i don’t know how many people my age have this problem, but i certainly do.
i rarely go through a night without having to get up at least once and most frequently twice, interrupting my sleep. i’m pretty sure most of you labeled as seniors know why. Even though that’s a problem of mine, it’s not this problem.
After i’ve returned to my bed, i lie down to sleep. My wife has this problem as well but not as bad (i think). She begins to think about problems that may, i stress may, arise. Not me. No, this guy’s goofy mind rumbles around in memories. And on the down (up?) side of 82, there are plenty of memories. Being someone who loves to write — i still consider myself a writer. Even though i have two books published under my belt and Lord knows how many newspaper articles and columns, and how many posts here, i don’t consider myself an author. i’m a writer, a crude poet, and that’s about it. Yet the desire to include this memory in my writing screams at me to not forget in the fog of my nightly brain.
On Tuesday night after my first sleep interruption, i laid my head on my pillow and began focusing on my breathing, which sometimes helps me go to sleep. But not in the middle of Tuesday night. Linebaugh’s kept throwing memories at my sleepy brain.
Are you old enough to remember Linebaugh’s? It was on the lower end of Broadway in Nashville. Big, 24-hour eatery, Southern style. The location was wisely, or perhaps fortuitously, located near the Ryman auditorium by the owners, George and Gus Linebaugh. It opened in 1944 and closed when the two retired, to be demolished around 1980. i became a regular on weekends when my partying and music searches led well into the early mornings. It was 1962-1965.
Linebaugh’s was, as i remember, a big place, occupying the lots on 405-407 Broadway. i remember it as cavernous but with a home like atmosphere.
In the front behind a black plywood partition, there was an old-style pinball machine that paid odds depending on how many nickels you put in it, no flippers with the ball having to be rerouted by adroit taps with the palms of your hands on the side of the front of the playing board. At one to three or four in the morning after a decent digestion of alcoholic beverages and one game, i realized i should not be fruitlessly pouring nickels into the slot to “lauer” a palm push, to render a “tilt,” which resulted in a burp (my recall) from laughingly digesting my nickels. Doing this only once was one of the few wise decisions i made in that period of my life.
The wise or fortuitous choice of location i mentioned above made it conveniently available to country singers. They would come in between performances at the Grand Ole Opry at the Ryman. They would come after their last Opry performance. They would come after their gigs at nightclubs in Printer’s Alley following the Opry. Sometime after eight o’clock on Saturday night until the wee, wee hours of Sunday morning (thanks Chuck Berry), it was packed.
Linebaugh’s served no-kidding (and i cleaned that up) Southern food. Some folks described the fare as “Southern meat and three.” Some bozo, obviously from the north, midwest, or west, called it a “greasy spoon.” Wrong. i would order my early breakfast of eggs over easy (i didn’t have to clarify the order as “fried”); biscuits, often with butter and molasses, often with butter and jelly; grits; and back then, the final touch was bacon, sausage, or pork chops. Goodness, goodness, goodness: what a wonderful way to conclude a night on the town” a good Southern meal.
Nearly every night…er, morning i went there, there were country stars at a majority of the tables, friendly folk. Several times when i was chowing down at another table, Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs were dining nearby. i waved at them, and in some ways regret i did not go to their table for a conversation — i’ve never been an autograph seeker since Don Franklin, an incredible man entered the only signature in my “autograph book when i was ten years old on the Lebanon square. i figured they had their fill of adulation for the night. So i waved at them as we were leaving, and they waved back, several times.
It was a wonderful, almost magical place in the wee wee weekend hours.
But damn, i sure wish Linebaugh’s memories would let me sleep.