Anyhow, during those golden days it was my pleasant duty to attend many SEC games during football season and capture the action on film. This required me to travel to college towns, usually the day before, find lodging, film the game and rush back to my darkroom in time for the editor to butcher my art with insensitive cropping to fit a hole in the gray space. Editors are strange people and their mothers dress them funny.  

Getting back to the story; that Saturday's battle on the gridiron was between Alabama and Ol' Miss. at Oxford. The closest motel with available roomage was some forty miles away. I arrived late Friday afternoon, checked in and went foraging for supper.  Tupelo had one Mexican restaurant at the time and I had a craving flung on me for South of the Border cousin. On an expense account one intends to cater to one's whims, doesn't one? So I pigged out and retired early. 

Morning arrived at it's accustomed time with the assistance of a courtesy call from the front desk--twice. I popped awake bright eyed and bushy tongued from too many margaritas on the rocks but with the sense of duty to my craft to get my ass in gear and put on my game face. This was accomplished with speed and within the hour I and my cameras were entering the elevator for the first stage of my journey. Maybe I left my room too soon. 

 At the precise moment the stainless steel doors closed, that Mexican meal from the night before produced a sudden explosive byproduct that not only stained the steel doors but redecorated the walls, ceiling and tile floor of the elevator with a sensitive greenish hue.  Most men will attest to the fact that one's own farts don't really smell that bad.  I could not venture to make that claim. My own eyes started to water and I could only stand there and praise Jesus that I was alone with Him in my suffering. I offered apologies and prayed for forgiveness. It was that bad. 

The elevator by now had crawled to a stop at the next floor. I anticipated stepping off and making my escape via the fire stairs filled with fresh air. That was not to be. 

The pitted and corroded doors slid open and in strode the Director for Physical Fitness for the Huntsville City School system. A lady I had frequent contact with whom, (for the purpose of this confession), I will only refer to as Doris. In her van came two Alabama State Troopers who were also body guards for Coach Paul "Bear" Bryant. The doors slid shut.  I was trapped and so were they. 

Doris, smiled and me and said, "Good mor----", that's when she inhaled and her expression altered. The troopers hands went to their pistols by instinct. All three glared at me. 

 It might be said; that innocence, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. I attempted to look innocent but the three pairs of watering eyes beholding me weren't buying it. I guess that they could barely see me through the green fog filling the elevator which was descending toward the lobby a quarter of an inch per hour, or so it seemed.  

We had three floors to go.  Fortunately, for others in the hotel, no one tried to take our transport to the lobby at that time. Unfortunately, for us, we were denied early release and fresh air and so we inched our way downward. 

I attempted to change the subject on everyone's mind by commenting on the nice weather for the game, the hope that this would be an easy win for 'Bama and speculation on how soon The Bear would win his 315, (making him the winningest coach in SEC history. No one responded with a single syllable. I guessed that one can not talk without inhaling which was a life threatening task for them as well as myself. I noticed the trooper's thumbs stroking the hammers of their .38's or .357's. At that range the caliber didn't really matter. Of course, a gunshot would have probably ignited the fumes and half of downtown Tupelo would have been obliterated.

I was safe for the moment--maybe---considering the troopers penchant to protect the public. It was a toss up.  One more floor to go. I busied myself checking my cameras to see if the lenses were fogged or pitted and hoping that my film hadn't dissolved. Yes, it was THAT bad. 

Deliverance was announced by a bell and the opening of the doors of our gas chamber.  I gentlemanly allowed Doris and the troopers to exit first, passing up the experience of being trampled, and entered the lobby to witness the potted palm and ferns closest to the elevators began to show signs of wilting. Perhaps it was an early Autumn? 

My decision to check out was delayed until the coast was clear of troopers with itchy trigger fingers and an incensed phys-ed director who never spoke to me again while standing down wind.  

 I still like Mexican food. I occasionally have to enter elevators but I think I have learned from personal experience not to combine the two.