Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe

FEBRUARY 3, 1939

The place was jam-packed full of railroad men at lunchtime, so Grady Kilgore went to the kitchen door and hollered in, “Fix me a mess of them fried green tomatoes and some ice tea, will ya, Sipsey? I’m in a hurry.” Sipsey handed Grady his plate and he walked back in the cafe with his lunch.

Nineteen thirty-nine marked the fifth winter in a row that Railroad Bill had been hitting the trains. As Kilgore passed, Charlie Fowler, an engineer for the Southern Railroad, said, “Hey, Grady, I hear old Railroad Bill hit himself another train last night. Ain’t you railroad dicks ever gonna catch that boy?”

All the men laughed as Grady sat down at the counter to eat. “You boys can laugh if you want to, but it ain’t funny. That makes five trains that son of a bitch has hit in the past two weeks.”

Jack Butts sniggered. “That nigger boy’s got ya’ll jumping every which way, ain’t he?”

Wilbur Weems, next to him, smiled and chewed on a toothpick. “I heard tell he threw a whole boxcar full of canned goods off between here and Anniston, and the niggers got ’em before sunup.”

“Yeah, and not only that,” Grady said. “That black bastard threw seventeen hams that belonged to the United States government right off the damn train, in broad daylight.”

Sipsey giggled as she put his iced tea down in front of him.

Grady reached for the sugar. “Now, that ain’t funny, Sipsey. We got a government inspector coming down from Chicago that’s on my tail. I’ve got to go over to Birmingham and meet him, right now. Hell, we’ve already put on six extra men, over at the yard. That son of a bitch is liable to get me fired.”

Jack said, “I hear nobody can figure out how he’s getting on the trains and how he knows which ones have food on ’em. Or how he gets off before you boys can catch him.”

“Grady,” Wilbur added, “they say you ain’t ever come close to catching him.”

“Yeah, well, Art Bevins almost had him the other night, outside Gate City. Just missed getting him by two minutes, so his days are numbered … you mark my words.”

Idgie was walking by. “Hey, Grady, why don’t I send Stump over to the yard to help you boys out? Maybe he can catch him.”

Grady said, “Idgie, just shut up and get me some more of these damn things,” and handed his plate to her.

Ruth was behind the counter making change for Wilbur. “Really, Grady, I cain’t see what harm it can be. These poor people are almost starving to death, and if it hadn’t been for him throwing coal off, a lot of them would have frozen to death.”

“I agree with you in a way, Ruth. Nobody cares about a few cans of beans, now and then, and a little coal. But this thing is getting out of hand. So far, between here and the state line, the company has already put on twelve new men, and I’m working a double shift at night.”

Smokey Lonesome was down at the end of the counter having his coffee, and piped up, “Twelve men for one little old nigger boy? That’s kinda like shooting a fly with a cannon, ain’t it?”

“Don’t feel bad.” Idgie patted Grady on the back. “Sipsey told me the reason you boys cain’t catch him is because he can turn himself into a fox or rabbit whenever he wants to. What do you think? Do you reckon that’s true, Grady?”

Wilbur wanted to know how much the reward was up to.

Grady answered, “As of this morning, it was two hundred fifty dollars. Probably go up to five hundred before this thing is over.”

Wilbur shook his head. “Damn, that’s a lot of money.… What’s he supposed to look like?”

“Well, according to our people that saw him, they say he was just a plain old nigger boy in a stocking cap.”

“One smart nigger boy, I’d say,” Smokey added.

“Yeah, maybe so. But I’ll tell you one thing, when I do catch that black son of a bitch, he’s gonna be one sorry nigger. Hell, I ain’t been home to sleep in my own bed in weeks.”

Wilbur said, “Well hell, Grady, from what I hear, that ain’t nothing new.”

Everybody laughed.

Then, when Jack Butts, who was also a member of the Dill Pickle Club, said, “Yeah, it must be pretty bad … I hear Eva Bates’s been complaining, too,” the whole place exploded with laughter.

“Why, Jack, you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Charlie said. “You ought not to insult poor Eva that way.”

Grady got up and looked around the room. “You know, every one of you boys in this cafe is as ignorant as hell. Just plain ignorant!”

He went to the hat rack and got his hat, and then turned around. “They ought to call this place the Ignorant Cafe. I think I’ll just take my business elsewhere.”

Everybody, including Grady, laughed at that one, because there wasn’t anyplace else. He went out the door and headed for Birmingham.