of town now, had a little girl that looked like him, but after he had blackened her eyes and threatened her child, she no longer made any claims on him. It was clear he did not have much interest in used women. Particularly if he had been the one who'd used them.

But in town, he was known as a hale and hearty fellow, and he decided that he needed to have sons to carry on the Bennett name; a name that didn't mean anything to anybody, except that he was a man who owned a lot of land south of town.

Ruth was young, pretty, certainly untouched, and needed a place for herself and her mother. What could be better? Ruth was flattered; she couldn't help but be. Wasn't he the most eligible man around? Hadn't he courted her like a gentleman and charmed her mother?

Ruth had come to believe that this handsome young man loved her, and that she should and therefore did love him.

But who could have known that all the shiny shoes and flashy three-piece suits could never cover up the bitterness that had been growing in his heart all these years . . .

Certainly no one in town guessed; it took a complete stranger. On the night of Frank's bachelor party, he and a group of men had stopped by a bar for a few drinks, on the way to a cabin where three whores from Atlanta had been hired for the night. An old bum, passing through, had wandered into the bar, off the street, and was watching the party of young men from across the room. Frank did what he did to all strangers: He walked over to the man, who was obviously in need of a drink, and slapped him on the back. "I'll tell you what, old-timer, if you can tell me which one of these eyes of mine is glass, I'll buy you a drink."

His friends laughed because it was impossible to tell, but the old man looked at him and without a beat said, "The left."

His friends roared, and although Frank was taken aback, he laughed it off as luck and threw a half dollar on the bar.

The bartender watched the party of men leave, and then said to the old man, "What'll it be, mister?"

"Whiskey."

He poured the old man his shot. A little later, the bartender said, "Hey, old friend, how were you able to tell his left eye was glass right off the bat like that?"

The old man drank his whiskey and said, "Easy. The left one was the only one with even a glimmer of human compassion in it."      

APRIL 28, 1926

Idgie, who was now nineteen, had driven over to Valdosta almost every month for over two and a half years to watch Ruth going to and from church. She just wanted to make sure she was all right, and Ruth never knew she'd been there.

Then one Sunday, quite unexpectedly, she drove up to Ruth's house and went to the front door and knocked. Idgie herself had not known she was going to do it.