The Living Bra Man

By John Nielsen  9-24-22

My Daddy would occasionally treat us boys to Sleepy’s Barbeque in our little town of Evergreen, Alabama.  Mr. Lum Parker was seated, drinking coffee, every time we went in.  Mr. Lum didn’t own Sleepy’s, but he was always there.  He held forth with other customers on a breadth of subjects as he was an expert on local intrigue.  Mr. Lum easily transitioned to talk of hunting, fishing, religion, timber, Gunsmoke, and tire re-capping. He reserved special venom for communists. People knew not to get him started on communism.

One day, as we left Sleepy’s, I asked my Daddy, “What does Mr. Lum do for a living?”

He drove and thought for a long minute. Dad smiled. He said, “Son, Lum is like one of those Playtex Living Bras.  He’s always around, but he has “no visible means of support”.

I understood my father’s analogy.  I was 13 years old.  I had begun to watch bra commercials with more interest.  I even understood why the movie star, Jane Russell, was so qualified to discuss bras on television. I momentarily considered seizing the moment to ask Dad questions about breasts. I decided I’d get more and better information from other seventh-grade boys. I turned my attention back to the Living Bra man.

“Is Mr. Lum poor?” I asked.

“No," Dad replied. 

“Does he stay at Sleepy’s all day?” I asked.

“No, he’s sort of in and out of Sleepy’s all week, though. He goes by the hardware store, Jimmy’s garage, the weld shop, and other places. Sometimes he hunts or fishes.”

Dad could see that I didn’t understand.

“Look”, He said. “Most places you go in life will have somebody like Lum Parker. They’re good to know.  They don’t really work, but they’ve got some money coming in, somehow.”

“Why are they good to know?”, I asked.

“Well, they sort of wander around a town or a place, visiting. They know who does what, and where things are.  They can even tell you who’s good to deal with, and whom to avoid.”

“Do they do that for everybody?” I asked.

“Well, not always. You have to get to know them. And you have to listen to their stories.”

“Stories?” I inquired.

“Men like Lum enjoy life and people. They usually have a lot to say and tell. When you take the time to listen, they’ll make you their friend. So, when you need information, they can usually tell you how to find something or solve a problem.”

“Why wouldn’t I use the phone book ?” I asked.

My father said, “The phone book won’t tell you nearly as much as Mr. Lum.”

Adulthood came. Life and career caused me to traverse the Gulf Coast. I looked for those local shamans. They aren’t found in big box stores, malls, or themed chain restaurants and bars. They hang out in local haunts. Like Lum Parker, they visit, look, listen, and share what they know.  They steer me to the best sweet corn, bird experts, landscapers, all manner of repairmen, tree cutters, craftsmen, artists, writers, and places to buy shrimp off of a boat.

  I befriended a local shaman who drinks beer and coffee at a bar in Daphne.  He referred me to an excellent septic tank man. My friend explained that the man was crazy but harmless.  The first time we met he arrived shirtless, but with a t-shirt formed into a turban on his head. His truck was covered in the red dust of dirt roads. Someone’s finger had scrawled “3:16” in the grime on his truck door.  

We kept that southern ritual of speaking broadly for a good while before discussing the business at hand.  He quoted scripture and obscenities in our initial conversation. I could tell he wasn’t really in control of what passed from his brain to his mouth.  Our exchange revealed that both of our fathers had recently passed. He teared up, threw his arms around me, and hugged me. I’d never been hugged by a septic tank man.  He had a pungent odor. His emotions and embrace were sincere.  I was prepared to replace my 50-year-old septic system. He made inexpensive repairs and saved me from writing a large check. I made a friend.

The internet age has reduced the necessity of these “Living Bra men”, but they’re still important.

I’ve come to realize they are ambassadors for life and culture in our part of the world. 

This coast is a unique southern place with bayous, open seas, wild game, farms, and trees.  Here, adventures, and even daily life, are so abundant that it still produces those local characters who can help us. 

There is a Psalm with the words “taste and see”.  That’s what they help us do.

This writing won’t disclose some list of southern sherpas. It’s an organic process.  The hunt for them is half the fun. The best place to start is a locally owned gathering spot.  Go, listen, talk, and enjoy the search. That place is not far from where you are sitting.