Excerpt
from an Unpublished Memoir
By Anthony
King
©
Copyright 2013 Standpoint Communications Corp
All
Rights Reserved
may
not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission
Co-Cola (Coca-Cola, to the Northerner) was considered the soft drink of
record in the South, while coke (little “c”) denoted the generic panoply of
carbonated beverage, as in, “What kind of coke would you like; I can offer you
a Co-Cola or an Orange Crush?”
Dope was also a universal
synonym for Co-Cola, as in, “Whew, I’m white-eyed, I’d give anything for a cold
Dope.” Now, the derivation of this street talk was plain and simple: when
Atlanta pharmacist John Styth Pemberton first concocted Coca-Cola back in 1886,
he knew a thing or two about pick-me-ups. For that, he included three parts
coca leaves to one part cola nut — lining up with many so-called patent
medicines containing cocaine, which was, after all, perfectly legal. In fact,
cocaine content was routinely flacked as a benign substitute for alcohol.
Well,
in 1903 the New York Tribune
published an editorial linking the narcotic content of Coca-Cola with the rise
in black urban crime, calling for legal action against the Atlanta corporation,
which, by then, manufactured and marketed the beverage in every state and
territory of the United States. Notwithstanding the unmistakably racist premise
of the Tribune’s allegation,
Coca-Cola found itself in a P.R. maelstrom. Shortly thereafter, the syrup
recipe was changed to include only so-called spent coca leaves, which imparted
only flavor with little, if any, narcotic content. Coke’s advertising also took
a hard shift from its medicinal claims to the cheery exhortation: “The pause
that refreshes”. Nonetheless, it
never shook its narcotic moorings in the vernacular of the rank and file
Southerner, as in, “The Dope Wagon ain’t run in over a week, and the store’s
run plumb out of Co-Colas”.
The
term “pop” for a carbonated soft drink, was a term altogether unknown in the
post-war South. In fact, the first time I recollect hearing the usage was in
1966 when I was a freshman in college, owing to the heavy contingent of
Northeasterners among the student body. I recall the hilarity of the first time
being asked if I wanted a “pop” —
to which I instinctively ducked for cover, fully expecting a roundhouse
punch in the face. To this day, I find the term a Yankified affectation and
invariably feign ignorance of the appellation, to the raised eyebrows of the
hoards of cultural interlopers.
All
that noted, the general store in Resaca featured a cavernous drink chest
containing every kind of coke known to man. The colorful bottles in exotic
shapes were arranged categorically in a bath of chilled water which was
circulated by a bubbling pump on one end of the box. You opened the cooler from
the top and plunged your hand in the frigid water to fish out your selection.
And Lordy was that water cold, by contrast with the hot, suffocating air in the
store! The opener was on the side of the box. I collected bottle caps for their
gaudy colorful appeal, and the proprietor of the store would save them for me.
My favorite was NuGrape, a heavily
carbonated syrupy grape flavor with an obligatory dollop of caffeine.
But
Grandmother’s coke of choice was Dr.
Pepper, which she purchased by the big wooden twenty-four-count case. They were
kept on the back porch so she could maintain close inventory of the empties,
which, of course, were returned for deposit in those days. She had bought into
the Dr. Pepper ad campaign, hook, line, and sinker — a magnificent marketing
coup to monetize the addictive double-whammy of sugar and caffeine. Even back
then, their print media buy must have been horrific, as they regularly booked the back cover of the
Saturday Evening Post.
Ten. Two. And four. — Dr. Pepper ads
ballyhooed, with the illustration of a clock, the face of which was blank
except for the times of 10-, 2-, and 4-o’clock — the thrice daily adult
allowance of a ten ounce bottle. Even the “Dr.” part was an overt attempt to
elevate the beverage to pharmaceutical status, although the period after the “Dr”
was quietly retired in the 1950s after some heated go-rounds with the Federal
Trade Commission regarding so-called “health claims.” Notwithstanding, Grandmother
never missed a dosage.
Calhoun, GA 10/07/13
Calhoun, GA 10/07/13
