Interview - Peanut Man

Boiled peanuts, sometimes pronounced Boilt Peanuts, hold a special place in our hearts, minds and tastebuds. Ever since becoming a couple and starting off our marriage in Charleston, the most romantic city in the world, there was another destination that always held special charm, Myrtle Beach. In the early years, when Linda would fly down to Spartanburg to join us, we would pack up our little Green Gremlin and hit the road to Myrtle Beach. Somehow I would find a place to rent for the weekend and that's what we would share, a little house by the beach. Now between us we didn't have any money but just enough to get us there and get a few treats along the way.

Now among those treats would be a plastic baggie of Boilt Peanuts that we would find at an errant and very independent Boilt Peanut stand. 

The highway, I-26, would take us all the way down to Columbia, the state capital. From there we would jump onto I-20 which would take us to the beach... well almost. Instead I-20 simply stops around about Florence. It's almost like they just ran out of cement, looked at the sun and said, thats enough for today boys, it's quittin time. That was it. They must have found a new job the next day and never came back to finish. So in order to get to the beach from Florence, only 68 miles away, you have to get onto what amounts to one of two local roads. So what might have been less than an hour is now a good hour and a half, depending or traffic and how many times you stop for gas, Boiled Peanuts or, as we got a little closer, Fresh Shrimp. Spelling was never as precious a commodity as space on hand painted road signs if the red paint on the plywood sign said Boilt P Nuts or Srimp or God Bless us, Key Lime or Fireworks, that was close enough and good enough to get us to slow down and spend our money at these family run roadsides. To this day the one sign I loved and will never forget, proudly presented on the back wall of the shanty was "I don't care how you did it up North!" The first taste of that hot and slushy, soft and mushy boiled peanut was a country boy's or city boy's gormet delight. no air conditioning beyond the 240, two windows down and 40 miles an hours. The reletive heat of the hot salted, water soaked peanut warmed your toungue and sole. Delicious! As the remaining miles ensued our music, carefully crafted playlists on cassette tapes, played over black cracklin old stereo speakers that I somehow wired to the radio. We rambled into town to hunt down our stay. Now, remember, there were no Google or Apple Maps, no internet of any kind and certainly no such thing as a cell phone. There was no VRBO or AirBnB to sort through and reserve but... somehow we made it and loved every minute of it. We had maybe two, maybe three nights ahead of us so plenty of time to spend one of those days touring a Timeshare Condo Building for which we would be paid $10 silver dollars. If two of us went, that's $20 bucks so Linda and I would volunteer while Tess managed the kids, the beach and everything else. We, in the meanwhile would practice our sales resistance and just keep smiling and saying No. We would boil our Fresh Shrimp back at our rental and Tess also made some super delicious tuna salad sandwiches with fresh mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato slices on white bread. We would romp and play in the ocean all day and into the night.

One early year Lauren was particulary shy of the ocean but we always had fun and had special times with Aunt Linda and Cousin Dara and her baby doll Tamara.

I thought I was so clever one year to bring our own big black inner tubes to float in. I tied them to the roof of the Gremlin... who cares? I probaby saved 10 bucks not having to rent them! So that was our Beach Music and as I started to say about a thousand words ago, Boiled Peanuts played a significant role in our ocean bound adventures. So when I discovered  our own local Peanut Man I was quiet moved emotionally and quite thrilled to have those older memories again.They were only $5 a bag as it’s painted red upon the yellow cab. I gave him a 20 and he carefully counted back 10. He looked up to ask if that was Ok. Sure I replied and very glad to do it. Recalculating, he offered an apology with change but I offered a sincere no thank you as I walked back to my car. He soon followed behind me this time insisting that I take a second bag of the succulent legumes, so in his kindness I couldn’t refuse and that’s when I stopped to ask him for his story and share Our common history.