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Louie’s Pickles

Authentic Philly food comes to St. Clair

Story by Graham Hadley
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.

For much of his life Lou Consoli was a professional fisherman.

His trade often took him to Alabama, which he loved, but there was one thing he said he could never find here.

“A good New-York-deli-style pickle,” he said.

He grew up in a traditional Italian-American family up North, but after meeting his fiancé, Alabamian Becky Pate, he saw a marketing opportunity here he could not pass up.

“We said, ‘Lets see if we can open a pickle business in Alabama.’”

And that’s exactly what the couple did, realizing their dream with Louie’s Pickles on U.S. 411 in Odenville.

They claim on their website, louiespickles.com, “We sell the best pickles you’ll ever eat.”

And their customers agree. Business at the small storefront has been so successful, Louie’s is looking to expand, providing seating for people to come in and enjoy, not just pickles, but other classic Italian and Philly traditional favorites, including, of course, a steak sandwich.

“I am from a Philly suburb. Up in the North it is easy to find a good New-York-style deli pickle, a good kosher pickle. We just grew up with that,” Lou said.

“Growing up Italian, my grandmother, my aunt, my mother — they always cooked. We learned to cook the old Italian way. We made some pickle products at home — and we ended up with something like 30 flavors.”

Because Southerners like so many pickled foods, like okra, Lou saw his products as a natural fit.

Lou and Becky started out focusing on pickles and other specialty items, often selling pickles at vendor stalls at events like carnivals, craft shows and similar gatherings. They sold all sorts of varieties of pickles. People could even buy a pickle on a stick — a favorite with children.

Once they got a taste of Lou’s products, they would return to buy more from the store or place an online order.

“What we do is we set up concessions — gun shows, craft shows — anywhere there is a big event. People buy a pint or quart, then they come back and order online or drive over,” he said.

But Lou introduced the people in the region to more than pickles, much, much more.

“We also brought our Italian cooking, things like Philly cheesesteak, real Philly cheesesteak, and people have been asking for that. We bring in everything from Philly, it’s extremely authentic,” he said, clarifying that a traditional Philadelphia cheese steak sandwich does not have peppers in it, as it is often served in other parts of the country.

Lou says the key to their continued success is that everything is authentic and everything is fresh.

“We bring in real Italian bread from Philly and other products like salami from all over. All our products are fresh — always cooked fresh, no microwaving or anything processed, and it makes a difference,” he said. “Freshness is the key. When you make something fresh, and people can see you making it, it is a huge deal.”

Lou admitted that some of their products are not as cheap as what you might find in a supermarket, but points out that there is a big difference between canned or bottled olives and ones he has ordered from Italy and personally driven hundreds of miles to pick up.

“We started out as a pickle business. Now we offer a wide variety of things, including sandwiches. We have a line of hot sauces … a chicken-wing sauce which is phenomenal.”

Because of his focus on freshness, Lou will sometimes buy different products based on availability, and as a result, what they have in the store, aside from pickles, varies from one day to the next. He encourages customers to keep up with those changes on Louie’s Pickles Facebook page, which also lists any store specials they may have.

That is going to be even more important in the near future. Lou is shifting the layout of the store around to allow room for dine-in seating, in addition to their take-out offerings.

“We are looking to add some tables and some seating so customers can sit and eat,” he said.

Lou has been amazed, not only at the success of their business, but in the welcome he has received in what he calls a great example of that “famous Southern hospitality.”

“Our customers are our friends,” he said, making special mention of Harvey, Lynn and Joel — three of those customers who came in at the start of the business and now help out around the store.

“There are great people here — lots of customer loyalty. It’s a phenomenal group. It has never ceased to surprise me.”

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Zeke Gossett

Fishing phenom continues winning ways

Story by Carol Pappas
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.
Submitted photos

When Curtis Gossett took his six year-old son Zeke to fish in a local tournament, he noticed something a bit different about his boy and his prowess with a rod and reel.

“I told his mom there was something different about him. Even if she believed me, I don’t think she took it in,” he recalls. “He could do things with a rod and reel at that age that men couldn’t do.”

Curtis was right. At 11, Zeke won his first BASS Junior State Championship and then, another. “His mother came home and said, ‘I understand what you’re talking about now,’” Curtis says with a smile.

From there, Zeke won nine more state championships. All together, he has more than 30 major wins to his credit. In November 2013, the 17-year old junior at Pell City High School and his partner, Hayden Bartee, won the B.A.S.S High School state championship and placed third in the national High School BASSMasters Classic, the Super Bowl of fishing.

His drive to win is evident. He is on the water six days a week. “Sometimes we have to make him stop so his body can rest,” Curtis says. In 2013, he fished 43 out of 52 weekends — 32 were tournaments. And his attitude seems to match his winning ways. “He expects to catch a big fish every time he casts a rod,” his father says.

He is a student of the sport. He studies the internet for insight about lakes he will fish. He looks for varying degrees of water clarity, how deep, how shallow and where. He studies the routes in which they move and their behavior.

“Every fish is different,” Curtis says. They react differently in shallow, deep, cold or warm water. “Like people.”

To illustrate Zeke’s know-how, Curtis recounts a recent fishing trip when Zeke was site fishing and flipped for a fish for more than 30 minutes with a number of baits that was guarding her nest. He finally flipped a jig on her and “You could see her get excited and react to that bait.” The fish hit the jig immediately. Another fish took five flips because their behaviors were different. But, in typical Zeke Gossett style, he patiently figured out the behavior patterns and caught them both.

