Down South

It sat at the corner of St. Andrews and Broad River Road.

No frills -- a blue-collar vibe. Cement floor, frosty mugs of beer, sizzling fried chicken, cole slaw, fries, a roll.

You paid Bill, who looked a bit like Joe Paterno. He worked the cash register.

Two pool tables, a wall behind the bar plastered with signed dollar bills. Fridays meant catfish stew, and Friday nights meant waiting on a table. All at a place called Herb’s Grill.

Go there and you’d see folks clad in baseball uniforms, SLED agents, office parties, couples, families, loners, and the salt of the earth.

Looking back, memories surface. Like the time Herb, a onetime deputy sheriff, took care of a fellow slinging profanity all over the place. Said Herb, “Watch your language. We have women and children in here.”

“I don’t see no [expletive expletive] women and kids,” said the miscreant.

Herb grabbed the man’s right ear and dragged him to the front door where he kicked him onto the asphalt. Herb was a big man. He looked like a former law officer should look. And he acted the part when necessary. You knew you were safe at Herb’s.

I frequented the place throughout the 1980s. Back then I worked at what is today the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources. I worked in the film unit, and my boss and I would leave work around 2:30 in the afternoon to “shoot stock footage.” All we shot was pool at Herb’s. That and a lot of bull.

The place had characters. There was Rabbit, an old timer whose main love seemed to be beer.

I remember Bob “Cherry Pie” Bodie. From Newberry County, I recall. I called him Cherry Pie because that was what he said about the most difficult pool shots. “Cherry pie.” He could have been a hustler.

I remember, too, a waitress named Cindy, blonde and alluring.

The greatest characters, however, were Herb and Bertha. They ran a place the likes of which we’ll never see again. The noisy TV-infested sports bar had yet to arrive nor had franchise restaurants brought their monotony to the hungry.

Nothing remains of Herbs except memories and memorabilia. For me that amounts to a mug I stole when I heard Herb and Bertha were considering retirement.

A CVS pharmacy stands where Herbs Grill fed judges, business folk, government workers, the down and out, pilots, those who appreciated a game of pool topped off with cold beer and fried chicken, and many a badge-wearing man and woman. Yes, you knew you were safe at Herb’s.

Herb and Bertha lived in a home attached to the back of the grill and operated the grill for thirty years. The legendary chicken was the best. And you could scratch a curl of ice from your mug, but that mug was small. It required a lot of refills. People sat around tables and actually talked. Cell phones had not arrived. If you needed to make a call, you used the pay phone up near the entrance. But stay on it too long, and Bertha would run you off it. It was also their business phone.

Herb’s

Christmas party was not to be missed. Well before December Herb would lean over and utter a gruff whisper into his favorite patrons’ ear, “Christmas Party Dec.

17. You be here.” It was a command.

I miss the place and I miss Bertha and Herb. Bertha and I shared the same birthday, February 4. She died Tuesday, December 13, 2011. Herb died Friday, November 23, 2012. Both were loyal Gamecock fans. Both had legions of loyal fans.

To this day, people still talk about that simple block building at the corner of St. Andrews and Broad River Road. For there we found plenty of good times.