Allman Brothers "Hot 'Lanta"

"How was Hot 'Lanta?"

Words on the page can't really express the emotional complexities and layers of meaning that were infused into the reading of this line when it was spoken to me.  On the page, you can't hear the melody and counter-melody running through it.

Some background . . .

I had moved to Virginia at the end of summer, 1993, to take a job at an NBC affiliate in their creative services (that is, commercial making) department.

This was a blind move---I did it for the job.  I didn't know a soul.  So I was working hard to insert myself into whatever social scene was available.

I'd grown up in Massachusetts, had spent four years at a very liberal University (UMass) and had lived in Florida---not as liberal, but not as reserved either---for the previous two years.

Now I was living in The South, which was a new cultural landscape for me.  It wasn't the head-snapping, cultural 180 that I think some people who've never spent time in The South expect it to be.  But there were things that were different.  Social mores that I was ignorant to.

I'd gone to The Lemonheads show in Atlanta with a couple of girls my age.  We crashed overnight at a friend's place in the city.

This is something I wouldn't think twice about.  In my collegiate world, there was no difference between hanging out with guy friends and hanging out with girl friends.  No one in my college orbit would have thought so.

But for some of my in-The-South co-workers an overnight trip with female co-workers?  That was risque.  Perhaps scandalous.  At least something to raise an eyebrow at.

Especially for the girls' father.

Who happened to also be my co-worker.

Yes, her Dad was my daily partner.  A talented cameraman, photographer and all around creative mind, he brought to life whatever creative vision I had for, you know, the local car dealer or beauty school.

He was a very cool guy.  Smart, multi-talented, creative and down to earth.  A big and gruff self-described "redneck" on the outside, but a sensitive artist lurked below.

But he was also a Dad.  A dad who lived in a world where you protected your daughter from things like (gasp!) single guys.

Just to be clear, the daughter was a friend, not a romantic interest.  But in this world I was living in, for many, men and women (boys and girls), did not mix without the specter of sexuality hanging heavy over the proceedings.

I was not really aware of this when I went away for the overnight to the concert.  But on the first morning back to work, someone pointed out to me that the Dad was a little weirded-out that his daughter was out overnight with this new-young-dude-in-town.

And now we were about to be in the van together for a long haul.

We had a commercial shoot that morning, which meant we'd be riding a long stretch in the production truck, just the two of us together.

We rode in silence for the first few miles, but I think we both felt the awkward tension that someone was going to have to alleviate.  He addressed it head on.

"How was Hot 'Lanta?"

Here is what was infused within those four words.

"I'm trying to be cool about this, but I'm not really sure what your intention is with my daughter, because I think you are a nice guy and I like you but if you so much as touch her I am ready to kick your little Yankee ass up and down State Street because who goes off on an overnight with a young girl to a big wild city like Atlanta without sexual intentions, so just tell me I've got nothing to worry about and let fucking drop this subject so I don't have to think about it anymore."

I was nervous, I rambled, but I tossed out a quick run-down of what a fun, wholesome time we had and about how the friend we stayed with had comfortable sleeping accommodations with separate rooms for boys and girls, and that the band was good (he asked if they were "New Wave"?) and the city looked fun but that after the show we didn't party it up because it had been a long drive so we just retired early after the show.  Oh, and there was no drinking.

That seemed to suffice.

His four words were all he cared to say or think about the subject. And we never talked about it again.

Don't let it escape your attention this song, that invokes the memory of today's post, this song you are about to hear while you imagine Dad and I are driving off through the southwest Virginia countryside not talking, is an instrumental.



Hear the song on Youtube.