If By Whiskey

By Quentin Whitwell

Learning how to cope in the New South, which does not always seem so new, is a tall order, especially if you are Anna Neimus, an aspiring college journalist who just can’t seem to catch a break. A Northerner, sometimes Anna wonders if her liberal, feminist leanings are out of place at the Tri Delta sorority house in University, Mississippi. Her roommate, a quintessential southern girl, is always putting ideas in Anna’s head which, in turn, translate into controversial articles. Each one ignites the letters to the editor in full force and lands Anna in the center of the blast zone.

But this time she has really blown it. She has struck a nerve on campus and is in a real pinch. In her article on Barack Obama’s appearance at Ole Miss, she declares the debate a “historic bore”. There is only one way to fix her problem -- use her wits. With the help of her sorority sisters, fraternity boyfriends, and her best friend, a fellow student and African-American conservative, Anna plows head-on into the fray, leaving a path of destruction that makes Animal House look tame.

In the shadow of the racial tensions her University has survived in the past, now it is Anna’s turn to make a difference. Seeking the editor’s post at the campus newspaper, Anna must decide if running a newspaper or running for a student government position is the way to prove she is a leader. If By Whiskey is an irreverent, lighthearted look at the life of a Maryland woman living in Mississippi, with a message of tolerance and friendship that is a testament to the changing times.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Quentin Whitwell
• Release date: Sep 8, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465738363

Book preview

If By Whiskey

By: Quentin Whitwell

Copyright © 2009 by Quentin Whitwell

Published by IsoLibris Publishing, LLC at Smashwords.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my grandfather, Fletcher Veazey, who would have loved this story, to my wife, Ginger, the love of my life, and to the Ole Miss family.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The author would like to thank Shawnassey Britt, his agent and editor. Many thanks to Lauren Howell for the edgy cover design. Also to the many valued friends whose input provided insights into the book: Keith Sisson, Rick and Emily Dye, Jay Wiltz, Anna DeMarco Kalom, and Donna Cromeans. To my friends Clay and Helen Summerford, Ryan and Jessica Cole, and Allen and Allison Fielder for listening to my obsessive chatter about the book as I brainstormed for ideas. To Gerald Turner for laying the foundation. To Robert Khayat, whose leadership brought the University of Mississippi into a new age of respect and equality for all. To my parents and my brother for always being there. To Dr. and Mrs. John Fullenwider for their generosity and support. To Ginger for always encouraging me to pursue my dreams.

FOREWORD

Juxtaposing the New South with the not-so-old Old South in time frames that extend from the 1962 integration of Ole Miss with the arrival of James Meredith on campus, to the election of a student body president in the 1990’s, to the Mississippi presidential debate of 2008 and its aftermath, and well into the yet unknown future, If By Whiskey brings a message of tolerance and friendship taking the reader into the microcosm of the Ole Miss campus and the Oxford community. The humor and satire, the foibles and follies, and vices and crimes of this Hotty Toddy, Colonel Rebel community reflect the changes taking place throughout a nation struggling to deal with the world’s problems that have been burning for generations. As the narrator explains, each generation, not entirely responsible for the world’s problems, has to do its best to endure. Who better than William Faulkner to underscore this theme in If By Whiskey when he says, I believe that man will not merely endure; he will prevail. Just like Ole Miss, Quentin Whitwell’s narrator explains that past, present, and future are all centered around a solid core, changing and growing.

If By Whiskey is the story of the growth of a young woman through her last two years at The University of Mississippi and into the professional world of work. Aspiring to be editor of the Daily Mississippian and then ASB President, she encounters a variety of Southern collegiate stereotypes who quickly become much more as she discovers the human beings behind their personas and watches them mature into adult individuals. It is the story of loves, friendships, and betrayals; of compassion, understanding, and forgiveness. The conflicts are intense; the resolutions, uplifting.

The integration of Ole Miss legend and history into the lives of the characters is dramatic and compelling as Pandora’s box is opened unleashing a series of horrors that force self-examination and creative thinking. Just how far has The University of Mississippi progressed since its

integration in 1962? Can the New South be defined; and, if so, how much a part of it are the present-day students at Ole Miss? Where have various changes lead them, and how prepared are they to cope with these changes?

