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The Outdoor Picture Show
W.F. Stokes, Jr. Several years ago, before Wayne and Carolyn Copeland closed the tire shop, I saw Wayne’s daddy, Will Copeland, standing in front of the store. He stood there as an anachronism, the shell of a once vibrant and virile man. The hands of time had been kind, allowing him to retain the ability to walk but they had rested heavily upon his physical attributes. His deafness and stooped shoulders had not closed the door to an otherwise active and fertile mind. Will was about 80 then. He was still driving his truck 20 miles-per-hour on the highway, to the chagrin of many of the local motorists. For those younger, Will should serve as a benchmark from which to measure. His coarse, creaky voice is inappropriately loud. Likewise, verbal communications directed to him had to be loud for him to hear. He’s always lived in the Coy Community about five miles west of Preston and will someday be laid to rest there. On that day, a cap at least half a size too large rested atop his head, only his protruding ears keeping it from falling over his eyes. His upper torso was lost in his long sleeved western shirt and his khaki pants, complete with impromptu waist pleats created by the leather belt cinched tightly around his middle, served as evidence of a significant weight loss. Six inches of excess belt lay in a vertical position below his belt buckle. Younger people take him lightly. But they have no concept of World War II, Korea, Viet Nam, The Depression, or FDR’s New Deal. He does; he lived them and raised a family in spite of them. Will is just one of many personalities from the Coy Community lingering from my childhood. There are many others. The road from Preston through Coy to the Neshoba County Line was paved during the mid 50s. It was impassable after heavy rains before it was paved. As a child I traveled that road frequently with daddy on visits to my grandmother’s in the Coy Community. Daddy’s brother - my bachelor uncle, Horace Murle, lived on the farm with grandmother. When I was between five and six, Horace Murle would give me a necktie to wear on my trip back home. His ties were relics of the 40s and about six inches wide, but I thought they were great. The colors and designs were obviously forerunners for the future ties of the psychedelic era of the late 60s and early 70s. He delighted in tying one around my neck with a single Windsor knot just before we departed. He knew I would insist upon wearing it all the way back home and he knew we would invariably stop at the Davis Grill in downtown Meridian. Horace Murle always told me, “Boy, there’s three things you can’t never tell ‘bout – that’s who’ll win a ball game, who’ll win an election or who a woman will marry!” The Davis Grill was a landmark in Meridian as far as I was concerned. It was in the Davis Grill that I first learned about the teams in the Southeastern Conference. There was a sign over the grill that featured pennants from each Southeastern Conference member, which included Tulane at the time. I’m sure Horace Murle had a mental picture of daddy walking into the Davis Grill, through those front doors that opened automatically, with a small child wearing short pants and sporting a six-inch wide tie that hung down to his knees. Daddy was a good sport about it and never let on that it bothered him. I remember standing in the front seat of that light-green 1953 Chevrolet BelAir, waving good-bye to Horace Murle and grandmother – car seats and seat belts were yet to come. Horace Murle was waving back and laughing as we pulled away. I wasn’t sure why he was laughing then, but I understand now. On Saturday nights during the summers, Will Copeland set up an outdoor picture show at R. B. Cumberland’s Grocery Store, providing the weather was clear, of course. Brantley Cumberland and his wife, Connie, would keep the store open during and after the movie. Sometimes Will had an official screen to project the movie onto; otherwise he just hung a sheet across the doors of Brantley’s garage. Getting to go to the picture show was a real treat and misbehavior could result in the privilege being denied. Once my cousin, Diane, mischievously took the “Watermelons For Sale” sign that my cousin Phil and I had set up along Highway 21. Horace Murle came to the rescue but Diane ran and climbed a small sweet gum tree and wouldn’t come down. Horace Murle cut the sweet gum tree with his double-bit axe and Diane was excluded from the picture show that Saturday night. Kids from miles around would gather at Brantley’s store on Saturday nights and sit outside around the fig trees on wooden Coke cases to watch the likes of Hop-A-Long Cassidy, Lash LaRue, Whip Wilson, and Johnny Mack Brown, defend the virtues of vulnerable western frontiersmen against the dastardly, black-hat-wearing outlaws. Admission was fifteen cents - a quarter for a double feature. Since Brantley kept the store open, there was no shortage of concession goodies. A couple of months ago, I asked Connie, now 84, if she’d consider doing it again – keeping the store open late enough at night for an outdoor picture show and she flatly said, “No!” But Connie and Brantley, who will be 91 his next birthday, still open the store daily and they close earlier than they used to but they have no plans of going out of business. Even the fig trees are gone now and things sure changed after we lost the outdoor picture show. |
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