I spent this wonderfully warm and sunny Mother's Day afternoon driving Hwy. 70 between Durham and Greensboro. It's a road that roughly parallels I-40 along this stretch but the going is much slower. It takes one through a number of well-kept little towns and as I drove, I spotted a number of potential lunch spots. But they were all closed. This surprised me, as I would think Mother's Day would be a busy day for these establishments. The fast food restaurants along the way were, of course, open. This is a phenomenon new to me: chain restaurants in small towns.

I once read a travelogue, The Lost Continent, written by a humorist named Bill Bryson. It is an enjoyable read, for the most part, and I found the basic motif behind his travels an interesting one. He was looking for the one unchanged little burg that must be out there somewhere; if I remember correctly, he stated that he was looking for the town that looked as if Andy Hardy could still live there. This had a resonance with me. I've always enjoyed those innocent Mickey Rooney "masterpieces" and pined a bit for the seemingly lost America they portray, and as I began the book, I hoped that Bryson would be successful in his quest.

Those days are not so terribly far out of reach. The small town of my youth, the town my mom grew up in and where her folks, my grandparents, still lived, Okemah, Ok., was a place where Andy would have fit right in. The only businesses were locally owned and run (no franchises here) and it was big enough news, when my three siblings and I arrived, that the visit was announced in the local newspaper, the Okemah Daily Leader.

Now, as one enters most tiny hamlets, one is confronted by a steady stream of McDonalds, Taco Bell, Long John Silver's and their fatty, styrofoam-encased brethren. And somehow, it just doesn't fit the picture. I have learned, though, that if one continues into the center of town, one will often still encounter the small town of old, a town where Andy Hardy, George Bailey, Aunt Bea and my late grandfather, Cecil E. Oakes, would feel right at home. It's only the edges of the towns, as they've grown, that have gotten so tacky. I suspect that Master Hardy wouldn't be found in the local KFC, either. We'd find him in the middle of town at the Snappy Lunch luncheonette or the Triangle Diner. And that's where you'll find me, too.

Continue on the American Odyssey.
Return to BRETTnews.
Email us at: mailroom@brettnews.com.