Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe

by Fannie Flagg

  “I pray to the Lord she does.”

  At that moment, the truck, with Ruth and Idgie, turned the corner.

  Poppa said, “They’re here! Ninny and Sipsey, they’re here!”

  Momma jumped up and flew down the front steps, with Poppa right behind her.

  When they saw Ruth get out of the car and how thin and weary she looked, they forgot their plan and grabbed her and hugged her, both talking to her at the same time.

  “I’m so glad you’re home, honey. We’re not gonna let you run off from us this time.”

  “We got your old room ready, and Sipsey and Ninny have been cooking all morning.”

  As they walked Ruth up the stairs, Momma turned and looked back down at Idgie.

  “You better behave yourself this time, young lady! Do you hear me?”

  Idgie looked baffled and said to herself as she followed them inside, “What’d I do?”

  After supper, Ruth went into the parlor with Momma and Poppa and closed the door. She sat across from them with her hands in her lap, and began, “I don’t have any money, I really don’t have anything but my clothes. But I can work. I want you both to know that I’ll never leave again. I should never have left her four years ago, I know that now. But I’m going to try and make it up to her and never hurt her again. You have my word on that.”

  Poppa, who was embarrassed at any sort of sentiment, shifted in his chair. “Well, I hope you’re aware of what you’re in for. Idgie’s a handful, you know.”

  Momma shushed him. “Oh Poppa, Ruth knows that. Don’t you, dear? It’s just that she has a wild streak … Sipsey says it’s because I ate wild game when I was carrying Idgie. Remember, Poppa, you and the boys brought home some quail and wild turkeys that year?”

  “Mother, you have eaten wild game every year of your life.”

  “Well, that’s true, too. Anyhow, that’s beside the point. Poppa and I just want you to know that we think of you as one of the family now, and we couldn’t be happier for our little girl to have such a sweet companion as you.”

  Ruth got up and kissed both of them and went outside, where Idgie was waiting in the backyard, lying in the grass, listening to crickets, and wondering why she felt so drunk when she had not had a drop to drink.

  After Ruth left the room, Poppa said, “See, I told you you didn’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Me? You were the one who was worried, Poppa, not me,” Momma said, and went back to her needlework.

  The next day, Ruth changed her name back to Jamison and Idgie went all over town and told everybody about poor Ruth’s husband, how a Brinks armored truck had turned over on him and squashed him to death. At first, Ruth was horrified that Idgie had told such a lie, but later, after the baby was born, she was glad she had.

  AUGUST 31, 1940

  Yard Man Run Over by Car

  Vesta Adcock ran over her colored yard man, Jesse Thiggins, on her way to her Eastern Star meeting on Tuesday. Jesse had been napping under a tree when Vesta made a turn around in her front yard and the wheel rolled over his head and pushed it into the mud. When she heard him holler, she stopped the car on his chest and got out to see who it was. Some neighbors nearby came running over and picked the car up off of him.

  Grady Kilgore came over and said thank God it had been raining a lot lately, because if it had not been for the mud, Jesse might have been killed, being run over like that.

  At this report, Jesse is fine except for the tire marks, but Vesta said that he should not have been napping, because she pays him good money.

  I guess by now most of you know that fool of a husband of mine burned down our garage the other day. He was so busy trying to fix the radio, so he and his railroad gang could listen to the baseball game, that he threw his cigarette on my pile of Ladies’ Home Companions that I’d been saving, and it was down to the ground in minutes. My other half was so busy trying to save his precious buzz saw I got him for his birthday that he forgot to back the car out.

  I didn’t feel so bad about the car as I did my magazines. The car didn’t run anyhow.

  Essie Rue’s little boy, whose size has earned him the name of Pee Wee, won the $10 prize in the lima bean contest. His guess was 83 lima beans off, but Idgie says he was the closest.

  By the way, Boots died and Opal says she hopes you’re satisfied.

  … Dot Weems …

  november 22, 1930

  It was a cold, crystal-clear day outside, and inside it was almost time for one of their radio programs to come on. Grady Kilgore was just finishing his second cup of coffee, and Sipsey, who was sweeping up the cigarette butts left over from the breakfast crowd, was the first one to see them out the window.

