Prior to moving to Colorado in the 1970s at the age of 20, I had no idea that much of the country was still ticked off about the Civil War.

The first time, Tom, a local Missouri redneck, referred to my buddy Keith and me as “a couple of damn Yankees” I took great offense. I assumed he was calling us New York Yankees fans. When Keith pointed out Tom was referencing the Civil War, my anger was joined by confusion. I asked Keith if it would do any good to tell Tom my family was still in Ireland and Canada until well after the fall of Richmond. Keith said Tom was basing his disdain on our accents, not family history.

Waking up over a decade later to find Earl, one of “The Bama Boys,” standing over my bed Thanksgiving night with what looked like a cavalry sword hooked to his belt, reminded me that for some the North/South wounds are still fresh.

Luckily, Earl’s quarrel was not with me — he just wanted the home address of my buddy Mean Joe, who earlier in the evening had knocked him off his bar stool.

This was all the fault of Scotty-Favors, who could not wait until after “Turkey Day” to get dumped by his girlfriend. (Which, then and now, I assume was his fault.)

Mean Joe, Scotty Favors, Rock and I all hailed from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Rock and Mean Joe were longtime singles. I had recently been dumped by a gal whose new eyeglass prescription had drastically improved her vision. As recently as two days prior, only Favors was in a relationship. He said if we would give him cash for a turkey, he and his girlfriend, Bonnie, would host us at Bonnie’s house on Thanksgiving. 

Rock came by my house Thanksgiving afternoon very hungry. We decided to carpool to Bonnie’s place and were not sure when to arrive. I called her house and no one answered. Rock called Favors and the one-sided conversation did not sound good. Rock hung up and said that Favors and Bonnie had a big fight the night before and she threw the turkey, Scotty’s toothbrush and Scotty out the door.

All that considered, we needed other plans. Each of us might have been able to invite ourselves to other gatherings, but no one could possibly take us all. We decided to stick together and head to a local eatery. At that time, my next-door neighbors were Earl and TJ, who hailed from the South. I was not sure if they were even from Alabama, but I christened them “the Bama Boys” and they never complained. They too had nowhere to go, so we asked if they would like to join us.  

A stark departure from the theme of the holiday, none of us “Yankees” were particularly thankful. We were disappointed that Scotty Favors did not let us know earlier that our turkey was sitting still frozen, forcing us to dine at a restaurant like tourists. I think the Bama Boys were just delighted to be included.

My buddy, Doc PJ, likes to say, “There is no problem that alcohol cannot make worse.”

The mood of the group was dour. Luckily, I had to get up early and drive to Denver to work the next morning, giving me a good excuse to leave early. I drank little, ate a lot and left as the rest of the gang relocated to a downscale gin mill.

If you were to believe Earl, Joe could not take a joke. According to Joe, Earl had it coming. What I do know is Joe hit Earl, and they all were thrown out of the bar and went their separate ways. It seems upon reflection, Earl wanted to revisit the disagreement yet did not know where Mean Joe lived.

Through the power of persuasion, and hiding the keys to Earl’s truck while he used my bathroom, the crisis was defused. I sat up with my Southern friend for about 30 minutes before I convinced him to leave with the promise of helping him look for his keys the next day.

Admittedly, sometimes in my scratchings in this and other publications, I exaggerate, embellish, lie to make myself seem funnier, smarter, more handsome and a better dancer. What I have pecked out above is entirely true to my best recollection. 

I lost touch with the “Bama Boys” at the end of the winter. Rock, Favors and Joe are still well, happy and on the green side of the grass.

I would wager that, on Thanksgiving day, they joined me in gratitude that we all had survived our youth.