The Giant Green Hat and the Curious Events at the Henry Clay Hotel

Well, I survived the reunion. I haven’t had so much fun in years and not for the reasons that you might usually associate with a reunion. Below is a pretty detailed account of my visit to Clay, WV and these are real events – not one of my little fantasy stories J. Some names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.

The drama started a couple of days before I actually left. It had not rained for a long time in WV and my aunt’s well was about to go dry, and she was worried about having a guest at this time. A hotel that I’d heard was closed, suddenly opened its renovated doors and had a room available. I promptly booked it.

The drive up was uneventful. The mountains were beautiful as always. I got to Clay a little before 10 p.m., found my parking spot, got my backpack out (I’ve packed less for an expedition to China), and put on my enormous green sun hat. The office door beneath the faded plastic Pepsi sign was locked, so I stepped over to the smoky, adjacent bar blaring southern rock. When I stepped inside with my huge hat heads turned and mouths dropped open. After a tiny hesitation, I walked over to the first person to catch my eye to ask about my room – a little old drunk man with no teeth, figured if he gave me any trouble at least I could take him down. I bent to hear what he said and a large burley guy came over and pulled me away. He took me to a sparse office where I paid for my room. Cash only.

The basic room came with a shared bath down the hall. The small sink in the corner constantly dripped and a paint splattered mirror hung over it. Couldn’t even see myself. An old style TV rested on a scuffed 1940’s dresser. Couldn’t see anything on that either. The bed looked clean, though, and a functional air conditioner sat in the window. No phone and my cell didn't get a signal. Sweet Home Alabama pounded throughout the 100 year old building.

The hotel made me smile and feel nostalgia for my backpacking days. I’ve traveled to some exotic countries and stayed in worse places – at least this one had a working hot shower and a regular non-squat toilet – my only requirements. Once you’ve showered pouring buckets of cold water over your head, you appreciate the small things.

I couldn’t sleep – too revved from the drive and the music was too loud, so I went downstairs for a beer and to check out the ambiance. I parked myself at the bar while a girl danced on a table. She looked vaguely familiar and if I’d been acquainted with her, then she was a little old to be dancing on a table. Been there and done that when I was younger and stupider. Her technique was certainly more polished and professional than mine had been on that one crazy occasion. The sizable male audience was appreciative.

I wasn't there long when a spare, grizzled man dressed in a camouflage jacket and black ball cap came over and offered to get me a drink. He said his name was Frank. I wanted someone to talk to but didn’t want to give the impression that I was available. I told him upfront I didn’t mind talking, but I was married and not looking for a date. I’ve found this approach causes less problems and misunderstandings. In a show of friendship, I got him a beer. He never did drink it. Wondered if I’d committed some country bar social faux pas. I don’t think they get many new millennium women in there. He’d recently lost his coal truck driving job. I asked if he'd considered driving tractor trailers over the road. He said his house was paid for and he had no desire to drive cross-country. For myself – I’d take what I could get until something better came along. I did a stint as a truck driver and it wasn’t that bad a job, but I mentally shrugged – it wasn’t any of my business.

It was biker night and I saw my first ever bar fight. Just a couple of guys getting rowdy out on the sidewalk – no one seriously injured, but I’m a little vague on the details. I got distracted by the man in full biker regalia carrying a black and white Chihuahua wearing a sweater. He said the little dog rode everywhere with him.

I finished my second beer, said good night to my new bud, Frank, and went to bed.

I got up around nine, dressed, and went to find breakfast. My Dad had talked about how good the food was at The Kitchen across the street, so I went there. Again, the heads turned when I walked in, but the looks could have been because of the enormous lime green hat I was wearing. Business was brisk at The Kitchen and most of the customers were from the older crowd. Because I didn’t want to look like a pregnant bullfrog that evening when I met up with everyone at the pre-class reunion party, I resisted the sausage biscuit and gravy; I settled for eggs and half a piece of toast. After the initial stare, my audience pretty much ignored me.

I decided to check out the Golden Delicious Apple Festival that started this morning in front of the new court house, which was actually new like twenty-five years ago. The local bluegrass band wasn’t bad and some of the moderately geriatric were up dancing. I like a little bluegrass on occasion so I sat on a bench in the shade, taking pictures of the small crowd.

