I-40W to 440W to 65S to 64W—Waynesboro, Tennessee. I’d been summoned to bring my Southern humor to a teacher in-service in this charming east Tennessee town, a place seemingly plucked from a Norman Rockwell painting. As I weaved through the mountains of Tennessee, “Rocky Top” blared in my rental car, the perfect soundtrack as I navigated up one incline and braked down the other. Quaint country stores, their windows filled with quilts and cider jars, lined Highway 64W, making me feel like I’d driven straight into a postcard.

Hello Darlin’

Pulling up to the hotel, I was transported back to The Three Pines in Waynesville, North Carolina. Every year, my parents made their post-tomato season pilgrimage there to escape the oppressive Lowcountry heat. This hotel was no Ritz Carlton, but it had its own charm.

As I turned into the parking lot, I spotted a blue princess phone hanging outside the one-story building. A large sign instructed, “For assistance dial 511.” Dutifully, I picked up the phone and was greeted with a cheerful, “Ho-te-el!” The kicker? The lady was only about two feet away from me. We could see each other, but she insisted on using that blue princess phone. Before I could get my full name out, she cut me off, “I know who you are. You spostah speak to them teachers tomorrow. We bin speckten you.” She then appeared from behind the building and said, “We puttin’ you in the nice room. Let me git in there and cut on the wind’r unit so you won’t git hot.”

Southern Iron-y 

I asked if she had an iron. After much fussing, she handed me an apparatus so mummified in duct tape, it was nearly unrecognizable. A small stick, taped to the top, kept the thing “on.”

“If I was you, I’d wear my rubber shoes when I plug it in. This thing’s liable to spit at ya,” she warned with a laugh.

What more could I ask for? The room was spotless and cool, and the service was friendly and accommodating. I loved it.

Worms and Dirt

That evening, the school’s Director of Instruction and his lovely wife took me to the town’s favorite eatery. Sunday evening worshipers trickled in, one by one. It felt like I was being introduced to the entire town. Everyone was so friendly, offering updates on each other’s health and gossip. After a meal that ended with “worms and dirt,” we toured Waynesboro. I loved it too. The tour included a drive through my hosts’ neighborhood. “This is where we live, and down this street is where our daughter lives. Next to her lives our daughter’s best friend and family…”

The next day, I enjoyed meeting the teachers and giving my presentations. They were kind and appreciative, just as I’d hoped.

Austin Peay

My visit concluded with All-You-Can-Eat Catfish Night, another local favorite. The table buzzed with talk of football, colleges, and UT—who went to UT and who shamefully attended another university. One gentleman said, “I went to Austin Peay (pronounced pea) University.”

“Hey, Gailand, tell Jane about y’alls cheer.”

Gailand grinned, “At games, we yell, ‘Let’s go Peay.'”

Just as I regained my composure, Gailand continued, “One time we had a basketball star with the last name of Fly. So we all got flyswatters, waved them in the air, and cheered—okay, y’all forgive me—’The Fly is open. Let’s go Peay.'”

You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

So, that’s how a quaint town in Tennessee, with its blue princess phones, duct-taped irons, and unforgettable cheers, became one of my most cherished speaking engagements. The meeting professional, with his great sense of humor and deep love for his team, knew the teaching professionals well. From the warm hospitality to the hearty laughs, Waynesboro proved that Southern charm and humor are alive and well, and sometimes, the best stories are the ones you simply can’t make up