Reading in places like a personal memoir, If By Whiskey cleverly integrates two first-person narrators with an omniscient narrator. Epigraphs, informational headlines and paragraphs, and short introductory scenes often with attached authorial commentary introduce chapters of If By Whiskey, creating reasons for reflective thought that go far beyond the central story line leading to the exploration of universals. The title of the novel itself is a metaphor for political survival that moves symbolically from politics into the social fabric of a nation.

With a fictional narrative that is impossible to forget, Quentin Whitwell honors the Mississippi story-telling tradition made famous by Eudora Welty, William Faulkner, Tennessee Williams, and Richard Wright.

--Professor Colby Kullman

Section I

1

On September 26, 2008, the University of Mississippi hosted the first of the televised debates between presidential candidates John McCain, the Republican Senator from Arizona, and Barack Obama, the unexpected Democratic candidate and an African-American. Media pundits were quick to call attention to the contrast between the University as it exists today and the University as it existed during the racially charged Civil Rights era. According to Time: Hosting the first such forum of the general campaign, administrators hoped, would help the school shed the racial-backwater image that has clung to it since its embattled 1962 integration, when 120 federal marshals could barely hold the violent riots that left two civilians dead and dozens injured back. The fact that the debate participants included Barack Obama, the nation’s first black presidential nominee of a major party, would only add to the symbolism. The high-profile event was a chance ‘to invite the nation and the world to visit us and see Ole Miss today,’ says university chancellor Robert Khayat. ‘This is a very different place from 1962. I’m confident that they will see that.’

Da Da Duh Duh Duh Da Da Da Duh Duh Duh Duuuuuuuh!

Lindsey groaned, rolled over and pulled the cushion pillow over her head.

DA DA DUH DUH DA DA DA DUH DUH DUH DUUUUUUH!

Dixie. Ugh! I am starting to really hate that song!

Lindsey burrowed further under the pillow. I swear if that blasted trumpet sounds one more time I will personally wrap it around the lips of the next person who says ‘Hotty Toddy,’ she grumbled.

As her brain slowly began functioning again, she cracked one eye open to see what time it was. A neon 9:15 was flashing from a smiling Colonel Rebel’s belly. She jerked up in bed and instantly fell back, grabbing the strange blanket that was sliding down her naked body with one hand and the head that was threatening to fall off with the other. That wasn’t her alarm clock and this wasn’t her bed. In fact, it was not a bed at all. Instead, she was lying on a grungy couch that was horribly unfamiliar.

Not again!

She rolled off the couch and slowly got to her feet, scanning the room for her clothes. She was sure they had to be around there somewhere

Great. Just great, she thought. I missed my first class. I swore to myself I was not going to miss English Lit again. I haven’t gotten my morning exercise, and I haven’t worked out the last five days in a row. Kathryn and Anna are going to kill me. I am pretty sure they don’t know where I am. I don’t even know where I am. I have got to get back to the sorority house.

The house was named for her sorority, Delta Delta Delta. She and her suitemates, Anna and Kathryn, were members of the Tri Deltas. It was a fitting name for them, she thought, because they did everything together, all the time. In fact, a lot of people called them the Tri Delts. At the moment, Lindsey felt more like the lone Try Delta -- because everyone else had. She looked around and discovered she was all alone. At least she could get out of there quietly. Lindsey was the first one awake and the day was looking rough early.

Slowly turning her head from side to side, Lindsey came to a conclusion. We definitely rode the tornado out of Kansas last night Dorothy.

Greek letters mocked her from every corner of the room. From the screen saver flashing on the laptop on the desk across the room, to the size 12 tennis shoes on the floor, to the paddle hanging on the wall, the room bore a distinctive male feel. Even the words written on the boxer shorts draped across her blue jeans were in Greek.

Okay, think. What happened last night besides that incredibly boring debate? she asked herself.

Then she remembered. She and Anna were standing outside of the Ford Center. Anna was talking to some old guy and said not to bother her. She said they were talking insider politics.

Then that cute, wavy haired fraternity boy came along and stole her attention. He invited them both to an after debate party. Anna hadn’t wanted to go, but Lindsey dragged her along anyway. When they got there he handed her a glass of something reddish pink to drink, hunch punch she thought he called it. A better name for it would have been Superwoman. After two of them, she thought she could fly! Last night, that was exactly what she was. Today? Not so much.

