Goodbye to the wild Ginger Man

Betty BeanKnox Scene, West Knoxville

This is Cumberland Avenue requiem week, so here’s another one. I wouldn’t dare try to follow Beth Kinnane’s excellent summation of the modern history of The Strip, so I’ve borrowed a very specific memory to illustrate why it occupies a tender spot in the hearts of those of us who came of age there.

The Strip was fun, but it was also about possibilities. High rise apartments for students may be necessary, particularly since UT has stepped up admissions and torn down dorms and long since gotten out of the business of off-campus housing. But education happens outside lecture halls, too.

This is a recollection of something that happened in 1971, maybe. I borrowed it from someone who is not certain about the exact year he met Cormac McCarthy, although he remembers the time of day and the season.

It was one of those mornings-after-the-blizzard when everybody stays home except for overconfident fools wanting to demonstrate their driving skills by sliding sideways into the nearest available ditch.

But what passes for a snowstorm in Knoxville won’t faze a broke guy from Buffalo, so Dennis Francis showed up at the usual time to work the day shift at The Place, a beer bar on Cumberland Avenue. Barkeeps worked cheap, and the boss opened the doors on the chance that at least a few thirsty patrons would hoof it down from Ft. Sanders for beer and conversation.

He guessed wrong. The Strip was deserted. Francis remembers thinking he could have stood in the middle of Cumberland Avenue and fired a shotgun in most any direction and never hit a soul.

“It was January or February. I was tending bar for Jimmy Boruff at The Place, and there was absolutely nobody stirring; nothing going on.”

This would have been just a few months after Francis, armed with a newly acquired driver’s ed degree from Indiana State, had migrated down here to go to law school. He was so broke that he’d lived in his car until he’d lined up a job and he wasn’t about to allow a piddly little Tennessee winter squall to cut into his paycheck.

Finally, two potential customers walked through the front door. They were an odd pair – one of them was very tall and very loud and resembled Ichabod Crane. They were looking for Jimmy Boruff, and they decided to stay and drink awhile till he arrived.

“They were standing at the bar having a beer and one of them offered a toast: ‘God’s Mercy.’ To which I said, ‘On the wild Ginger Man.’

This drew a sharp, astonished reaction from the shorter man: “A literate bartender!”

The tall guy joined in, and lifelong connections began.

The shorter man was Cormac McCarthy, already an award-winning author. The Ichabod Crane lookalike was the late John Sheddan, a flamboyant reprobate who would become a recurring character in future McCarthy novels, although there is still heated disagreement over whether Gene Harrogate, the infamous watermelon violator immortalized in “Suttree” is one of them. Sheddan was in and out of trouble for the rest of his life, and Francis became his lawyer.

Francis’ connections with the Strip endured, as did his relationship with McCarthy and Sheddan, and he remembers them all fondly.

“It was wild and it was fun. There were all kinds of little businesses up and down Cumberland Avenue: Oops (a seller of Levi’s seconds), Waterbed Fred’s, the cobblers’ shop, Karnes Drug Store, the Odyssey, FlapDoodles, The Roman Room, the Varsity Inn. It was wonderful. And it’s something that will never be again.”

Betty Bean writes a Thursday opinion column for KnoxTNToday.com.

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