Jilly's

Dateline: Columbus, Georgia; 1991.

Jilly's (duh duh) Jilly's is the place for ribs. At least it was. There is very little information to be found for the steakhouse on Macon Road, situated in a strip mall. It was "the nice place" to go when my friends and I had a little extra money. Looking back, it was weird for two 17 year old girls to go out for prime rib, and neither of us was hooking. I don't recall ever going somewhere this upscale with a date, Red Lobster being the pinnacle non-prom date restaurant. Either way, Cassie and I hit Jilly's fairly often. Another weird fact, I used to order my prime rib medium RARE. I must have had great blood back then, these days the slightest hint of pink in the middle makes me gag. Jilly's is also where I discovered my love for horseradish. But these are all just minor factual memories of the place that will be always be known as "The place where I started to hate people."

Cassie and I brought along her uncle on one of our excursions. This sounds creepier than it was. Greg was only 7 years older than us, plus he had a convertible Mustang. Greg was a frequent guest star, as he was hilarious and loved to shop. I suppose I should mention that this was a few years before Greg came out of the closet. It was Christmas and we were all set for an evening of shopping at Peachtree Mall. We stopped at Jilly's for a prime rib fix. The three of us were promptly seated in a booth, where we had a view of the booths on the other side of the dining room. We laughed and talked. Probably a little too loud, but nothing outside of normal. When the three of us got together, it was on and to this day, I have never laughed so hard as I did when they got me going. Across the way, a family was trying to corral their young children. Even then, I detested children, especially ill mannered kids. These hellions were running amok, and I witnessed one of the children run up to a table of strangers and touch someone's plate at the table. Cassie saw it too and we were like, "WTF?" (before WTF) Greg craned his neck around the booth to see what we were looking at, and caught the eye of the hellion's mother. Our food arrived and we soon forgot about the ill mannered family. Every time I looked up, the mother was staring at us. Not wanting to cause a scene (when you are raised by an alcoholic, you tend to master scene avoidance techniques.) I stared at my bloody plate. I stared at the bread basket. I stared at the rich corinthian leather on the booths. What happened next happened so fast, I couldn't even catch my breath.

Cassie leans over and says, "That bitch needs to quit looking over here." I shrugged, but inside I felt the same thing. I was about to say something disparaging about her mom jeans, to appease and distract, when Cassie takes a big bite of food, chews it for a moment, then opens her mouth and shows God and everybody (and the rude staring bitch) her cud. I saw that, then followed the imaginary line of vision directly to the rude mom who can't control her rude kid's eyes. I had a mixture of admiration for Cassie for giving the bitch her due and nervous bile at the omnious confrontation. Greg was clueless to the drama unfolding, as he was busy rending the mediocre meat from the bone. All of a sudden, the woman was standing at our table. We three look up at her, all with WTF expressions, and she says, "Did you girls learn your manners in a barn?" Only she had a British accent, so it sounded like, "Deed you gahls learn yore mannuhs in a baun?" Greg was dumbfounded. I was mortified. Cassie was indignant. Only Cassie found her voice in the exchange and exclaimed, "Who is SHE talking too?!" That's it. That's the witty comeback. The woman disappeared and we were left to debrief amongst ourselves. And that's when all the witty comebacks spewed forth. Our incredulous group spent the next 4 hours coming up with even better replies. The frustration in the convertible was so thick we had to let the top down on the way home (December in GA...not that cold.) The injustice was maddening.

Twenty years later, as I reconstruct the scene, I still get a little pissed off. Was Cassie wrong to show her food? Probably. Was the woman wrong to approach our table? Sure. Should she have used birth control? Yes. Would I change any detail of that evening? Nope. That night has been fodder for the three of us for twenty years. Jilly's closed down a few years later. I have no idea what went into the strip mall to replace it. Jilly's was a chain, and chain steakhouses soon exploded all over the scene: Longhorn, Texas Roadhouse, Logan's, Outback, and so on. There are even "nice" places where you can eat peanuts and just throw the shells right on the floor, which I am not an advocate for. Great as these places may be, they can never replace the original bad manners dining experience, where you can get a side of rudeness with your $12.95 prime rib.

But you better act fast...it is a limited time offer.

It All Started With

Each Summer, I choose a theme for Summer reading. Last year, it was True Crime, Memphis Style. The year before, Judy Blume books I knew by heart. This year, my interest turned to True Crime, Georgia Style. This year, I actually have a sub-theme: Stuff I Remember Hearing About Either From Old People, Or On The News.

I just finished "Murder In The Peach State", by Bruce L. Jordan. A wonderful book, and who knew a cop could write?? Jordan is/was the Chief Investigator with the Fayette County Sheriff's Department. Fayette County is two counties north of Troup County, which is where I grew up. But my connection to Fayette ran a little deeper. I dated a sheriff's deputy from the same department, briefly, while I was in college. He was in my college English class. He turned out to be a dud, but we would spend hours after class (a night class) sipping coffee at the IHOP, discussing his job. Jay gave me the goods on the news stories. And thus began my lifelong affection for cops. I liked getting the inside scoop. I still do; therefore, while I am done dating cops, I still like to keep a few close to me so as to always be informed. This proved invaluable during the Mary Winkler trials. I have no idea whatever happened to Jay, but I would be willing to bet he and Jordan were at least acquainted. Jordan's book triggered my nostalgia for times past in my fair state of Georgia.