Where was Anna? I know Anna joined me at the party, but somehow she always manages to escape temptation. She probably had a full night’s sleep in the comfort of her own bed and made her eight o’clock literature class, Lindsey thought. At least somebody would have notes.

Lindsey found her bra hanging from the shade of the floor lamp and reached behind her to snap it on from the back without catching her long black hair in the hooks. She slipped on the black cotton top and her favorite Seven jeans she’d worn last night. She supposed her panties were under the bed, but at this point she just didn’t care. If she was careful and didn’t bend down to look, her head might not explode.

Just before slipping out the door she reached back and snagged a fraternity t-shirt off the floor. After all, she’d earned it. The woman with the most t-shirts wins.

On the way back to the sorority house, Lindsey made a detour through the Union for a soy latté. From the inside back flap of her book bag, she drew out a wrinkled sheet of stationary paper with the letters MTA on the front.

She unfolded it and slowly read again her mother’s note from just a few days back. All it took was Dear Lindsey, and she felt herself tearing up. It was an invitation to join the family in the upcoming weekend for her niece’s birthday party. Everyone in the Allen family was going to be there.

Oh, joy, she said. Now everyone can call me a screw-up to my face. And then, there on the back, were just a few short sentences from her Mom. Nothing fancy, just an I love you and you can do whatever you set your mind to, pep talk. Her mom never preached. She just used the right words to encourage her to get back on track with her life, her goals, and her grades. Moms were so good, and Marsha Allen was definitely one of the best. Her mom always said the right thing without hurting her feelings, but she never failed to make her point.

Just days before, Lindsey had told herself she was going to do better. She would cut back on the partying and refrain from shacking up. But look at her this morning. She really wished she could be more like Anna. Anna was so smart, and she somehow avoided making the disastrous decisions that caused Lindsey’s reputation to leave something to be desired.

Or she could be more like Kathryn and get a boyfriend. Nobody talked about how many nights Kathryn didn’t show up at the House to sleep because it was just one guy. But they weren’t exactly the couple of the year. Actually, they were pretty dysfunctional.

Lindsey avoided the Grove on her way to Sorority Row. It wasn’t that she was afraid of running into anyone before she’d had time to shower and clear her head.

Who was she kidding? The walk of shame was no fun on a normal day, but today it was even worse. She couldn’t face all the chaos going on with the news crews giving final wrap ups on the debate and taking down the Jumbotron that had been erected for students to watch the debate, although she wouldn’t mind if she ran into Shepard Smith. He was one of Ole Miss’ favorite former students and a drop out, too. She’d caught a glimpse of him last night and decided he was a hottie, even if he did work for Fox News. Maybe she could write her Mom and tell her that if Shep could be a successful dropout, she could be too. On second thought, that would not go over so well with Daddy, and he might stop paying the credit card bill.

At the corner of Sorority Row sat the Delta Delta Delta house. Every time she walked up the front steps of the house she was tempted to hum the theme from Gone with the Wind. It wasn’t an exact replica of the O’Hara plantation, but it had the feel of something grand and divine. Many of the sororities on Ole Miss’ campus were beautiful and stately, but the Tri Delta alumni were the first to pour money into theirs. Now everyone else was just trying to catch up. At least that was the way Lindsey saw it.

If she was lucky she could slip in and out without running into Kathryn. Lindsey figured she had just enough time to grab a quick shower and then make her 11 o’clock class, if no one stopped her.

No such luck. She almost chuckled at the sight waiting for her. There Kathryn sat like a righteously indignant Barbie doll come to life. Lindsey figured if Barbie was a real woman she’d have blonde hair, a ridiculously tiny waist, and an equally ridiculous bra size. That described Kathryn to a tee. Lindsey was from the South, but Kathryn was a true Southern Belle. A Baton Rouge native, her family was one of about five that bled red and blue in her hometown. Screaming Tiger Bait and wearing purple and yellow would have made her skin crawl. Kathryn Thibodeaux was born and bred in Cajun country, but she was the Ole Miss Barbie, and she looked like a doll 24/7.

Only today, this Barbie had her hair up in curlers, and wore pink bunny rabbit slippers, lime green sleep pants that sported the word PINK on the back-end, and a worn out high school football jersey that was stretched almost beyond endurance.

