Diggin’ Elroy

By Walt Griffin

The iconic rockabilly legend, Elroy Gibby (a.k.a. The King of Bling), is persuaded to partake in a hoax and stage his death, in order to magnify his stardom in history, save the record company from bankruptcy, and to renew his relationship with his glamorous wife. He is taken to a private, tropical island, over 6,000 miles away from his hometown, Slocumb, Alabama, and told to wait for his wifes arrival.
Meanwhile, the corrupt powers that be are making a fortune off of his dead name. Elroy soon discovers that the new and happier life that he was promised was a trick of entrapment. Confined to the remote, tiny island, Elroy begins to trust no one and awaits his certain, ineluctable fate.
Back home, in Slocumb, Elroys young nephews Pug and Shuck, and a long-time family friend/farm-hand Bo Lootz, are fueled by reasonable doubt that Elroy ever died. They set out to prove that The King of Bling is not buried in the tomb that marks his name. Bo and the boys plan an elaborate scheme of their own to uncover the truth and expose those who have partaken in the biggest hoax of the century. When small town politics and a few wacky and crazy characters get mixed into the plot, all of the suspense and action spontaneously combust into laughter.
This hilarious, rib-tickling, knee-slapping adventure starts rolling, when Pug, Shuck and Bo start diggin for the truth. Its a race against time, as the three courageous seekers put their reputations, jobs, and lives on the line. They do it all in the name of love and in hope of proving that The King of Bling is still alive. By the end of the tragicomedy, you too will be Diggin Elroy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503572263

Walt Griffin

Regardless of the situation, Walt Griffin will see the funny side of life. Good humor and creative writing comes naturally for the author, just as much as illustration and design. For this project, he has painted pictures with words. In addition, he has included a series of his very own hand-drawn caricatures, for his first novel “Diggin’ Elroy”. He grew up in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia. After graduating from Georgia State University, cum laude, he has worked in corporate creative advertising, and as a freelance graphic designer, photographer, and as a college instructor.

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Copyright © 2015 by Walt Griffin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 06/19/2015

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1    The King Of Bling

Chapter 2    A Star Is Born

Chapter 3    The Evil Boll Weevil

Chapter 4    High Cotton

Chapter 5    Climbing A Mountain

Chapter 6    Love At First Sight

Chapter 7    The Year Of The Snake

Chapter 8    A New Strategy

Chapter 9    Slumgullion Meatloaf

Chapter 10    The Greatest Show In Dothan

Chapter 11    A Big Change

Chapter 12    The Plan

Chapter 13    Getting Down & Dirty

Chapter 14    Daddy’s Home

Chapter 15    The Fruits Of Tomato Town

Chapter 16    Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me

Chapter 17    To Do Or To Die For

Chapter 18    Head ’Em Up, Move ’Em Out

Chapter 19    Finishing Touches

Chapter 20    Secrets

Chapter 21    The Disappearing Act

Chapter 22    On With The Show

Chapter 23    Cream Soda & Cigars

Chapter 24    The Flight To Paradise

Chapter 25    The Slocomb Record Show

Chapter 26    Isolation Island

Chapter 27    The Gift Shop

Chapter 28    Too Hot To Handle

Chapter 29    The Fearless Pug

Chapter 30    The Lightbulb Effect

Chapter 31    From Here To China

Chapter 32    Mcguire’s Folly

Chapter 33    Singing The Blues In The News

Chapter 34    Shuffling The King Of Bling

Chapter 35    Mcguire’s Concert Plans

Chapter 36    More Diggin’

Chapter 37    The Ground Caves In

Chapter 38    Bo’s Boy—Giggles Lecroy

Chapter 39    Perkins’s Revenge

Chapter 40    Mcguire Makes The Call

Chapter 41    Here, There, & Everywhere

Chapter 42    Blue Ridge Bound

Chapter 43    The Moment Of Truth

Chapter 44    Rock Bottom & Busted

Chapter 45    There’s Gold In Them Trees

Chapter 46    Elroy Takes The Curtain Call

For my wife, Maribeth,

thanks for all your love and patience.

For my daughter, Irina,

thanks for all your creative ideas, imagination,

and inspiration!

For Mom,

here’s a story that I know you’re going to love.

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Chapter 1

THE KING OF BLING

E veryone knows about the King of Rock, the King of Pop, and the King of Swing, but have you heard of the King of Bling? No, I am not talking about the flamboyant entertainer who wore fur coats and banged on the piano. No one questioned the King of Bling’s machismo. His original and distinguished style of music was a mix of rockabilly and soul. If you heard the rhythm and the beat, I guarantee that you would be on your feet. He was the man all boys wanted to be and all the girls wanted to see. Without further ado, let me introduce to you, Mr. Elroy Gibby.

