Might Have to Change the Menu

Dear Boo and Bubble,

Sometime in the 1960’s, a group of prominent Greenville businessmen formed a new bank called Southern Bank and Trust.  Granddaddy Schaefer’s law partner, Steve Stephenson, was one of the founders and the original Chairman of the Board.  Kendrick and Stephenson represented the bank with Granddaddy serving as general counsel. 

Southern Bank enjoyed great success and grew rapidly, so much so that it attracted several suitors in South Carolina of larger banks looking to expand into the Greenville market.  Bankers Trust, whose president at the time was a man named William W. Johnson, rose to the top of the list.  Mr. Johnson, more commonly known as “Hootie,” began his banking career after graduating from the University of South Carolina in his hometown of Greenwood.  He and his father started the Bank of Greenwood which was renamed the State Bank and Trust Company and ultimately became Bankers Trust.  By the mid-60’s, “Hootie” Johnson had become a major player in South Carolina’s banking community and a master at buying up smaller, profitable institutions to enhance Bankers Trust’s portfolio.

Because Steve served as Chairman of Southern Bank’s board, he became the object of “Hootie” Johnson’s attention.  They hunted together on Johnson’s private quail reserve in Manning, SC.  A frequent guest in the Bankers Trust hospitality box, Steve found himself wined and dined at University of South Carolina sporting events.  Over the course of time, the two men became very close friends.

One afternoon approaching Christmas, a large package arrived at the office of Kendrick and Stephenson on 408 N. Church Street.  It was addressed to Steve Stephenson personally – not the firm - from “Hootie” Johnson at Bankers Trust home office, now in Columbia.  Steve wasn’t in at the time, but everybody else, including Granddaddy Schaefer marveled at the box and had great curiosity about the contents.  They put it on Steve’s desk and waited impatiently all afternoon for him to return.

Right before closing time, Steve came through the door.  All the staff clustered in his office to watch as he opened the present.  Inside was a huge, luscious, perfectly prepared country ham.  The card read “To Steve from ‘Hootie.’  Hope you have a very Merry Christmas.”

Everybody “oohed” and “aahed” over the ham.  Steve promised to bring biscuits the next morning and share some of it.  Granddaddy Schaefer enjoyed the scene, and he was happy for Steve.  But, he couldn’t help but be a little deflated.  He, after all, did the actual legal work for Southern Bank since Steve couldn’t because of his position on the board.  Maybe it would have been nice to get a little something himself.

In true Granddaddy fashion, over the next year, every time he saw “Hootie,” he good-naturedly ribbed him about the ham and how he, Schaefer, had not even received so much as a Christmas card.

The next December, we were sitting around the kitchen table at 3 Lakecrest when the doorbell rang.  Granddaddy went to answer it and came back with his eyes all aglow and a huge grin on his face as his arms embraced a box almost too heavy to carry.  The address read “Schaefer Kendrick” - the return address, “Hootie Johnson.”

He ceremoniously dropped the package on the table with dramatic flair.

“Okay, everybody,” he said.  “This is important.  Turn off the TV.  Mary, come sit down.”

We all stopped what we were doing.

“Christmas is here, folks.  We’re going to be doing some real eating now with what’s inside this box.  Hope you all like red-eye gravy on your grits and good old country ham in your biscuits because that’s what I’m going to be fixing you.  Bless “Hootie’s” heart - he remembered. Mary, can you get me some scissors?”

Mamaw obliged him and we all watched as he almost reverently began sliding one blade of the scissors through the tape that held the box securely shut.  One flap up, then two….three….four.  As Granddaddy pulled the stuffing from the inside, he paused and then began to chuckle. 

He reached down into the box and pulled out a large, black iron skillet with about two pounds of fatback strapped to its middle.  A card was taped to the underside of the skillet.

“To Schaefer:  Wanted you to know you were remembered this Christmas.  Enjoy.  Hootie.”