Where in the HELL have you been? Kathryn, like many Southern women, didn’t swear often, but she knew how to drop one every now and again for effect.

Good morning to you, too, Lindsey said, tossing her backpack in an unused chair and starting to strip on her way to the shower. She almost tripped over Kathryn, who was in her path and who had taken the liberty of waiting in Lindsey’s living space. Lindsey was trying to make it to her second class and not completely waste her academic pursuits today. But she had to shut Kathryn up.

Don’t you good morning me! We have a deal. When you go out, no matter how late you stay, you promised me you would text me and let me know where you are, especially if you are going to be out all night. I was worried about you.

Lindsey shrugged. Anna went too.

I know that, Kathryn answered impatiently. But Anna, my dear, came home! I was about to question the entire SAE house to see just how many of those boys knew your name. I hear you put on quite a show on stage last night.

Oh, Lord. Lindsey covered her eyes and rubbed her head as if to stop the hangover. Her big brown eyes felt like they were bulging. Please tell me you’re kidding. Damn. How many shots had it taken to get her up on stage? Lindsey couldn’t remember. But that guy with the wavy hair had been bringing them as quickly as she could get them down. And he had been so hot. She uncovered her eyes, a sly grin breaking out on her face. On the other hand, it can be fun being so bad.

You are absolutely out of control. If you weren’t the cutest girl on campus, someone might call you a freak. Kathryn was laughing, but she was serious.

Thank God for Paris Hilton. She has reinvented the standard. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shower so I’m not late for my next class. She quickly finished stripping, grabbed her towel and robe and rushed toward the bathroom.

Lindsey, Kathryn called after her.

Not now, I’m in a hurry. I promise I’ll tell you everything when I get back from class.

LINDSEY! Kathryn repeated shaking her head in disbelief.

WHAT??? Lindsey all but yelled back as loudly as she could without her head falling off.

Kathryn drew her slippered bunny rabbits up under her. You don’t have to hurry.

Yes I do. It’s Dr. Carson’s class, and if I’m late again she said she’ll drop my last exam grade a whole letter. I can’t afford to drop another letter grade in that class cuz that’ll bring my whole GPA down, and I’ll lose my scholarship, and my dad will kill me, and..., she was speaking so fast she was starting to hyperventilate.

Kathryn jumped up and grabbed her arm, Lindsey! Stop! Breathe! I promise you’re not going to be late and nobody’s going to kill you.

Why? Lindsey asked as she put a scrunchie in her hair and dug through her desk drawer for a banana clip to hold it up in the shower.

Because, it’s Saturday. There aren’t any classes today.

Lindsey stopped with her hand in her hair. She dropped straight down into her desk chair. Well, hell! No wonder I didn’t have to wait for my latté this morning. I knew the campus looked a little empty. Where is everybody anyway?

Either at the game or finding someplace to watch it.

The Ole Miss Rebels were playing the #2 team in the nation, the Florida Gators in Gainesville. No one gave the team much of a chance, but it was still a good excuse to have fun and drink beer watching.

Lindsey slapped herself on the head. How could I forget what today was?

Wish I could, Anna Neimus said, coming out of the bathroom in her robe and drying her short hair with a towel. I’ve got to write my article about the debate. Anna, a third year journalism student, wrote for the campus paper, The Daily Mississippian.

Come on, go to the Library with us to watch the game, Kathryn begged. Your article isn’t due until Monday.

No, you two go on. Have fun. I’ve got to meet Mark to go over our notes on the debate.

You’re sure? Lindsey asked.

I’m sure, Anna nodded.

Lindsey nodded, not really surprised. Anna was obsessed with that newspaper. Talk about taking school seriously...

Okay, but if you change your mind, there’ll be a beer with your name on it. Kathryn offered.

Lindsey’s stomach rolled at the thought of more alcohol. Actually, you can have mine, too.

2

There is a valid distinction between The University and Ole Miss even though the separate threads are closely interwoven.

The University is buildings, trees, and people. Ole Miss is mood, emotion, and personality. One is physical and the other is spiritual. One is tangible and the other intangible.

The University is respected, but Ole Miss is loved. The University gives a diploma and regretfully terminates tenure, but one never graduates from Ole Miss.