Of course, he wore enough jewelry around his neck and on his fingers to sink a battleship. Yet he was the music man, with both his steel guitar and microphone in hand. He was cool. And in the 1970s, everybody was diggin’ Elroy.

It’s a fact of life that all things change, especially people. Sometimes it’s those who we consider to be our closest friends and family that will turn against us. Whether it’s the temptation of money or greed, there are those who can’t escape the lure of becoming rich and famous by taking it from someone else. Like sharks after blood, there are those who will take a bite out of anybody that comes between them and their evil desires.

Elroy Gibby had the money; however, he was just a good ole country boy at heart. He loved his family, friends, and fans and never forgot that they were the people who made him the man and entertainer he came to be. His mother, Electra Gibby, and his manager, Max Bratton, did their best to set him on a straight path.

Max was also the founder of Atomic Records. However, it was Elroy who made the company a huge success. Everyone knew that it was Elroy’s music that kept AR in business. One thing that Elroy was better doing than anything else was making music. The combination of Elroy’s talent, Max’s savvy smarts as a manager, and millions of young Elroy fanatics made the youthful musician a household name in America and the rest of the world, in only a few years.

Was Elroy’s discovery a mere coincidence? Call it an accident or call it fate. While driving through Elroy’s hometown of Slocomb, Alabama, Max Bratton had to pull off the two-lane, crater-pitted highway on account of a thunderstorm that was approaching town. Max’s destination was just about an hour south, across the Alabama-Florida state line. His assignment, as a talent scout, was to attend a gig and determine if a band called the Kings of Boston was worthy enough to offer a contract to.

When Max left the office, he was in such a hurry that he forgot to grab his reliable companion; that happened to be a thermos of coffee. He remembered his boss warning him not to fall asleep while driving through Pittsview, Alabama. Along these long and narrow roads less traveled, he had counted 366 crosses and 735 dead armadillos. Counting the markers and roadkill was the only mind game he could play that kept him from falling asleep behind the wheel.

The little town of Slocomb wasn’t the average folks’ destination. It just happened be the place that people would drive through to get to where they needed to be. Locals knew Slocomb as Tomato Town.

Slocomb was also home of the Jolly Rogers high school football team. The only events that made headlines from this speck on the map since the Civil War was the 1958 boll weevil invasion and Franky Applewhite’s capture of a UFO alien. That’s right! The year after the tiny insects invaded and destroyed Slocomb’s crops, local farmer Franky Applewhite had convinced his town folks, and those from hundreds of miles away, that he had captured a real live alien from outer space. Applewhite swore that he had caged a surviving creature from the crash, which he captured on his peanut farm. Applewhite was able to recover a portion of his farming losses by charging a high-priced admission to anyone who wanted to see his little creature from Galaxy S4. For over a month, Applewhite had people traveling from many miles away to the little town of Slocomb. They were willing to pay big bucks to catch a glimpse of the strange-looking life-form. The story made national news.

It wasn’t until the FBI paid Franky Applewhite a visit on his farm that they uncovered his fraudulent scheme. The authorities determined that the debris from the spacecraft crash was nothing more than battered and charred pieces of scrap metal from Franky’s old silo. The parts had been hand placed, partially exposed, sticking out of his soybean field. And the mysterious space alien was Franky’s daughter’s pet capuchin monkey, named Sparky. The poor little animal had been shaved, and its tail had been clipped off.

With gusty winds and a downpour approaching, Max Bratton saw the flashing neon lights of the Hog Trough Buffet. This was his beacon of refuge. Max’s plan was to stay only long enough to have a cup of coffee and let the storm pass. The little diner was dark inside and was occupied by only a few other customers. Sitting at a booth by the window, were Roy and Gladice Tucker, accompanied by their two young children. The boy, age nine, and his ten-year-old sister, looked forward to the traditional Friday night out with their parents. The waitress on duty, the lovely Ms. Tracy Boyles, escorted Max to a table. He was seated diagonally across the room from the family. Steam rose from the line of silver buffet trays. Half portions of fried chicken, cream corn, field peas, pole beans, turnip greens, squash, and other freshly cooked vegetables from the local farms were ready to be devoured. Without stopping earlier to eat lunch, Max couldn’t resist the aroma of all the delicious Southern cooking.

In the other corner of the room, seated alone, and closer to the dessert buffet, was a husky teenaged boy. Slocomb natives knew him as Bobby the Bobster Wallace. The young man obviously liked to chow down. The Bobster was a member of Slocomb’s Jolly Rogers varsity football team. Too big and slow to hustle on the field, the coach placed him in the position of offensive guard.