He listens to mentors, like Randy Howell, another St. Clair Countian who just captured the BASSMasters Classic championship for 2014. When he talks of Howell’s win, the passion in his voice is unmistakable. Perhaps it is because of their friendship that has strengthened since 2008 when he first met him. They go to speaking engagements together at high schools and at Bass Pro Shops.

Or perhaps he sees himself in Howell — the deep religious faith coupled with the heart of a winner.

When Zeke talks about his own love of fishing it is with a quiet confidence that comes with winning. And the winning has brought him a boat load of sponsors on board. He sports sunglasses by Maui Jim. His shirt and boat are filled with big name logos in the fishing world like Pro-Staffs-Strike King Lure Co., Elite Tungsten, Power-Pole and Moment Sportswear.

Fascinated by swim bait, Zeke now has a hand-carved Woodrow Rat Bait Co. lure — about the size and look of its namesake. His father got him for his birthday. Curtis called the San Diego, Cal., company to order it, and when the owner learned who it was for, he shipped it overnight to Zeke to use in a tournament and became a sponsor.

Vicious Fishing may not be Zeke’s biggest sponsor, but it is dear to him because it was his first one — owned by fellow Pell Citians Jeff Martin and his mother, Sylvia Martin.

Sylvia had read about Zeke’s early fishing successes in a local lake magazine, and Vicious became his inaugural sponsor, followed by a litany of others as the trophies mounted.

But the notoriety hasn’t seemed to faze Zeke as he prepares for yet another tournament. There will be plenty of those up ahead, but college will be his next stop after high school. And then, his quest for a spot on the pro circuit will begin.

He credits his even temperament with helping him get so far so fast, he says. He calls it a “waste of time” to get angry when fishing isn’t going his way. “You’ve got to get another bite and make up for it,” he says. “You get even.”

He prepares himself mentally for each round with prayer and determination. “I pray a lot,” he says. “It’s the easiest thing to do, but it’s the most powerful thing to do. You never give up. Even when things are going badly, it’s just another day on the water.”

For more on Zeke and Vicious Fishing, read the April & March 2014 online or printed edition of Discover The Essence of St. Clair.

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Dr. R.A. Martin

A legacy remembered

Story by Jerry Smith
Submitted photos

January 8, 1953, was a cold, rainy day. Pell City’s town physician knew he had little choice but to attend a special meeting at the county courthouse. The good doctor had discouraged this meeting, even threatened to not attend, but the city fathers prevailed. As he walked across the town square, bundled against the wind and rain, he undoubtedly reflected on events that had led to this day, and this meeting.

Born in Plantersville, Ala., in 1879, only 14 years after the Civil War, Robert Alfonzo Martin grew up on a farm and got his primary education in Dallas County public schools. After two years at Auburn, he went on to Vanderbilt University in Nashville, graduating in 1901 with a medical degree.

Excellence was in his bloodline. Both great-grandfathers had been high military officials in the Revolutionary War. The choices he made soon after graduating Vanderbilt were the beginning of an exemplary career in which he not only excelled as a physician, but also helped build Pell City into a healthy, dynamic industrial town.

Dr. Martin was an imposing man, more than 6 feet tall. He always wore a suit and had an air of natural dignity about him that engendered respect whenever he walked into a room.

According to granddaughter Nancy Jordan, “Once you entered his realm, you were his patient, someone who needed him right then. It didn’t matter if you were family, a regular patient or a total stranger. To all, he was very approachable.” Pell City restaurateur, Joe Wheeler, says Dr. Martin was “kind … very dedicated … not a man of many words … always had something good to say to you before you left his office.”

Pell City gets a new hospital
Dr. Martin came to Pell City in January of 1903, shortly after an economic downturn had decimated the newly-formed city. Sumter Cogswell had succeeded in getting it back on a positive track with the addition of Pell City Manufacturing Company. Clearly, this facility’s employees would need quality medical care — a wonderful opportunity for a young doctor of Robert Martin’s caliber.

Quoting Jordan, in her treatise in Heritage of St. Clair County, “There were no roads in those days. He had to travel by horse and buggy, sometimes even a saddle horse … to visit patients. He operated in homes when the only light was from a flickering oil lamp and was present at the birth of many babies where the only sterilization came from water heated … over logs of a hot fire.”

A local debate still simmers over whether Dr. Martin or his civic contemporary, Sumter Cogswell, had the first automobile in town, but his granddaughters insist that the doctor’s red Maxwell was first.

Jordan continues, “Dr. R.A. Martin was energetic and possessed a dream of some day being able to afford the community with better hospital facilities than existed in any comparable size community in Alabama.”

And that is exactly what he did.

In 1919, Avondale Mills bought Pell City Manufacturing, re-naming it after their home plant in Birmingham. Dr. Martin headed a new medical facility on the Avondale campus, the Gertrude Comer Hospital. It was at Comer that he met Miss Elsie Dunn, who would work with him as head of nursing services for decades, both at Comer and in the private clinics Dr. Martin later founded.

Besides being a full-time doctor and administrator for Comer Hospital, Martin was also the official medic for two railroad systems that passed through Pell City. Should a trainman or passenger become sick or injured between Anniston and Birmingham, he attended their needs, whether at Comer Hospital or on site.

Dr. Martin always made sure Avondale’s hospital had the most modern equipment and employed the latest medical techniques, a diligence he later extended to his own clinic and hospital as well.

The corner drugstore
Dr. Martin created Pell City Drug Company, which became one of America’s first Rexall franchises. His druggist, “Doctor” Stokes, worked there for more than 50 years and became a legend in his own right. It’s said that he was dressed for success when he first arrived by train, with top hat and ornate walking cane.