  Quietly, two black pickup trucks had parked in front of the cafe and about twelve members of the Klan, dressed in full regalia, had slowly but deliberately gotten out and lined up outside the cafe.

  Sipsey said, “Oh Lord, here dey is … I knowed it, I just knowed it.”

  Ruth, who was working behind the counter, asked Sipsey, “What is it?” and then went over to look for herself.

  The minute she saw them, she called back, “Onzell, lock the back door and bring me the baby.”

  The men were just standing there on the sidewalk, facing the front of the cafe like white statues. One had a sign that had written on it, in bloodred letters: BEWARE OF THE INVISIBLE EMPIRE … THE TORCH AND THE ROPE ARE HUNGRY.

  Grady Kilgore stood up and went over, looked out and picked his teeth with a toothpick while he scrutinized the men in the pointed hoods.

  The radio announcer said, “And now, to the many friends who wait for him, we present, ‘Just Plain Bill, Barber of Harville’… the story of a man who might be living right next door to you …”

  Idgie, who had been in the bathroom, came out and saw everybody looking out of the window.

  “What’s going on?”

  Ruth said, “Come here, Idgie.”

  Idgie looked out. “Oh shit!”

  Onzell handed Ruth the baby and did not leave her side.

  Idgie said to Grady, “What the hell is this all about?”

  Grady, who was still picking his teeth, said with certainty, “Them’s not our boys.”

  “Well, who are they?”

  Grady dropped his nickel on the table. “You stay here. I’m gonna damn well find out.”

  Sipsey was over in the corner with her broom, muttering to nobody, “I ain’t scared of no white men’s ghosties. No suh.”

  Grady went out and talked to a couple of the men. After a few minutes, one man nodded and said something to the others, and one by one, the men began to leave, as quietly as they had come.

  Ruth couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to her that one of the men had been staring right at her and the baby. Then she remembered something that Idgie had once said, and she looked down at the man’s shoes as he was climbing into the truck. When she saw the shiny, black-polished shoes, she was suddenly terrified.

  Grady came back into the cafe, unconcerned. “They didn’t want nothing. They was just a bunch of old boys out to throw a little scare in you, that’s all. One of them was over here the other day for something or another and saw you was selling to niggers out the back door and thought he’d try to shake you up a little bit. That’s all.”

  Idgie asked him what he had said to get them to leave so fast.

  Grady got his hat off the hat rack, “Oh, I just told them that these are our niggers and we sure as hell don’t need a bunch from Georgia coming over here telling us what we can and cain’t do.”

  He looked Idgie right in the eye. “And I’ll guaran-damn-tee you they won’t be back,” and he put his hat on and left.

  Even though Grady was a charter member of the Dill Pickle Club and a confirmed liar, that day he had told the truth. What Idgie and Ruth didn’t know was that although these Georgia boys were mean, they were not stupid enough to ever fool around with the Klan in Alabama and were smart enough to leave in a hurry and stay go
ne.

  That’s why when Frank Bennett did come back, he came alone … and he came at night.

  DECEMBER 15, 1930

  Local Man Missing

  Frank Bennett, 38, lifelong resident of Valdosta, was reported missing today by his younger brother, Gerald, after Jake Box, an employee of the elder Bennett, informed him of Bennett’s failure to return home from a hunting trip.

  He was last seen on the morning of December 13, when he left home and told Mr. Box that he would be returning that evening. Anyone having any information as to his whereabouts is asked to please inform the local authorities.

  DECEMBER 18, 1930

  It was another ice-cold Alabama afternoon, and the hogs were boiling in the big iron pot out in back of the cafe. The pot was bubbling over the top, full of long-gone hogs that would soon be smothered with Big George’s special barbecue sauce.

  Big George was standing by the pot with Artis, when he looked up and saw three men with guns strapped to their sides walking toward him.

  Grady Kilgore, the local sheriff and part-time railroad detective, usually called him George. Today, he was showing off in front of the other two men, “Hey, boy! Come here and take a look at this.” He held out a photograph. “You seen this man around here?”