The Bobster enjoyed spending his summer break eating multiple-course meals at the Hog Trough Buffet. From June through August, from opening hours until closing time, he claimed his seat inside the restaurant. The Bobster’s spot was next to the dessert trays at the buffet spread. He was dressed in tight electric-red polyester shorts, white tube socks, and a black team-issued T-shirt, with the white logo of a skull and crossed swords. The shirt obviously fit the big boy two sizes too small. The Bobster wasn’t coy when it came to sporting his plump belly. He thought he looked tough and wanted everybody in town to know he wasn’t to be messed with. Although the Bobster wouldn’t grow another inch taller, he was determined to surprise his team and coaches by expanding his girth by next season. Echoing inside his head were the words of his football coach, Felix Flemming, screaming. These were not the words get smarter or get better. Instead, it was all about size.

If you want to play college ball, son, you better get bigger!

Coach Flemming always told the Bobster before game time, Get a biscuit, Hog! The game is the gravy! He also reminded him, Victory was not recognized by a win on the field, as much as it was about having a clean plate after a big meal! Those two phrases were continuous food for thought for the big boy, who had dreams of playing collegiate Bama football when his Jolly Rogers days were done.

With a knife in his left hand and a fork in the other, the Bobster was a one-track mind in an eight-track era. There was no time for girls and cars. All he wanted was food. And enough was never enough. He had been hunched over the same table since breakfast and had just finished his third helping of the Hog Trough’s fancy fixin’s. The Bobster might as well have been a rabid, wild boar devouring fresh Highway 431 roadkill. Every waitress at the diner knew better than to get between his feeding face and his greasy plates.

The Tucker children tiptoed across the diner and peeped around the buffet bar. They looked upon the hungry monster as he awaited the delivery of the next hot and fresh pan of blueberry cobbler from the kitchen. The Bobster’s lips quivered, while his stomach rolled with anxious anticipation. Clinched tightly within his grip, the silverware vibrated and rattled against the wooden table. The big boy’s cheeks were still stained with the sticky purple syrup from remnants of his breakfast feeding frenzy. He engulfed the last scraping of the deep-dish fruit pie just over half an hour ago. In order to keep his Jolly Rogers’ T-shirt looking clean, the Bobster tucked a paper napkin underneath his chin. Clumps of hardened grits, dried buttermilk gravy, and lard clung to his bib.

The Bobster sensed that he was being watched. He cut his angry eyes askew toward the direction of the chipper moppets. The Bobster snarled and then let out a primal grunt under his breath. The children screamed, then giggled, and ducked their heads behind the buffet bar, out of view from the mighty giant’s sight.

Once again, the clanking sound of the cowbell on the glass door of the Hog Trough Buffet could be heard, followed by the sound of hard rain. Everyone’s attention was diverted to the next hungry customer. Before she could wobble her short, fat, squatty body inside the diner’s door, the wind ripped the umbrella right out of Doris Aboo’s hands. In a matter of seconds, she was soaked. It looked as if she had just walked through the rinse cycle of a car wash. After squeezing herself through the entrance doors, Doris shook her head from side to side, like a stinking, wet, shaggy dog. Water droplets splattered against the glass doors. A strange blubbering gurgle was emitted from her slimy catfish lips. Like the Bobster, she intentionally came to the diner alone. While her husband spent most nights working late at the office, Doris left her hungry daughter at home, all by herself. Meanwhile, Doris would ritually feast upon several helpings of desserts from the Hog Trough Buffet’s mega bar. With the Bobster anxiously craving another bite, the two big bellies were ready for battle.

After every weeknight of getting her fill at the diner, she would stop by Conway’s Mini Market and pick up a bag of spicy, seasoned pork rinds to serve the family for supper. Once at home, she would pour the deep-fried pigskins into a dirty lime-green snack bowl. Then she would scream for her family to join her at the table. She always used the same excuse:

I’m not cookin’, ’cause we’re eatin’ light tonight!

Inside the family’s little trailer, at the tiny kitchen table, hungry hands devoured the junk food, right down to the bottom of the big green bowl. There wasn’t much to discuss about what happened in the day and in the life of the Aboo family. Both daddy and daughter already knew what dear Doris had been up to. While Cookie worked, Doris shopped.

Inside the Hog Trough Buffet, Doris didn’t waste any time waiting to be seated by the waitress. The annoying squish-squash sound coming from her stinking, wet shoes was followed by a trail of water droplets that led to her table. She followed the lure of the scent of another afternoon feast. Doris asked herself, What would the chef be serving up today? Would it be apple pie, cherry cobbler, or my favorite—blueberry strudel?

Doris could see her nemesis out of the corner of her eye. With fresh, ripe blueberry stains smeared across his cheeks, she knew that the Bobster had been feeding on her delectable cuisine. Doris became apprehensive. The question was written all over her pouty face: Was there anything left to eat?

