Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe

JULY 11, 1948

Artis O. Peavey had been sent down to Kilbey Prison, better known as the Murder Farm, for pulling a knife on those two dogcatchers, and it had taken Idgie and Grady six months of trying before they could get him out.

On the way down, Grady said to Idgie, “It’s a damn good thing he’s coming out now. He might not of lasted in that place for another month.”

Grady knew what he was talking about, having once been a guard there.

“Hell, if the guards don’t get him, then the other niggers will. I’ve seen decent men turn into animals inside. Men, with a wife and children at home, will turn around and kill one another over some gal-boy … every night in the cell blocks was bad—but whenever there was a full moon, look out. They all go crazy and stick each other. We’d go in the next morning and there’d be about twenty-five stiffs we’d have to bring out. And after a while down there, the only difference between the men and the guards is the gun. Most of those guards are pretty simpleminded old boys … they’ll go to a picture show and see Tom Mix or Hoot Gibson and then they come back and ride around the farm, pulling their guns, trying to be cowboys. Sometimes they get meaner than the prisoners. That’s why I quit. I’ve seen men that would beat a nigger to death, just to have something to do. I’m telling you, that place gets to you after a while, and I hear now that they’ve got those Scotts-borough boys down here, things is worse than ever.”

Now Idgie was really worried and she wished he would drive faster.

When they turned in the gate that led down the road to the main building, they saw hundreds of prisoners in coarse striped uniforms out in the yard digging or hoeing, and they saw the guards, just like Grady had said, showing off as the car passed by, running their horses in circles and peering at the car as it drove by. Idgie thought that most of them did look a little retarded, so when they brought Artis out, she was relieved to see that he was still alive and well.

Although his clothes were wrinkled, his hair was nappy. Artis was never so happy to see anybody in his whole life. The scars on his back from the whip didn’t show, and they could not see the lumps on his head. He grinned from ear to ear as they walked out to the car. He was going home …

On the way back, Grady said, “Now, Artis, I’m in charge of you, so don’t be going and getting in any more trouble. You hear?”

“No suh. I don’t ever want to go back to that place, no suh.”

Grady looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Pretty rough in there, huh?”

Artis laughed. “Yes suh, it be pretty rough, all right … yes suh, pretty rough.”

When they first caught sight of the steel mills in Birmingham about four hours later, Artis became so excited he was like a child, and wanted to get out of the car.

Idgie tried to get him to come home to Whistle Stop first. “Your momma and daddy and Sipsey are all waiting to see you.”

But he pleaded to get out in Birmingham for just a few hours, so they drove him over to 8th Avenue North, where he wanted to be let out.

Idgie said, “Please try and get on home soon, ’cause they really want to see you … promise?”

Artis said, “Yes ma’am, I promise,” and ran down the street, laughing so happy to be back where he belonged.

About a week later, he showed up at the cafe, his hair smooth as glass, looking spectacular in his brand-new Revel hat, designed in Harlem, with the extra-wide brim, a gift from Madeline, happy to have him home.