Terry Hopkins Archives

August 23, 2013

Deer, Deer, Deer

This just goes to prove I can’t (a) pass up taking pictures of deer and (b) writing bad headlines about them.

Buddy Terry Hopkins and I were riding around coming back from our Super Secret Mission to acquire Blue Hole Garden BBQ sauce, when we spotted these deer on what we used to call Old Jackson Road between Cape and Jackson.

You can click on the photos to make them larger. This deer looks like it has a fresh gash across the right flank.

Good thing I had a camera

The deer were outside Terry’s window, so I pulled as far off the road as I could and rolled his glass down. He’s lucky I was shooting with my camera and telephoto zoom instead of a gun. He’d be deaf and probably missing part of his nose otherwise.

Terry’s Hawaiian shirt must have offended them, because they didn’t stick around long.

With a final flick of a tail

With a final flick of a white tail, they were gone.

We saw deer on at least three residential streets on our meanderings that day. I don’t think we EVER saw one in town when I was a kid. Of course, in those days, we weren’t IN town. We were still outside the city limits.

Two other deer stories

With equally bad headlines.

August 16, 2013March 4, 2016

Blue Hole BBQ Sauce

Buddy Terry Hopkins invited me to lunch, then said we were going on a Super Secret Mission. It was so secret that I would have to be blindfolded to keep from seeing our destination. I thought that might be problematic since I was the driver, but Terry was pretty good at hollering “Gee” and “Haw,” so we made it around almost all the curves OK.

I think we may have straightened out Snake Hill.

Anyway, we made it to our destination after getting temporarily misplaced a couple of times – we were in an area so remote from civilization that neither of us had cell service and my GPS said, “Why are you asking me? I’m lost, too.”

Blue Hole Garden established in 1927

Somewhere in the wilds of Egypt Mills, lives the only person who knows how to make the REAL Blue Hole Garden BBQ Sauce, Barbecue Billie Haupt. She’s a descendant of William Franz, who established the landmark Cape restaurant next to the Blue Hole Quarry in 1927.

When Franz sold the restaurant, he sold the recipe for the sauce, but not the steps to MAKE it. That’s sort of like giving someone a parts list for a car, but not telling them how to assemble it.

I used to buy bottles of Blue Hole sauce in the store to take back to Florida, but I always thought it looked sort of watery gray instead of a rich red.

It’s all in the cooking

Billie said that watery sauce disappointed long-time Blue Hole fans, which caused stores to discontinue it.

She brews the sauce in this original 4-gallon pot custom-made out of stainless steel (the acid from the tomatoes will eat up other metals). The key she explains, is knowing what ingredients to add when and how long to cook them. The process takes about five hours, about three to cook and two to cool down. It has to be stirred all through the process.

She wouldn’t be any more specific. “The secret is staying in the family. If my granddaughter doesn’t learn it, it’ll die with me.”

I made her promise to look both ways before crossing the street until after her granddaughter gets married and she had enough time to learn the family secret.

How can I get some sauce?

You have to pick it up. She doesn’t ship.

“Most people arrange to meet me somewhere in Cape, like the K-Mart parking lot.” You can also go to the farm where she and Husband Martin live. If you can find it, it’s worth going to the source. Terry and I spent more than an hour in their kitchen talking about the Blue Hole, Cape and good eating places. It was one of the highlights of the week.

The sauce – the rich red stuff I remember – is sold for $12 a gallon, $6 a half-gallon and $3 a quart. It contains a tiny bit of preservative, so it should last about a year (if you don’t use it all up). Interestingly enough, she says it is better NOT to put it in the refrigerator after it has been opened.

You can place an order for the sauce by calling Billie at 573-334-1944.

August 14, 2013August 14, 2013

Brune Standard Time

Terry Hopkins was in town to see his Dad, so we decided to meet for lunch. He was kind enough to take me out to LaGrand’s Transmissions to pick up my van, which was in for routine service. He said Brad Brune was going to meet us noonish at Broussard’s on Broadway.

We arrived a couple of minutes after noon, but no Brad. We waited about 10 minutes, then took up the server’s invitation to grab a table, get something to drink and peruse the menu. We told her to be on the lookout for an older gentleman. “He’ll probably be in a walker, with an oxygen tank and a nurse helping him along.”

After waiting about 20 minutes, we apologized to the server and assured her that he’d be along any minute. “We’ll give him another five minutes.”

