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Whataburger brings people together


A friend sent me a picture on my Facebook page today. It showed a map of the United States. The counties or parishes that had a Whataburger in them were shaded orange. Areas without a Whataburger were gray.

The caption on the picture was, “A moment of silence for the counties in gray. They don’t have a Whataburger.”

Gerre Joiner

Most of the restaurants are in the southern part of our country. There’s a good portion of our contiguous United States that is to be pitied. There are no Whataburgers there.

Until recently, the fast food restaurant was owned and based in San Antonio. The company, founded by Harmon Dobson and Paul Burton, opened its first restaurant in Corpus Christi in 1950, but the company was purchased recently by a group of Chicago-based investors.

I was talking recently with my friend, Truitt Hodges, about the death of a dear mutual friend, Charles Taylor. After we visited about the wonderful friendship we shared with Charles, Truitt said, “I need to tell you something. My mother’s mad at you.”

I did a quick search through my mind and wondered silently, “Have I met Truitt’s mom?”

After a quick and thoughtful pause, I asked, “What did I do to your momma?” We both laughed.

He then said of his mother, Rosemary Slayton: “She misses your articles in the paper. She’s wondering why you don’t write them like you used to do.”

I told him I’d kind of had my head down working on a big home project lately, but I’d try to write something soon.

Remembering that conversation and our friendship with Charles Taylor prompted this newspaper piece. The idea kind of came together as I thought of Charles, Truitt, Whataburger and me. Fact is, I probably wouldn’t know Truitt at all had it not been for Whataburger.

I would have known Charles “Preacher” Taylor, but only as the old-fashioned gospel-preaching man with whom I teamed on many funerals in our county. The circles in which we three travel are largely unassociated … except for Whataburger.

I got to know both of these men because we’ve shared many a cup of coffee together at Whataburger over the span of several years. We shared stories about friends who could throw a bale of hay over a fully-loaded hay trailer. Some stories were unforgettable. Some were forgotten quite easily.

Truitt gave me a clinic on what it’s like to make a living welding and what it’s like to have a piece of red-hot slag trapped in your welding glove. He told me about mentoring a young man who was patterning his life to be just like Truitt’s. He wanted to weld in the oil field for a living … raise his family like Truitt did.

But Truitt’s young friend lost his life in an automobile accident a while ago, leaving a wife and a baby. We visited a lot about broken hearts and dreams.

Charles talked about dogs and how to tell them apart in the dark from a half mile away. We talked about training dogs and kids and mules. We talked about the similarities between raising dogs and kids and mules.

Charles shared some frustration about getting older and being less agile than he’d been in years past. He told Truitt and me about his desire to have his friends share the same spiritual blessings that had been so important to him through the years.

Chronic health problems prompted Charles’ move to a care facility in our city. His Whataburger visits became even more rare. Before moving to the nursing home, his wife, Sylvia would occasionally bring him to see his buds at the coffee shop. Charles died at the nursing home Aug. 23.

We three talked about things that were lying beneath the surface in each of our lives. We shared stories and experiences that men only share with good friends. Truitt’s not a cryer, but Charles and I got kind of emotional every once in a while when we were either listening or telling. Somehow, it was OK to cry a little in the presence of good friends if the story you’re telling is good enough … or close enough to the heart.

We old coots will miss the Preacher.

Gerre Joiner is a semi-retired church musician and has lived in Decatur since 1999.

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