Don’s Sonic
Written by Fletcher “Butchwax” Ferguson
Rare is the time when a circumstance occurs that becomes so memorable it carries with it degrees of exponential substance that allows the experience to take on a life of its own. An event that is still transcending time. So it was one night after a year of heavy academic drudgery for four college sophomores, good friends .
In an effort to protect the guilty the names of the participants have in fact been changed. This story is about the inaugural summer bash held by a college buddy, who is now safely established as a municipal judge for a county not to be named later. As all stories go there are different accounts but this version is told from one individual’s view point. An individual that may or may not have been present at the time but the tale will be told as if he/she was. I must apologize to any reader who finds the material offensive. It is not designed to offend nor is it meant to represent a point of proud historical happening. It is what it was and through it all remains a fact of happenstance. Enough introduction, here is the tale of Don’s Sonic.
Having spent a truly hideous semester of laborious study, working the grave yard shift at a metal shop and competing in a never ending Track and Field season that had lasted from December to May. I was ready to break training and get a good drunk on. I was not alone in this regard, as the eminent announcement of the first annual beer bash, held at an obscure privately owned lake house was well received by three others. Three friends who clearly had experienced the same level of mind twisting demands as I had. The beer bash was scheduled for a Saturday with a Sunday scheduled for recovery before the trip home. We may have got an early start.
At the time I was working the day shift at the metal shop and was finishing a long week of cutting to length, heavy gauge sixteen inch aluminum pipe. The twelve foot lengths of pipe were cut from a twenty six foot piece of raw material. Once the pipe was cut to length, I had to drill a six inch hole in either end inorder to attached two aluminum nipples with flanges. The heavy pipe was being manufactured into what was called a hydrostatic water treatment device used by hospitals at the time. The work was very physically demanding, the weather was beyond hot for the month of June and the work was time sensitive. Needless to say, by the time I had my shower after I got off that Friday afternoon I was more than ready for the first beer that I had had in better than ten months.
My buddy Seymour Wiggins showed up at my apartment with a mutual buddy Homer Grayskull. Homer was a very tall and lanky country boy who could really throw the discus and toss down a beer, Seymour was a short legged fellow distance runner who could drink until his nose sweat while driving a foreign four speed. Homer had conveniently taken the liberty of filling two large coolers with ice and Papst Blue Ribbon. After a few PBR’s we left my one room apartment to head the thirty miles north to pick up another buddy who was, to say it mildly, a unique character in of his self. Tuan Tan Nguyen was a Vietnamese refugee then pre dental school student with a personality that never stopped evolving. We could not help but adopt him. Bright in spirit, super intelligent, the little Asian genius was a brain trust of never ending resource and countless laughs. Someone you could count on to provide a side splitting one liner on most any occasion, when you least expected it. The guy was so smart he not only picked up the English language in under a semester, he mastered Latin and French as well. The guy was scary smart, quick witted.
Anyway, after a good six pack apiece we had picked up Ten Til-Noon, which was what we called him (eleven fifty for short). We had a good three hour drive yet so the beer was a primary focus while we caught up. As the beer was going down, we drove and started to unwind. Homer who was at least six foot seven was in the back with our Asian friend (5 foot 1 maybe) consequently, leg room in the little four seat import was at a premium and a constant festering subject. About thirty minutes into the trip, Tuan presents us with a Thai stick joint. Now neither Homer, Seymour nor I had ever even considered smoking such. Nonetheless, it got smoked. The best of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band went into the cassette player and the THC induced creativity began. What followed were witty jokes along with deep meaningful, philosophical discussions having world changing impact. Theories and theorems of which never will be absorbed nor come to light in today’s society. Insightful wisdom that would never be remembered nor recalled. We were, on a different plane in a completely different stratosphere.
That is when it happened, the realization that food was needed, so we pulled into a small town Sonic Drive In restaurant and placed an order. We each in turn placed an order via the micro phone. When Tuan ordered four bearded clams we could not have stopped laughing to save our lives much less eat. Thus, we left immediately without any food. Now when we did leave, Tuan hit us with another little ditty. Due to the fact of a unintended alignment of two electronic signs, the fact we had impaired enhanced cognitive skills and had depth perception issues, Tuan referred to the Sonic as Don’s Sonic. Additionally, it was right next door to Don’s Pharmacy.
That revelation added to the drug induced laughter caused by the diminutive Asian’s request for bearded two legged shell fish. Auspiciously, that was not the end of the kingdom that the enterprising phantom, monopolizing entrepreneur Don owned. Along the way we saw Don’s Autos, Don’s Auto Repair, Don’s Tires. Don’s Tow Service, Don’s Trucking, Don’s Tractor Service, Don’s Lumber, Don’s Hardware, Don’s Gas and Go, Don’s Bar and Grill, Don’s Ice Cream Shoppe, Don’s Title Company, Don’s Real Estate and let us not forget Don’s Septic Service. Don needed his own yellow pages just to find himself. Thus, we found a Don’s Printing, a Don’s Phone Service and Don’s Advertising Agency.
