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    Tales from the Pour House Cafe: Stories of Life and Calamity in a Small Southern Town
    Tales from the Pour House Cafe: Stories of Life and Calamity in a Small Southern Town
    Tales from the Pour House Cafe: Stories of Life and Calamity in a Small Southern Town
    Ebook116 pages1 hour

    Tales from the Pour House Cafe: Stories of Life and Calamity in a Small Southern Town

    By Mark Smith and Larry H. Dunlap

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    About this ebook

    The wackiest characters this side of Mayberry stumble through misadventures with Southern wit and audacity.

    Leonard, Elvis, and Jelly, the main characters, find themselves in one catastrophe after another; a holdup, a pickle eating contest, a giant snake and the capture of a Chinese troll as well as the ordinary problems of life. The stories are told by the Preacher who is the narrator.
    Kind hearts and good intentions clash with reality and mess-ups in this zany glimpse of rural america as it was and still is in a place called The Pour House Cafe in Maple Hill, Tennessee.

    "This book is to entertainment what cornbread is to black-eyed peas." Elvis Wilbanks
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWestBow Press
    Release dateNov 30, 2010
    ISBN9781449707224
    Tales from the Pour House Cafe: Stories of Life and Calamity in a Small Southern Town
    Author

    Mark Smith

    Hi! I'm Mark. 43, Married and father of three. I'm not an author, but I play one on Smashwords. And yes- Hawk is my real middle name given at birth.

    Read more from Mark Smith

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      Book preview

      Tales from the Pour House Cafe - Mark Smith

      Copyright © 2010 Larry H. Dunlap

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      WestBow Press books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

      WestBow Press

      A Division of Thomas Nelson

      1663 Liberty Drive

      Bloomington, IN 47403

      www.westbowpress.com

      1-(866) 928-1240

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

      ISBN: 978-1-4497-0721-7 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4497-0722-4 (e)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2010939749

      WestBow Press rev. date: 11/20/2010

      Contents

      LEONARD WRITES A SONG

      THE CHRISTMAS BOOTS

      STICK UP AT THE POUR HOUSE

      THE GREAT PICKLE EATING CONTEST

      SUSAN’S SHADOW

      MUSIC AND MAYHEM AT THE POUR HOUSE

      EDITH’S CAR TROUBLE

      THE BATTLE OF THE PREACHERS

      NIGHT OF THE GIANT SNAKE

      WILLIE ALBERT CHILLY

      THE CLOSING OF THE POUR HOUSE CAFÉ

      Discussion Questions/ Study Guide

      The characters in the book wanted to say a few words.

      "A good book it gets most things right…but, I have only been married six times, and the government is tapping my phone."

      Leonard Tubbs

      This book shows what a 300 lb. man can do when he gets his weight behind it.

      Jelly Whitmore

      Everybody in Maple Hill isn’t as bone-headed as the characters in this book.

      Mayor Elton Murphy

      This book is good reading. It is to entertainment what cornbread is to black-eyed peas.

      Elvis Wilbanks

      Humph!

      Edith, the waitress

      I helped invent this book.

      Willie Albert Chilly

      To my wife, Dottie, our daughter Laurie, our sons Rhett, and Caldwell, and our grandchildren Andrew, Kirstie and Shelby. You are my treasures.

      I want to thank my high school English teacher, Mrs. Jean Brandon for her encouragement so many years ago. Thanks Mrs. B.

      Thanks to all the friends I have made at the local cafes over the years. Without you I would have nothing to write about.

      Thanks to whomever started the urban legend about the troll. It gave me the idea in Willie Albert Chilly; which reminds me, thanks Jerry Johnson, the real Willie.

      Thanks, Sandy Bradley and Susie Koch for your help and all the other folks at Thomas Nelson.

      Special thanks to Mark Smith for the great artwork before each story.

      And most of all thanks to my Heavenly Father, without Him life would have no meaning or humor.

      LEONARD WRITES A SONG

      Leonard_no_10001.jpg

      Forest Gump said that life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you get until you open it. Friends are like that too. But, sometimes friends are like persimmons. Don’t try to judge them too soon – it might be a bitter experience. Give them time to just hang around a while and they will surprise you how sweet they have gotten. Most of the folks I met at the local cafe all turned out good friends – some quicker than others. It always pays to let persimmons ripen in their own time.