According to Wheeler, Doctor Stokes was the accepted “go-to” whenever Dr. Martin and his colleagues were unavailable. He compounded medicines and prescriptions from chemicals stored in brown jars and bottles in his pharmacy. And his chemist skills weren’t limited to human beings. Wheeler recalls telling Doctor Stokes about his coon hound’s tender feet. Stokes concocted a soaking solution of glycerin and rose water that fixed the pooch right up.

Dr. Martin also operated Pell City’s Greyhound franchise as well as the local Western Union telegraph office from the drugstore. During World War II, many of those telegrams brought despair to families of lost soldiers, but the present store owner, Gerald Ensley, also recalls the joy of hearing that his father was coming home from overseas.

Ensley says Dr. Martin’s store sold a little of everything, “a lot like Walmart.” Besides prescription drugs and a soda fountain and lunch counter, they also handled most anything from bicycles to school books. Like two other drugstores in that same city block, they had curb hops to ensure the best of service.

Ensley relates that Pell City Drugs would take gift orders for special occasions, such as Christmas, purchase the goods in quantity at wholesale markets, and store them for customer pickup at a warehouse. Like many other rural professionals of the day, Dr. Martin often accepted barter in lieu of money, especially during the Depression.

When Avondale Mills closed Comer Hospital in 1931, he shifted his entire practice to a temporary clinic upstairs over his drugstore while construction proceeded on his new hospital, next door. This clinic had six beds, an examination room and an operating room.

According to Ensley, the upstairs clinic had two dumbwaiter systems — one for transporting food and medical supplies from the drugstore for patients and the other for soiled laundry. The clinic had the building’s only indoor restrooms. Drugstore patrons used an outhouse on the alley.

The clinic’s floor space still exists today, hosting lawyers and other tenants. Its fine hardwood floors and embossed tin-plate ceilings reflect earlier days, when décor was simple but durable and well-crafted.

Heated by coal stoves in winter, the clinic was well-lighted by large windows which provided cooling breezes during the summer. Dr. Martin’s capable staff were always just a few steps away. Indeed, Dr. Martin, himself, might answer your call, as he practically lived in his infirmaries. Even though this was a temporary clinic, the operating room was very well equipped, albeit located an uncomfortably short distance from patient rooms.

Martin Hospital
Dr. Martin had a grand vision for his new hospital. He would build it to his own specifications, operate it as he saw proper, and do it all without outside funding. He applied for no grants, nor was he willing to allow his new facility to become part of any medical organization. In that respect and many others, his hospital stood alone.

The new building was constructed directly behind Pell City Drugs, in an area now occupied by law offices. Originally named Pell City Infirmary, it opened in 1933. More space was added through the years until, in 1941, it boasted 42 beds and the finest operating room of any small-city hospital in Alabama.

Nancy Jordan states that her grandfather was constantly attending the best medical schools, getting postgraduate certificates from Johns Hopkins, Mayo Clinic, New York Polyclinic and Harvard Medical School, all to insure that his facility would be second to none and his patients would get only the finest care. To quote Jordan, “His search for knowledge in his chosen field was unceasing.”

He was also blessed with a competent staff, including Dr. Stitts and the irrepressible Miss Dunn, whom Ensley fondly characterizes as “the bossiest person he ever knew.” Joe Wheeler’s aunt, Alma Ruth Manning, was also a nurse at Martin Hospital.

Nurses were often hired without credentials, trained at the hospital, then sent to school for their nursing degrees. At first there was a nurses’ quarters on the second floor of the hospital. They eventually moved into a nearby house that had been converted to a dormitory. There were several young doctors who worked out an internship at his hospital, then went away to form successful practices of their own.

Dr. Martin’s associates were quite serious about their work, but also knew how to enjoy their off-days. Several local folks recall three nurses who rode around town in a red Renault Amphicar, an amphibious vehicle designed for both road and water travel. The car had a propeller in back and was steered using the front wheels while afloat. They would drive up to a boat launch, then plunge right off into the lake in front of awed onlookers. Jordan’s sister, Carolyn Hall, says Nurse Speaker bought this unique auto to reach her home on land that had become an island after Logan Martin was impounded.

The Martins eventually built a fine new brick home on Oak Ridge. Miss Dunn moved into their old downtown residence. But once his hospital was established, Dr. Martin hardly ever went home, choosing instead to live in a small suite at the hospital, making himself available at all times for the inevitable emergencies.

Nancy and Carolyn recall visiting him there at least once a week to bring fresh clothes and pick up household money for Mrs. Martin. Young Wheeler ran lots of errands for the Martins, from delivering groceries to their home and the hospital, to helping Mrs. Martin with various yard and household chores. He says he loved working for her because she was a very sweet lady who always gave him $5 for whatever he did. In those days, that was a princely sum for a youngster.

At age nine, Gerald Ensley peddled farm-raised victuals such as blackberries, greens, corn and peas to the hospital. Dr. Martin had a way of involving everyone in the community in his work. Ensley says, “… Dr. Martin knew everybody in town by their first name — their momma and daddy, grandparents, and all their children.”

St. Clair County abounds with people who were treated by Dr. Martin at his hospitals. Ensley recalls when everyone in his family had been bitten by a rabid dog and were administered a long series of painful shots in the belly by Dr. Martin. Wheeler once got a rusty nail stuck completely through his left eyeball. Dr. Martin used his uncommon surgical expertise to repair the damage. Joe still has perfect sight in that eye today, some 60 years later.

Family was no stranger to the clinic. Dr. Martin removed ruptured appendices from both young granddaughters, Nancy and Carolyn, within three days of each other. Nancy says, “Family didn’t matter. Once you entered his office as a patient, that’s exactly what you became until it was all over.”