  Artis, whose job it was to stir the pot with a long stick, began to sweat.

  Big George looked at the picture of the white man in the derby hat and shook his head. “No suh … I shore ain’t,” and handed it back to Grady.

  One of the other men walked over and looked in the pot at the pink and white hogs bobbing up and down like a carousel.

  Grady put the photograph back in his vest pocket, his official duty over, and said, “Hey, when are we gonna get some of that barbecue, Big George?”

  Big George looked in the pot and studied it a moment. “You come ‘round ’bout noon tomorrah … yes suh, ’bout noon it’s gonna be ready.”

  “You save us some, y’hear?”

  Big George smiled. “Yes suh, I will, I shore ’nuff will.”

  As the men headed to the cafe, Grady bragged to the others. “That nigger makes the best goddamned barbecue in the state. You’ve gotta get yourselves some of that, then you’ll know what good barbecue is. I don’t think you Georgia boys know what good barbecue is.”

  Smokey and Idgie were sitting in the cafe, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. Grady came in and put his hat on the rack by the door and walked over to where they were sitting.

  “Idgie, Smokey, meet Officer Curtis Smoote and Officer Wendell Riggins. They’re over here from Georgia, looking for a fella.”

  They all nodded hello and sat down.

  Idgie said, “What can I get you boys? How ’bout some coffee?”

  They all agreed that would be fine.

  Idgie hollered to the kitchen, “Sipsey!”

  Sipsey stuck her head out of the kitchen door.

  “Sipsey, we need three coffees.”

  Then she said to them, “How ’bout some pie?”

  Grady said, “Naw, we better not, we’re here on official business.”

  The younger, heavier-set man seemed disappointed.

  “These two boys are over here lookin’ for a fella, and I’ve agreed to cooperate.” He had only agreed to cooperate if he could be in charge of the photograph.

  He cleared his throat and pulled the picture out, trying to look important and nonchalant at the same time. “Has either one of you seen this man, here, in the past couple of days?”

  Idgie looked at it, said, no, she had not seen him, and passed it on to Smokey.

  “What’s he done?”

  Sipsey brought the coffee, and Curtis Smoote, the wiry, skinny one with the neck that looked like a wrinkled arm sticking out of a white shirt, said in a high-pitched, tight little voice, “He ain’t done nothing that we know of. We’re trying to find out what’s been did to him.”

  Smokey handed the picture back. “Naw, I ain’t never see’d him. What you looking for him over here for?”

  “He told some old boy who worked for him, over in Georgia, that he was coming over here, a couple of days ago, and he never did come back home.”

  Smokey asked whereabouts in Georgia.

  “Valdosta.”

  “Well, I wonder what he was a-coming over here for.” Smokey said.

  Idgie turned around and called out to the kitchen, “Sipsey, bring us a couple of pieces of that chocolate pie, out here.” Then she said to Officer Riggins, “I want you to try a piece of this for me. Tell me what you think. We just made it a few minutes ago, have a piece on me.”

  Officer Riggins protested, “No, I couldn’t really, I …”

  Idgie said, “Oh, come on, just a bite. I need an expert opinion.”

  “Well, okay, just a bite then.”

  The skinny one squinted at Idgie. “I told these boys that he most likely is on a drunk somewhere and gonna show up in the next day or so. What I cain’t figure out is what he was coming over here for. There ain’t nothing here …”

  Wendell said, between bites, “We figure maybe he had a girl friend around here, or something.”

  Grady exploded with laughter. “Hell, ain’t no woman in Whistle Stop that somebody would come all the way from Georgia for!” Then he paused. “Except maybe Eva Bates.”

  Then all three of them laughed, and Smokey, who also had had the pleasure of knowing Eva in the biblical sense, said, “That’s the God’s truth.” own joke. But the skinny man was serious, and he leaned over the table to Grady.

  “Who’s Eva Bates?”

  “Oh, she’s just an old redheaded gal that runs a joint over by the river,” Grady said. “A friend of ours.”

  “You think this Eva woman might be the one he came over for?”