After Doris swiftly brushed by the Tucker children, she grabbed a clean, hot plate at the end of the bar and then tucked it tightly under her sweaty armpit. Next, she grabbed another two dishes off the stack. Seeing this all happen before his bulging eyes, the Bobster leaped to his feet like a raging bull. In the process of cocking his large bulbous head around to see Doris running toward the dessert bar, he suddenly squealed like a wounded animal in pain. The Bobster had just pinched a nerve in his neck. Believe me, it was worse than any head slap upside the helmet from a three-hundred-pound Geneva County lineman.

At the moment when Doris heard the Bobster yelp, she became so startled that she lost her footing. The beastly creature became airborne. Like a slick fish out of water, the rotund bouncing ball of blubber flopped across the top of the salad bar. Her forward momentum, which had been generated by her slip, sent her sliding headfirst through the iceberg lettuce and into the four bowls of salad dressings. Max, the waitress, and everyone else who was witnessing this bizarre spectacle were left speechless.

Fighting back the agony of pain in his neck, the Bobster staggered toward the buffet table. With the determination of a hot hippo searching for a mud hole in the Serengeti, Doris rolled over the edge of the salad bar and came crashing down onto the tile floor. Her jet-puffed body provided enough cushion and bounce to set her back on her feet again. In a daze, she saw the illusion of frosted blueberries falling from the ceiling. While regaining her senses, Doris licked her chops and turned her nose up in the direction of her cravings. Like a scent in the wind, it was that sweet sugar delight that she had come for.

Doris’s beehive hairdo was smeared with a mix of thousand island, oil and vinegar, buttermilk-ranch, and creamy Caesar dressings. She wiped her gooey hands across her bright-red polyester skirt and then licked each of her fingers clean. With the residue of salad dressings clinging to her hair, Doris viciously shook her head again. Everything within five feet of her was covered with the salad dressings. As Doris flapped her fat, swollen cherry cheeks, the Tucker children let out more screams and giggles. Doris began slobbering with excitement as Chef Rascal Spangler delivered the next pan of Slocomb’s home-cooked, hot, fresh blueberry cobbler.

The real entertainment was not happening around the buffet bar. Rather, it was in the other corner of the room. Rainbows of light pulsated from the jukebox. Max homed in on the voice of a young male singer that he had never heard before. The Tucker children had run over to the dazzling, illuminated cabinet of lights and selected a dime’s worth of songs from the music machine. As the music played, the little girl grabbed her brother by his hands and started dancing. Their parents were entertained by the laughter and melodies that drowned out the violent clap of thunder and the hard rain coming from outside the diner. Max decided to forgo the battered mega bar and order off the menu. His curiosity compelled him to slide out from the comfort of his seat and head toward the source of the melodic rhythm.

While Rascal Spangler scraped out the last spoonful of cobbler from his aluminum pan into the buffet tray, Doris Aboo and the Bobster nudged one another to stake claim to be the first to taste the fresh batch of the heavenly dessert. The two rotund bodies blocked Max from making his way to the jukebox. Doris and the Bobster took their eyes away from the feeding trough just long enough to stare Max down to size. Additionally, the two of them began growling and hissing like a pair of savage hyenas. Max concluded that he was probably invading their territory. The odor that was emitted from Doris and the Bobster was enough to send any other customer on their merry way, out the door. Max had lost his appetite for food. He had his mind on the music.

Max realized that there was no other way around to get to the jukebox besides maneuvering between the two massive beasts. Both the Bobster and Doris stood their ground to claim their victuals. They were determined not to move for anyone. Together, pressed side by side, they had made a blockade. Max took a deep breath and then squeezed through the tight, stinking, wet crevice formed by their irregular flabby contours. The slug-like residue of stinking flamanga cheese was smeared against his new shirt and pinstriped pants. With the determination of an abalone diver reaching the surface for a breath of air, Max managed to force himself between the two bodies.

Max leaned over the jukebox. The glow of orange, yellow, and green neon lights reflected off the lens of his glasses. Suddenly, Tracy exited the kitchen door, carrying his plate of barbeque grilled chicken breast, field peas, and diced Vidalia onions. The waitress was kind enough to slice one of Slocomb’s big ripe red homegrown tomatoes and put it on the side of his plate, at no extra charge.

It all looks good to me, Max told her.

As the needle ground into the grooves of the spinning vinyl, Max read the name of the artist, in bold white type, on the orange label, Elroy Gibby.

Another wave of heavy rain pelted the metal roof of the diner. Max tuned out all other distractions around him and focused his attention on the unique rhythm and sound of the steel guitar.

