It’s summer1986 in Oneonta, Alabama population 3736. There's a new boss in town, Big Bessie, 300 pounds of desire with a mind like a steel trap.
A few months ago Bessie, Bag Head, and Popa Earl opened a lush cat house at The Palace Hotel in Oneonta.
Bag Head's known around town for wearing a paper bag on his head. Bessie's Old Man, Poppa Earl, resembled Walt Whitman, he was Aichmophobic, terrified of scissors, razors, steak knives, and such.
Most folks in Oneonta figured the new cat house was good for the local economy, but there were a few who were akin it.
Take the Reverend Lucas Backslide, who walked into the lobby of the rabbit hutch one afternoon uninvited, appalled by what he saw— scantly clad strumpets lounging on sofas together, drinking and exposing themselves.
As the Reverend Backslide tears into Bessie, who's standing behind the front desk feeling bewildered, he's full of pious fury, waving his well-worn bible in the air as he quotes Luke 1:7,
Just as Sodom and Gomorrah and the surrounding cities, which likewise indulged in sexual immorality and pursued unnatural desire, serve as an example of undergoing a punishment of eternal fire!
Big Bessie is knocked broadside by the reverend's intrusion, she summons Bag Head, who’s no scrapper saying,
get him outta here,
the bag man walks up to the paster telling him,
you're being judgmental and causing a disturbance, please leave reverend.
Without warning, the pastor sways back and forth like a Jew praying and begins speaking in tongues—
0 ma sof ha ba la se po la a la a o pa de sa lo zee vah rue chin tee hah!
Big Bessie’s skeptical about religion, she looks at Bag Head, raising an eyebrow as she waves her handheld fan steadfastly saying,
that's it with the blah, blah, tongue-speaking, it gives me the creeps.
She hustles around the front desk, running fast for a fat girl, horse collaring Reverend Lucas Backslide and dragging him through the lobby and out the front door as the half-naked floozies lounging on lobby chairs and sofas howl approvingly.
Bessie tosses the pastor on the sidewalk and he lays there letting loose with another—
O ma sof ha ba la se po la a la o pa de sa lo zee vah rue chin tee hah!
Big Bessie says to the bag man,
how in the hell do you turn the guy off? If that's what the spirit of God is, you can have mine.
We need to hire a bouncer, I'm finished with it and you're worthless. Let's go meet Papa Earl at Swamp Tails, he has something he wants to tell us.
Earl owned Swamp Tails, which served old-style southern cooking black-eyed peas, fried chicken, hush puppies, catfish, and even chunks of sauteed gator meat.
The bag man treks up 3 flights of stairs, reaching his unsavory hotel room, gets naked, and walks down the hall, swatting cockroaches with his towel on the way to the common bathroom where he takes a shower and shaves.
Back in his room he splashes Aqua Velva the skin embracer on his face, puts on a purple suit, ostrich skin cowboy boots, then pulling a paper bag with holes cut it where his eyes and mouth are, over his head.
Big Bessie’s room is on the 2nd floor of The Palace Hotel, it has a private bathroom. She showers, makes herself up, puts on a flashy Cleopatra wig, a red sequin dress, and high heels.
The couple had changed since they opened the chicken shack, going from dressing modestly to dressing like peacock pimps.
The bag man and Bessie drive to Swamp Tails in his second hand, Cadillac Seville convertible. While cruising Main Street his bag is sucked into the wind, disappearing, he felt naked bagless. Miss Bessie howls, laughing.
Everyone in town knew him as Bag Head, nobody knew his real name. Some folks in Oneonta said he had a legal name change.
Miss Bessie filed his taxes using the name Bag Head, Jesus, think of that? Having a Social Security card or ID with a name like— Meat Loaf, Cher, Vanilla Ice, Common, Carrot Top, or Bag Head on it.
The bag man wheels his car into the circular driveway of Swamp Tails, a valet settles into the driver seat of the Caddy, parking it a few blocks down Main.
