CityView Magazine

10 | July 2020 H urley Randall of Falcon went to work for my Dad at McFadyen Music about the time I entered the world. He stayed on the payroll until he le this world in 1990. His original role with the business was selling Wurlitzer pianos displayed at the Gillespie Street location, the store we always referred to as "e Warehouse." We brothers played hide-and- seek between the rows of pianos during our occasional visits. As the decades passed, piano sales moved to Cross Creek Mall and eventually to McPherson Church Road. Mr. Randall's role moved to fleet management and to chief advocate for my father. If Dad needed something delivered or some errand completed, Hurley Randall was the method of completion. In my teenaged summers in the mid- 70s, I began to work in e Warehouse. As Mr. Randall served Dad, so did I serve Mr. MCFADYEN'S MUSINGS Corn and Peaches By Bill McFadyen | Photography by Matthew Wonderly Randall. One of my favorite duties happened around 3 p.m. It became my job to say, "Yes sir" as the answer to his question, "Are you ready?" It was not my job (or anyone else's that I witnessed) to ask where we were going. In his truck – always a Chevrolet, always from M&O downtown – we eased along Southern Avenue with the windows down and the air conditioner on. "e best way to keep from getting a speeding ticket," he would say, "is to not speed." We never got one. Our destination was the soda counter at Massey Hill Drug Store. He ordered two vanilla milkshakes. ey arrived in the same stainless cup in which they had been spun into creation along with a short water glass. I was there for the frozen sweetness on a hot summer day. Mr. Randall was there to harangue the waitresses, which suited me just fine, because when I slurped the bottom of my glass with the straw, Mr. Randall slid the balance of his shake over to me. en, if Dad was in the office that aernoon, we would order one to go, and (slowly) backtrack to e Warehouse. I went back to the shipping table; Mr. Randall disappeared into Dad's office. ere were two other things that Dad loved in the summer: Silver Queen corn and fresh peaches. If there was any question as to how Mr. Randall earned his keep – and there was not – it was answered by the appearance of Falcon-grown corn in bushel baskets in late June. Mr. Randall would arrive early in the morning, and when Dad walked into his office, the corn was on top of the air conditioning register. Dad would hand out a little – not a lot – to some of the employees, but most of it went to the downstairs refrigerator at our house. Dad ate corn long ways, end to end, working from le to right, like the flow of a typewriter. Dad was a healthy guy, but not when it came to corn. Each row got its own knife full of butter followed by a dashing of salt. By the time he got to the last row, he could roll it on the plate where the melted oil and salt had pooled. en there were the peaches. Peaches grown in McBee, S.C. I never made that trip with Mr. Randall. Based on the pace at which we would go Massey Hill Drug, it probably took him a couple of days to roundtrip to McBee, so I guess my parents did not want me on overnighters. Just like with the corn, Hurley would show up with a basket of peaches straight off the trees in McBee. He would take them into the darkened office and leave them on the desk. No clue of them was given in their first salutation of the day, but when the light flicked on, Dad would reverse out of the office, and he and Hurley Randall shared a couple of moments about the peach crop that year. Both Giver and Getter were obviously happy. Dad ate his peaches peeled, with sugar, and in milk or on ice cream. Mom would occasionally concoct cobblers and such, but Just like with the corn, Hurley would show up with a basket of peaches straight off the trees in McBee.

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