Who is this kid? Max said to himself under his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, Max could still see the Tucker children swinging their hips and hopping to the beat. While leaning over the music machine, Max was hypnotized by the unique sound of the artist’s vocals and his style of guitar playing. He grinned from ear to ear and shook his head in disbelief at how talented the artist was. Max knew that he was experiencing something very special, like Halley’s Comet, which came around about once every seventy-five years.

Boy, he’s good, Max said, this time out loud.

Do you like Elroy, mister? the little girl asked.

Yes, I do, Max replied. It looks like you’re a fan too.

As the song came to the end of play, the robotic arm slowly moved the record back into the rack inside the jukebox. Now, he read the name at the bottom of the label, Tomato Town Records. Max realized that he was standing in the heart of the red-fruit country and that Elroy’s singles had probably been recorded on a local label, from within only a few miles of where he had his feet planted.

Max’s plate of food, which had been left on his table, was getting cold. Nevertheless, that didn’t keep him from doing his job. Like a pair of buzzards on the highway, the Bobster and Doris were eyeballing his food. Waitress Tracy quickly picked up the plate and then took it back into the kitchen. She placed it under a heat lamp to keep the food warm.

The children’s mother, Mrs. Gladice Tucker, finally spoke to Max.

You obviously are not from around here.

Max explained to the Tuckers who he was and how he ended up at the diner. The father, Roy, kept the children occupied, while Gladice took interest in Max’s story. She continued to listen to him ramble on.

This is the first time that I’ve been to Slocomb, but hopefully not the last! Can you tell me anything about the young singer that we’ve been listening to, over the last twenty minutes? Max asked.

I’d be delighted to, Gladice answered. That’s our very own hometown boy, Elroy Gibby!

Max listened closely to all the details that rolled off Gladice’s lips. It was obvious that the Tuckers were big fans of Elroy. Max’s gut instinct told him that the boy could be the next big thing. He pulled up a chair at the end of the Tucker family booth. Max continued to listen to every word that they had to say about their famous local yokel. If Elroy’s small-town appeal was any indication of how well he would be received by the rest of the world, Max was willing to invest his time and money on the boy. Even before meeting Elroy, Max was already developing a marketing strategy for his potential prospect. Elroy appeared to be Max’s perfect choice for his first big act on his new label.

Where does he live? Max asked the Tuckers.

If they ain’t moved, the boy and his family still live on the other side of town, Roy Tucker answered.

While the family continued their conversation with Max, Tracy returned with Max’s heated plate of hot food from the kitchen. She placed his order down in front of him.

You better eat it all this time around, because hungry eyes have targeted your chow.

Overhearing his inquisition in regard to Elroy, Tracy told him what she knew about the young musician’s family.

He lives on the Gibby family farm, about six miles east from here. The boy’s daddy, Elmer, sometimes stops in for a cup of coffee. He doesn’t say much, and comes across not too friendly either.

The storm outside was obviously not in a hurry to move through town, and neither was Max. The Bobster finally left after getting his final fill of the day. Moments later, Doris’s tires could be heard screeching as she peeled out of the parking lot. As usual, she was headed over to Conway’s Mini Market to pick up supper for the family. Back inside the Hog Trough Buffet, Max, waitress Tracy, the hospitable Tucker family, and the manager and chef on duty, Rascal Spangler, were still talking about the boy Elroy. With all smiles, they were eager to continue to share their thoughts about Slocomb’s hidden treasure. Max continued to listen while he enjoyed eating every last bite on his plate.

Through all his years in the music business, Max’s gut feeling was that he had just stumbled across a diamond in the rough. Hopefully, no one else had signed the young Elroy to a recording contract. Using Tracy’s pen, Max scribbled down notes on his barbecue sauce–stained paper napkin. He would use the excuse of bad weather to cancel his plans to attend the Kings of Boston concert. Max believed, like never before, that Elroy was worth betting on. Tonight he would check in and spend the evening at a local motel. In the morning, he would drive over to the radio station and enquire more about Tomato Town’s new sensation, Elroy Gibby. So much for the Kings of Boston; there would be a new king to be crowned in the world of music.

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Chapter 2

A STAR IS BORN

M rs. Electra Gibby knew that her son was special. Even before he was born, she wasn’t coy to tell the rest of Slocomb that her child was destined to be a supernova. She told her friends and coworkers at the shirt factory that she had visions that she would birth a child that would be a gift to the world. Those were bold words to come from the mouth of a woman that lived in the heart of the Bible Belt; Electra would certainly be deemed as being crazy, blasphemous, and irreverent by the townsfolk. Even though her words paralleled the gospel depicting the immaculate conception of Mother Mary, Electra didn’t care what anyone else thought. She honestly believed what she said. Her manager decided that it would be best for Electra to take a leave of absence until she had given birth and had time to reevaluate her outrageous comments.

