Mississippi small town cop

Wow boy howdy, let me tell ya bout some salty humidity. Ya see, the wind is blow'n from the southeast and a few short miles to the southeast, is the Gulf of Mexico. Salt water for as far as the eye can see. Salt filled air will eat up a brand spank'n new car lickity split. If'n ya live in Port Aransas, ya change cars every three years....or ya put them in a sealed garage an' never drive 'em. I know 'cause I lived there for 18 years.

My first encounter with Port Aransas was way back in 1963. I was stationed in Charleston SC aboard a guided missile destroyer (US Charles F. Adams DDG-2).....US Navy ya know. I were look'n for my "lost" dad what I ain't seen in a few long years. I located him in Port Aransas, Texas....in a saloon drunker an' a skunk. My dad was a drinkard ya know.

I jumps in my old 1956 Ford 4 door an' heads west in the direction of Texas. I got me a 30 day leave (military vacation). I stops in a little hick town in Mississippi to fill up the gas tank.....check the oil, water, air in the tires.....stuff like that. Up drives this old 1953 Oldsmoble....or something like that, cop car.....red lights flash'n. This BIG feller climb out that old Oldsmobile all puff up like a pit bull in heat. "Where yer shoes boy? In Mississippi ya don't drive with no shoes". I knowed for sure I was gonna go to jail right now. I was sceered shitless. This guy was big....an' mean look'n....I mean to tell ya. He check all my credentials....make sure I weren't transport'n drugs or illegal aliens.....rob a bank, nuttin like that. Bout a half hour of small town cop indoctrination, I assure this cop I will never again, as long as I live, drive a 1956 Ford 4 door barefooted again. He points me in the direction of the border.

I stops off in a little town just across the border in Texas. My god, what is that smell? Vidor, Texas....smell like a deserted chicken farm. Dead chickens an' rotten eggs. I asks this nice lady in a convenience store if'n she knowed where Port Aransas was located. Like me, she ain't never hear of Port Aransas. Well, if'n its a port, it must be on the coast....right? So's I head off to the south bout 300 hunnert mile along the coast. There it are, Port Aransas...on a freak'n island. Population bout 600. A little fish'n village.

I start mak'n the rounds look'n for dad. Never see so many damn bars in a small town in all my life.

I pull up in front of Shorty's Bar.

Loud ungodly music fills my ears. I pulls up a stool, orders a adult beverage an' looks around. The place is packed with locals an' a few tourists. There's Bob an' Buttercup, Frank an' "none other" dad. Bob slam'n keys on the piano an' Buttercup strum'n on a old washtub. Frank screech'n notes on a old out of tune fiddle. An' there's dad beller'n "Filipino Baby" at the top his lungs. Earnest Tubb he ain't.

Naturally, he didn't know who the hell I was, where I come from, or why I had called him "dad". By the time my vacation was over, I knowed every barmaid in town by name, knowed every password to the backroom poker tables an' run that 1956 Ford 4 door slap into the Gulf of Mexico (for the first time). Second time ruined it....went to the dumpster.

Was relieved to see two ladies make a blog post this morn'n.

Ha Ha....maybe I need another first mate. MsB, you crack me up. I'm think'n more along the lines of a "nurse" instead of a first mate.