Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe

SEPTEMBER 21, 1928

A car and a truck pulled up in front of the house. Big George and Idgie were in the truck; Cleo and Julian and two of their friends, Wilbur Weems and Billy Limeway, were in the Model T.

Ruth, who had been dressed and waiting since early that morning, hoping they would come today, stepped out the door.

The boys and Big George got out and waited in the yard, and Idgie went up on the front porch.

Ruth looked at her and said, “I’m ready.”

Frank had been taking a nap when he heard them driving up. He came down the stairs and recognized Idgie through the screen.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He threw open the door and was heading for her when he saw the five men standing in the yard.

Idgie, who had not taken her eyes off Ruth, said quietly, “Where’s your trunk?”

“Upstairs.”

Idgie called to Cleo, “It’s upstairs.”

As four men marched by him, Frank spluttered, “What the hell’s going on?”

Julian, the last one, said, “I think your wife’s leaving you, mister.”

Ruth had gotten into the truck with Idgie, and Frank started toward them when he saw Big George, who was leaning against the truck, calmly pull a knife out of his pocket and core the the apple he had in his hand with one swift movement, and throw it over his shoulder.

Julian yelled down from the top of the stairs, “I wouldn’t get that nigger mad, mister. He’s crazy!”

Ruth’s trunk was in the back of the truck, and they were headed down the driveway before Frank knew what had happened. But as an afterthought, and for the benefit of Jake Box, his hired hand, who had witnessed the exit, Frank Bennett screamed at the dust the cars had stirred up, “And don’t you come back, you frigid bitch! You whore! You coldhearted whore!”

The next day, he went into town and told everyone that Ruth had gone completely out of her mind with grief after her mother died. He had been forced to have her committed to an insane asylum, outside of Atlanta.