It happened in my birthplace, my old home town, and I might say “sweet home Alabama,” except that Fort Payne is home to the country music group Alabama and not Lynnyrd Skynnyrd. (I went to high school with Randy, Jeff & Teddy, if that means anything to anyone.)
Nothing that exciting ever happened when I lived there, unless perhaps it was another semi hitting “Joe’s Truck Stop” (a 6-foot wide reinforced cement wall at the bottom of the long mountain grade, designed to keep trucks out of Joe’s living room).
Occasionally (it being a dry county) the newspaper would cover the Sheriff’s capture of cars full of beer that individuals attempted to bring in. The practice was to “pop and pour” to destroy it. (Gosh, glad I never got stopped for facilitating my dad’s desire for malt liquor.)
Fort Payne recently voted to go wet, to my great surprise. But that’s just the city, not the county.
M