Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
on it-Bryson City Laundry, Bryson City Coal and Lumber, Bryson City Church of Christ,
Bryson City Electronics, Bryson City Police Department, Bryson City Fire Department,
Bryson City Post Office. I began to appreciate how George Washington might feel if he
were tobebroughtback tolife andset downinthe District ofColumbia. Idon'tknowwho
the Bryson was whom this town was so signally honoring, but I had certainly never seen
my name spread around so lavishly, and I regretted that I hadn't brought a crowbar and
monkeywrenchbecausemanyofthesignswouldhavemadesplendidkeepsakes.Iparticu-
larlyfanciedhavingtheBrysonCityChurchofChristsignbesidemyfrontgateinEngland
and being able to put up different messages every week like REPENT Now, LIMEYS.
It didn't take long to exhaust the possibilities for diversion in downtown Bryson City, and
almostbeforeIrealizeditIfoundmyselfonthehighwayoutoftownleadingtowardsCher-
okee, the next town along the valley. I followed it for a way but there was nothing to see
except a couple of derelict gas stations and barbecue shacks, and hardly any shoulder to
walk on so that cars shot past only inches away and whipped my clothes into a disconcert-
inglittlefrenzy.Allalongtheroadwerebillboardsandlargehand-letteredsignsinpraiseof
Christ: GETAGRIPONYOURLIFE-PRAISE JESUS;GODLOVESYOU,AMERICA;
and the rather more enigmatic WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU DIED TOMORROW?
(Well I thought, there would be no more payments on the freezer for a start.) I turned
around and went back into town. It was 5:30 in the afternoon, Bryson City was a crypt
with sidewalks and I was at a complete loss. Down a small hill, beside the rushing river,
I spied an A&P supermarket, which appeared to be open, and I went down there for want
of something better to do. I often used to hang out in supermarkets. Robert Swanson and I,
when we were about twelve and so obnoxious that it would have been a positive mercy to
inject us with something lethal, would often go to the Hinky-Dinky supermarket on Inger-
soll Avenue in Des Moines during the summer because it was air-conditioned and pass the
time by doing things I am now ashamed to relateloosening the bottom of a bag of flour
and then watching it pour onto the floor when some unsuspecting woman picked it up, or
putting strange items like goldfish food and emetics in people's shopping carts when their
backswereturned.Ididn'tintendtodoanythinglikethatintheA&Pnow-unlessofcourse
I got really bored-but I thought it would be comforting, in this strange place, to look at
foodstuffsfrommyyouth.Anditwas.Itwasalmostlikevisitingoldfriends-SkippyPeanut
Butter, PopTarts, Welch's Grape Juice, Sara Lee cakes. I wandered the aisles, murmuring
tiny cries of joy at each sighting of an old familiar nutrient. It cheered me up no end.
Then suddenly I remembered something. Months before, in England, I had noticed an ad
for panty shields in the New York Times Magazine. These panty shields had dimples on
them and the dimples had a name that was trademarked. This struck me as remarkable.
Can you imagine being given the job of thinking up a catchy name for dimples on a panty