Down the road and for the next two days we ran across more road side businesses owned by Don. There was a Don’s this and a Don’s that, even a Don’ s This and That. We blamed Don’s Thai stick for the phenomenon. All weekend long we encountered Don. When we pulled the boat up to Don’s Marina on Saturday, I just about lost it. A plethora of Don’s taverns, Don’s shops, Don’s stores and Don’s more, complete with every possible type of Don’s signage from Don‘s Signs, all uniquely belonging to Don. Don’s empire continued to line the roadsides, infecting our funny bones then and still does today.
When you combine explosive pent up brain stress with alcohol, THC and a creative unfettered, exuberant Vietnamese comedic genius, nothing is not funny. Therapy is the result. Tuan was convinced that Don owned everything between where we where and where we were going from then until the end of time. The revelation left us in a continuous state of historical, hysterical delirium. A whimsy which has fostered a life long guffaw. Consequently, Don became a lasting unparalleled enigma, a magical reappearing institution that has lasted some 40 years. From that day since, Don has been and remains to be, part of our lives. I can not eat at Sonic with out thinking of Tuan’s order and thinking of the fact it was Don’s Sonic that started it all.
Tuan called me a few years after college and told me he had been accepted into Don’s school of Dentistry, one of his professors was Dr. Don Donaldson, he had married a young Amer-Asian lass named… you guessed it Dawn Donnley. His first born son, Donald was attending Don Meriwether Elementary. Last time I saw him he was driving a Cadillac he had bought from Don’s GM. Since then no communication has ever taken place without some reference to Don working its way into the conversation, ever more cleverly and subtly as time has rolled on. Once I got a Don’s Sonic monogrammed pen and pencil set for Christmas. It was wrapped in brown paper cut out of a Don‘s Deli take out bag. I’m not sure it will ever end but Don will continue to bring a smile to my face. Whenever passing his ubiquitous roadside businesses, I will always be reminded.
I will never forget Ten Til-Noon nor Don’s Sonic.
Every time I drink a PBR I give a toast to Don, who and where ever he may be. To Don and bearded clams.
Written by Fletcher “Butchwax” Ferguson
Rare is the time when a circumstance occurs that becomes so memorable it carries with it degrees of exponential substance that allows the experience to take on a life of its own. An event that is still transcending time. So it was one night after a year of heavy academic drudgery for four college sophomores, good friends .
In an effort to protect the guilty the names of the participants have in fact been changed. This story is about the inaugural summer bash held by a college buddy, who is now safely established as a municipal judge for a county not to be named later. As all stories go there are different accounts but this version is told from one individual’s view point. An individual that may or may not have been present at the time but the tale will be told as if he/she was. I must apologize to any reader who finds the material offensive. It is not designed to offend nor is it meant to represent a point of proud historical happening. It is what it was and through it all remains a fact of happenstance. Enough introduction, here is the tale of Don’s Sonic.
Having spent a truly hideous semester of laborious study, working the grave yard shift at a metal shop and competing in a never ending Track and Field season that had lasted from December to May. I was ready to break training and get a good drunk on. I was not alone in this regard, as the eminent announcement of the first annual beer bash, held at an obscure privately owned lake house was well received by three others. Three friends who clearly had experienced the same level of mind twisting demands as I had. The beer bash was scheduled for a Saturday with a Sunday scheduled for recovery before the trip home. We may have got an early start.
At the time I was working the day shift at the metal shop and was finishing a long week of cutting to length, heavy gauge sixteen inch aluminum pipe. The twelve foot lengths of pipe were cut from a twenty six foot piece of raw material. Once the pipe was cut to length, I had to drill a six inch hole in either end inorder to attached two aluminum nipples with flanges. The heavy pipe was being manufactured into what was called a hydrostatic water treatment device used by hospitals at the time. The work was very physically demanding, the weather was beyond hot for the month of June and the work was time sensitive. Needless to say, by the time I had my shower after I got off that Friday afternoon I was more than ready for the first beer that I had had in better than ten months.
My buddy Seymour Wiggins showed up at my apartment with a mutual buddy Homer Grayskull. Homer was a very tall and lanky country boy who could really throw the discus and toss down a beer, Seymour was a short legged fellow distance runner who could drink until his nose sweat while driving a foreign four speed. Homer had conveniently taken the liberty of filling two large coolers with ice and Papst Blue Ribbon. After a few PBR’s we left my one room apartment to head the thirty miles north to pick up another buddy who was, to say it mildly, a unique character in of his self. Tuan Tan Nguyen was a Vietnamese refugee then pre dental school student with a personality that never stopped evolving. We could not help but adopt him. Bright in spirit, super intelligent, the little Asian genius was a brain trust of never ending resource and countless laughs. Someone you could count on to provide a side splitting one liner on most any occasion, when you least expected it. The guy was so smart he not only picked up the English language in under a semester, he mastered Latin and French as well. The guy was scary smart, quick witted.
