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Savage Truth: Covered bridge attracts preacher's kid

Being a preacher's kid isn't as glamorous as some think.

Credit: 13WMAZ
Randall Savage column

This is a column of opinion and analysis by 13WMAZ's Randall Savage.

Being a preacher's kid isn't as glamorous as some think, especially if the kid enjoyed riding through a covered bridge that emptied on a street where "not well respected women" lived and worked.

I know because I was a preacher's kid who loved riding through the covered bridge that once spanned the Oconee River in northeast Athens.

We didn't live in Athens. We lived in Commerce, a small town that had two major employers, a cotton mill and a blue jean manufacturing plant. Commerce is 18 miles north of Athens, and we'd sometimes visit the Classic City when Mom and Dad were interested in a more selective shopping spree.

That was before Athens had a bypass. So we'd travel south on U.S. 441 through Nicholson and Center before reaching Athens. Mom and Dad, especially Dad the preacher, preferred to stay on 441 until it intersected with Highway 29 in Athens.

Not me. I wanted to go through the covered bridge which meant turning right off 441 and onto the covered bridge. Exit the bridge, and you're on River Street where those "not well respected women" lived and worked.

"Go through the covered bridge, Daddy."

"Not today, son."

"Why can't we go through the covered bridge? It'll take us downtown, too."

Most times my pleading and whining won. We'd go through the covered bridge and onto River Street. Dad was straight-ahead focused while driving through the bridge. But on River Street, he turned his head left and peek sideways to keep his eyes somewhat on the road and completely off those three houses on the right.

Made it through the red light district again, he'd say after getting off River Street. So my first question was, "What's a red light district?" I was told that's where those mean and not well respected women live.

That description matched my second-grade teacher. She was mean and certainly not well respected. She once pounded my head and face with an eraser until all the chalk dust was gone. She said I shouldn't have squirted a girl in my class with a water pistol, even questioned why I had a water pistol in her classroom.

Later, I learned a lot about those three houses on River Street. They were brothels and each one was called "Effie's." They were named after Effie Matthews, a tight-fisted owner/manager who patrons allege they never saw. While she didn't participate in day-to-night operations, Effie allegedly kept enough employees around to serve the surrounding communities and the interested male students at the University of Georgia.

What happened behind closed doors at any of Effie's establishments was common knowledge. But to the chagrin of the religious and morally correct society, Effie's operations went unabated by law enforcement. So sometimes a pastor or religious group would gather outside Effie's to sing a few hymns and offer a few prayers. Sometimes they were greeted by women in see-through outfits who were carrying collection plates. The group would keep singing and praying. The plates remained empty.

Effie's survived until the so-called sexual revolution swept the nation. But before the empty buildings were destroyed during a fire-training exercise, bricks were sold to anyone who wanted a keepsake from the historic landmarks.

Some of those bricks adorn shelves in offices and homes of middle Georgians. Many of them either visited Athens or attended the university during Effie's era. Lawyers are among the collectors. Ask lawyers to talk about Effie's and they chuckle and say, "I'll take the Fifth."

The Fifth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution says a person shall not be required to give incriminating information about themselves. But eyebrows raise the Fifth is taken.

Ask me what I know about Effie's and I'll talk about the covered bridge. I'll neither confirm nor deny any knowledge about the place. That's not like taking the Fifth.

Or is it?

Don't ask my childhood friend, Snake Westmoreland. The Snake's a blabber mouth.

Randall Savage is a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist and host of 13WMAZ's "Close Up" talk show which airs Saturdays at noon and 6 a.m. Sundays. Follow him on Twitter at @RandallWMAZ.

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