For a time in the early 50's Myrick's Mill had a dance hall. Daddy thought the community needed a little more entertainment than political elections that only came every four years. Near the store and the mill house, he built a dance hall. A country music band was hired to provide country entertainment every Friday night. George Bush and the Twiggs County PlayBoys made music for square dancing. People from everywhere came including Jeffersonville, Gordon, Irwinton, Macon, and from all roads and paths between. There got to be a crowd of regulars that came every Friday night, as predictable as a sunset. Then there were those that came every now and then. Some couples brought their older children.

It was a lot more fun to have someone my own age to play with. As youngsters (about age 10), we'd take empty coke flats (wooden bottle crates) and build houses, play chase around the cars in the parking lot, and that sort of thing. . Some of these mischievous sports can be shared. Others? Well---------. One of our favorites was dropping cigarette butts into Cokes. It worked like this. The dance hall was a building with a lot of windows. There was no air conditioning so the windows were raised to help the big fans bring fresh air onto the dance floor. Benches were built along the walls under the windows where people would sit when they weren't dancing. When people got up to dance, they would often set their Coke bottle on the window ledge and if they were smoking, and most people were, they would lay their lighted cigarettes beside their Coke. Us chillun would sneak along outside the building, reach up to the window ledge, and drop the cigarette into the Coke bottle. It may not sound like much entertainment, and it wasn't until the end of the dance and everyone returned to the bench to rest. Without looking the patrons would reach, pick up the Coke, and take a big gulp. Then the fun part came. Heads flung out the window. Spittin', gagging, and cussin', "who put that cigarette butt in my Coke?" Then we'd watch the next move that told us who was drinkin' more than Coke from those bottles. Those most upset were usually the ones that were drinkin' a mixture. We had messed up more than a 5¢ Coke. We'd keep watchin'. The ones that were drinkin' would go to the concession counter to buy another Coke, then go to their car, and refill their mixture. Twiggs County was legally dry and no whiskey was sold nor served on the premises. But, there was no law to prevent bringing your own. It just couldn't be brought in the dance hall. From the dance hall to the cars, people were comin' and a goin' all night!

There were a few things that went on that us chillun were not supposed to pay attention to, like noticing that the couple who arrived together didn't always go back to the car together at intermission and while dances were going on inside. We kinda wondered about some of these things? Curiosity naturally led us to follow these goings-on with great interest. Sometimes there was a return to the car just to refill their Coke bottle and that was done by standing by the car with the door open. More often than not, the couple got inside the car and stayed a while.

Now, sneaking around beside and behind cars in an effort to get a better look at the situation required cunning and stealth. The parking area was dark but the light over the entrance door to the dance hall cast dim light over a good bit of the parking area. One had to choose carefully how to move about so the light never struck you. Moving within the shadows offered greatest cover and therefore safety. It was a long time before we realized that these couples leaving the dance hall intermittently were intensely preoccupied, and not the least bit interested in a few chillun sneaking about innocently playing hide-and-seek among the cars. There were times when these folks seemed to completely disappear without opening the car door to leave. Eventually this disappearing act lead to more curiosity and a dare. Yep, there's always at least one macho kid ready to sneak and peek. Off Danny goes, stooped over, sneaking through the shadows. Chillun back on the Coke flats sit and wonder? Then WOW - the car door opens and the dim dome light in the car cast enough light to see the man walk around behind the car. Danny was on his knees behind the car working his way around to the side when the door flung open, sending Danny on a frantic roll under the boot of the car. Safe! Lying still, he sees the man approach the rear of the car. He knew he'd been caught for sure, but the man's feet stopped and took a wide stance. All of a sudden Danny was being spattered. Out of fear of bumping his head, causing noise, and otherwise being caught, he stood his ground as the puddle grew, grew, and began to run under the car --- and under Danny. When the flood was over and the man and his lady friend walked back to the dance hall. Danny crawled out from under the boot of the car and came backed to the Coke flats to join the rest of us. He looked a mess. I never heard how he explained his appearance to his folks. I guess they may not have noticed.

Most people were pretty normal acting folks and a lot of 'em were down right nice, especially to us chillun. But, there were a few rough folks, too. If they got too drunk and rowdy, Daddy would ask 'em to leave, and they usually did. There are always those that didn't want to do anything but cause trouble. When these kind came back they were turned away at the door and told not to come back again. Sometimes they would pitch a fit, cuss, and make a fuss. Pretty soon, they'd go back to their car and leave; spinnin' tires and throwing sand all over the place.

Eventually Mr. Crosby was hired as a deputy to insure peace and order. Mr. Crosby was a sawyer at the sawmill in Jeffersonville during the week. Every Friday night he strapped on an old hog leg Smith and Wesson and came to the dance hall to keep the peace. The barrel on that pistol must have been two feet long. I believe it's the longest barrel I've ever seen on a pistol. The end of the barrel almost went to Mr. Crosby's knees. Mr. Crosby was by nature a gruff, mean looking character, and with a big, long pistol hanging on his side he looked even meaner. I never saw him smile; though he did enjoy teasing us chillun.

One Friday night was particularly memorable. Us chillun were outside the dance hall in the front under the light near the entrance, building houses with Coke flats. The band quit playing and we could hear a lot of loud talking. A few people who were gathered outside quickly went in to see what the commotion was about. We continued to build houses until all of a sudden Mr. Crosby came tumbling through the window, just like in the cowboy shows. We learned that Mr. Crosby was trying to stop a fight and wound up in the middle of it and got thrown through the window. He got up, went back into the dance hall with his pistol in hand. I don't remember anyone getting hurt seriously. I do remember Daddy going up to the band and using the microphone to tell everyone that the dance was over and for everybody to go home.

©2003 - William C. Humphries, Jr.