This is an excerpt from my memoir, "Highway 11," that I am working on this summer. These pages provide an overview for the book.
11 is a swath of road between Monroe and Winder, Georgia where I grew up.
“Follow the beer cans to Winder,” Uncle Perry Hugh said because no liquor was
sold in Monroe, but Winder had plenty of beer joints. He and my dad frequented
the beer joints of Winder or bought moonshine from the local distillers.My
dad drove to a house deep in the woods for moonshine. Down a dirt road, the
house sat in a clearing. It stood on rock pilings off the ground. Dogs lounged
about in the dirt yard. “Stay in the car.” Dad slammed the
door. We three kids, ages 8,
6, and 4, sat in the back seat of that 1939,
convertible, Buick Road-master, with the rusted out floor board, so we could see the road spinning beneath us.Wewaited while our father walked up the broken
wood steps to the porch with no furniture. He disappeared inside the darkness
of the open door to make …