A few months back, I made a trip back to my home town of Tazewell, Virginia. As I walked down Main Street, I got to thinking back to the days of my childhood and just how much things have changed. Most of the stores that I had visited in my youth have long closed and are now either vacant or used as office space. Gone are the days when people came to Main street to shop and to visit.As I made my way down the street I stopped in front of the building that once housed Jackson's Drug Store. Oh, what memories came flooding back as I looked in the window. I fondly remember the old soda fountain where you could get a cherry coke, and ice cream sundae or my favorite an ice cold Cherry Smash.
I remember on Saturday afternoon, you could walk by Jackson's and at one time of the other, see almost every kid in the community sitting, or as most would do, spinning on the round soda fountain stools, while their parents shopped on Main Street.
Jackson's was a place that where I could go as a child and buy a Christmas or Birthday gift for my mom and dad and simple ask Doc Fugate to charge it. He would then simply write it down in the large file that he kept on the counter for everyone in the community. He would file it away until the next time my mom or dad came in to "settle up."
Jackson's was a place that we went to get you prescriptions filled by Doc Fugate, but it was a place where the community came to visit and catch up on what had gone on since the last time they were in town. You see, growing up in a small town your neighbors were also your friends. Jackson's was "the ole country store" on Main Street.
When I was growing up in the late sixties and early seventies, the rest of the nation was struggling with something called civil rights. I remember watching the news, seeing riots and fights between white and black people. People in other parts of the county would have probably been confused had they walked by Jackson's Drug Store on any Saturday afternoon. Had they stopped at Jackson's and took time to look in the window, they would have probably seen black kids and white kids sitting side by side spinning on those round soda fountain stools laughing and sharing the time while their parents shopped up and down Main Street.
One of the fixtures at Jackson's Drug Store was an kindly old black gentleman that I knew as "Mister Henry." As I looked in the window some 40-years later I could see as if it was yesterday, Mister Henry sweeping, stocking shelves, and often mopping and cleaning up the mess us kids had made. Mister Henry also delivered medicine to the sick "folks" who couldn't get out. He never charging them a dime and most of the time never got more than a "thank you" and a smile, which was always enough. Mister Henry always had a kind word and a smile for everyone who he met.
My dad was a truck driver and would often travel to Florida to pick up produce for Deskin's Supermarket. As a young boy I would always love to go with him. Seeing the country and spending time with my dad was always a treat.
It was on one of these trips that it had rained all week in Florida and the packing houses was short on produce because the pickers hadn't been able to pick in the field. For three day we sat in a motel before dad made the decision to get me back to Tazewell in time for me to go back to school. So early on a Saturday morning dad took me to the Orlando Bus Station and put me on bus bound for Bluefield.
Bluefield was a close as I could get to Tazewell, and my concern was how I would get from Bluefield to Tazewell. Daddy reply was, "if I can get you to Bluefield you should be able to find a way to Tazewell." For the 18-hours it took for the bus to make the trip from Orlando to Bluefield, I worried about how I would travel those last 20-miles.
I arrived in Bluefield on a rainy Sunday morning, I got off the bus and made my way inside the station, the first person I saw was Mister Henry. Without hesitation I made my way over to him and ask him for a ride back to Tazewell. I climbed into the back seat of Mister Henry's car and 40-minutes later he delivered me to my front door.
As I got out of his car, I tried to pay him but but he refused to take the $10.00 that I offered, saying, "I don't want your money, that's what neighbors are for."
When my dad finally got back to Tazewell we took Mister Henry a 10-pound bag of orange down to Jackson's. Those oranges and my sincere thank you was the only pay that Mister Henry ever received for being a neighbor. You see our neighbors were also our friends. You see when I was growing up in our small town we were more concerned about being good neighbors and good friends. People like Doc Fugate, and Mister Henry were the rule rather than the exception.
I will never forget the time that I spent a Jackson's, spinning on those soda fountain stood, but more important I have never forgotten the kindness that Mister Henry showed me on that rainy Sunday Morning many years ago.