Brad had problems with AM and PM

Terry finally decided to call Brad to make sure he hadn’t forgotten us. His cockamamie excuse was that he had, indeed, set an alarm to remind him of our appointment, but that he had gotten AM and PM mixed up. He assured us that he would be reminded at midnight of our planned visit.

When the server came back, we explained that Brad was held up by a flat tire on his walker. “He’s able to top it off from his oxygen tank, but it’s a slow leak. He can’t shuffle too fast, so he only gets about 25 feet before he has to blow it up again.”

The server wondered why Brad’s nurse couldn’t help him. We explained that Brad has always been fiercely independent. We went ahead and ordered for him: the daily special of gumbo. “You may have to run it through a blender,” we warned her. “He has to take his food through a straw, and you wouldn’t want to be the one who has to clean out the clogs.”

Miracles of medical science

When Brad, operating on Brune Standard Time, finally showed up 45 minutes late, the server seemed genuinely disappointed to see that he arrived under his own power. We attributed it to a strong will and the miracles of medical science.

I sat back and listened to the two of them swap tales of athletic daring and female conquests. Or, maybe I have that backwards. I don’t think it’s worth looking up the score in either case. I had no stories to tell in either category, so mostly I listened in awe tinged with disbelief.

We strolled down to the river where Brad offered us chocolate-flavored cigars. I passed, but Terry enjoyed his with relish. I mean, he lit it up and savored it, I don’t mean that he slathered it with a pickle condiment.

Bobby Jones and Theresa L Wood dance

We watched, curious, at an intricate dance where the lightly-loaded northbound Bobby Jones passed the heavier and longer Theresa L. Wood, which had been idling against the current close to the riverfront. We kept waiting for the Wood to crank up the steam and follow, but the Bobby Jones slowed off Cape Rock and appeared to be drifting back downstream.

It all becomes clear

I went to the car to get my portable scanner to see if we could hear what was going on. By the time I got back, it all became clear: the two northbounders were holding fast to give the southbound Preston N. Shuford plenty of room to pass.

Had to take oblgatory floodwall photo

We finished our visit with the obligatory photo against the floodwall mural.

After abandoning Brad, Terry and I headed off on a super secret mission that you might read about tomorrow. I’ll try to use the Steinhoff Standard Time calendar and not the Brune Standard Time version. He may have B.C. and A.D. confused on it.

You can click on the photos to make them larger.

July 10, 2012

SEMO’s Cardiac Hill

Several of my readers have mentioned Cardiac Hill on the Southeast Missouri State University campus. They’re mostly crazy folks like Terry Hopkins, who participated in track, a sport where you run even if nobody’s chasing you.

It’s quite a bucolic sight, looking off to the west of the path that leads from the Academic Hall area down to The Towers and other student housing. Even on an afternoon when the temperatures are sliding to around 103, the shade and greenery have a cooling effect. You can click on the photos to make them larger.

Cardiac Hill’s not so tough

In 1990, we took the Great Trip Out West, which included the Grand Canyon. I knew that you should never walk DOWN further than you are able to walk up, so I discouraged Wife Lila and Sons Matt and Adam from going down too far on a day when the temperatures came close to the surface of the sun as measured from Mercury.

When it came time to turn around (actually, when it was PAST time to turn around), I got about 15 steps and found myself with my hands on my knees, bent over, watching sweat splash onto my Redwing boots. Adam, who was about 10, kept scampering around us wanting to keep going. Finally, hoping he would get lost or eaten by a goat, we turned him loose.

When we looked up, we saw him seemingly half a mile ahead of us hanging over a lookout point with some concerned-looking adults. We could make out that they were having a serious discussion, probably about his welfare. Finally, he leaned way out and pointed to us. He was probably telling the strangers, “Those are my parents, if they live.”

Learning from the Grand Canyon

Even though it didn’t look like Cardiac Hill was all THAT steep and it wasn’t all THAT long, I used the Grand Canyon Rule and went down only about a third of the way, not quite to the emergency stanchion that I assume is the half-way point.

I DID mention that it was 103 in the shade, right?

I’m going to use a different rule next time: Take the temperature (103), subtract my age (65) and subtract the grade (12.5 degrees, estimated). The result (103-65-12.5) = 25.5 feet, the distance that I should consider walking down Cardiac Hill. I was going to build in humidity, but that would have left me with a negative number to walk.

Thanks to Dr. Bambi, AKA the Yarn Bomber, who told me how to get to Cardiac Hill.