Serendipity in Alpena

You never know what you will find along America's highways n' byways. The Mrs. and I were driving through the town of Alpena (population 300) in the Ozarks of Northwest Arkansas. I had my eyes peeled for whiskey stills, jug bands, people being baptized outdoors, etc. Instead I detected, in the corner of my eye, the words "Oriental Groceries." Now Mrs. Woody is of that persuasion, so I have been to many a Chinese/Korean/Vietnamese/Filipino grocery store in my days. Only there were all in places with 100 to 10,000 times more people than the fair hamlet of Alpena.

I turned around, commenting to Mrs. Woody that this "might be interesting." An older Asian gentleman greeted as enthusiastically on the porch. Inside was a typical smallish Asian grocery store, save for the odd presence of a few Bubbas in feed caps. As soon as we walked in, we were pulled into a closet-like room where a small but lively party was well under way. A couple of Filipina women were singing karaoke in Tagalog; five or six others were talking and digging into the sumptuous potluck laid out on the table. We were immediately treated like old friends. Our impromptu hosts insisted that we stay and eat. Who says there's no such thing as a free lunch?

 Not surprisingly, the other guests had come from miles around. As is typical with isolated immigrant communities, every Filipino in northern Arkansas apparently knows everybody else, and they all get together as often as possible. It is impossible to overestimate the drive people have to meet with others who, literally and metaphorically, speak their language. 

I walked around the store. Aside from the staple items one finds at oriental grocery stores, there was a large section of Asian and Southern American bric-a-brac. A Bubba with a crew cut was talking up a pretty young Filipina. This resolved a question that was on my mind: What were these rough-hewn natives doing picking at jars of kimchee?

We exchanged phone numbers with our hosts before we left. The burly red-haired gentleman at the cash register turned out to be the husband of the Filipina proprietor, Lennie. He handed us a calendar and a couple of pens with the name and address of the store.  His desire for exposure is understandable, and I will do my small part: If you are ever on highway 62 in northwest Arkansas, look for Lennie's in Alpena. To my mind, it is about as much America as you can squeeze into a thousand square feet.

Woody

© Copyright 2003 The Homeless Leftists (A No-Fear Zone). Last update: 6/12/2003; 8:52:58 PM.