I think that I must be the only member of the American news media that hasn’t written about O.J. Simpson. So read on, this column is not about Mr. Simpson.
This column is about something far more interesting to me than any murder trial — Andalusia. You may not know this, but I’m here to tell you that Andalusia is the center of the known universe.
Take, for example, God. Andalusia’s seem to have a direct hotline to the Almighty. In the late 1960s. it was an Andalusian who wrote the Time magazine front-page story titled “Is God Dead?” And it is an Andalusian who told the world last year that he could prove the existence of the Lord with his computer.
I can’t figure out how to get my computer to print, much less get it to prove the existence of my creator.
But I have found that Andalusia’s are appearing on everything from Barbara Walters’
Specials to the New York Times editorial page.
This weekend, I had another uncanny Andalusia experience here in New York City:
While on a six-mile walk to help prevent osteoporosis I happened to notice a beautiful woman walking with me.
Osteoporosis is a debilitating disease, caused by calcium deficiency, that affects millions of women. There is no cure, but it can be prevented by drinking three glasses of milk on a daily basis.
Clearly, this fellow walker was drinking her milk.
Now here in New York City. Beautiful women are rare. In a city of eight million, I’d say about three regularly comb their hair and put on the makeup of any description. So naturally, I was ga-ga over the Osteoporosis-walking vision before me. But because I am an older, wiser 23-year old. I managed to adopt a debonair nonchalance.
This, believe me, was hard to do since I was sporting a fake milk moustache in honor of our corporate sponsor. Milk mustaches don’t hold much water in the debonair department.
As we walked the six-mile course amide the filth and trash of this rat-infested island. I pondered on what might win the affection of this woman with a mission. Since I’m not adept at lifting heavy things or the Elvis sneer. a brute show of manly force was out of the question.
Nor could I take the Mississippi-man approach by honking at her wildly from a pickup truck. Regrettably. I was without a truck.
My mind raced to try to think of anything that might charin this milk-walker from-the-heavens.
I even considered whistling. Suddenly I had it: I’d tell her where I was from. I’m Serious, this was my sole plan.
OK, I admit it, I was desperate. But saying, “Hey, I’m Morgan Murphy from Andalusia” sure seemed better than curling my upper lip and singing “Viva Las Vegas.”
Unfortunately, I had lost this walking wonder of beauty in the throngs of osteoporosis do-gooders. Dang.
Dejected. I caught the subway home and lumbered along under the streets of Manhattan to Grand Central Station.
As I exited the train. I glanced across the rail platform and who should I see? the woman-of-the-walk and her mother.
“It must be that Presbyterian predestination of mine,” I said to an innocent bystander. “because this was meant to be.”
So I sauntered (My aunter is impressive) up to the stunning duo of mother and child and we all laughed at how we’d ended up back together in Grand Central. We chatted about the walk and osteoporosis for a few moments and then to my horror. I was ran out of things to say
I know this is probably hard for you to believe – but it was the truth. My mind drew a blank. And then it fired the blank. “Did I tell y’all I’m from Andalusia? Alabama?” I blurted.
Yessir, I’ve said a lot of dumb things in my life. This was worse than the time I forgot the lyrics to our national anthem and had to make them up in front of my entire junior high school… “By the rocket’s red glare … uh … George Washington was there …”
But never had I told two random Northerners in Grand Central Station that I was from Andalusia. I could tell by the Stunned expressions on their faces that I had sunk to a new low. Mrs. Howgen looked at her daughter. Cindy, and then they laughed.
Then Mrs. Howgen said, “My other daughter married a boy from Andalusia.” So bachelor’s of Andalusia. forget. “Have I seen you here before and try and little civic pride?