The Many Thoughts of Wanda Kidd

I miss the Tobacco Road of my youth—the basketball frenzy and the people. If you didn’t grow up in eastern and central North Carolina during the 50s, 60s, or 70s, you may not know the term. Tobacco Road meant more than a carcinogen-inducing cash crop. It built families, colleges, hospitals, and nearly every church in the region. It also meant the thrilling basketball played at four nearby colleges: UNC, Duke, Wake Forest, and NC State. My daddy and his family wore red and honored Norm Sloan and NC State.

If you lived in North Carolina, you picked a team. You stuck with it regardless of whether you went to one of those schools. However, the rivalries were not like those in South Carolina or Alabama. We did not hate each other. We respected the choices made in selecting your team and graciously acknowledged your right to be misguided.

I “nannied” for a UNC family in the 1974 season. That was the Burleson, Towe, Thompson national champion era at State. It was hard to be humble in that Dean Smith household. However, we were all still on speaking terms when that glorious season ended.

I also miss the good people of the region and appreciate the grace of God that looked after me in some of my choices. An event evidences this truth. It occurred on my way from Darlington, South Carolina, to Hillsborough, NC. The reason for the trip was to be present for the ACC tournament in March 1977.

I left Darlington after dismissing my kindergartners that Friday. Then, I headed up Hwy 15/501 in my little red Ford Courier truck. I loved that truck, but it failed me that afternoon. As I was traveling through Vass, North Carolina, it just died. I guided it off the highway. As I sat there, a Sunbeam bread truck pulled up behind me. The driver came to my window and asked if he could help. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?” He said this was his regular route, that the McCrae’s garage was less than a mile up the road, and he could take me up there to see if they would help. Given my limited choices, I agreed. As I headed toward the truck, he mentioned that I would have to sit on the floor. because he was not allowed to let non-employees ride.“Ok” I said. I did not want to get him into trouble for helping me. (Did I mention how fortunate I am to have made it to old age?)

As we pulled up, the bread man slid open the side door, and I rolled out of the truck. From the darkness of the garage opening, Mr. McCrae, a forty-something mechanic with black rimmed glasses, came walking out, wiping off his hands to see what was happening. He nodded at the man in the bread truck. It seemed like he knew him, so I let him speak on my behalf. He told him I had broken down in front of Miss So-and-So’s house and wondered if he could help me out. Mr. McCrae nodded. The man got back in his truck. His job was complete. He left me there standing by the side of the road.

Mr. McCrae motioned toward his work truck and said, “Let’s go see what the problem is”. So for the second time in ten minutes, I got in a vehicle with another unknown man and went to check on my truck. He hooked up a chain to my bumper and dragged it the short way to his garage. He looked under the hood and said, “Well, it’s your water pump.”“Can you fix it?” I asked. “Yes, but I can’t get the part until tomorrow, ” I said.” “Well, that’s a problem”, I said. ‘What?’ He asked. “NC State is playing on TV in the ACC tournament. It starts at 5 o’clock. I am pretty sure my daddy will not come and get me until that game is over.” “Okay.” is all he said.

He said, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to my mama.” I followed him next door to a white clapboard house. We entered through the back, and he called for his mom. “Mama, I want to introduce you to… What’s your name?” Wanda Harder,” I said. “Wanda, this is my mama, Star.” He explained my situation. I needed a place to stay for about three hours until my daddy could come pick me up after the State game.

She welcomed me like family. I helped make supper. Her son Shorty, who worked at the garage, joined us. We ate, cleaned up, and her daughter, Ruth, and her husband arrived for their Friday Night card game. During the game, Star answered a call. She listed everyone present, including me. She then explained, “That’s a girl whose truck broke down. She is waiting for her daddy after the State game.” No judgment, just a Tobacco Road statement.

Daddy showed up just like he said, and thanked them for looking after me. Star patted me on the back and said she was glad to have me. I have no idea the outcome of the ACC tournament that year, but that story is as fresh in my mind today as it was that evening. We came back the next afternoon, paid Mr. McCrae, and I went back to Darlington.

I passed that garage many times through the years, but I never stopped. I think I was afraid they would not remember that event with the same awe I did. I regret that now. Those Tobacco Road people were good people.