A Man's Island Tailgate Party....A Thanksgiving Aftermath

Friends: A Man’s Island Tailgate Party…..
A Thanksgiving Aftermath

“…Cast thy bird upon the waters and it shall return to you….”

Be careful of the invitations you extend…they will come back to you. Yesterday, mine did.

The email read: “Join us for a dove cookout at lunch at the marina…no females allowed.” Now I’m not naïve, having been a Frat boy at UGA, and any invitation of such an exclusionary nature is always suspect. “OK, I’m in,” I wrote back, “is the KKK active again?” Eddie, the Island’s Noted Jurist, was hosting this affair for, according to him, a “select” group. So I grabbed my pal Jon (gotta be careful going to the island’s north end alone), and we headed out there to join the “select” group.

Now I am not surprised at much, and can generally take care of myself, but I noticed a bit of reticence from my pal as we parked the car in the sand lot and proceeded through the grey mist and wind toward the marina. Suddenly, a man’s shrill whistle echoed from within the cavernous boat shed where stacks upon stacks of stored boats were riding out the nasty weather of the day. “Hey, boys, in here” Eddie’s voice boomed…and at that distance the crowd gathered around the fire appeared ominous, and there was a noticeable stiffening in my pal as he hung back a few steps…clearly he expected violence at any moment. And the Sea Island jackets we had were certainly not de rigueur in the context of the other “guests.” I think Palm Beach was what my pal had envisioned. Wrong!

Gathered around the fire of hot coals, upon which lay multitudes of barbequed doves, was a pretty good mix of local “boys,” and in no time Jon began to lighten up and feel at home in the crowd, although I think he continued to grasp his Swiss Army knife in his fist. In a semi-circle were four pickup trucks: red, yellow, black and white…their tailgates down, and those were our “tables.” Men just do things differently, ladies. The “dining room” scene was right out of the movie sets of Road Warriors and Blade Runner …scattered among us lay the cadavers of outboard motors parts, gas cans, and parts of engines and boats ready for the scrap pile…it reminded me of certain gyms I had been in recently…the best years are over! I now knew why no ladies were invited!

Seeing the “dining room” reminded me a little of how I was able to judge decent eating spots in Atlanta: Inspect the parking lot outside and one could determine the quality of both the food and patron. But amid all the clutter, we found the food was excellent.

Keith, the head dock-master, was a chef extraordinaire, and he had been cooking up this lunch for the better part of a day: BBQ doves, casserole doves, real mashed potatoes, baked beans (a staple at men’s gatherings!), cornbread, and rutabagas and cabbage. We filled our plates and staked out our tailgate. Soon more “boys” showed up, and the groups gathered…Tim, the head mechanic, and marina employees, Max and Sam; the Kennedy brothers, fishing guides, a couple of Bills, Hall, Buddy, Gil, Eddie, Jon and myself. Shuffling around and eating, kicking the loose motor parts, idle conversation and jokes occupied the hour…and plenty of embellishment of past exploits of dubious veracity…that’s what one does at men’s tailgate parties.

On the way out Jon learned a valuable lesson about rutabagas: they’re the only food group that one can eat and taste for a week afterwards…it was his first experience. The whole thing reminded me of an incident in my life a couple of years ago. While in Atlanta my wife called and asked, “Well, what did you do for dinner tonight?” I answered without even thinking, “Why, I did what all men have done since the dawn of time: I lit a fire, through a slab of red meat on it, and opened a Budweiser.” The phone went suddenly dead, so I had another Bud for good luck!


Bud
November 29, 2007