I eventually moved on, taking photographs of whatever struck me as interesting. I found the Democratic Party Headquarters and snapped photos of the campaign signs in the window. I stepped in to ask how Obama was doing in the county and had a lively conversation with the man running the table. He was made of sterner stuff – he didn’t gape at the hat.

At first he thought I was taking a survey or something. I guess because I asked so many questions, but the lowdown on Obama in Clay is that his campaign team hasn’t sent any signs or materials to distribute, which may be because they’ve written off the state. He was a little cagey as to whether he thought Obama could win in Clay.

Not wanting to take up all his time, I walked on down to the public library to catch up on my email.

After I caught up on my email, I strolled on to the Family Dollar Store. I had a vague notion of getting a tub stopper so I could take a bath (my skin still itched from the Lyme antibiotics). I got to the last display and heard my name called. I looked up and around at a strange woman at the end of the aisle. It was an old classmate. She’d heard about my wearing a large green hat (I doubt she would have recognized me otherwise) – it’s a small town. She said as soon as she saw it she knew that must be the hat she’d heard about. She had to get cleaned up after helping to set up at the high school. She said they were still working if I wanted to go down, but I was due to have lunch with my aunts shortly, so I had to say no.

I headed back towards the Henry Clay Hotel at a leisurely pace. I saw the Obama Campaigner and we took up our conversation again. He asked if I’d thought of moving back and running for office – I laughed. My husband had already told me if I made him move to the country again he was leaving me. Obama man said that was ok, if that happened, he’d marry me. Now at my age, I take what I can get and he was clean, presentable, and most important – sober, so I’m counting that as a legitimate proposal of marriage even if he did have six kids. Don’t care what y’all think!

I continued my stroll. Throughout the morning, I’d had folks comment on the hat. One lady said she loved it. Couple of men asked me if I thought it was big enough. One man asked why I kept walking up and down the street at random – I told him it was part of my exercise plan. Saw a guy driving a van turn his head as I walked by. Worried he was going to hit someone in the crowd. You’d think they’d never seen an interesting hat before.

I made it back and got a cup of hot water from the restaurant for a cup of tea (I’d thought ahead and brought my own bags). I could tell the bartender wanted to laugh at the hat. He managed to restrain himself. He’d checked me in last night. I think he was the manager. My bud, Frank, from the night before was there and I said hi before going upstairs to freshen up before my aunt picked me up. She was married to a minister of a little church in their holler and all her children and grandchildren lived around her.

I felt a certain amount of trepidation. Even though I called my aunt regularly to check on the health and well being of my dad’s extended family, I wasn’t completely sure of my welcome. Even excluding the giant hat, I’d always been seen as an odd bird, and it was a close knit community, and twenty years is a long time. As I’d told her she couldn’t miss me in the hat, she didn’t have any problem spotting me on the street. I needn’t have worried; I had a wonderful afternoon visiting with her and my Aunt Hilda. They laughed at my jokes and my hat. I told them that when I was younger I couldn’t afford to be fashionable, but now I just didn’t care. I’ll wear what I like. They seemed a little disturbed about the hotel, but I assured them that I loved it. It’s been a long time since I’ve stayed at such a colorful establishment- I don’t get out often.

I returned in time to clean up and change into a sweater and jeans for the evening. It gets chilly in the mountains after the sun goes down. Then I was off to the class reunion tailgate party at the local football game. If I was nervous meeting with my aunts, it was nothing compared to what I felt at the prospect of seeing people whose last memory of me was of a shy, gawky weirdo who made the chemistry lab smell like rotten eggs for days while creating paint from scratch.

I’d brought Darren’s camera, and I found it was a great ice breaker to go up to people I didn’t recognize and ask to take their picture. Then I’d ask how they were doing. I had a great time, but you know how it is when you speak to thirty people in two hours, it’s hard to remember who said what. Most lived locally and conversations revolved around family and jobs. Everyone had matured and there was an absence of the competitiveness and one-up-man-ship that had marked high school.

A few asked if I was staying with family and I said no, I’d gotten a room at the Henry Clay. Jaws dropped again – and I wasn’t even wearing my big green hat! It was like I’d said, “Oh yes, I’m staying just down the road with my good buddies Adolf Hitler and Eva.” It was the same look of horrified fascination.  Apparently, the bar has the worst rep in the entire county for wild drunkenness and other disreputable goin’s on. My church goin’ aunts hooked me up to the wildest party in town!