This nostalgia led me to purchase more true crime books. I am all set to learn the scoop on Sarah Tokars, The Columbus Stocking Strangler, The Redbone Murders, the Murder in Coweta County, The Alday Family Murders, and more about little Mary Phagan. To supplement my blood lust, I began an internet search for particular cases that I remember: Fred Wilkerson and the well (the boy who sat in front of me in sixth grade's mother killed Wilkerson and buried him in a well, where he laid for nearly two decades), Kyle Clinkscales (my best friend---the aforementioned crackhead--and I rode our bikes back and forth by the pond that allegedly housed the drum that housed the college student's remains for years...I was in Memphis when they closed the case some 25 years later, the well-to-do husband and wife who murdered her elderly mother for her money (Mattula? Something like that), and other cases who's news reports kept me up at night. Looking back, I realized that I grew up in a mean place. I have drawn the conclusion that one rural country murder equals about 20 inner city simple killings. When country folks do it, they do it up right. And, weirdly enough, they tend to do it in the Summer time. That oppressive Georgia heat only adding to the gross out factor when the deed is actually discovered.

Even as a child and youth, I watched the news. Partly because my mom did, but I grew to love it. My imagination was vivid and without constraint; however, when this was combined with my half ass attention span, I sometimes got the details wrong. For example, I was not around when The Alday Family Murders occurred, but I was during the appeals process of the murderers. I was a teenager before I realized that Alday was the name of the family who was slaughtered, not in reference to a 6am to 6pm killing spree (all day). Turns out, Little Mary Phagan was bludgeoned, not stabbed with pencils. I was also relieved to learn that Andy Griffith was not involved in a dust up in rural Coweta County, he's not a cold blooded killer but he played one on tv...Thank God! As an adult, I have learned to listen carefully so as not to embarrass myself when spouting off odd facts about things.

There is little to be found on the more obscure cases that I mentioned; but the journey led me down a new path...place nostalgia. I stumbled upon (not using the acutal search engine, just on my own) a site that posts pictures from a time gone by era in Columbus, Georgia. http://www.angelfire.com/weird2/georgia/index.html Troup County was nestled exactly halfway between Atlanta and Columbus. I tend to devote most of my nostalgia to Atlanta, the Oz of my youth. I was strictly forbidden to travel there by my parents, which means I took off there every chance I got. However, I spent just as much time in Columbus (the safe alternative). This site mostly has things about places that were long gone before I set foot on the red clay; however, there are nuggets. The liberty bell pool at FDR state park. That water was from a natural spring and COLDER than ice. It was a vacation bible school staple. The big cow that stood guard outside the Kinnett Dairy, which signaled that we had finally arrived to the usual destination of Peachtree Mall, was there as well. I sounded far older than my 36 (8 more days) years when I said to myself, "I'd forgotten all about that!" Just the names of the roads sparked fond memories: Gentian Blvd, Victory Drive, Macon Rd, Cross Country Plaza, Buena Vista Rd, and Wynnton Rd. The local ABC affiliate, WTVM, had a promotion during my childhood that involved calling out the name of smaller towns around Columbus to say thanks for watching, basically a shout out to your 'hood. It used to thrill me to no end (I was easily impressed) when LaGrange would make it on the air. This also served as a geography lesson for me. I shared a cabin at 4-H camp (a whole 'nuther nostalgic post) with a girl from Americus and I was able to draw a whole five minutes of conversation out of the fact that we were in the same viewing area for WTVM Channel 9. Funny, making friends is much harder these days! All of these memories came rushing back as I sat at my computer, delaying my present day life in favor of revisiting my old life.

I emailed my best friend (not the crackhead...the one I actually still want to keep in touch with) who was my partner in crime during many of these forays into the "Safe City" and suggested that we make up our own site. Only this site would be a "Do You Remember" from more recent times, the 80's and 90's. It would be a great place for Ex-Georgians like myself to visit to recall the unique trademarks they grew up with. People could submit their own memories and pics. We could expand it to include the entire area of western Georgia that became our playground. Bordered to the north by Bremen, the south by Fort Benning, the east by the Flint River, and the west by the Chattahoochee River. This large area includes all the significant little places that provoked a scandal, a belly laugh, a car malfunction, an ass whooping, or housed a residence. This site would likely only be enjoyed by my friend and I. I can see the glaze of indifference form over the eyes of people when I begin to slip into the nostalgia of my Georgia upbringing, if you didn't live it...it isn't important. But what enjoyment it would be! We'd make a great team as she still lives there and I have a catalogue of memories. She loves photography, I love to blog.

Watch for the link. Until then, here is a preview of some of the topics we will cover: Jilly's (Jilly's...Jilly's is the place for ribs), The Georgia Public Broadcast sign off (Georgia...Gaaaawgia), 4-H, Wolfman and Donna, WCGQ vs Kiss FM, The Warm Springs Hotel, and The Callaway Educational Association. My Dorothy Parker stream of consciousness ends there...for now.