The Patriot Post® · Montgomery Underground

Five feet of snow cover and sub-zero temps here in North Dakota can certainly turn my mind to warmer places.

Having retired after decades in corporate sales dealing with quota pressures can also free the mind to reflect a bit. The old joke in professional sales is there are only two production goals: Unobtainable and Absolutely Unobtainable.

It was 1982. Evening arrives and I’m having dinner at a Montgomery, Alabama, hotel. I was on the road as an antique firearms representative with a large inventory that had, at this point, been sequestered in the Montgomery Civic Center under armed guard. I had just completed 12 hours on the floor of the gun show and it was time to relax.

When traveling alone, seated solitary in upscale restaurants just amplifies the feeling of being companionless. A good option for me is to eat at the bar.

On this particular evening, I was having a very pleasant conversation with the bartender. She seemed somewhat misplaced. The British accent was the first tell. She was very attractive, articulate, and clearly educated by her choice of words, and it came with an ease that was not off-putting or arrogant.

After I finished dinner, I got up to pay my bill. Her segue was compelling. She said: “We close in 20 minutes and my fiancé will be by to pick me up. We are going to Montgomery Underground. When he arrives, I’ll stand you both one drink and if everything is tickety-boo, come join us.”

Oftentimes when I have been associated with very competent people (she was a med student completing her clinical years) and I meet their significant other, I think, “How did you manage to pull this off?” Such was not the case here. I met and instantly connected with her fiancé, who insisted that I spend the evening with them.

We left together in his vehicle and proceeded to downtown Montgomery. She was seated between us on the bench seat of an Oldsmobile Cutlass and had her arms draped around each of us, clearly and vocally excited about the evening ahead.

When we arrived at our destination, we went downstairs in an old brick building that used to be slaveholding quarters in the mid-1800s. The music that emanates is a mixture of Gospel, Blues, and Jazz. A piano is center to the room, and seated there is a giant of a man named Henry who could mimic Rachmaninoff and span nearly two octaves on that piano with one hand.

As the evening progressed, I found out that house rules on Saturday night were no alcohol after midnight and Gospel-only songs from then to the mandated 3 AM closing. Henry left his seat at the piano to sing baritone with an a cappella group, and they produced one of the most moving versions of “Amazing Grace” that I have ever heard.

Three months later, I was invited to this couple’s wedding and attended. We resurrected our evening at Underground Montgomery two nights before they were wed. Big Henry joined us at the table and was a most engaging individual. Throughout the evening, he would excuse himself and get up to regal us with classic Gospel Blues tunes on the piano as well as wonderful baritones with his a cappella group.

In both visits to Underground Montgomery and other venues, we three were the only white people in attendance. Both evenings were some of the warmest and most memorable of my life.

You see, race relations in this country in modern times are not as complicated or as difficult as the media or certain politicians would have you believe. There have clearly been bad actors on both sides over the years, but there are bad actors in virtually every situation imaginable.

Most normal people just want to get along and are quite capable of doing so. My last visit to Montgomery Underground was 41 years ago. I wonder if that evening could be successfully recreated in 2023.

I kept in touch with this couple for years, but as time wore on the letters became less frequent and we eventually lost touch. Now, due to the loss of those same letters through subsequent moves, that wonderful couple is but a memory.

That moment in time, however, was a true touch of Americana formed in but an instant and a lesson in how easy it really is to get along in what is tagged now a “diverse” crowd.

We as a nation need to relearn this and stop listening to all those who seek political gain and profit by dividing us. Fact is, we are a nation of mostly good people who want to get along.