Electra’s husband, Elmer Gibby, came from a generation of farmers that worked on the family property, in the fields, growing soybeans and peanuts. Just like his father, Roy, Elmer carried on the family tradition. Elmer had every intention of having a son that would follow in his footsteps.

After Elroy was born, Electra didn’t waste a minute filling her infant’s mind with the typical nursery rhymes and children’s music. Rather, she turned on the radio and tuned in to the stations that played the tunes of Roy Acuff and Hank Williams. Nothing seemed to sooth baby Elroy’s soul like country music.

As the sun set across the green fields of Slocomb, melodic notes stirred the curiosity of the newborn baby. However, the music did not flow through one ear and out the other. Somewhere in Elroy’s head, it got stuck. His cries soon became melodies that seeped out through the open window of his bedroom and accompanied the rhythm of the early-evening cricket chorus.

Electra never returned to the shirt factory. Three years later, she gave birth to her daughter, Dot. At the age of five, the little darling would be proudly crowned Slocomb’s Little Miss Possum Queen.

Convincing Elmer that the children were too young to work in the fields wasn’t going to be an easy task. Yet Electra was able to persuade him that Elroy and Dot would intellectually benefit from taking piano lessons. Elroy had an ear for music. All he had to hear was a song played once before he could play it back on the piano, note for note. What was unique about Elroy’s version was that it always sounded better than the original artist. On the other hand, playing the piano did not come as natural to Dot. Although Elmer was proud of his children, he wasn’t excited that his son expressed an interest in something other than farming.

On Elroy’s fourth birthday, Elmer gave his son a toy tractor and a train. Contrarily, his mother gave him a harmonica and a little old steel guitar that her father once played. Elroy preferred to play with the music instruments rather than his other toys. Elmer told Electra that his son shouldn’t waste his time with the stupid string gadget and that Elroy would never make a living in the music business. Farming was the family way of life, and he would see to it that Elroy would continue the family trade. Electra didn’t argue with her husband. She just shook her head in agreement. Behind Elmer’s back, she encouraged Elroy to stick with what he liked to do most of all—entertain.

A child prodigy with a guitar in hand, Elroy played his first big gig at the age of nine. He won his school’s talent show and was invited to perform at the annual Slocomb’s All Night Sing. Electra didn’t know it, but her boy could sing like a star too. Elroy sang and played his little steel guitar to a song he wrote. The melody had such an upbeat tempo that he had everyone on their feet dancing and singing along.

The next year at the All Night Sing, the crowds packed the stands like never before. The most popular act headlining the festival was Chucky Wagner and The Goose Neck Boys. Chucky and his band were always very particular about who else was on the bill with them. They didn’t want anybody else that was better than them stirring up the crowds before they took the stage. Everyone else in the music business knew that Chucky and his group were a bunch of arrogant and pompous egomaniacs. At the last minute, singer Nellie Belle, who was originally scheduled to perform before Chucky and his band, got sick. All it took was a taste of Margie Macintosh’s mothball potato salad during Nellie’s lunch break. Poor Nellie couldn’t stop vomiting. Her condition deteriorated so severely that she had to be rushed to the hospital. In a state of dismay, the promoter of the event, Jack The Axe Herple, ran over to Chucky and asked him whom he wanted to replace Nellie’s act with. Chucky told him that he needed twenty minutes from a no-name performer to fill the gap.

The child performer walking around backstage, strumming his little steel guitar, not only looked cute but also appeared harmless to Chucky Wagner and his band mates. Chucky had never seen nor heard of Slocomb’s favorite native son. Upon Chucky’s request, Herple asked Electra if Elroy wouldn’t mind being bumped up to the prestigious on-deck slot, before the Goose Neck Boys went onstage. After all, what harm could little Elroy do? Electra modestly obliged.

It was a beautiful night in Slocomb. Vehicles were parked bumper to bumper up and down Main Street. Everyone was enjoying the music underneath the moonlight. Townsfolk and those from surrounding counties had come to enjoy the evening with family and friends. Those who were not fortunate to have tickets to go inside the grandstands sat in the back of their flatbed trucks or on top of their cars. Folks that lived in town gathered on their front porch swings. With a fall breeze blowing, both the young and the old rocked steadily to the rhythm in the night. The music was amplified through the county’s emergency public address speaker system and could be heard over a mile away.

