By Dave Hogan
Guest Columnist
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I’ve checked every room in the house, even closets. Not there. Nor is it on the porch. I’ve rummaged through all the clutter in my car. Not there, either.
Did I leave it at the Waffle House? Shoney’s? Or the Cracker Barrel in Asheville? Looks like my Atlanta Braves baseball cap is destined to be one of the many I’ve left behind in restaurants.
This one hurts. It was my $39.99 plus tax, Major League Baseball-approved and licensed, on-field fitted, navy with a red bill cap. That was the description when I ordered it. Just like the one Austin Riley wears.
As a friend has pointed out, there’s an easy way to prevent losing so many caps in restaurants. “Instead of dropping it into a chair seat, hanging it on the chair back, or putting it at your feet under the table, leave it on your head like other men do.”
But I can’t do that on account of Miss Christy.
Jean Christy was one of my teachers at Andrews High School. Before she died in 2016 at age 111, she was the oldest living North Carolinian. When asked her recipe for a long life, she said, “Never get married, never go to the doctor and eat lots of Lance crackers.”
In addition to English, Miss Christy taught us manners and the socially acceptable ways of behaving. At least she tried; teaching proper etiquette to Appalachian country boys was as big a challenge as teaching them English. Bigger, maybe. It didn’t always “take.” Sometimes I still hold a fork like a shovel instead of like a pencil, as Miss Christy taught us.
But there’s one Miss Christy commandment I’ve kept religiously: a gentleman never wears a hat or cap indoors. So, I never do. (Well, maybe at Walmart, but it’s acceptable to wear anything at Walmart.) I never, ever wear a cap in a restaurant, whether I’m eating at Waffle House or Biltmore House.
Baseball caps posed a particular annoyance for Miss Christy, as they began to replace hats as the preferred headwear for men. Even though we use the words interchangeably, caps and hats differ.
A hat has a crown and a brim, and usually a band. A cap follows the contour of the head. Cowboy, Fedora, and Panama are examples of hats. Baseball, Greek Fisherman and Beanies are caps. Of course, in the South we call a beanie a toboggan. A Wisconsin friend of mine gives me grief over that. Up North, a toboggan is a kind of sled.
Often, I hear public address announcers at baseball games request fans to stand and remove their hats for the national anthem. He should say caps. Look at an old picture of a baseball crowd; the men are wearing hats. In pictures taken in the last few decades, they’re wearing caps.
Miss Christy was the great aunt of the Rev. David Christy, former pastor of Central United Methodist Church in Canton. David says, “None of Aunt Jean’s kin EVER walked into her house wearing a hat. When someone who didn’t know the rule walked in, their hat was immediately removed for them.”
He goes on to tell how whispers would ripple through a restaurant whenever she walked in, and males of every age would grab off their hats. However, an often-told story endures in Andrews about the time Miss Christy arrived at a crowded restaurant and a table of men she’d taught did not remove their ball caps.
As she sauntered by them, she didn’t say a word. She simply flipped off each cap, one by one, with the flick of a single finger.
The last time I saw Miss Christy was at a class reunion, the year of her 100th birthday. We met at an Andrews restaurant and, you guessed it, not a cap in sight. Some of those valuable lessons she taught us we’ll always be thankful for and never forget. They’re certainly worth losing a few caps for.
Dave Hogan is a native of Andrews. His was one of the first voices heard on WKRK radio when it went on the air in 1958 before spending most of his career in Asheville and Johnson City, Tenn. He is now retired and living at Lake Junaluska.