Frank E. Everett, Jr., B.A.’32 LL.B.’34

Her backpack slung across her shoulder, Anna was grateful to escape. Wearing her favorite designer jeans and a gray t-shirt with blue lettering that read OLE MISS journalism, she made her way across campus to meet Mark Nelson. Taking a page out of Lindsey’s book, she was going to be late.

Fashionably late, like any good Southern belle would be, she murmured as she walked through the Grove, drawling in her phoniest Southern accent. She wondered for a second what her ultra-liberal high school friends back in Chevy Chase, Maryland would think about her even jokingly referring to herself as a Southern Belle. And a sorority girl, too. East coast Prep school girls would not stand for it. They’d stage an intervention.

Anna wasn’t a Southern Belle, but she wasn’t an ugly Yankee duckling either. She was fun and cute-- the girl next door with a twist. Being rich, preppy, beautiful and a sorority girl was complicated. Everyone back home dismissed her new life as naïve and superficial, but it was through Tri Delt that she had met Lindsey and Kathryn. She had her own dining hall and a great place to live. And she never had to worry about her social calendar because the events kept coming.

Like powder puff flag football. That was one thing besides writing that she was really good at. She had the most catches of anyone on the team and had scored the winning touchdown against their big rivals, the Chi Omegas, last year. Life was pretty darn good. And it wasn’t like she had changed. She was still a Democrat. Being in a sorority never stopped Anna from anything.

Her short hair still damp from her shower and a little frizzy, compliments of the humidity, she found Mark Nelson sitting at the base of their favorite tree in the middle of the Grove. As usual, his head was buried in a book.

She had met the short, stocky African-American boy from a small town in Northeast Mississippi in their English Comp class her freshman year. They’d been good friends ever since. More than anyone else she’d met on campus, Mark understood her. They often studied together and would take long walks around campus talking about every subject two astute liberal arts majors could dream up.

Despite their many differences, he just got her. Anna was an ambitious woman who stood for the rights of women everywhere. She was free and she let everyone know it. She would speak her mind, and no one ever had to guess where she stood. Mark, on the other hand, was quiet and studious. He, too, was ambitious but a conservative. He often wrote articles insisting that the country was ready to embrace a color-blind attitude. She was the white liberal girl and he the black conservative guy, and they both could write a fierce article. But Anna had a penchant for controversy. The whole campus knew them both because they would write a weekly point/counter-point story debating a wide range of topics.

She sat down.

Did you have to baby sit Lindsey again last night? Mark asked without looking up.

Pretty much, but no more than usual. I actually got a break when she began flirting with some guy and totally forgot I was there. I hate to say it, but I took that as my cue to leave. Anna grinned She, on the other hand, arrived back home as I was leaving to see you. She pulled her leather notebook from her backpack. I still haven’t gotten this article written yet.

Mark put his book down in his lap. Girl, you are too much! I turned mine in about half an hour ago. Unlike some people I know who found the fraternity parties, after the debate I went backstage with my press credentials. I found both candidates there socializing. He raised smug eyebrows. I met both of them, then came back to my dorm and jotted down a few notes. I got up early this morning and turned mine in on time.

You are ever the one-upper now aren’t you? That is incredible. Anna slapped Mark on the leg.

Sitting back, she contemplated all the activity down University Avenue and in the Grove this morning. Normally their spot was just about the quietest place on campus, except on game days. Today it was buzzing with crews picking up trash, packing up network satellite equipment, and dismantling the Jumbotrons that looked so out of place among the historic magnolias and brick paths of the Grove. She spoke without thinking. Do I really have to tell the same old story that every other aspiring journalist is going to tell? I’m thinking of going in another direction.

And just what is that, Anna? Mark asked.

I think Anna needs to go sit in a quiet corner at the DM office and decide what this column is going to look like before she gets too far past the deadline and her piece of genius never has a chance to make the press. Anna got up and started gathering her backpack.

Care for some last minute words of wisdom? Mark inquired.

Every little bit helps, Anna said.

Don’t think about what anyone else has told you. Focus on your favorite part of the debate and write about that. Looking up at Anna, he added, Does that make sense?

Yeah. Perfect sense. Thanks. Instead of heading over to her desk at the paper, Anna decided that since her suitemates were probably well into their second beer while cheering the football team on at the library, she could get more work done in her own room.

