Clayton Ain’t No Big Town

By Liz Alley

Iwas en route to my sister Lynn’s house on Lake Burton when my phone rang. I answered and heard her familiar voice asking, “Where are you?” I glanced to my left for a landmark, “The Pickin Parlor,” I said, “but I think I’ll turn on the old road and go by Alley’s Grocery and get a sandwich. Do you still want to meet at the nail place?” I asked. “Yes,” she said, “it’s across the street from The Chicken Coop,” “Okay, see you there.” This is the language of the natives of Rabun County; at least, it is for my people and me. With directions, landmarks and stores, we still call everything by its original name. On my last trip home to Rabun, I texted my friend to ask where she wanted to meet me. “CBC,” she said. (Clayton Baptist Church). When I arrived for our lunch date early, I decided to park at K-ram Way, or if I’m being technical, Food Land (The Dollar Tree) and shop. I could walk to CBC on South Church Street, right past Dr. Fowler’s first office, which is a house now. However, I got distracted by another event, so I texted Caroline and said, “Scratch CBC and meet me at the old gym. (The Civic Center.) She texted back, saying, “Okay, I’m just going by April Leigh’s (Grapes and Beans.) I feel a sense of pride when I walk down Main Street, perusing all the luxurious items offered there, not to mention all the restaurants. When discussing where we should go to lunch, Caroline, Lynn, Tina, and I decided to go to Hush which I’d never been to. “Where is it?” I asked. “Right across from Louie Talley’s old house where Mize Funeral Home was,” Caroline said. I still think of Wander as Dickerson Hardware, Crawford Art Gallery as Mr. Edwards Studio, and I can’t go into Fortify without thinking of Deal’s Drug Store, and in particular, Gifts from Debbie, where I purchased all of my Bonnie Bell lip smackers. KW Realty will forever be the home of The Clayton Tribune, and I can’t go into Cage Free Boutique or Main Street Gallery without thinking of Belk, where my mother bought me a rabbit fur coat. I can see us now, my ten-year-old self begging her for the blue rabbit fur and Mother telling me the blue one looked fake. Dogwoods will always be Cannon’s Furniture, and The Tree House will be Cannon’s Department store, where I got my first pair of boots to go with my gaucho pants. (Gaucho pants were trendy back in the day, and my first pair came from April Leigh’s.) And I’m still wondering where the basement went at The Tree House and am assuming Mrs. Sylvia Masters didn’t get boarded up down there bent over her sewing machine working on alterations. Claws and Paws will always be Harper’s Five and Dime, where warm nuts forever rotated on lit display cases.

The space next to Of These Mountains will always be Nancy’s Fashion Nook, and White Birch Inn will be The Sole Place. White Birch Provisions will always be Parker’s Laundromat, and Old Livery Street will be “The Sears” road, where we went to pick up our catalog orders. Clayton Paint and Flooring will always be Ed West Realty, and the health department building will forever be Rabun County Hospital, where I was born. Duvall’s will be the Wildcat theater and arcade, where I learned to play Pacman. U Save It will always be the Tastee Freez, and the liquor store will always be The Big D, where mama would take us on Sundays for a snack after we visited my grandmother.

The building has been updated, but Clayton Café remains, and I can still see my friend Judy and me with our cheeseburgers and cokes on Saturday for lunch. Just a few hours before that, we would have gotten our donuts from Kermit’s, where Madison’s on Main is today. The Dairy Queen (across from The Days Inn, which is really The Heart of Rabun) is the same; even that big tree that grows beside it is still there. Reeves has been on the corner for as long as I can remember. The Twenty Penny is still the Twenty Penny, but I’ll always think of Dale Galloway’s family as owning it. My sister’s storage building is on the road. Mr. Angel used to have his ceramic shop in Mountain City. When I turn on the old road coming from Mountain City, I think of my Uncle Roy’s old café building, Raco, and about a mile on the left after the turn is my Granny Garland’s home place. The old habitat building was my grandfather’s grocery store. My first cousin, Andy Hunter, owns Andy’s Market on the edge of town, but in my youth, it was Mason’s where all the cute high school boys bagged groceries.

I’m happy about all the new shops in Clayton and that we aren’t a dying town like so many in our country. I’m comfortable with all the ghosts that accompany me in and out of the shops and the memories that refuse to vanish in the updated brick-and-mortar. One day, my grandchildren may be talking about the stores they remember in Rabun when they are my age. For now, I’ll keep playing that old song in my head that Bill McClure wrote,” Clayton Aint’ No Big Town.”

Note: This writer acknowledges she may not have all the businesses in their proper places. She also believes that lousy memory is one of the keys to happiness.