It was the year 1937, and we were still recovering from the Stock Market Crash of 1929, and the Dust Bowl of 1930. People were beginning to call it the Great Depression, because of the severe economic downturn, high unemployment, and widespread poverty. Not to mention the significant agricultural damage and hardship the dust storm caused.

Though in the small town of Whistle Stop, Alabama, we were in our own little world dealing with our own problems, and in the center of it all was a small place called The Whistle Stop Café. A place of warmth, community, and even heartbreak. Serving as a backdrop for the various lives that come through here. It’s owned by two women, Idgie and Ruth. They serve good food and foster the community. Even if they can be insufferable at times, I wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything.

As the town’s Sheriff, it is my job to insure that everyone feels comfortable and safe. Meaning that I have to uphold the law, no matter what. It just so happens that the laws I’m upholding are the Jim Crow Laws. Laws that were enacted in the South after the Civil War to enforce racial segregation and maintain white supremacy. It is my duty, my job, to be sure that the separation of races in public facilities, including restaurants, is upheld.

Standing at the open back door of the Whistle Stop Café, I look out at all the coloreds eating and carrying on without a care in the world, while Big George manages the grill. Sighing heavily, I can’t help but shake my head in disapproval. “This can’t go on, Idgie.” I warn her as I turn to see her ignoring me, filling her hands with various plates of food before leaving the kitchen.

“I’m talking to you as a friend now.” Calling after her, I begin to follow her as she goes about her business, but damn it, I needed to get my point across. “There’s some people in this town, they’re paying customers too,” I raise my hands, “But I won’t say who. But there are some people who don’t like you… selling’ to coloreds.”

Idgie can be stubborn, but she needed to know that if she was going to carry on like this, she could get herself in a heap of trouble. When she gets to her last table, she glances at me with a bewildered expression before setting the plate she was carrying down in front of the customer. “Here you go.”

Turning her attention on me, she places one hand on her hip, and the other on the table beside her. “Well, listen Grady. Tell you what. Next time those “Some People” come in here, I’m gonna ask em’ if they don’t want anybody to know who they are under those sheets they wear when they go marchin’ around in one of those stupid parades you boys have,” Idgie maneuvers around me and heads back to the kitchen. “How come they don’t have enough sense to change their shoes?”

“You just Hold on there, Idgie.” I was beginning to get irritated with her, because instead of just listening to what I was telling her, she instantly gets on her defensive high horse.

“Y’all ain’t foolin’ anybody Grady.” Idgie waves me off, not wanting to entertain herself with what I was saying. “I recognize those size 14 clodhoppers you got anywhere.”

“Would you like some more pie, Grady?” I hear Ruth call out to me as I pass the counter. It seems like she was trying to defuse the situation between me and Idgie by trying to distract me with dessert.

“No, thank you.” I call back to her, giving her a small wave as I peak my head into the kitchen “Idgie, I’ll talk to the boys.” I promise her. “You just keep them on out back there, ya hear?” Sighing heavily, I walk back out past Ruth. “Bye, Ruth.”

“Um… Bye, Sheriff Grady.” Hearing the unfamiliar voice stopped me in my tracks. I was expecting to hear Ruth’s voice. Standing there a moment, I rattle my brain for anything that tells me who you are but, there is no familiarity.

Turning towards you, I give you a polite smile as I approach. “And who might you be?” Leaning my elbow on the counter, I take in what you were wearing. I could see by your apron that you were either a new waitress or counter attendant.