Birthin’ babies
Of all the services performed by Dr. Martin and his staff, obstetrics was near the top of the list. According to Nancy, more than 10,000 babies were delivered by her grandfather, including her and Carolyn. When his daughter, Mary Ruth Kincaid, was about to deliver Carolyn, Dr. Martin asked whom she wanted to perform the delivery. “Why you, of course, …” was her reply. Anyone else was unthinkable. In fact, he had also delivered their mother, Mary Ruth.

Local resident Garland Davis often reminisces over a 1938 photo of his mother, Lily Mae Davis, holding him and his twin brother, Harland, with sister Elsie Mae. Harland and Garland were the first twins born in the new Martin Hospital, an event which made the Birmingham News.

The Davis children are also featured on a large period photo of about 30 “Dr. Martin babies” and their mothers, standing in front of Martin Hospital. At one time, the number of babies he delivered exceeded the population of Pell City.

Citizen R.A. Martin
A truly tireless and dedicated doctor and medical administrator, Martin was also a model citizen. According to Jordan, he belonged to the Ben M. Jacobs Masonic Lodge, Zamora Shrine, Woodmen of the World, American Medical Association, World Medical Association, St. Clair Medical Society, Civitans and First Christian Church.

In Heritage of St. Clair County, Jordan adds, “Aside from his medical practice, Dr. Martin was very much interested in the future of his beloved Pell City. He took an active and leading part in all civic enterprises, was instrumental in the development of this community and gave freely of his time and money in every project designed for the up-building and betterment of his hometown.”

Dr. Martin invested heavily in land purchases, both locally and out-of-state, eventually owning hundreds of acres of prime land in and around Pell City. These holdings included the town’s main cemetery, which he owned until his death in 1954. Today, the grand Martin/Kincaid mausoleum looks down upon his former domain from the cemetery’s highest hilltop.

Most older Pell Citizens know that Comer Avenue was once the right of way for a railroad that joined the Seaboard in Coal City with other rail lines in Pell City. What is not generally known is what happened to all those tracks, crossties and other rail hardware that had to be removed to convert Comer into a road. Always the entrepreneur, Dr. Martin bought all this salvage, had it dug up, and sold it as scrap metal.

Dr. Martin Day
Steeling himself for this dreaded meeting, the doctor squared his shoulders, straightened his tie, and walked boldly into the meeting chambers …

On Jan. 8, 1953, the Pell City Chamber of Commerce hosted a gala event known as DR. MARTIN DAY, to honor one of its finest, most influential citizens. This was exactly 50 years after he had first hung out his shingle in 1903.

Literally everyone was invited. Planned months in advance, the Chamber had made provisions for a parade with local bands and outdoor viewing stands, much like today’s Block Party. Thousands were projected to attend, but nature threw a curve ball of torrential rains on the chosen day, so only hundreds actually participated.

Local businesses closed for the day, and the little county courthouse was jammed with admirers, many of whom had been delivered by the good doctor. Speakers included Hugh Comer, chairman of the board at Avondale Mills; Dr. Charles N. Carraway, who was his former roommate at Vanderbilt and founder of Carraway Methodist Hospital in Birmingham; and a host of mayors and other dignitaries from as far away as Birmingham and Guntersville. Among those by his side were his beloved wife Mary Gee (Campbell) Martin, and the indomitable Miss Dunn.

A legend passes
In early 1954, Dr. Martin was diagnosed with coronary thrombosis and taken in a Kilgroe ambulance to the famed Ochsner Clinic in New Orleans, where he succumbed on July 10, just 12 days shy of his 75th birthday.

Jordan describes his funeral in Heritage of St. Clair County: “Business was at a standstill. … Close to 1,500 people came to pay a last tribute to him as his body lay in state at a local funeral home. … Hundreds came to the Methodist Church for the funeral, (and) followed him to his grave in spontaneous and impulsive outbursts of love and affection for this tall, handsome man who had served them not only as doctor, but as a friend and advisor for more than half a century.” She adds that, because of the huge crowd, his service had to be broadcast on speakers outside the church.

Sometime after his passing, the main north/south thoroughfare in Pell City was renamed R.A. Martin Street. But perhaps his finest epitaph is found on the silver chalice he was given in the year previous, on Dr. Martin Day :

IN HONOR OF DR. R.A. MARTIN, A DISTINGUISHED AND PROGRESSIVE CITIZEN, AND ABLE PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON, A BENEFACTOR OF THE UNFORTUNATE AND UNDERPRIVILEGED, COMMEMORATING FIFTY YEARS OF SERVICE.

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Richey’s Grocery

Everything under one roof

Story by Leigh Pritchett
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.

Debbie Crump recounted some of the goings-on at Richey’s Grocery and then just had to chuckle.

“There’s a story every day. We could write a book, and it would be a best-seller,” said Crump, who with her husband, Jimmy, owns Richey’s Grocery.

According to her, Richey’s Grocery is “just a small-town grocery store.”

But a few hours spent observing activity and listening to conversation there reveals it to be plenty more than that.

The store is a quick stop, a fuel stop, a grocery store, a coffee shop, a meat market, a general store, a think tank, a curb market, a community meeting place, a springtime plant nursery, a social network and the fiscal accountability watchdog headquarters for all levels of government.

In addition, it is the first call for help in various life situations, such as rounding up wayward cattle or repairing a leaky roof.

As to what one might encounter at Richey’s Grocery, customer Kim Thweatt of Cropwell remarked, “There’s no telling.”

The store, located between the Pell City limit and the Shelby County line on U.S. 231 South, enjoys proximity to several lakeside communities, as well as Cropwell, New London and Mount Pisgah. Few are the hours that it is closed, even in snow. The store opens each morning at 5 a.m., closing at 9 p.m. Sunday through Thursday and at 10 p.m. Friday and Saturday.

