RICH: The Good Ol’ Days

Published 11:23 am Sunday, March 30, 2025

Back in the 1990s, when the fashions were terrible and no one could find the right hairstyle, I was having a long conversation with an old friend.

We talked of our days in racing when engines blew up — or “blowed up” as the country boys said — and of the “make believe” debris that would supposedly bring out a caution flag which tightened the field of cars, and kept the race competitive.

My friend, an engine builder, had plenty of stories but he laughed when I said, “I heard that back in the early days, Richard Petty lapped the field seven times in one race.”

Now, we have barely blinked but find that what we call the “early days’” have become history and most young people have never heard of Richard Petty, A.J. Foyt, Conway Twitty, or Mary Tyler Moore.

Our rambling that day on the phone led us to “The Andy Griffith Show,” which we loved and, frankly, so do most people in the rural South. To this day. There is even a Bible study created around the lessons that Andy taught both Opie and his Deputy, Barney.

Back and forth we talked of favorite episodes and also laughingly about Otis, the town drunk. My favorite side character, who appeared in only a few episodes, was Ernest T. Bass.

He’d hide in a tree, usually after throwing a rock through a window, and call down to Andy in a sing-song rhyme, “It’s me, it’s me. It’s Ernest T. I can see you but you can’t see me.” Then, swinging with one arm, like a monkey, he’d reveal himself and Andy, aggravated, would holler up, “Ernest T., you come down from that tree right now.” Obliging, he’d drop down next to Andy for what was sure to be a lecture.

Every time I see a raccoon, I think of Ernest T. when Andy, hopelessly, was trying to teach Ernest T.  civilized manners.

“I know to wash my food before I eat it,” Ernest announced proudly, grinning big. “I learnt that from watchin’ a raccoon!”

That day, 30 years ago, Andy led me and my friend to personal stories. “Remember when gas stations closed by 7 p.m. and all the stores were closed on Sunday?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Remember week-long summer church revivals, with both morning and evening services, and there was no air-conditioning? Only hand fans with Jesus on one side and the advertisement for the local funeral home on the back?”

“Whew,” he replied. “Those night services would sometimes last ‘til midnight. People’d fall in the altar, praying, and they’d stay there for hours. Mama made me sit still.”

I recalled what he was saying and how, even though it might be the middle of July, it was warm but not unbearably hot. The windows were opened and a soft, evening’s breeze blew in while the piano player (you don’t have pianists in mountain churches) played every song of invitation in the hymn book. When she had run through them all, she’d start over with “Just As I Am.”

Silence fell between us as we wrapped our thoughts in sweet nostalgia. He broke the silence by saying, “But you know what, Ronda? One day, we’ll look back and call these the good ol’ days.”

That seemed so foreign because things were so modern. However, his words, today, feel more like a prophesy than wisdom.

Back then, things were simpler and more wholesome. Network television was made for family. Blue laws still ruled so liquor wasn’t sold on Sundays. Bankers wore suits and ties which made banking feel serious. George Strait sang of life’s truths and honky-tonks still existed, church was respected and people dressed well for the House of the Lord. So much else has changed. Things we could never imagine. Like social media.

My friend was smart. For our generation, the 1990s was the last of the good ol’ days.

—Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of “Sapelo Island: A Stella Bankwell Mystery.” Visit www.rondarich.com to sign up for her free weekly newsletter.