Highway 11
This is an excerpt from my memoir, "Highway 11," that I am editing for publication. These pages provide an overview for the book. Highway 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. Dogs lounged about in the dirt yard. “Stay in the car.” Dad slammed the door. We three kids, ages eight, six, and four, sat in the back seat of that 1939, Buick Roadmaster convertible with the rusted out floor board. We waited 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
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