|
Worked on their shoulder blades:
The bartender apologized for the limited range of his Scotch. He had only three, unassuming brands: Chivas Rigal, Johnny Walker Black, and 12-year-old Glenlivet. Guests were invited to drown their disappointment in the fare by drinking as much as they liked.
A sea of smoked salmon swamped huge silver trays, and shanks of lamb begged for the mint jelly nearby. Fried green tomatoes provided the necessary Southern flavor.
This, plus a few hundred friends at the Capital City Club on Wednesday evening, was Tom Watson Brown’s idea of an Irish wake, perhaps the largest Atlanta has ever seen. He’d promised friends $10,000 for the party. His will delivered $35,000.
Item 2 in his last testament called for an event to be fueled with victuals of “adequate quantity and quality.” His son said Brown wanted details of the wake covered in Item 1, but legal protocol apparently dictates that a proper first deal with disposal of the remains.
Brown died three weeks ago, of complications from diabetes. His family tree included Tom Watson, the Reconstruction-era firebrand whose statue stands at the front door of the state Capitol. His fortune came from a string of TV stations.
The Cobb County resident was a raconteur of the first order, and the quiet money behind many of Georgia’s political figures and causes, Republican and Democrat.
Those who attended the toasting session included a former U.S. senator, the chairman of the MARTA board, two historians, judges of all ranks and orders, one newspaper publisher, several ex-editors and columnists, and many more lawyers than was healthy.
Many stories were told, and very funny ones, too, but they didn’t get down to the nut. In all his advance planning, Brown — who was not Irish and thus may have lacked experience — may have made one miscalculation.
People of rank are reluctant to misbehave in public, especially in large groups. And Brown was all about boisterous misbehavior, or tales of the same.
The millionaire showed up at a smoky VFW hall in Marietta at 4 p.m. every weekday, usually in galluses and a plaid shirt, where he and his drinking companions — a phrase that’s dying quickly — did their best to keep Georgia’s political legends alive. Even the ones that were true.
A favorite was that distant time when state legislators, assembling from all of Georgia’s dusty, misshapen corners, stayed in the same hotel, entertained by a small circle of female advisors. Doxies, Brown called them.
Several hours after adjournment one session, after the lawmakers had headed home, it was discovered that one of the young ladies had been indiscreet with her social contacts. The governor — always unspecified in Brown’s telling — put the entire state patrol on the road, rural telephones of that day being riddled with party lines — and thus eavesdroppers.
Troopers were ordered to knock on the door of every member of the Legislature, and advise him — for all were hims in that day — to tell his wife he had a headache until the necessary penicillin arrived.
As it turned out, according to Brown, the young lady was the victim of a false positive. And troopers were dispatched again throughout the state to inform lawmakers that their headaches had been cured.
_________________
Throughout his life, from childhood until death, he was beset by severe swings of mood. His depressions frequently encouraged, and were exacerbated by, his various vices. His character mixed a superficial Enlightenment sensibility for reason and taste with a genuine and somewhat Romantic love of the sublime and a propensity for occasionally puerile whimsy.
harry Wrote: I understand that you, of all people, know this crisis and, in your own way, are working to address it. You, the madras-pantsed julip-sipping Southern cracker and me, the oldman hippie California fruit cake are brothers in the struggle to save our country.
FT Wrote: LooGAR (the straw that stirs the drink)
|