It is a general store with a one-stop shopping concept and an old-fashioned atmosphere. Customers can find kindling, firewood, regular gasoline, non-ethanol gasoline, propane, kerosene, live bait, fishing tackle, grocery items, produce (some of it from local sources), automotive and pet supplies, health and beauty aids, meat cut fresh daily, poultry, fish and seafood, marinades, rubs, spices, candy, a quick snack or drink and a newspaper.

Then, there is the host of specialty items, such as muscadine hot sauce, rhubarb preserves, squash relish, moonshine jelly (which, by the way, does not have alcohol listed as an ingredient), Priester’s pecan pies, locally made cheese straws and fudge, hoop cheese (both red and black rind), local honey and Chilton County peaches, when in season.

Plus, the store carries many Amish products, for example, chow-chow, peach salsa, candied jalapenos, pickled mushrooms, Christmas jam, pickled baby beets, red sweet pepper relish and tomato basil noodles.

Anyone wanting another of Richey’s unique items – pickled quail eggs – has to be swift about it because those have a way of vanishing, said cashier Debbie Thompson.

“It’s a good place to stop by because you never know what you’ll find,” said Greg Crump, who co-manages his mother’s store with his sister, Jamie McLean.

Greg Crump mused that Richey’s sits right between the old and the new: Old U.S. 231 runs at the back of the store, while the newer U.S. 231 spans the front.

In a way, that does depict the store. It is a business functioning in modern day on principles from yesteryear.

Richey’s Grocery is a place where American flags fly prominently and six-year employee Wil Holmes describes as “home.” It is where Lisa Hardy, one of 11 employees, has chosen to work for two decades. The prices of items are keyed by hand into the cash register, and customers are called by name.

That latter was a practice Debbie Crump’s father, Donald Richey (now deceased), used from the day he opened the store in 1967 and instilled in his daughter.

“That was Pawpaw’s big thing, to call everybody by name,” said McLean.

Establishing relationships and giving good customer service are two other practices that Debbie Crump strives to uphold.

“We try to be friendly to everybody,” said Greg Crump.

Debbie Crump noted that customers are loyal if they are treated properly. “You treat them right, they’re going to treat you right.”

Tymarcus Simmons of the Surfside area said he appreciates that Richey’s treats customers with kindness and dignity. He said that is a rare quality to find these days. The father of three – Tamichial, Jacoby and Tymarcus Jr. – said Debbie Crump is known for the way she relates to and treats people.

In the years after opening the store, Richey and his wife, Sally, also established two nearby businesses. Richey’s Barbeque, right next door, is now run by Debbie Crump’s sister, Martha Price. Across a street, in a building currently occupied by Bullet’s Mini Storage, the Richeys operated Surfside Restaurant about 15 years.

Since 1967, the family has run Richey’s Grocery, with the exception of 10 years that it was under lease, explained Greg Crump. Debbie Crump took over the store at the end of the lease.

That was 20 years ago this past October, said McLean.

When Debbie Crump assumed the business, her dad urged her never to sell to an outside entity. As a result, buyout offers – like the recent one from someone in Atlanta – get turned down flat.

“There’s no way,” Debbie Crump said.

Crump would not dream of parting with the store, where her mother Sally Richey comes to visit each afternoon.

“She loves this place,” Crump said.

Moreover, Crump’s grandchildren — McLean’s sons, Luke and Colt, and Greg Crump’s daughters, Bailey and Allie – already feel like they are part of the business.

McLean said she and her brother will run it until they are just too feeble.

One of the major draws of the store is its meat market. Greg Crump oversees it, selecting and cutting the meat himself.

“We buy nothing other than the best grade you can get,” Debbie Crump said.

Ribeye, sirloin, New York strip, ribs, Boston butt, ground chuck, pork chops and chicken are among the cuts available. “It’s hand-cut and fresh,” said Greg Crump. “Nothing sits around.”

The meat market definitely appeals to Paul Graves of Pell City. “I get all my steaks there. They’ve got filet mignon.”

Some people even drive from other areas to purchase meat at Richey’s, said McLean.

Meat sales, Debbie Crump said, constitute probably 50-60 percent of the store’s business. Richey’s also fills bulk orders for large gatherings, as many as 200 or 300 steaks at a time.

All in a day’s work

On a recent Saturday morning, the store was teeming with activity long before 7:45 a.m.

The aroma of boiled peanuts in their warmer filled the air. Cindy’s cinnamon rolls from the Galleria tempted anyone who approached the checkout counter.

Martha Price busily gathered what she needed for that day’s barbecue business, as a nearly steady stream of customers came and went. At times, there was scarcely a place to park.

Bobby Jones and Harold Hoyle were already well settled in their daily routine at Richey’s.

These two regulars arrive before the store opens. Each morning, one unlocks the bathrooms and the coolers out front, while the other brews the first pot of coffee for the day.

Then, the duo takes a perch behind the counter to “shoot the breeze” and pick at customers.

One regular customer after another — many holding coffee cups from home — came for some joe and a dose of “intellectual stimulation,” as Randy Bearden of Shelby County put it.

Though the morning was chilly and overcast, some took a seat anyway on the back porch, where a sign proclaims, “What happens on the porch, stays on the porch.”

Considering the amount of activity that transpires there each and every day, that vow of secrecy covers a lot.

That famous back porch is yet another attraction at the store.

“When it’s warm enough, (there are) six or eight guys on the porch in the morning,” said Pell City Councilman Terry Templin.