Back at the Gibby farmhouse, Elmer had just come in from another hard day’s work in the fields. With the kitchen window barely raised, he could faintly hear the crowd’s roar as the next act was being introduced. Elmer wiped the sweat from his brow. He opened the refrigerator door and gulped down several mouthfuls of cold buttermilk from the glass bottle. Elmer thought that the entire festival was nonsense. He refused to accept any belief other than that music and entertainment were nothing more than a waste of time. The cracks in his raw, bloody knuckles opened up and burned from the tractor’s grease and engine oil. He had been working on the piece of farm equipment throughout the day. As he squeezed the bottle tight within his grip, he stared off into the darkness of the night. Deep down within his soul, Elmer was ashamed how his pride kept him away from spending the evening with his family.

Elmer knew that Electra wanted something more for her children’s lives other than working on the family farm. Like a bird that knew the sound of its younglings, Elmer quickly snapped out of his profound thought. The screen door slammed shut on Elmer’s heels as he scampered out of the house and onto the front lawn. Elmer stood alone silently in the night. He heard the familiar sound from that steel guitar that he so desperately tried to silence through his acts of intimidation toward his son. Then Elmer heard the voice of his little boy singing. He couldn’t believe his ears. Embarrassed, he looked in every direction to see if anybody saw him standing there, listening to the music.

Throughout his son’s performance, the crowd’s roar kept getting louder and louder. Even after Elroy finished his last song, the audience wouldn’t stop applauding. Everyone in the stands began to chant, We want more! Even those folks in the back of their trucks and seated along both sides of the road were celebrating with fever and jubilation. For a moment, Elmer was proud to be the father of his son; however, the warm feelings that he had eventually turned cold. Elmer lacked the vision to imagine any other way of life than farming the soybean and peanut fields of Slocomb, Alabama.

Back on the stage, Elroy received a standing ovation from the audience. Everyone wanted to hear another encore from the young and talented entertainer. Chucky Wagner attempted to get little Elroy’s attention by waving his hands back and forth. However, like a seasoned performer, Elroy’s eyes were focused straight ahead, toward his audience. He had the crowd captivated and wasn’t ready to step out of the spotlight. Elroy began to strum a new tune that he had just written a week earlier, titled Magic City. The audience loved it and went crazy.

With every passing second, Chucky Wagner was getting nervous. How was he going to follow Elroy’s act? He desperately looked for any way he could to pull the plug on the child performer that had unexpectedly stolen his thunder. Halfway through Elroy’s song, Chucky instructed his band mate, Dickey Fellows, to crawl underneath the stage platform and intentionally yank the microphone cord connection loose. After a loud static pop, Elroy’s mike was no longer functional. Chucky Wagner had finally dropped the curtain on Elroy’s performance.

As far as the audience was concerned, the show was over. The crowd realized that Elroy had been intentionally bumped off the stage. The audience wouldn’t stop booing and walked toward the exit portals before Chucky and his Gooseneck Boys band began their set. No pleads from promoter and host Jack Herple could keep the masses from leaving. The next day, the story of Elroy’s performance was on the front page of the Slocomb Bugle. The headline read, Elroy, Slocomb’s Brightest Star. Electra’s dreams had been fulfilled. Now everyone in town could no longer say she was crazy, except for Elmer.

During the weeks that followed the event, local music DJ Lester D. Hays had invited Elroy to make numerous visits to Slocomb’s little radio station. This was done with the hope of keeping the boy’s name fresh in the news. Lester interviewed and taped Elroy performing his popular festival tune The Sidewinder inside the station’s studio. Additionally, Elroy finally got to play the other song that he had written, Magic City, in its entirety. Chucky Wagner and The Goose Neck Boys’ reputation took a nosedive after the word got out about them pulling the plug on Elroy’s gig during the festival. Not only did Chucky Wagner lose his fan base to Elroy, but Wagner’s sales began to rapidly sink from his top position on the Flash Bill Music Charts.

Electra Gibby was proud of her boy. Elmer had mixed feelings. He wanted his son to carry on the family business, under his direction. However, he could not deny how everyone in town was saying how talented his son was. Elmer believed that a real man wasn’t truly working unless his hands got dirty. Electra and Elmer began to argue more frequently about the direction she was leading Elroy in. Elmer would constantly end the conflicts with the same question:

What did anyone ever learn from music?

Elmer overheard folks talking about how Elroy could make more money in one day than a farmer could make in a year. His narrow-mindedness created his inner rage. He was envious that Elroy had new opportunities to consider other than farming. He wasn’t ready for a man in a suit and tie to suddenly come around and lead his son astray. Elmer had plans of his own for Elroy. He needed him now, more than ever, on the farm.

Chapter 3

THE EVIL BOLL WEEVIL

M ax couldn’t believe that no one had signed the young musician to a recording contract. But then what would beckon a music talent scout to this neck of the woods in the first place? This was Tomato Town, Geneva County, Alabama. This wasn’t Memphis or Nashville. Elroy was just what Max was looking for—undiscovered, raw talent.

