Barbeque and Burning Tires

The year was 1965.

I was 15 and this was going to be my last summer working for Daddy Fox. I was just finishing 8th grade and starting high school in the fall. I had landed a job working after school and in the summers at a local fast-food joint called Burger Chef. It is long gone now but in the 60s was a strong competitor to McDonald's.

My manager at Burger Chef understood that this last trip was important and assured me that my job would be waiting for me in the fall.

I realized that this was my last summer to spend time around Daddy Fox and Miz Burchett and Bill and Bob and Buford and George and Rudy. When I look back it was hard to believe that in just 3 short years, I had made so many friends and had so many adventures, both large and small. Having so much time away from my father in the summers helped me survive the crazy life at home. I would be working the rest of my summers in Frankfort while attending high school and not getting a break from my homelife. But at least I had this summer to enjoy my family and friends in Guthrie.

On a Friday, at the beginning of June, Daddy Fox and Miz Burchett drove to Frankfort to pick me up and to spend some time with our family. Dad took out his stock of frozen bream to thaw and mom made coleslaw and hush puppies for a wonderful fish dinner.

My father loved to fish, and I looked forward to our trips to Perry Park near Frankfort to fish for bream. We would usually come back with a cooler full of bream and I would clean them, and dad would freeze them in empty cardboard milk cartons that mom had saved for us.

I still remember the wonderful smells of Dad frying fish in his old cast iron kettle and then dropping in the cornmeal dough balls that mom had made for hush puppies. It turns out that my younger brother saved that pot and gave it to me for Christmas. I still cook with it even though I have a full set of very old cast iron cookware. It just makes for happy memories.

After they arrived Daddy Fox got out of the car, stepped back, and looked me up and down. No hug this year but a strong handshake that made me feel really grown up.

We returned to Guthrie on Sunday afternoon and I settled into my room at the motel and met the folks in the kitchen to catch up and find out the plans for dinner. Daddy Fox said that my uncle Rodney and cousin Steve were coming by to visit and eat dinner. Uncle Rodney kept the books for all of Daddy Fox’s businesses and would come by periodically to visit and usually brought cousin Steve along. There was only a few months difference in our ages so Steve and I got along pretty well and enjoyed getting into all kinds of trouble. When I found out what we were having for dinner, I was very excited to hear that it was barbeque. Daddy Fox just loved barbeque and he could get the best from a homemade pit in the black section of Guthrie.

After they arrived and we visited for a while Daddy Fox turned to me and Steve, “Come on you two, get in the car and let’s get us some mutton and pork.”

Well, what he meant was lamb and pork barbeque from a pit that was so old and had been through so many generations that the current family didn’t even know how long it had been in their backyard.

Steve yelled “shotgun” as he bolted out the door with me close on his heels and Daddy Fox striding out behind us shaking his head.

It was getting dark as we pulled out of the motel parking lot and settled back for a trip into the black section of Guthrie.

That part of town was literally across the railroad tracks and down several dark roads with so many turns and curves that I lost count and was glad that Daddy Fox knew where this house was located. Oh, but he did as he had been going to that same house for many years and had been friends with the family who owned it.

It was just past dusk when we started down a dark street that had no streetlights and we could make out vague shadows of folks sitting on porches or gathered in chairs in the yards. Black smoke rose in the night air as many families burned old tires in the yards to keep down the mosquitos as it was hot and humid in Kentucky in June and you could not be outside for long unless you chased away the bugs. It was also very uncomfortable to be inside during the summer, so it was porches and yards if you wanted any escape from the sweltering heat.

Of course, every house we passed had to check us out and heads turned to see a big black Cadillac pass by with a white face plastered against the side window. Daddy Fox just kept his eyes on the road and Steve had been on this journey so many times he didn’t bother to look out his window at all. But for me, this was an adventure, and I took in every moment and tried to see faces through the darkening sky and the tire smoke rising from the yards. A dog would occasionally run out to chase us and then break away and return to its yard to take up watch for the next car to invade its territory.

Daddy Fox made a couple of more turns and then the road ran straight for a couple of miles, houses decreasing in number the further we drove out in the country. Soon I spotted smoke in the distance and we came upon a small group of houses set back from the road. The smoke was from more tires burning in front yards. While it was hot and humid during the day, by evening it was starting to cool down and folks began to go outside in hopes of catching a breeze or just to enjoy the coolness that started to settle on the land. There were many children running and playing in the front yards of the houses and of course the dogs were ready for us as our headlights cast a long beam down the country road.

Steve came alert as we approached the houses and seemed to know that we had arrived, and which driveway Daddy Fox would turn into.