Some asked how it was and I shrugged and said I’d seen worse. A few offered me an alternate place to stay, but I refused because I adored this hotel anyway, but now that it was a challenge, you couldn’t have pried me out of there with a crowbar and a stick of dynamite. I think it adds to my mystique: the woman with the big green hat who stayed at the Henry Clay and lived to tell the tale!

A few characters stood out. Folks I barely remembered from high school. Late in the evening (never did make it to the game) a woman grabbed me and said someone wanted to meet me specifically. He said he’d been wondering if I’d traveled like I’d planned to. As people wandered to the game, home, or to clean up, I stood talking to him and another guy who rode my bus. Apparently, these guys had never married and the redhead who wanted to know about my travels told us about his last girlfriend who had left him.

Upon meeting him, she’d poured a bottle of beer into his pants’ pocket. I nodded as he went on to describe her attributes. I finally asked, “Did she have big boobs?” He laughed and said yes, how did I know? Well, a drunken woman who would pour beer down a potential beau’s pants was hardly going to impress him with her intellectual capacity, so it must have been something else. Told him he needed to find a woman with some common sense and he’d be ok. He said those were already taken. He was funny. Wouldn’t mind keeping up with him either. His love life sounded highly entertaining.

Eventually it was time to go. My friend Kate, who helped talk me into going, said we’d meet at the Henry Clay bar afterwards. I sat at the bar and got my beer. My bud from the night before was there. He seemed to spend a lot of time there.

I photographed a young man who’d felt the urge to dance on his booth bench. Unfortunately, I only got a shot of his back and the photo didn’t capture the wiggle effectively. My friends arrived and we sat at the booth by the door to escape the worst of the smoke. I’m going to use false names at this point to save the not-so-innocent any embarrassment. The arriving friends were Kate, Georgia, and Star.

It was hard to talk because of the noise, but we were enjoying our beer and chatting. Georgia told me a guy once got his nose bitten off in the bar. Not sure I buy that one. The current clientele were just country boys enjoying their beer and really loud music. Kate knew a lot of people so folks came over to the table. The local law arrived. Not sure why. It could have been because someone had a three year old running around earlier. Star and a few others at the bar started to chant, “Poopie! Poopie! Poopie!” I immediately tried to shush her. There was NO WAY I wanted to have to call my minister’s-wife-aunt to come bail me out of jail for calling the local law mean names! She would have wrung my neck, and then she would have really got mean! My other aunt lived closer and she’d been married to a drinkin’ man; I thought she might’ve had more practice bailing people out of jail, but I didn’t know her number.

Star got up to talk to someone she knew. For some reason that I don’t recall, Kate struck up a conversation with a guy named Harley who wore a doo rag. I couldn’t hear most of what was said, although he did look at me once (I sat right across from him) and asked me if I was married. I said yes. He asked if I was happy. I said yep.

While he was sitting at the table with us three attractive women, who had ditched our husbands for the weekend, his girlfriend/wife stood by the table for a good ten minutes. I could just about see the mental toe tapping going on there and my friend Kate was oblivious. 

I nudged Georgia and said, “She don’t look happy.” Georgia agreed. The wife/girlfriend finally went to sit with friends at the table across from ours. I started to worry a bit because she looked like she wanted to snatch Kate bald. I jumped when she slammed her beer bottle down on the table so hard it sounded like a pistol shot. I nudged Georgia, who kicked Kate under the table and said we had to go -- now.

And that’s the story of my closest brush with a barroom brawl over a guy who wasn’t even cute!

Back out on the sidewalk, we debated the virtues of flirting. What I know about male psychology, I learned when I was a truck driver. It doesn’t take much to turn these guys on. For example, standing in line waiting to pay for fuel and saying the weather was nice will be translated as: she wants my bod. If you said the weather was nice, but you’d heard on the radio it was going to rain later, that would be translated as: Oh yeah! She wants me bad! Then they just hound you to death. So using this knowledge I’ve managed to travel most places, including the roughest bar in the county, by myself, and stay out of trouble. They didn’t agree with my philosophy. They felt their way of flirting was more fun.

The new courthouse was closed, so no bathroom. I offered the one at the hotel. We didn’t have to go back through the bar and I think they were kind of curious. So I showed them my sloppy room and the bathroom. I’m pretty sure they were not impressed and wondered why I liked the establishment so much. The bathroom had some abandoned mint green panties – which I will have to get to in my next installment.