This from the roast-worthy poet and nonfiction writer, David Kirby. When we asked if he had a George story he said…
Probably, the only issue being that all my George stories involve lawbreaking, such as the time I was waiting outside the gas station for him when George comes piling out with his arms full of Cheetos and Funyuns and the owner in hot pursuit…
—David Kirby, author of twenty-nine books, including The House on Boulevard St. and, most recently, Little Richard: the Birth of Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Young, Good David—Not true. As I remember it (wait, that probably was true, but it had to do with a lighter with a Darlington Speedway logo on it, right?)you wanted to see the “real” Darlington. My department chair chose me as the guide. I took you into that bar, and I said to the bartender, “This is David Kirby, big-time poet.” The bartender—whose name was George, also—said, “I love poetry. Listen…” And then he went into a memorized rendition of a Rudy Ray Moore, AKA “Dolemite,” poem that lasted five minutes. You said, poetically, I might add, “This is the best night of my life.” Maybe.