Excerpt from, Bury Me With My Pearls
Jane Jenkins Herlong
Beauty Queendome is still alive in the South. Just the other day a friend from church attended the Catfish Feastival in Ware Shoals. No, that’s not a typo. The event is not a festival; it’s a feastival because so many catfish are consumed. Years ago, I emceed the Miss Catfish Pageant. No, the girls didn’t have to have long whiskers to win.
Events like the Catfish Feastival remind me of the many parades I participated in as queen of the festivals I was fortunate enough to win. In Beaufort, SC, I was Queen of the Carolina Sea Islands. The pageant committee thought it’d be unique for the contestants to be interviewed on a yacht. I think I won that pageant because the heel of my shoe got stuck between two of the planks on the long dock. One of the judges had to rescue my high heel, and my shoe catastrophe was a great icebreaker.
As Queen of the Carolina Sea Islands, I was scheduled to ride in the Railroad Days Festival parade in Branchville, SC. I wore a white jersey dress with rhinestones on the bodice. Like most over-the-top Southern beauty queens, I went to a lot of trouble to make sure my dress matched the float.
I was so excited about my first experience riding on my Water Festival float. It was covered with blue and white plastic discs. A blue, sparkly skirt covered the bottom and hid the float’s wheels. When the driver increased his speed, the skirt rippled in the wind. It was what all beauty queens live for.
Momma and Miss Ada Rast transported me to the festival in our big yellow Buick with the white hard top. We arrived in plenty of time, but my float never showed up. To compensate for the absence of the float, the Branchville people made two signs on white poster paper with magic markers. They were the tackiest things I’d ever seen, but those pathetic signs were nothing compared to what happened next.
“Jane doesn’t care about riding on a float. I’ll drive her in the parade,” said Momma. “Jane,” she directed, “Get on the hood of the car and act queenly.”
I thought I’d die of embarrassment. Ride on the hood of the big yellow Buick with posters taped to the sides?
As I climbed onto that hood, it never occurred to me that my mother had never driven in a parade. Neither had I ever ridden on the hood of a moving car. After the second block, my bottom was cooking like I was sitting on an oven set at 300 degrees. That car hood was hot! Then my mother slammed on the brakes to speak to someone she knew and I slid off the hood.
I climbed back on the hood and said, “Momma, you are way behind the car in front!”
She gave it the gas. My body was plastered across the windshield. All I could think of was Momma’s instructions, “Jane, act queenly.”
That sort of thing happens to all of us. We just don’t want to act queenly. We want to have a hissy fit or throw-down—something as inappropriate as slapping a Wal-Mart Greeter . . .
“We raised you to act right, so do it.” My very Southern mother said that many times. I’ve said it to my children. It’s wise advice—whether you’re riding in parade on the hood of a big yellow Buick or just walking down the aisle at the grocery store.
Jane Jenkins Herlong is a southern humorist, professional singer and the best-selling author of four books. Jane is also an inductee into the prestigious Speaker Hall of Fame and her comedy is featured on SiriusXM, Spotify and Pandora. Contact Jane to add some sweet tea wisdom and southern fried humor to your next event. She can be reached at www.janeherlong.com or checkout her books, Cds and DVDs at https://janeherlong.com/shop/