LETTERS: A TRIBUTE TO FOLKS AT HAPPY HOLLOW

To the editor:

I live in Oriole, where the Happy Hollow once stood. In this poem, I state that you could get a hot meal there. It was a restaurant-type lounge. About the Wednesday nights men would be there with guns: They had shooting matches which were like raffles for beef or pork. The building itself once was a barn before being transformed into a business. A lot of people worked there, just as some met there after a long day in the field or factory. So what I'm trying to say is that this old building has been used as a meeting place for all walks of life.

The three men who are mentioned in the poem are long passed away, and their families have been a rich heritage of this small town for nearly 100 years, not to mention those who me or worked in this business. This poem is meant for the Jones family which operated it for over a quarter of a century.

The Holler

There once stood a little country bar a few miles just out of town

Where everyone would gather, the ones that are still around.

You could get a hot meal and even a cold beer.

It might be rabbit and fried okra, or even deer.

Every Wednesday night there would be men with guns.

It sounds dangerous, but it was loads of fun.

For nearly a century it's been the place to be

Where you could let your hair down and feel free.

People have been married inside those doors.

People have been known to dance across the floors.

Now I look back to all the memories that old building had given to us all,

Like seeing all our friends every Friday night from spring into the fall.

With tears in my eyes I can still see David, Gene and Father

Sitting down at the little country bar, which will always be known as the Happy Holler.

TONY WELKER

Cape Girardeau