Sitting in the most comfy of the rockers, Templin casually explained to a newcomer that there is an “early” group and a “late” group on the porch. Most of the time, he is part of the early group, but likes to stay for the late one, too.

“We’ve been doing this for 15 to 20 years,” Templin continued. “We solve all kinds of problems, local, federal. …”

Pointing at Templin, Ren Wheeler of Cropwell gave his reason for being part of the porch patrol. “I have to bend his ear every now and then. I like to find out where he’s wasting my tax money.”

Soon, Rusty Hunter of Cropwell joined the group, offering lighthearted observations.

After, Greg Crump settled into another rocker, Jones and Hoyle migrated to the porch from behind the checkout counter.

The group’s discussions ranged from humorous recollections, the golf course and the local geese population to progress reports on porch sitters who were sick or had surgery.

The men would wave at passersby and yell comments at people exiting their vehicles.

Crump noted that the porch has a strange effect on some people: It causes them to alter their stories. “If you catch a 4-pound bass, when you step on the porch, it’s 8 pounds.”

Generally, the porch banter is jovial in nature. Nonetheless, the discussions sometimes give Templin valuable insight. Through some of them, he is able to know what the citizenry thinks about various issues, which he said helps him as a councilman.

It was not long before McLean came onto the veranda with her cell phone in hand. One of the regulars, she announced, had texted her to say he could not make it that day; he was hauling cows in Alexandria.

This morning like most mornings, the porch was male dominated. Yet on warm evenings, the porch belongs to the female folk, said Debbie Crump.

It is also a family gathering place for the Crumps and McLeans. “This is where we hold birthday parties,” said McLean. “This is where we live.”

Other Stories

Dancing With Our Stars

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Taking to the dance floor for a good cause

Story by Leigh Pritchett
Photos by Wallace Bromberg Jr.

Pell City Fire Medic Andrew Minyard grinned and said being asked to dance before an audience is akin to blackmail.

Laura Shier is uncomfortable being the center of attention. So agreeing to dance in a public setting was a stretch for her.

“I’m stepping out of my comfort zone, big time,” the Cropwell woman said.

Shier and Minyard demonstrate that human quality which moves people to go beyond what they think they are capable of in order to support a cause in which he believes.

On Valentine’s Day, there were probably other such cases as 42 people competed in Dancing with Our Stars, an American Cancer Society fundraiser of Relay for Life of St. Clair County-Pell City.

Patterned after the television show, “Dancing with the Stars,” each of the 15 “celebrities” and two “celebrity groups” was paired with an “instructor.”

Thanks to a lineup of bankers, professionals, business owners, elected and school officials, firefighters and others who were competing, the event raised more than $7,600. The opportunity to watch these people strut their stuff drew an audience of 398 to Celebrations, said Doris Munkus, Dancing with Our Stars event coordinator. In fact, an overflow crowd lined three walls of the ballroom.

Some of the performers – such as Bar Kirby, Helen Woods and Retha Goode – are cancer survivors. Other dancers – Ernestine Bowie, Ken Miller and Tim Kurzejeski, just to name three – have been affected by the disease as they watched loved ones battle it.

Though Dancing with Our Stars was a St. Clair effort, participants from Etowah, Talladega and Jefferson counties lent their time and dancing abilities to make it a success.

Star-studded stories
To tell the story of Dancing with Our Stars from rehearsal to championship, Discover magazine followed Shier and Minyard’s group.

For Minyard, the story begins at Pell City Fire Station No. 1.

The Haz-Mat vehicle sat in the cold, dark night as its bay transformed into a discotheque, minus the mirrored ball.

Four members of Pell City Fire Department – Minyard and Firefighter Steve Cavender, both of Trussville; Capt. Tim Kurzejeski of Riverside and Fire Medic Justin McKenzie of Fultondale — practiced a line-dance routine to the 1977 BeeGees hit, “Stayin’ Alive.”

Ernestine Bowie of Pell City served as their “instructor.”

Originally, Bowie — a member of Pell City Line-Dancers and part of the praise-dancing ministry at First Baptist Church South – wanted to be a celebrity. But when she was asked to be an instructor and discovered who her students would be, she was thrilled.

“They are a great bunch of guys,” said Bowie.

McKenzie – another who was not comfortable dancing in public – found that he was actually enjoying this experience. “It’s fun.”

After running through the routine several times, the four John-Travoltas-in-training decided to don their protective gear, which was to be their dance attire for the performance.

That meant each man would bear an additional 35 pounds.

In between dances, the men would shed some gear in order to cool off a few minutes.

“It gets a little warm,” Minyard remarked. “It’s a lot tougher than I would have thought.”

Suddenly, an alarm summoned three of the four men to an emergency. That was when they demonstrated yet another 1970s dance – how to hustle.

Across town at Celebrations, Shier’s “instructor,” Ken Miller of Pell City, had to brag on his student.

“Laura has really taken to dancing,” said Miller, who has been dancing about 20 years. “Laura learned the steps quickly.”

To become proficient at the rhumba, which Miller called “the dance of love,” Shier had to learn to wiggle her hips in a sassy way, spin on the balls of her feet, lean into a dip and perform revolutions without growing dizzy.

As the couple rehearsed to the 1961 Dee Clark hit, “Raindrops,” Miller’s wife Sandy coached them through the routine she had choreographed.

Prior to becoming a celebrity, Shier’s dancing experience had been confined to what she has learned in the three or four years she has participated in the Pell City Line-Dancers. “That’s the only dancing (I do),” she said.

The thought of dancing in front of an audience made Shier nervous. Because some of Miller’s associates wanted to see him dance, the couple decided to do a trial run one Saturday at Miller’s place of work.