Inside the restaurant, the brash couple is greeted by Swamp Tail’s smashing blond receptionist April, who says,
why hello Miss Bessie, who’s the handsome fella?
oh, just my beau Bag Head, I guess you don’t recognize him without a bag on his head.
Bessie’s hand fan is closed and she points it in full power mode at April saying,
if you wanna make real money sexy, come and work for us at the chicken shack.
Miss Bessie my Daddy’s a preacher, he’d just die if I worked there. Papa Earl’s waiting for you all in his private room.
They follow April who has long, well-shaped, endless legs and is wearing blue tailored pants, a low cut white blouse, and stiletto heels.
In the private room, Bessie gives her Daddy, Papa Earl a big hug and he lights up, the 2 never hassled, Earl was as easy going as they come.
They sit down at the round table, closing the drab rooms double door behind them. Their server Jony, who wears a traditional waitress’s uniform, brings in a pitcher of mint juleps on a tray with highball glasses and a bucket of ice. Papa Earl tells her,
have Chef Willy pick out 1/2 a dozen specialty dishes, whatever’s fresh tonight, and keep the juleps coming.
Bessie’s always on a diet but eats fried food, knocks back sugary whiskey drinks, and loves desserts, particularly sweet potato pie and vanilla graham cracker pudding — which she orders take away from Emma’s Soul Kitchen in Ebonytown.
She eats like other fat women, picking at her food in public and gorging herself in the privacy of her room, ordering from Mc Donalds and KFC a lot, a masked death wish.
Jony carries a serving tray filled with plates of food into the room, setting it on a tray holder and serving the assorted dishes on the round table to be shared and eaten Chinese family-style, enough food the feed an extended Asian family.
Papa Earl and Bessie don’t eat much, they’re loaded, but the bag man packs it away— he’s a writer, everyone knows a poet loves a free meal.
After Jony clears the plates, she delivers a small tray with a bottle of Hennessy XO and snifter glasses on it, setting it on the round table. Hennessy cognac— the favorite of aristocrats, drunken Franciscan monks, and rappers alike. Papa Earl says without pretense, as though he's speaking at the Elks Club,
as you all know The Palace Hotel chicken shack has been a great success.
He's the richest man in Blair County, Alabama, and he didn't make his money by resting his oars.
Yesterday I bought a bankrupt midget wrastling company out of Selma the deal includes— a team of 10 midget wrastlers, a boxing ring, a boxcar load of metal-framed bleachers, concessions stands, ticket booths, a circus tent, 3 semi-trucks, and an old International bus. We can pitch the tent outside of town on my alfalfa field.
Miss Bessie's drunk, she’s sitting with her elbows on the table, stabilizing and experiencing booze-induced vertigo. Bag Head calls Jony,
bring us a blackened catfish sandwich, a slice of pecan pie and a pot of coffee?
He wants Bessie to eat something to sober up, then he asks Earl,
Papa, do you ya think midget wrastling will fly?
Every venture entails a percentage of risk, but I think we can draw folks in from all over the county, not just Oneonta, rednecks love a freak show. We're gonna have to get popping on this thing.
Bag Head, go to Main Street Printers tomorrow, have em print up 400 posters, Tell the boys we need em ASAP. Drive through towns in Blair County and post em in restaurant windows, on announcement boards, put em where folks can see em. Opening night will be in 2 weeks, Friday at 8 PM.
It’ll take me a few days Papa Earl.
A week later 3 semi-trucks and an International bus roll into Oneonta, driven by midget wrestlers. The little guys wrapped wood blocks with duct tape on the foot pedals of the vehicles so their feet could reach them.
Papa Earl will pay the wrestling team a weekly salary and a gate commission for each show.
Bessie gives them directions to the empty alfalfa field on Cherokee Loop telling them,
park the trucks near the alfalfa field at the end of Cherokee Loop, then come on back to the hotel on the bus. You and your family will be staying on the 4th floor of our hotel, keep it clean and keep the noise down.