With the right kind of promotion and money to back the young musician, Max saw all kinds of opportunities. He would name his new company Atomic Records. Bang would be the next big sound heard around the world. Max was willing to declare that Elroy was the next big thing. All he had to do was to convince the boy’s mother to let him be Elroy’s manager.

Elmer Gibby’s farm was recovering from a two-year drought that had wiped out almost three-quarters of his soybean and peanut crops. The family had suffered financially on account of small profits for minimal produce. The Gibbys could not afford another bad season. Elmer decided not to plant the usual crops. No one else in Geneva County dared nor was bold enough to plant cotton. The evil insect called the boll weevil invaded and devastated the cotton crops of farmers in the early 1900s. Due to the little critters’ destructive nature to the cotton bloom, farmers were not sowing the seed east of the Texas line. With a high demand for cotton due to short supply, Elmer was willing to gamble the farm for potentially triple the returns if he could harvest his three fields of the crop for his clients. Against the warning from lenders at the bank, Elmer was still able to take out a loan; however, only after using the family farm as collateral. It was a risky move to bet everything he owned on the success of his cotton crops. Elmer believed that due to the family’s financial circumstances, he didn’t have a choice.

Even before Elmer began to plow his fields in preparation to plant the cottonseeds, he was optimistic about the risk he was getting ready to undertake. So far, the rain had appeared to return to normal levels. The papers had not reported any sighting of the boll weevil in or around the county in over twelve years. With the tractor repaired and contracts with the cotton buyers secured, Elmer used a bit of money that was left from his loan and hired a farmhand. Farming friends of Elmer recommended a strong middle-aged man from the neighboring town of Enterprise. His name was Bo Lootz.

One thing that was for certain, Bo knew all about cotton. Bo’s grandfather was a child laborer during the 1860s and had picked the crop on Southern plantations. After the Civil War had ended, future generations of the Lootz family, including Bo’s father and eventually Bo himself, continued to pick the crop for many farmers in Alabama. Although it was a big gamble, cotton was still king in the South. Therefore, pickers were still sought after.

After a few months of working on the Gibby farm, Bo became a genuine friend of the family. He had shown Elroy how to think and play like no other musician around. Bo explained how he learned to play guitar. After long, hard days of working in the fields, his father and a group of friends would gather in the evenings outside, on the steps of their cabin. Day after day of hard labor, combined with discrimination and suppression, inspired the families to write, share, and sing songs together about hope for a better tomorrow. Bo told Elroy and the Gibby family that the music gave his people the inspiration to carry on:

Music gave us something that we all could relate to, and to express ourselves through a language of lyrics and sounds. The songs were stories that we could pass down from one generation to the next.

The hot days of summer seemed like they would never end. It was the first day of July, and the cotton was in its final stages before bloom. After seven months of nonstop labor, the cotton was about ready to be picked. If everything went according to schedule, Elmer and Bo would have already begun to harvest the crops. However, the extreme cold and the many days of rain that lingered through the month of February set them back a couple of weeks from planting the seeds.

Maybe it was the anticipation and expectation of good things to come that inspired Elmer to occasionally smile. As the sun set each evening, Elmer found time to sit down on the porch to watch Bo show Elroy how to play a few new chords on his little steel guitar. Electra and Dot would join in, tapping their feet and clapping their hands to the rhythm. Dot would even contribute, improvising a chorus. Most of the time, Elmer would just watch. Although he did his best to restrain himself from showing any signs of being moved by the music, occasionally Elmer would be seen slightly bobbing his head to the beat.

As a farmer, Elmer had endured a tremendous level of stress. On the other hand, Electra and her children experienced the traumatic repercussions of Elmer’s unpredictable mood swings. She crossed her fingers and prayed that the cotton fields would bring an abundant harvest of profits. If Elmer could have the peace of mind that all was well, maybe there would be a chance for normalcy in the Gibbys’ home.

Bo woke early the next morning from his small cramped quarters above the tractor shed. As usual, he walked out into the cotton fields and along the bank of the creek to inspect the crops. The soil was deep, dark brown, and organically rich. Imprints from the bottom of his boots were stamped into the damp dirt. The overnight rain had almost added the finishing touch on the bountiful crops that were nearly ready to be picked. In preparation for the harvest, Bo had recently flushed and filled the tractor’s radiator. He was eager to start the engine.

Along his walk, Bo reached down and pulled a cotton stem from the ground. In his fingers, he held the boll that contained the puffy white blossom. Something didn’t look quite right. In his twenty years of harvesting cotton, Bo remembered what the larvae and pupae of the weevil looked like. He took a few steps and reached for another boll. Bo could see the tiny holes that had