On her way back to the Tri-Delta house, Mark’s words echoed in her head. If she had to be really honest, her favorite part of last night’s debate hadn’t even happened in the Ford Center. It happened outside on the steps after the debate was over.

Before the debate began, she found her seat in the special media section overlooking the room. She soon found herself watching the crowd. People were milling around, glad-handing, doing the see and be seen routine. She easily spotted the dignitaries there, the Governor, members of Congress, the movers and shakers of both parties on a state and national level. But there was one man working the crowd that caught her eye.

He was moving through the room shaking hands like a seasoned politician, but no one around her recognized him. He was in his early 30’s, on the slender side with dark hair, and wearing an obviously expensive tailor-made suit, like most of the rich Republicans wore, and a red tie. But this guy’s tie had little cotton bolls all over it. She wondered who he was. He must have been someone to have been given a VIP pass and allowed on the floor. Whoever he was, there was a charismatic aura around him. She was disappointed when he started to leave the Ford Center. Probably going to watch the debate from one of those fancy condo balconies in the Square, she thought. And then, just before he walked out the door, he stopped, turned, and looked straight up at her as though he could tell she’d been watching him. He gave her a quick wink and then left.

Later, after the debate was over, she stood on the steps of the Ford Center trying to catch people as they came out to get quotes and impressions on the debate. She was hoping someone had gotten more out of it than she had, because, frankly, neither candidate had said anything new, at least as far as she could tell. She spotted the Chancellor and started to make her way to him. But she was so eager to reach the Chancellor, she hadn’t watched where she was going. She bumped into a man, dropping her notebook. They both bent down to pick it up, and she was shocked to find the man handing her the notebook was her mystery man!

He studied her for a moment, his eyes catching her DM press ID. Smiling he handed the notebook to her. Quite a night isn’t it?

She had just started to answer him when Lindsey came bounding up, trying to drag her to some after-debate party with some guy she’d just met. She shrugged Lindsey off and turned back to find her Mystery Man walking away on the arm of a beautiful blonde. She had to be a Chi-O, even though she was obviously past the college age. The woman just looked like a Chi-O and once a Chi-O, always a Chi-O. Again, as if he knew she was watching him, he turned his back as they were leaving and said over his shoulder, Don’t let them wear you down…stick to your guns, you’ll figure it out. And then he and the blonde were gone, disappearing into the crowd.

Definitely her favorite part of the debate.

Opening the door to her suite, Anna was surprised to find Kathryn there studying. Not wanting to disturb her, she quietly slipped in, went to her own desk, and tried to work. But she couldn’t get a single word written. Brain to paper, she kept telling herself. She kept at it, confident she would get the article completed and would hustle back to Fulton Hall to submit it. But she found herself still asking questions.

Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. Have you ever had the feeling that you were in the middle of history? she asked Kathryn, breaking a silence that had lasted for almost half an hour. Kathryn looked up from the lithosphere diagram she’d been filling in with a red colored pencil, her eyes dazed.

Geology, she said.

What?

This is for my geology lab. I don’t have History again until Wednesday.

No no, that’s not what I asked, said Anna chuckling softly at the misunderstanding. I asked if you’ve ever had the feeling that you were in the middle of history. Like actual history.

Nnnooooo, Kathryn answered, I can’t say that’s ever crossed my mind. Unless you’re asking, like, if I remember what I was doing when certain things happened. Like 9-11. I remember that.

Anna shook her head. Kathryn didn’t get it. No, that’s not what I mean. She opened her mouth to explain, but was interrupted by a loud beep from her cell phone. She checked the text message, sent a quick reply, and set the phone down again.

Okay, here’s the deal, she began. My article is due today, and I’m racking my brains out over here trying to get it right, because I think it’s gonna be important.

Anna, said Kathryn in a condescending tone, no offense honey, but it’s the DM. I don’t think anyone’s expecting you to write any Pulitzer material.

Anna rolled her eyes. "No, I understand that. And believe me, if this was any other article it would have been done yesterday, and

Reviews for If By Whiskey

[R.Q. Whitwell · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

If By Whiskey was clever, unique and relevant! A clear story of support and redemption. It has all the attributes of an exciting novel with some history lessons.