I’ve always cherished my childhood memories. Even the bad ones. How about you? We all have them. There are some that stick with us longer. Make more of an impression. One childhood memory of mine that’s special revolved around Polk Salad Annie. If you’re a child of the sixties you’ll remember the song entitled “Polk Salad Annie” very well. Written by a guy named Tony Joe White who’s known for this song. He wrote other songs with alluring titles like “Rainy Night in Georgia” and “Steamy Windows.”
As a teen, I found myself drawn to “Polk Salad Annie.” Not to mention Tony Joe White who might possibly have been the coolest guy I’d ever seen—maybe even cooler than Elvis. So if you’re unfamiliar with the song or knew it but forgot its lyrics, I’d advise you to check it out.
I’m confident I actually knew Polk Salad Annie at one time in my life. You see, I spent every summer of my growing up years in North Carolina visiting my grandparents. Those visits were actually the times my parents cherished because it meant time away from an over active kid who tended to drive them up the wall most every day.
Looking back over the summers I spent in North Carolina, I remember my cousins and me whispering about the people who lived in the house down the dirt road from my grandfather’s house. A shack might describe it better. Two parents and nine kids lived in that dilapidated old place consisting of only two bedrooms, a rundown kitchen, and a makeshift living room. No indoor bathroom; only an outhouse. In fact, my grandfather owned the only house with indoor facilities.
The mother of those nine kids had to be the mother talked about in the song; I’m now convinced of it. Her only attribute being she had never actually worked on a chain-gang. My cousins and I were terrified of this “mean, wretched, spiteful,” woman who we all thought to be packing a straight-razor under her skirt. “No account” all but described the daddy.
I remember two of the nine kids quite vividly. The first being a boy who made eyes at me every time he came for a visit at my grandfather’s house. The second being his older sister who wore overalls that were always dirty. She had long, ratty looking blonde hair. I don’t think she ever washed it. My grandmother didn’t allow her to visit. She thought her too wild to be around me since I already leaned in that direction anyway.
The fact that my grandmother wouldn’t allow this wild child in her house didn’t deter me one little bit from sneaking out and playing with her. Truth be known, I didn’t much mind her brother making eyes at me. So on our adventures together, we let him tag along. My youngest cousin threatened to tell our grandmother which allowed her to weasel her way into our pack.
We tried desperately to stay out of trouble. It just never worked out that way. The wretched, spiteful, straight-razor totin’ woman always seemed to catch us. I can still see her in my mind, chasing us through the fields wheeling the belt I’m sure she must have stolen from some unsuspecting merchant in town. We could feel the buckle whizzing past us, missing our heads by a fraction of an inch.
It didn’t take long for me to realize I had stepped into a world unfamiliar to me. My summertime friends weren’t like the friends I hung around with at school. These people lived on the very edge of poverty—a word whose meaning I had no way of grasping at the time. Try as I must, I couldn’t understand why I found myself drawn to people I shared no common ground. Our relationship came to an end when my grandparents found out about my secret friendship with the wild and dirty girl who lived in the rundown old shack
When “Polk Salad Annie” hit the charts and I heard the lyrics, I thought back to the summers I’d spent with my grandparents. The dirt road in front of their house that led to the dilapidated old shack we all feared. Childhood memories of the dirty little girl my grandmother never allowed in her house. The actual fondness I felt for the little boy who made eyes at me and covered my head so his mother’s belt buckle wouldn’t hit me those times she chased us through the fields. As I listened to the words sung by Tony Joe White, it occurred to me I had actually known Polk Salad Annie. And she lived right down the road from my grandparents. That’s one of my childhood memories. What’s one of yours?