Dancing in front of people — and in front of lumber — at Home Depot helped Shier to practice focusing on her partner, as if no one else were in the room.

“That’s what I did Saturday — total focus,” Shier said.

Still, the night of the performance, Shier experienced pre-show jitters backstage.

“I really would like to hurry,” she said. “I wish it would get going.”

To occupy her mind, she went over the routine in her head, moving her feet and hands accordingly.

Then, she grew quiet and pensive. Finally, she said, “I’m trying to get my posture.”

Not far from Shier, the Fire Department disco-ers were facing hurdles. McKenzie was at home with a sudden, incapacitating illness.

Cavender, although present, was ailing. Usually the cut-up, he was now worrying aloud that he might start coughing during the performance.

Though Kurzejeski and Minyard were healthy, the captain could visualize disaster.

“I foresee a catastrophic failure,” Kurzejeski said. He could picture himself turning left instead of right and colliding with Minyard during the routine.

“I’m just glad that the lights are dim out there,” said Minyard.

Bowie pointed out that emergency calls, snow and the men’s work schedules had held the group to only three hours of practice total.

Nonetheless, Bowie had confidence in her students. “We’re going to bring the house down.”

Though Shier had hoped to be one of the first acts on the program, she and Miller had to wait nearly to the halfway point in the competition.

But when it was time, she and Miller glided regally and gracefully onto the dance floor.

The tiered, black dress Shier wore flowed elegantly, its embellishments shimmering.

Effortlessly, the well-rehearsed Shier and Miller floated from one movement to another. A dip near the end of the routine brought approval from the audience.

With her time in the spotlight complete, Shier expected to feel relief. Yet, she was puzzled as to why she was actually more nervous after the performance.

Nonetheless, Shier felt she and Miller had danced well.

“I think it was a real good routine,” Miller said.

Immediately following them were Bowie and the fire department trio.

Even before their introduction was finished, many in the audience rose and cheered. Cell phones and cameras nearly encircled the dance floor to record what was to happen next.

The three men, dressed in protective gear, moved in unison, with Bowie reposed in a Stokes basket on their shoulders. Skillfully, they lowered and turned the rescue basket until Bowie was in a standing position. Clad in neon protective attire that offered a burst of reflective color, Bowie stepped out of the basket.

Smiling broadly, the men stepped, tapped, pointed, clapped, turned and disco-ed to the delight of the crowd.

Not even waiting for the performance’s close, the judges issued their score of straight 10s. When the song did end, the group’s exit brought as much enthusiasm as the entrance had.

Backstage, they were elated, buoyed by the response.

“We hadn’t even done anything yet, and they were hollering at us!” Kurzejeski said. “It was an absolute blast. But the song felt about two minutes longer than we practiced!”

Minyard, though, made a confession: “It was a lot more fun than I thought (it would be).”

And Cavender, feeling slightly better by now, gave a report from the sources he most trusted — his wife, Sonia, and his daughter, Allie. “They said we did great!”

Bowie was ecstatic. “I am so happy and proud! I feel like we are winners.”

Bowie and her crew did place in the competition. They took second.

When approached for a comment about earning second place, Bowie’s actions spoke for her. She held the trophy above her head, screamed in delight, then threw her arms around the person asking.

Third place went to a tie-dyed, T-shirt-wearing group of eight, consisting of Bar Kirby, Teresa Carden, Blair Goodgame, Joseph Smith and Retha Goode, all of Pell City; Peter Boyle of Cropwell and Donna McAlister of Talladega. They danced to “Car Wash,” led by instructor Helen Woods of Hoover.

Earning the first-place award were Dr. Danny Hancock of Rainbow City, a chiropractor in Pell City, and his instructor, Realtor Nicole Anderson Walters of Pell City. The couple executed hip-hop and ballroom movements to an upbeat mix of tunes.

The judges, of course, determined three of the Dancing with Our Stars winners. However, the audience chose who would receive a fourth award.

During the evening, a bucket for each couple and group was circulated about the room. People “voted” for their favorite performers by placing money in the corresponding bucket.

When the proceeds in each bucket were counted, “the people’s choice award” went to the foxtrotting principal of Duran Junior High School South – Dr. Cory O’Neal of Cropwell – and his instructor, registered pharmacist Liz Nelson Starnes of Cropwell. They garnered more than $573 in votes.

“There was a lot of competition, so many good acts,” remarked a gracious Shier after the awards ceremony. “I had a good time tonight and enjoyed it.”

Go here for more about Relay for Life.

Features

Old Farts Farm

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St. Clair County’s grand menagerie

Story by Graham Hadley
Photos by Michael Callahan

Behind an unassuming front yard and garden, Sue and Al Maddox maintain one of the greatest menageries of interesting and exotic animals in St. Clair County.

It started 15 to 20 years ago with a weekly ladies day out to the farmers market to maybe buy a couple of chickens.

That was all Al, who was busy with a life doing specialty construction in fire damage repair and building restoration, was really willing to put up with.

“He said, ‘Fine, but no goats, horses, pigs or other animals.’”

The first trip yielded a few chickens for a coop out back; no big deal. The second trip a week later, a few more.

On the third trip? “Five goats, pygmy goats. No wait, six goats. We got old Butthead that day, too. He was going to be eaten in two days,” Sue said, laughing — something that comes as easy to her as breathing.

Her husband would not have approved, but he was not exactly made fully aware of what was going on.

“He left for work before sunup and came home after sundown, so he had no idea what we were up to in the back,” she said.

