Life Goes On....

"Oh, yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone…."
J. C. Mellencamp

The two cane-back chairs occupied prominent places at the breakfast table. In spite of five years of enduring the rigors of enhanced rumps, they still had a little life left in them. But the cane had been stretched beyond its capacity to support guests and had to be repaired.

A forty minute drive down US 17 takes you through the heart of Woodbine, GA. You know you’re near because the air suddenly becomes stiflingly still, barely stirring among the trees that line the highway. The drive prepares one for what lies ahead.

Welcoming visitors is the J. Edwin “Fat” Godby bridge spanning the Satilla River. Roads and bridges, like stadiums and racetracks are often named for someone. A Google search did not reveal the identity of “Fats,” but judging from the size of the few moving souls in Woodbine, the sobriquet was appropriate.

The first building over the bridge was a 1930’s white concrete block building housing “The Fireman’s Museum and Partner’s Antique Shop”. Inside sat Mr. “Windy” Briese, busily repairing cane-back chairs suffering the same malaise as ours. Apparently rumps are not particular where they sit, and it gave a possible clue of where the bridge’s name came from.

Outside the sign read in bold red and white letters:

DEAD
PEOPLE’S
THINGS
FOR SALE

Ah, the place where dead chairs are brought back to useful life. Stumbling in through the oppressive heat, I am surprised to find an 80-something Mr. Briese, “Windy” as his friends call him, he said. “Yes, I can repair your chairs, but don’t get in a hurry.” He fit right in with Woodbine, where a river moved with such languor it hardly seemed alive. Life was little better on the sidewalks where nothing moved but the mirages of heat monkeys rising from the black asphalt.

Inside his museum were artifacts and relics of eras long past, dating back into the mid-1800”s. “Don’t do anything but break even on this business,” he said, “but the wife and me shore do like to travel, and I get to deduct it from the IRS. Finally I get some small revenge,” he grinned.

“Tell me,” I asked, “what’s with the sign, ‘Dead People’s Things’?” Well, with twinkling eyes, he said, “Gets me notoriety, son. Hell, this here sign’s been on Leno, CNN and Letterman, and lookee here at this book…folks from all over the world have stopped here.” Why, I wondered, were people so enamored with relics of another era? But I was, strangely enough.

“Windy” had made the place come alive, sort of a living bone yard and resurrection of antiques from generations long deceased, relevancy long surpassed. I could palatably sense the life that he had given to that dark, lifeless building in that sweltering crossroads called a town.

I thanked him for agreeing to repair my chairs, and hope I get them before the IRS catches up with his little scheme. It took longer to leave than to arrive, and he was certainly named correctly: “Windy.”

The only sign of other life was at the Tabernacle of Prayer for All People. The Cadillac outside was coal black, and behind the opaque windows strange glossalalia filled the graveyard air with eerie chants in indecipherable tongues. Like mushrooms, life grows out of death.

I hustled on up 17 for my own “repairs” at the Orthopaedics. Seems my hip had also lived beyond its normal life. Fortunately for young doctors, they have means of repairing these antiques and relics. And Yes, you guessed it, the doctor said he could also repair my hip, “but don’t get in a hurry.”

Life goes on, that’s for sure. Even ole “Fats” Godby lives on, memorialized on a bridge sign. And “Windy’s” antiques have taken on a life of their own, thanks to his fine displays and loving care. But the cold chill of a thought crossed my mind as I drove over the causeway.

The thought? Oh, that. Life does go on, but its usefulness is limited. Running in the back door of my house, I quickly opened a Bud, fired up the grill and slapped on a big rib eye. I’m not missing a minute more! Hope you do likewise.


Bud Hearn
March 12, 2009