ME AND MY LIKKER

Watch them jugs a-filling in the pale moonlight.

This sprightly little leprechaun is the legendary Marvin "Popcorn" Sutton. He is either a man intent on preserving one of this region's most fascinating (illegal) and neglected customs, or he's shrewd, skilled master of self-promotion. Maybe we should talk about that.

For those of you who do not know who Popcorn Sutton is, or what he has done to attract media attention, Popcorn is a moonshiner and he can't seem to stop. He has been in prison repeatedly since the 1970's, and although he repeatedly promises to not do it again, he does. At the time of his last arrest, he was already on probation and he was caught with an awesome amount of stored, illegal whiskey. Right now, he is serving an 18-month sentence and an impressive number of fans have protested. There are numerous blogs out there sporting "Free Popcorn!" articles (Yeah, there is a pun there), and this bushy-bearded little fellow is becoming a folk hero.

I've surfed around a bit and I am here to tell you, all of the responses to Popcorn aren't favorable. There are folks out there who ponder these photos and shudder. The comments range from Snuffy Smith comparisons to the usual "I didn't know people like this still existed."
I think it might be interesting to see how people respond to this post and Popcorn's continuing story.

Splendor in the Grass: Chapel Hill - Boys' State - 1952

NORTH CAROLINA BOYS' STATE, 1952

Look at that kid, would you! His waist is 28 inches and he weighs 145 lbs. He is 17 years old and he is standing in front of the UNC-Chapel Hill fountain in 1952. Today, his waist is 42 inches and he weighs 224 lbs. Like sweet Ophelia said, "We know what we are, but we know not what we may become."

See that little emblem on my shirt? That identifies me as a representative to Boys' State.
What in God's name am I doing there! I remember that I rode the Trailway bus to Chapel Hill with another kid named Jack from Franklin. I had on a cheap suit that my grandparents had bought for the occasion, and a little pasteboard suitcase containing two shirts, a pair of pants and some Fruit of the Loom underwear. As we stood in the rain in front of the Chapel Hill bus station (and after I finger-combed my hair a few times) , my new blue suit dyed me like an Easter egg and my suitcase fell apart, dumping my clothes on the street. When the bus came by to pick us up and take us back to the dorm, we learned that we were late and there was an "orientation session" in progress. I attracted a bit of attention since I looked like a Maori warrior from New Zealand. I've always appreciated the fact that Jack didn't abandon me when we trudged through 98 representatives (one from each county) and took a seat in the back. The speaker was the Secretary of State, Thad Eure and he made a joke about his first year at Carolina when he was known as Fresh "manure."

Boy's State was a miserable ordeal. A half-dozen representatives (wealthy kids) developed a kind of private club and preceded to orchestrate or control the week's activities. Jack and I were excluded. However, we loved Chapel Hill. In 1952, it was full of book stores, record shops and fantastic restaurants. We went to movies every night and hung out in a record shop called Alexanders. During the day, we attended meetings where he elected officers, developed campaign speechs and held an election. The representative that was elected "governor" was an extraverted football player from Charlotte. Jack and I put up posters and passed out campaign material...great training for our future involvement with politics.

When I got back to Sylva, I was required to give a speech at the American Legion. I remember that they asked me if I learned something about how our country operated. I kept a straight face when I said that I had learned a great deal about how our government was run. I decided not to mention the book stores, movies and record shops. A week after we returned, Jack sent me this photograph. I look like I'm having a great time. In spite of it all, I guess I was.

Preaching to the Chickens

When I was a little kid, I used to sneak into the local "fire and brimstone" church on summer nights and listen to the minister describe the torments of hell. I was aware that he was scaring some of the congregation, and I yearned to be able to do that ... make people hang on every word. After practicing a bit in front of the mirror in my bedroom, I started going to the chicken house at night. I would take a lantern and a Bible and I badly frightened those chickens! When I told them about Chicken Hell, they would get hysterical. I think my nightly sermons were good training for both teaching and storytelling. When I began painting, this was one of my favorite subjects. I've painted this one many times. Each time, I add a few more chickens.

Learning to Ride a Leopard

I once saw a painting by an artist named Philip Evergood entitled "Learning to Ride a Tiger."
I've always remembered Evergood's strange and surreal fantasy. I finally decided to do a "variation."

These paintings probably need a lot of explaining. If you click on them, they will fill your entire screen. I started painting about ten years ago. I'll explain more when I learn how to design a blog!

.......(a couple of days later.) Okay, I actually know a little about blog design, thanks to my friend gulahiyi, so here goes. I began painting as an alternative to staying numb from medication for depression. Instead of lithium, prozac and zoloft, my (new) psychiatarist told me to try painting. At his suggestion, I went out to the local Walmart and bought over 60 bottles of acrylic paint (little bottles that cost about .50 cents each). Then, I went down to the local furniture store and asked permission to cut up a couple of cardboard boxes that had contained refrigerators. When I came home and started painting, I quickly discovered that the process required significant concentration. Time seemed to pass rapidly (I thought I had been painting for an hour and it turned out to be four hours.) I remember that I was immediately fascinated by the way that cardboard absorbs paint.
It took several weeks to get all of the drugs out of my system, but after that, I painted each day for two months. I have no artistic training (I guess that is obvious) and simply selected subjects that appealed to me (old biblical stories, events from my childhood, etc.) Eventually, some people came and talked to me about my paintings. I was told that I was a folk or "outsider" artist and some friends gave me books about people who were "compulsive painters." In time, I met other people who "created" the same way that I did. I even began to sell paintings! However, my "calling" is storytelling and/or playwriting, and after I found that I could write again, I slacked off on the painting. I still paint when the mood hits me.