One thing we have learned in rural Southwest Alabama is that people love a good scare. There were three events in the region around Halloween that brought in record crowds. There was the Haunted History Tour in Selma which featured a visit to the Live Oak Cemetery after dark to meet the spirits. There was a Ghost Tour of Old Cahaba, a vanished town. The Cahaba tour included a tour with a group of ghost hunters. The Thursday night tour sold out well in advance of the time. The St James Hotel, which boasts at least one ghost of its own, had a special weekend package.
Thomasville had the annual Kathryn Tucker Windham Ghost walk, which is drawing larger and larger crowds and adding more and more attractions to the event. The one I was personally involved was the Haunted House erected by a civic club that I belong to. It was one of the sidelights to the Big Event which was the Ghost walk itself. It is a series of hayrides that take visitors by various stops where they hear ghost stories and see them dramatized. It has grown so famous that other things have to be devised to keep those waiting for a hayride buys. This year there was a carnival with rides, a band playing and food for sale. I never saw anything, but the inside of the Haunted House. It turned out to be a bigger attraction than then we anticipated. It was a lot of work for the more loyal of our club members (no credit to me for being one) who worked for over a month the build the sets. It had a number of vignettes, the most popular of which was a local minister as executioner who put a woman (his wife in real life) in an electric chair. She had killed 12 men with her bard hands and nobody could figure out how she did it. When the execution pulled the switch, he shouts something that sounds like “Roll Tide!” Then the lights started blinking and then go off. When they come back on, the executed prisoner jumps out at the spectators wearing a werewolf mask. Shortly after that, the execution jumps out from behind the bars. It was a screaming good time. It’s a good thing the preacher comes from one of the calmer denominations. Otherwise, he’d scare the hell out of his congregation just like he did the visitors to the Haunted House. He certainly has the potential in him. Speaking of that, some of the club memebers surprised us all with their dramatic performances in the Haunted House. People you would never think of as scary dredged up some pretty scary stuff from the hidden corners of their psyches. They really got into haunting the place. The Haunted House was beautifully outfitted, but it was still the screams and boos that brought the repeat visitors. We had some people that came all three nights. I understand that in Selma, they had people who went to everything, too.
I know one thing; ghosts are really the things that draw a crowd. People around here love them. It’s not just around Halloween either. WE love ghost stories all year ‘round. Alfred Hitchcock said “Everybody loves to be scared. Whey else would we always tell a baby “Boo”?
Ghosts are as close as we get to the magical realm most of the time. They are just beyond the reach of the physical. They are here one minute and gone the next. We don’t understand them –where they come from and why they stay just out of reach… The mystery is part of the attraction. We are just glad that people come to rural Southwest Alabama to meet our local ghosts – real or imagined.
We hope they come every year and bring their friends to be scared, too.
Monday, December 15, 2008
A GREAT PLACE FOR CHILDREN
I got a new perspective on rural Southwest Alabama as a great place to raise children recently. My family came to visit and I got to see my grand daughter enjoy being here. She lives in a very nice neighborhood in North Carolina which has great schools and lots of playmates for her. She lives in a small town near a big city with all the right lessons and activities available to her. What she doesn’t have is the small town atmosphere with a train that runs by several times a day where she can stand in the middle of the street to look down the hill and see it come by blowing its horn to announce its importance. She doesn’t have a yard big enough to romp in and chase the neighbor’s cats trying to befriend them, but frightening them instead. She can’t walk around the block to the picture show (or as she calls them, “the movies”). She doesn’t live in an old house that has its own ghost.
When we walked down the street, and were greeted by everybody we met, she was amazed.
That doesn’t happen where she lives. She isn’t allowed to play outside at her house unless there is a friend to play with. It is the big city after all. Here she could run outside any time she got ready and nobody had to worry.
We took a stroll downtown. She commented “This is a village isn’t it?” A village is what little towns are called in Germany where her other grandparents live. I allowed as how that was probably a good definition of our town from a global perspective. I must admit, though, that we used to laugh at one of the local English teachers who were prone to affectations when she said “In the little village where I grew up” when referring to a little town just up the road. We thought she was just trying to romanticize the little spot in the road where was from.
I was glad all the trees were decked out in their fall finery for her visit. We gathered some of the leaves to put in an arrangement for the tea party we hosted for some of her friends and the dolls. We put classical music on the CD player, made hot tea to be served in a special china pot, lit candles and served up the treats we had made. Each person, child or adult, male or female, had their own little china doll as a tea companion. Each person had to introduce their doll and tell a story about her. In big cities, you can go to special tea rooms for parties where everything is provided for a fat fee. There are hats and clothes to dress up in. Here we have to make our own goodies and provide our own props, but the enchantment is the same. The only difference is that ours was homemade. We have to make our own fun and in the process, stretch our imaginations.
When we walked down the street, and were greeted by everybody we met, she was amazed.
That doesn’t happen where she lives. She isn’t allowed to play outside at her house unless there is a friend to play with. It is the big city after all. Here she could run outside any time she got ready and nobody had to worry.
We took a stroll downtown. She commented “This is a village isn’t it?” A village is what little towns are called in Germany where her other grandparents live. I allowed as how that was probably a good definition of our town from a global perspective. I must admit, though, that we used to laugh at one of the local English teachers who were prone to affectations when she said “In the little village where I grew up” when referring to a little town just up the road. We thought she was just trying to romanticize the little spot in the road where was from.
I was glad all the trees were decked out in their fall finery for her visit. We gathered some of the leaves to put in an arrangement for the tea party we hosted for some of her friends and the dolls. We put classical music on the CD player, made hot tea to be served in a special china pot, lit candles and served up the treats we had made. Each person, child or adult, male or female, had their own little china doll as a tea companion. Each person had to introduce their doll and tell a story about her. In big cities, you can go to special tea rooms for parties where everything is provided for a fat fee. There are hats and clothes to dress up in. Here we have to make our own goodies and provide our own props, but the enchantment is the same. The only difference is that ours was homemade. We have to make our own fun and in the process, stretch our imaginations.
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