I just kept staring out the back window taking in the scene as the smell of smoke began to seep into the car even with the windows up and the AC blasting.

We turned into the second driveway on the right and wound our way to the back of the house, all the while being chased by the kids who raced across the yard to see who was in the big black car that came to visit this time of night.

As we came to a stop, I looked out the front window and could just make out dark figures moving around the backyard. The yard was surrounded on all sides by a rusty chain-link fence and a metal gate stood to the right of our car.

Daddy Fox cut the motor and just sat still in the seat seeming to be thinking about something or just hesitant to get out of the car. That question was soon answered as the gate opened and a very large black man came through and walked around to the driver’s side of the car, his face breaking into a wide grin as he approached the now lowered window and stuck out his hand.

Daddy Fox reached out and shook his hand and waited for him to back up a step and then opened the car door and got out.

”Tate, it’s good to see you again. How’s the family?

”Good to see you, Mista Fox, and da family is doin’ just fine, just fine. I know you come for sum of dat good good barbeque and I got plenty a pork and mutton ready ta go. I see ya dun brung young Steve wit ya but I don’ reckon I know dat other one in the back there.”

Daddy Fox laughed and replied, “Well, Tate, that boy is my other grandson come down to work for me for the summer. This is the first time I brought him along and he sure does love your barbeque.“

“Well den, ya jest come on now and let’s get sum so ya can get back home and start eatin’!”

Daddy Fox turned back to us and said, “Boys, stay in the car.”

That was all that was necessary for us to stay put and peer out of the windows as Daddy Fox and Mister Tate went back through the gate and disappeared into the smoke-filled backyard.

I saw the shadows of the two men approach a dark object and one of them turned on a light.

It was just a bare bulb attached to a long extension cord, but it lit up what appeared to be a large brick covered structure that I knew had to be the barbeque pit. The smoke was pouring out of the top of the pit and there was no mistaking it for anything but good southern barbeque cooking on top of a hardwood fire.

Both men moved around a bit and then walked back toward the house. They disappeared again and Steve and I just sat tight and waited.

Soon the screen door opened, and Daddy Fox came out and walked back to the car carrying a large brown paper sack like it was made of gold. As soon as he got in the car I could tell why as the most glorious smells engulfed the car interior and I sat forward and said, “Wow, Daddy Fox, how much barbeque did you get?” He just turned and smiled and handed the bag to Steve.

All the way back to the motel we just sat quietly, enjoying the drive and the smell of the barbeque. When we arrived, everyone was sitting in the kitchen in the back of the motel around a wooden dining table with food ready to go with the meat. Two loaves of Sunbeam white bread, a big jar of dill pickles, several bags of chips, and a big bowl of potato salad that Miz Burchett had made that afternoon.

A feast as far as I was concerned, and I couldn’t wait to dig in.

Daddy Fox put the bag on the table and went to get a beer as Miz Burchett began to pull brightly colored cardboard trays out of the bag and set them on the table. Each tray was loosely wrapped with waxed paper and scotch-taped on the side to keep the barbeque covered and warm. As she opened the bag, I was standing right beside her with my nose as close to the bag as possible and she laughed as she nudged me out of the way with her ample backside.

I will do my best to describe the type of barbeque that was available back then from a very old pit in the backyard of a wonderful black man’s house deep in the Guthrie countryside. Well, it was nothing like you can get anymore because back then there were no inspectors or health departments or any government workers who gave a damn about a pit in someone’s backyard.

But we thought it was great because it was the best barbeque you have ever piled on white bread and slathered in homemade sauce. Daddy Fox knew to buy a lot because we ate for what seemed like hours and hardly made a dent in those cardboard trays. There were six each of pork and mutton barbeque and it was wonderful.

Everyone is familiar with pork barbeque , but you can’t get mutton anymore. Mutton comes from sheep and it is so much better than pork. Maybe I just thought it was better because we could only get it in Guthrie or maybe it was because it just tasted better to me but whatever the reason, I made a beeline for the mutton tray and piled it on two slices of white bread. Then came the sauce, made by the pit-master's wife I am sure. The sauce was spicy and sweet with a syrupy thickness that stuck to the barbeque and did not drip off the sandwich. I don’t know why white bread was the only way to go back then, as you would think that a hamburger bun would do just fine, but white bread was… well, it just was. Some chips followed next and a big scoop of potato salad and a cold bottle of RC Cola and I was in hog heaven (or sheep heaven) if you please.

As I sit and write about those days, I wish I could explain just how great it was to be around that kitchen table, listening to the adults talk about whatever, parked in a wooden chair in the corner eating the best barbeque sandwich in the world. Life was simple and good at that moment.