We arrived at the Fulton County Airport, which is located on the Westside of Atlanta. We made it in good time, a little over three hours. I was a little wary about this group making it safely to Atlanta, but we did.
Relief washed over me when we touched down.
On the way no one but me seemed to be concerned about the malfunctioning gauges or for that matter, their safety. Of course, Bloody Marys had been passed around during the flight and that might have had something to do with the lack of fear and the jocular mood of all the passengers, as well as the pilot and his co-pilot. After his second Bloody Mary, Hap started the singing. He is a big fan of Goebel Reeves and loves all of his songs from the 1930s. Ironically, Goebel was a favorite of Barb E. Dahl’s as well. They did a duet of Gobel’s number one hit in 1934, The Cowboy’s Prayer, accompanied by William Raja Bennett on his harmonica. Hap tried matching Goebel’s yodeling, but failed miserably.
By the time we began our descent to the Fulton County Airport, they were starting on the second verse of Doug Clark and the Hot Nut’s popular song, Barnacle Bill The Sailor, that was currently being played on most college campuses across America, at least the ones they weren’t banned from.
I relaxed when Sam finally refused a tipsy Dr. Doodiddle, who offered him a fourth Bloody Mary and said she wanted to land the plane as we approached Atlanta. Our drunk and boisterous entourage staggered into the terminal en masse gasping from the suffocating humidity of Atlanta that hit us like a wet blanket as we deplaned. Everyone was carrying their bags and stripping off their winter clothes as they approached the terminal counter.
A startled look crossed over the face of the young lady in charge who was standing by the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
She probably thought she was being invaded by a group of aliens wearing wool jackets, knit hats, scarves and official Ojibwe Mukluks.
When she walked toward us, her back was straight her breasts out and her buttocks tight. A young woman who walks like that either is or was a beauty contestant at one time.
I noticed her eyes were liquid and her lips full, and her breasts were loosely holstered and swinging as she approached the counter. Her perfume was more intoxicating than the Bloody Marys we consumed in Sam’s biplane.
She was dripping of southern charm and caught everyone’s attention, especially Ralph’s. She smiled a bright smile. Her teeth were large and white. Hap whispered in my ear,”I think I could tile a swimming pool with her teeth.”
I elbowed him to keep quiet.
“Well bless my heart, aren’t y’all cute. May I help you?” she asked in a polite southern lilt.
“Where’s that Chattahoochee River that’s supposed to be running through Atlanta?” Hap asked, getting the important things out of the way first.
“Right behind you, sir,” the young lady said. Hap turned around.
“I don’t see it.”
“Well, it’s back there you’ll just have to take my word for it. The river runs through the whole state so I doubt you will have a hard time finding it.”
“I came down to see a Peachtree Street,” Gertie Dupont squealed. “Well, bless my heart, aren’t you sweet, darlin’?”
With all the blessing her heart was getting, I was convinced it was certain to make it to heaven.
“You can count on seeing a peach street, that’s for sure. We have a Peachtree Road, a Peachtree Street, a Peachtree Boulevard, and a Peachtree Lane, a New Peachtree and an Old Peachtree Street; and then March 9 of last year, the state of Georgia chartered a Peachtree City.