That was the seed that grew into what is now The Old Farts Farm, which is home to an amazing array of animals: peacocks, Mandrin and wood ducks, chickens of all kinds — from fancy Silkies to Rhode Island reds, giant rabbits and miniature horses, sheep, geese, quail, pigeons and turkeys. They also have several breeds of dogs running around, huge great Pyrenees that are almost as big as the horses, German shepherds, a Rottweiler and more, plus the property is patrolled by a variety of cats in all shapes and sizes. And, of course, there are the goats — mostly pygmy and dwarf goats, but several of the standard sizes, too, and in a variety of breeds.

And, with the exception of the rabbits and the birds, which have their own hutches runs and pens, they all live together in harmony. When Sue walks out into the farmyard, a Noah’s-Ark-like herd of animals comes running around the corner to visit — and beg attention.

Of course, at this point, Al, who is something of a ringer for Duck Dynasty’s Si, down to his camouflage jacket and cap, is fully aware of “what is going on in the back.”

When he first realized that just a few chickens had grown into an exotic animal farm, his response? “Fine, but I am not going to learn their names!”

Sue responded, “Well, of course I am not going to name them, they are farm animals” (which is also not entirely true — many of the animals have names now).

Al clarified, “No, I am not going to learn what kind of animals they are, what they are called!”

Watching as Al retrieved a Silkie chicken from its pen for a photo opportunity, she recounted this exchange and said, “Now he knows what all of them are.”

Despite his misgivings, The Old Farts Farm could hardly exist without Al. He not only helps care for all the animals, he put his construction expertise to work and built all the various pens and structures sprawling across the property to house the multitude of animals.

Still, Al grumbles good-naturedly about the entire affair.

“I used to drive big trucks all over, ran heavy equipment. Now I am down to lifting little birds,” he said holding up the captured Silkie for a picture.

“There are good days and bad days,” he pauses for a second, thinking. “Today — good day. I mean, it’s a full-time job, you never want for work.”

Sue gives him a look and a smile as Al returns the chicken to its cage and fetches a giant Flemish rabbit that is pushing 50 pounds for her to hold for the camera.

“Me, I am living the dream. Him — not so much,” she said.

“He grumps about the farm, but he really loves the animals. This is a man who, when it was freezing out a few weeks ago, he came out to the barn and laid on the concrete floor and let the baby goats climb all over him so they could warm up,” she said.

He does draw the line, though — “No pigs.”

And he was right, but Sue had to test the waters.

A man came by and wanted to trade a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig for a couple of chickens. “It could fit in the palm of your hand. It was so cute. I took it inside and showed Al. He just grunted. So I put the tiny pig on his beard nuzzled up to him.” Begrudgingly, Al consented.

They made a little pen for the piglet in the house that evening. Sometime in the early hours, Sue and Al woke up to the most eye-wateringly horrible smell.

“We thought sewage had backed up into the house,” she said.

It took them awhile to isolate the cause — the little pig had gone to the bathroom in the pen and then made a mess of everything.

“I carried the pig and pen out to the barn. I put an ad up online the next day. I think it sold in 20 minutes,” she said.

So, no pigs.

Though she loves all the animals — “even my little fish out there” — some animals are more equal than others. Two in particular top the list: The beautiful miniature palomino horse that follows her around like a puppy, ready to bump noses and give a “kiss” and Butthead, the goat she rescued from the dinner table that first time she brought goats home.

Butthead follows Sue and Al, too, but not for kisses. Butthead likes to try to bum cigarettes.

“I am glad I saved him. That is the coolest goat,” Sue said, laughing again as he tries to filch an unlit cigarette from her hand.

Lots of hard work too
Like Al alluded to earlier, as much as they love raising animals, it is a full-time job.

“Vacation is out of the question,” Sue said. “It’s a life. When it gets this big, it takes over everything.”

Caring for the adult animals; maintaining the cages; looking after the young animals, newly hatched and yet to be hatched birds in all shapes and sizes; running the business, cleaning — on and on, the work never ends and never lets up.

“Many days, we come in at 9 or 10 at night and we’re up before the sun, and we still have all the regular stuff to do. At 9 at night, most normal people have the dishes done and have had a shower. I also have to get online and do our Internet stuff,” Sue said.

The Old Farts farm has an active Facebook page, where they showcase their animals. But the social media site is also where Sue promotes the importance of local, independent farms.

The main barn now houses regular meetings, gatherings where other local farmers show off their animals or share their knowledge with each other.

Working together is the key for small farms. Their operation barely breaks even, if that, and many others operate on the same thin line of profitability.

“We are not going to make it unless we work together,” Sue said.

“Jerry Couch from Argo does the meetings. He knows a lot, especially about chickens. He has started taking his chickens to shows.”

They draw people from all over the region, many who want to start up a farm but don’t really know where to begin.

“We get people from Anniston. Drew Rhodes did a class on beekeeping. Eddy Bonner from Trussville showed us how to make rain barrels. You would be amazed at how fast you can fill a barrel with the rain water from your roof. And we had Jim Cole talk about garlic one time,” she said.

These classes not only help others, but they give Sue new ideas she can use at her property.

And there is always the possibility she will bring some new animal home — something else to love.

She got into the whole affair because she grew up with a father who loved animals, too, and he picked it up from his parents, who immigrated to the United States from Austria and farmed after working for Standard Oil.

The Old Farts Farm owes its name to Sue’s Dad.

“My Dad would say that word whenever a car pulled out in front of us. As he got older, he never dropped it,” she said.

Some day, Sue said, she may be willing to give up the farm, let her and Al get some vacation time and relax. But they have been married now for 20 years, and the farm is their life.

“He did not have a clue what he was getting in for when he married me. Surprise!,” she laughed, “No regrets!”

For more from the Old Farts Farm visit them on Facebook

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