A Piedmont Lantern Story

Every town has at least one fella who believes the Lord placed him on this earth to dispense unsolicited medical advice. Piedmont had three of them, but the loudest by far was Old Doc Meriwether, who’d never been a real doctor a day in his life.

Now, Doc Meriwether’s remedies were made from a mixture of wishful thinkin’, sassafras, kerosene, peppermint, and the confidence of a man who’d never once doubted himself. Folks avoided him the way chickens avoid a hawk’s shadow.

Except Jimmy Matthew.

Lord, that boy couldn’t sense danger if it walked up and put a nickel in his hand.

One fine April morning, Doc Meriwether rode into town on a bicycle that had not seen oil since the Kennedy administration. He rang the bell like Gabriel heraldin’ the Second Coming.

“Spring has sprung, folks,” he hollered, “and with spring comes ailments of a serious nature. Y’all are overdue for the Great Annual Clean-Out of the Human System.”

Now, a statement like that ought to have sent folks runnin’, but Jimmy Matthew had just drunk two RC Colas before school and was feelin’ mighty receptive to new ideas.

He whispered to Jim Leroy, “You think maybe we should get cleaned out? PawPaw says spring’s for fresh starts.”

Jim Leroy said, “PawPaw meant sweepin’ the porch, not takin’ poison.”

But Jimmy had already stepped forward.

“Doc Meriwether, what kinda cure you promotin’ this year?”

Doc adjusted his crusty spectacles and puffed up proud.

“This here is my finest invention yet. Guaranteed to cleanse the body, clarify the mind, refresh the spirit, and maybe even repair a troubled liver.”

He produced a mason jar with somethin’ inside the color of pond water havin’ a bad day.

Jim Leroy’s voice cracked. “Jimmy Matthew, don’t you drink that stuff.”

Doc Meriwether ignored him. “Just one swallow cures melancholy, inflammation, bad report cards, and the common teenage foolishness.”

“Well,” Jimmy said, “that last one seems ‘specially useful.”

And before Jim Leroy could tackle him, Jimmy Matthew Cartwright upended that jar like it was sweet tea on a hot day.

The effect was immediate.

Jimmy’s eyes bulged.
His hair stood upright.
His freckles rearranged themselves into a shape that resembled the outline of Cherokee County.
His legs launched him straight into the middle of Ladiga Street.

“BOYS,” he hollered, “I CAN SEE SOUNDS!”

Jim Leroy groaned. “Here we go.”

Jimmy ran five complete laps around the courthouse fountain, recitin’ multiplication tables he had never bothered to learn before. He attempted to climb the flagpole, declared himself Mayor of Piedmont, then insisted he could outrun a squirrel. He tried. He failed. The squirrel, startled by the pursuit, bit Jimmy on the ear and fled into the nearest chinaberry tree.

By the time they got Jimmy home, he was back to normal except for hiccups that sounded suspiciously like hymn lyrics.

PawPaw took one look at him, then at Jim Leroy, then at the empty mason jar.

“What’d he do now?” PawPaw asked.

Jim Leroy explained the cure-all incident.

PawPaw nodded solemnly as if the world had finally delivered what he’d long expected.

“Well,” PawPaw said, “that boy was overdue for some sense, but I never pictured ‘im gittin’ it by way of Doc Meriwether’s witches-brew.”

Jimmy hiccoughed. Between hiccoughs, he managed, “PawPaw… I think I’m cured of somethin’, but I ain’t sure what.”

PawPaw said, “You’re cured of trustin’ fools, I hope.”

Jimmy nodded. “I reckon so.”

Then he hiccupped the entire chorus of “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms,” which is how the whole Cartwright porch ended up laughin’ so hard they forgot to scold him proper.

Later that evening, Doc Meriwether came ridin’ back through town, jinglin’ that bicycle bell.

“Who wants the Great Spring Clean-Out?” he hollered.

Jimmy Matthew Cartwright dove straight under PawPaw’s truck and refused to come out until Doc was clear across the county line.

And thus ended the Springtime Cure-All of Piedmont, Alabama.

Nothing got cured.
Everything got funnier.
And Jimmy Matthew lived to misbehave another day.