Anyway, after a good six pack apiece we had picked up Ten Til-Noon, which was what we called him (eleven fifty for short). We had a good three hour drive yet so the beer was a primary focus while we caught up. As the beer was going down, we drove and started to unwind. Homer who was at least six foot seven was in the back with our Asian friend (5 foot 1 maybe) consequently, leg room in the little four seat import was at a premium and a constant festering subject. About thirty minutes into the trip, Tuan presents us with a Thai stick joint. Now neither Homer, Seymour nor I had ever even considered smoking such. Nonetheless, it got smoked. The best of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band went into the cassette player and the THC induced creativity began. What followed were witty jokes along with deep meaningful, philosophical discussions having world changing impact. Theories and theorems of which never will be absorbed nor come to light in today’s society. Insightful wisdom that would never be remembered nor recalled. We were, on a different plane in a completely different stratosphere.
That is when it happened, the realization that food was needed, so we pulled into a small town Sonic Drive In restaurant and placed an order. We each in turn placed an order via the micro phone. When Tuan ordered four bearded clams we could not have stopped laughing to save our lives much less eat. Thus, we left immediately without any food. Now when we did leave, Tuan hit us with another little ditty. Due to the fact of a unintended alignment of two electronic signs, the fact we had impaired enhanced cognitive skills and had depth perception issues, Tuan referred to the Sonic as Don’s Sonic. Additionally, it was right next door to Don’s Pharmacy.
That revelation added to the drug induced laughter caused by the diminutive Asian’s request for bearded two legged shell fish. Auspiciously, that was not the end of the kingdom that the enterprising phantom, monopolizing entrepreneur Don owned. Along the way we saw Don’s Autos, Don’s Auto Repair, Don’s Tires. Don’s Tow Service, Don’s Trucking, Don’s Tractor Service, Don’s Lumber, Don’s Hardware, Don’s Gas and Go, Don’s Bar and Grill, Don’s Ice Cream Shoppe, Don’s Title Company, Don’s Real Estate and let us not forget Don’s Septic Service. Don needed his own yellow pages just to find himself. Thus, we found a Don’s Printing, a Don’s Phone Service and Don’s Advertising Agency.
Down the road and for the next two days we ran across more road side businesses owned by Don. There was a Don’s this and a Don’s that, even a Don’ s This and That. We blamed Don’s Thai stick for the phenomenon. All weekend long we encountered Don. When we pulled the boat up to Don’s Marina on Saturday, I just about lost it. A plethora of Don’s taverns, Don’s shops, Don’s stores and Don’s more, complete with every possible type of Don’s signage from Don‘s Signs, all uniquely belonging to Don. Don’s empire continued to line the roadsides, infecting our funny bones then and still does today.
When you combine explosive pent up brain stress with alcohol, THC and a creative unfettered, exuberant Vietnamese comedic genius, nothing is not funny. Therapy is the result. Tuan was convinced that Don owned everything between where we where and where we were going from then until the end of time. The revelation left us in a continuous state of historical, hysterical delirium. A whimsy which has fostered a life long guffaw. Consequently, Don became a lasting unparalleled enigma, a magical reappearing institution that has lasted some 40 years. From that day since, Don has been and remains to be, part of our lives. I can not eat at Sonic with out thinking of Tuan’s order and thinking of the fact it was Don’s Sonic that started it all.
Tuan called me a few years after college and told me he had been accepted into Don’s school of Dentistry, one of his professors was Dr. Don Donaldson, he had married a young Amer-Asian lass named… you guessed it Dawn Donnley. His first born son, Donald was attending Don Meriwether Elementary. Last time I saw him he was driving a Cadillac he had bought from Don’s GM. Since then no communication has ever taken place without some reference to Don working its way into the conversation, ever more cleverly and subtly as time has rolled on. Once I got a Don’s Sonic monogrammed pen and pencil set for Christmas. It was wrapped in brown paper cut out of a Don‘s Deli take out bag. I’m not sure it will ever end but Don will continue to bring a smile to my face. Whenever passing his ubiquitous roadside businesses, I will always be reminded.
I will never forget Ten Til-Noon nor Don’s Sonic.
Every time I drink a PBR I give a toast to Don, who and where ever he may be. To Don and bearded clams.
1 comment:
haha pot and PBR. Never knew that was thai culture. just kidding
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