Back in town, the midget wrestlers park the bus off of Main Street in the alley behind The Palace Hotel. The gypsy family makes its way to the hotel, carrying luggage. Most are married with kids and everyone in the group is a dwarf.
Early Tuesday morning, a farmer cuts the alfalfa field with his mowing rig close and tight, then attaching a roller filled with sand and running it back and forth over the field to flatten it.
Bessie hires a Big Joe Williams who was a tent boss with The Ringling Brother’s Circus for years— Big Joe brings a crew of roughnecks from Ebonytown to pitch the circus tent, ratchet the bleachers in, put the boxing ring up, and place the painted plywood concession and ticket booths, it’s a 3-day job.
On Wednesday night Papa Earl brings 2 wrestlers to WTDR, a country radio station broadcasting throughout Blair County, in his pick up.
They walk through the front door of a cinder block transmitter station and sit with local radio personality Ramblin James, who will interview them to promote Fridays' wrestling bout.
That was Hank Williams singing Lonesome Highway.
Folks, midget wrastlers— Mini Max and El Torino are here with Papa Earl, owner of Swamp Tail in Oneonta, home of real southern cookin, don’t you all miss it when you’re in town.
This Friday at 8 PM Papa Earl and Swamp Tail will present a midget wrastling match outside of Ebonytown. Drive west on Cherokee loop, look for a big ole circus tent or call 205 356 7867, that’s 205 356 7867 for directions.
Mini Max how bout tellin the folks out there what to expect!
Mr. James, I just wanna tell everybody to come on out and enjoy some big-time ass kickin, we’re gonna have 5 tag team bouts. Us wrastlers may be small, but we’re full beans and we’ll be tootin Friday night.
You heard it first on WTDR, 98.7. This is Ramplin James and I wanna tell ya these little fellas know how to put on a show. Bring the kids for some good ole family entertainment Friday at 8 PM.
Call 205 356 7867 that’s 205 356 7867 for directions and make a reservation. After the show, I’ll be goin to Swamp Tail for a finger lickin good southern meal!
Here's a little ditty by Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Mountain boys!
Ramblin James had a tongue that never stopped wagging. Mini Max got a sentence in between the disc jockey's licks, Papa Earl and El Torino didn’t say a word.
After the interview, Papa Earl slips Ramblin James 3 crisp hundred dollar bills for the on-air plugs.
By Thursday evening the tent is up off of Cherokee Loop in the fresh-cut field— the whiff of alfalfa floats all the way to Ebonytown.
On Friday morning Big Joe and his hands had ratcheted in the rows of bleachers, put together the boxing ring, concession stands, and ticket booths. Big Joe and his
the crew had worked 34 hours non stop.
On opening night Bessie would pay the gals from the cat house to run the concessions and work as usherettes. There'd be a kissing booth as well.
The chicken shack in Oneonta would be closed Friday night. consequently, the randy hayseeds of Blair County would have to settle for kisses.
Elu, a well built Choctaw Indian gal, would be the ring girl, walking around the ring between bouts wearing a gold speedo swimsuit and holding up ads from area businesses.
Friday evening after supper, Bag Head and Bessie pick up Papa Earl at his mansion outside of town near Clayton Field.
They wear tuxedos and Miss Bessie dresses to the nines, wearing a low cut red party dress, showing cleavage, she wasn't a gal who needed a pushup bra.
At 730 they reach the big top looking majestic in the Caddy with its tops down, parking, then walking inside together, sitting in the front row near the Ebonytown Jazz Band.
By 830 the circus tent is packed with folks from all over Blair County wanting to see midget wrestling.
The crowd shrieks, rooting for their favorite wrestler nonstop throughout 5 bouts. The little guys put on a mighty show.
Next week, Papa Earl will schedule 3 matinees and 4 evening bouts. He was on the beam when he told Bag Head and Miss Bessie over dinner at the Swamp Tail—
Rednecks love a freak show.