  Grady, eating his pie, glanced over at the photo on the table and dismissed the thought. “Naw. Not in a million years.”

  The skinny one persisted. “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing, he ain’t her type.”

  They all three laughed again.

  Wendell Riggins chuckled along with them, although he didn’t know why.

  Officer Smoote said, “What do you mean, not her type?”

  Grady put his fork down. “Now, I don’t want to hurt your feelings or nothing, and I don’t even know this old boy in the picture here, but he looks a little sissified to me. Wouldn’t you say so, Smokey?”

  Smokey agreed.

  “Naw, the truth is, boys, Eva would take one look at him and throw him back in the water.”

  They all laughed again.

  Smoote said, “Well, I guess you know what you’re talking about,” and squinted his eyes at Idgie again.

  “Yeah, well, that’s just the facts of life!” Grady continued. He winked at Idgie and Smokey. “From what I hear, all you boys over in Georgia is a little light on your feet.”

  Smokey sat there giggling. “That’s the way I heard it.”

  Grady leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “Well, I guess we better head on out of here. We got a few more stops to make before dark,” and put the picture back in his pocket.

  As they all got up to go, Officer Riggins said, “Thanks for the pie, Mrs.…”

  “Idgie.”

  “Mrs. Idgie, it sure was delicious, thank you again.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Grady got his hat. “You’re gonna see them again. I’m gonna bring ’em back tomorrow for some barbecue.”

  “Good. Be happy to see you.”

  Grady looked around to the back. “By the way, where’s Ruth?”

  “She’s over at Momma’s house. Momma’s been real sick.”

  Grady said, “Yeah, that’s what I heard. I’m real sorry to hear that. Well, see you tomorrow.”

  And they headed out the door.

  Although it was only four-thirty in the afternoon, the sky was already a gunmetal gray, with silver streaks shooting across the north, and the winter rain that had just started was
as thin and cold as ice water. Next door, the windows of Opal’s beauty shop had already been decorated with blinking Christmas lights that reflected on the wet sidewalk. Inside, Opal’s shampoo girl was sweeping up and Christmas music was playing on the radio. Opal was finishing up her last customer, Mrs. Vesta Adcock, who was going to an L & N banquet in Birmingham that night. The bells on the door jangled as Grady and the men came in, and Grady put on his official voice.

  “Opal, can we speak to you for a minute?”

  Vesta Adcock looked up horrified and clutched her flowered smock around her, screaming, “WHAT IN THE WORLD!”

  Opal looked up, equally horrified, and rushed over to Grady with a green comb in her hand. “You cain’t come in here, Grady Kilgore, this here is a beauty shop! We don’t let men in here. What is the matter with you? Have you lost your mind? Now, go on, get out! The very idea!”

  The six-foot four-inch Grady and the two men stumbled all over each other trying to get out the door and wound up back on the sidewalk, with Opal glaring at them through the foggy window.

  Grady put the photograph of Frank Bennett back in his pocket and said, “Well, that’s one place he ain’t been in, that’s for damn sure.”

  The three men pulled up their collars and headed across the tracks.

  DECEMBER 21, 1930

  Three days after the two men from Georgia had first arrived in town asking questions about Frank Bennett, the skinny one, Curtis Smoote, came in by himself and ordered another barbecue and an Orange Crush.

  When Idgie brought it over to the booth, she said, “Between Grady and your partner, ya’ll are about to eat up all my barbecue. That makes ten you three have had today!”

  He squinted at her and said, in his high nasal little voice, “Have a seat.”

  Idgie looked around the room and saw that it wasn’t busy, and then sat down across from him.

  He took a bite of his sandwich and looked at her, hard.

  “How ya doing?” Idgie said. “Found that man you was looking for yet?”

  This time he glanced around the room and then leaned across the table, his face like a razor. “You’re not fooling me, girlie girl. I know who you are. Don’t think for a minute you’re fooling me.… You gotta get up early in the morning to put one over on Curtis Smoote. Yes sir, the first time I come in here, I knowed I’d seen you somewhere before, but I couldn’t place you. So I made a few phone calls, and last night it come to me who you were.”