Stumpknocker, Florida(Phil Penne) I just got back from Stumpknocker, Florida, one of my favorite places in the whole wide world. Stumpknocker is hell-and-gone out in the middle of the Big Cypress region of South Florida, about twelve miles south of the Middle of Nowhere as the crow flies.

Now before you go laughing and making fun of the name Stumpknocker, you've got to understand that it’s the name of a kind of pan fish, the same one that some folks call a bream, bluegill or sunfish. Now if you’re a Yankee you call that same fish a crappie, and if you do call it a crappie, not only are you talking about a whole different fish, but you don’t even get to kid about the name “stumpknocker”.

Just to give you some idea of how big a town we’re talking here, let me tell you that folks from Stumpknocker go to Ochopee on Saturday nights to kick up their heels. The town’s too small to have a mayor, or even a sheriff for that matter. Nobody’s ever taken a head count of the town, but best guess is that there’s a few hundred people, give or take. About the closest thing to law and order in town is Eugene Middlemier, the barber. Strange as that might seem, there’s a real good reason: if you rile Eugene in any way, he will give you the worst haircut ever – your head’s going to look like crop circles made by a gaggle of drunk Brits. Since Eugene’s the only game around if you need to get your hair clipped, you’re going to want to be on your best behavior in HIS town. You’re also going to need to get in there on Monday, Wednesday or Thursday, since Eugene takes some fishing time off during the week, on Tuesdays and Fridays. On those days his wife Rayna uses the shop as a beauty parlor and Eugena Ray, their daughter, runs a nail salon when she’s not in school. Oh, and don’t call her Eugena Ray– she prefers “E.R.” because, in her words, “That’s where you’re gonna’ end up if you call me “Eugena Ray”."

Life in Stumpknocker is pretty settled; folks there drink sweet tea with a sprig of mint, and eat home grown vegetables and fresh caught mullet hot from the smoker. There’s one church in Stumpknocker, The Almighty Shoulders Baptist Church, with the Reverend Wilford Charles Bidwell at the pulpit. The reverend’s wife, Hazel, chairs the Almighty Shoulders Coffee Klatch and Sewing Guild. She started the group some years ago and planned on calling it the Almighty Shoulders Society. She proposed the name at the first meeting and after just a minute some of the ladies started tittering and hiding their faces behind the fans they used every Sunday that they got from the Sherman W. Bascomb Funeral Home and Bingo Hall on the outskirts of town. One of her friends leaned over and whispered something in Hazel’s ear; she started changing colors like a string of Christmas lights. First the blood drained out of her face and she went all white, then it came rushing back in and she got flushed red. Then she thought about what the other ladies must think about the preacher’s wife coming up with such a name and she turned the same shade of green as the key lime pie some restaurants sell to the snowbirds. The group has been the Almighty Shoulders Coffee Klatch and Sewing Guild ever since.

Stumpknocker has two claims to fame. The first is that Ervin Rouse, the guy who did the song, 'The Orange Blossom Special', was playing at the old Gator Hook Lodge when it was in Pinecrest, when there was a Pinecrest – the town’s not much more than a wide spot alongside Loop Road any more. Anyhow, he wandered through town looking for a good spot to do some fishing. He was walking around barefoot and busted, the pinkie toe of his left foot tripping over a gopher turtle that was half buried in the sand leading to the dock behind the big row of pines that line one end of Main Street. Doc Bigelow taped up his toe. Mr. Rouse wanted to do something nice for Doc and was going to give him an autograph, since Doc liked his music so much. Doc had a pen but no paper except for a prescription pad and he couldn’t use those ‘cause of the stickler for the rules he is. Ended up Doc got Ervin Rouse’s autograph on a tongue depressor. He’s still got that autographed stick in a frame mounted on the wall in his waiting room to this day.

The other noteworthy thing that happened in Stumpknocker was when Elvis “ChaCha” Simmons, the guy who taught tap dancing in his garage and was always rearranging his furniture, left Stumpknocker and moved to Miami. Last anyone heard of ChaCha he was wearing sequins and headlining in a musical review in some nightclub called "The Painted Hussy”.

There’s not much else to speak of in Stumpknocker. If you need something you go to Hannigan’s. Hannigan’s is a grocery, drugstore, hardware store, post office and bait shop, all under one roof, although technically the bait shop part is under a saddlebag connected on one end of the main building, so there’s some argument over whether that counts or not.

If you’re hungry in Stumpknocker you either cook it yourself, starve, or go to the Magnolia Cafe – when in doubt, order the Today’s Special. The Special at the Magnolia isn't whatever didn't sell yesterday like it is some places; it’s whatever sounded good that day to Mildred and Patty, the seventy-two year old spinster sisters who run the place. Aside from the Special, the Magnolia doesn't have a menu to speak of – you just come in and tell them what you want and they cook it up. Victoria Lee, the lady who sells hand-painted birdhouses off a card table set up in her front yard, she always orders waffles with strawberries and whipped cream and a cup of coffee with half and half for breakfast; Ed Watson, who’s the town handyman and, as he’s always quick to point out, is no kin to the infamous cane farmer and throat slitter of the same name, will generally stop by on a weekday afternoon for his trademark fried baloney and potato chip sandwich on a hamburger bun, with Cheez Whiz slathered on to keep the chips from falling off the bun. That comes with a generous helping of Patty’s famous coleslaw on the side and a glass of sweet tea to wash it down.

About the only thing the Magnolia doesn't serve is alcohol of any kind, being that Mildred and Patty are both devout Christian women and dead set against it. The one place in Stumpknocker to get a cold beer or something stronger is Rudy’s Watering Hole, right next to the creepy old abandoned three house somebody put up decades ago but nobody remembers who. Rudy Calloway built the place back in the Thirties and ran it until sometime around ’87 when he sold out to another guy named Rudy, Rudy Easterbrook, “New Rudy” as everybody calls him. New Rudy decided to boost business, so he started putting out peanuts and, on the last payday of the month, strips of homemade beef jerky in mason jars on the bar. He also built an addition on the place, which turned out to be where Stumpknocker’s only fraternal organization, The Sons of the Fusiliers, meets the second Tuesday of each month. More about them later.

Well, Stumpknocker’s not a very big place, but there’s a lot to talk about, so I’m gonna’ save some for next time. So now you know a little about Stumpknocker, Florida, a place where you can still see the stars at night.

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