      9781449707217_TXT.pdf

      The Pour House Cafe sits on the corner of highway 41 and Slipknot Road. The first thing you notice when you drive by is that it doesn’t look like a cafe. Built in 1930 as a hatchery, millions of baby chickens that were sold on all night radio stations across the nation started life here. Then, in 1952, after sitting vacant for a few years, a tractor dealership occupied it. That is why plate glass windows cover the front and one side. It became a cafe in 1970 called the Dew Drop Inn. It has been the Burger Castle, Tina’s Cafe and finally, The Pour House Cafe. Square foot per square foot more characters eat here than most any place south of Mayberry.

      9781449707217_TXT.pdf

      Things were busy at the Cafe Sunday.

      I was sitting with my wife when Leonard and his new wife walked in. He had on his cap with the word CAT on it and his ever-present sun glasses. Leonard married about seven times if you count the times he married the same woman more than once. He is about 130 pounds of rotating conspiracy theory. He never met one he didn’t like.

      How you doin’, Preacher? he asked. You mind if me and my ole lady sit with you all?

      Why, no, Leonard, I replied. I don’t mind if this young lady you have with you sits with us either.

      He ignored my remark, but I noticed his wife smiled and shook her head.

      Preacher, you’re a smart fella, been to school and all.

      Now my wife smiled.

      You think the world is gonna end soon? he continued.

      Well, first, I’m glad to see you taking an interest in eschatology. But, what exactly are you asking?

      No, Preacher, I’m not asking about beauticians. Do you think the world is coming to an end soon?

      My wife’s allergies must have acted up at this point. She muffled a fit of coughing in her napkin.

      If you’re asking if the world is to be destroyed soon, no, not soon. If you mean the rapture taking place, then yes, I think it will be soon. But, what are you getting at, Leonard?

      Signs, Preacher, signs! The world is going to hell in a wheelbarrow.

      At this point Leonard’s wife spoke up. He saw a boy outside with his pants hanging way down.

      Way down nothing! He was running across the parking lot and they fell down to his ankles.

      He slapped his hand on the table as he continued, Ain’t that a sign things are getting bad, Preacher?

      Well, yeah, Leonard, getting strange at the very least. But, I don’t think that’s one of the specific signs Jesus told us to watch for.

      Well, I’ll tell you one thing for sure, Preacher.

      What’s that?

      If I’d tried to wear my pants like that when I was a kid my daddy would a made my world come to an end.

      Mine too, Leonard.

      Preacher, I’ve got something I need to talk to you about. Are you gonna be here tomorrow?

      My wife spoke up and told him that if the sun came up I probably would be. I was a little offended, but said I thought I might and I would see him then.

      9781449707217_TXT.pdf

      Monday afternoon was slow at the café. Most people were out working in their yards or shopping. The few people there were at the round table known affectionately as the Liar’s Table.

      As I walked in the door I was greeted by the faithful locals at the table.

      Hey, Preacher, what’s that following you?

      The man asking the question was my 300 pound friend, Jelly. Alfred Whitmore was his real name but at 300 pounds you can figure out why they called him Jelly. Plus, he didn’t like the name, Alfred.

      I turned around just in time to see Leonard coming in the door behind me.

      Well, Jelly, I said, This is my bodyguard. He does all my heavy fighting for me.

      You’re so right, Preacher, Leonard said, picking up on the joke. And a better bodyguard you couldn’t have.

      He held up his hands before the group and in a grave and serious voice said, Yes, sir, a fellow can get whatever he’s looking for. This left one I call Music and this right one I call Mayhem. Music or Mayhem, harmony or horror, anything a body wants.

      About that time, Edith our waitress showed up. She looked Leonard up and down and said, Well, Leonard, in my left hand is a pot, I call it coffee. In my right one is a pitcher, I call it tea. Hot or cold what’ll it be? And make up your mind I’m in a hurry.

      Leonard grinned sheepishly and pointed with Mayhem. I reckon I’ll have tea, if that’s alright?

      Edith poured the tea and left the table with a humph.

      Preacher, I was hoping you was in here, he said as he poured a good quarter of a cup of sugar in his tea.

      Jelly shook his

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