“My dad built this cabin at the Neshoba County Fair in 1958, the year I was born. Dad owned a construction company and built it from scraps in two weeks. It’s gone through a lot of alterations through the years. At first, there was just a little-bitty porch that my grandmother and mom built one weekend. Then one summer, my brothers and their friends, who worked for the construction company, took all the lumber, came out, and built this back deck so they could have a party deck. They didn’t tell my dad, and they did it wrong, but it’s held up.

The name of our section at the Fair is Happy Hollow. It was a great place for kids. Our mamas were friends, sisters-in-laws, or best friends. It has sawdust down the middle between the rows of houses. Parents would tell us to go out and play, but stay in the sawdust. All the mamas would watch the kids. When any of us did something wrong, they got onto us. Then we all started having children and carried it on. Everybody comes back every year. We also added new friends.

I share our cabin with my sister, Margaret. She’s an architect and keeps it running. Our favorite part is the murals Mama painted on the porches and the refrigerator. The refrigerator doesn’t work anymore, but it’s a good cabinet. 

Back in the day, before cell phones, there were four or five stations out here with payphones, and there was always a line. Everybody gathered quarters to call into work or call home. Back when I was really little, there were pump wells, and we had to go pump water to bring jugs back for cooking and cleaning.  One of my favorite things is waking up to the sound of the door shutting quietly because the kids are heading out to play. Or moms were coming out with coffee. And the smell of bacon frying–that’s when you know it’s time to wake up.

The Neshoba County Fair has gotten big with over 900 cabins. Some are now glassed in with TVs and satellite dishes. They have AC and keep the doors and windows closed to keep the cold air in. One of the things I like about our cabin is there’s still no AC, and it’s still open. You can see people downstairs cooking or hanging out. It’s welcoming. Walk up, sit on the porch, and visit.

For Fair people, there are basically two seasons each year: Christmas and the Fair. The week after Christmas, we start talking about cleaning the cabin, and cooking for the Fair. When you get home after the Fair, you’ve got all those piles of laundry down the hall, and you step over them until you can get to it.

I’m glad to have children to pass the cabin on to, because I’m getting older and closer to the end of the sidewalk. My children cherish it and want to continue. The Fair is something that can’t be explained. It’s a feeling, an atmosphere, a mindset. For a long time, the cabins all looked alike–everyone was equal at the Fair, no matter their economic status. That was something special about Philadelphia. 

The three civil rights workers were murdered in Neshoba County, not far from the fairgrounds. My dad was in one of the groups of men who stepped up to be leaders and fight back. They burned a cross in our yard. Long after Daddy died, I found a flyer in his warehouse from the KKK talking about Daddy having COFO meetings in his house, working for civil rights, and being a field chairman for Sonny Montgomery.

But Philadelphia was also a good place to grow up. Marty Stuart was my boyfriend in fifth grade. He asked me to go steady through my friend. I said yes. I played the saxophone. He played the cornet. Marty came up and asked to carry my saxophone. I was so embarrassed. He said, ‘You’re really going to go steady with me?’ I said yes, but I was walking three steps ahead of him.

Integration happened in sixth grade. Our history teacher was Virgil Griffen, a blues musician with a Sunday radio program. He had a band and gave a copy of his record to everyone in our class. Marty would hang out with him and watch him play. Virgil wore black Ray-Bans in class and kept his head turned while watching us out of the corner of his eye.

Marty and I went steady until Archie Manning was the quarterback at Ole Miss. Marty was for Ole Miss and I was for Mississippi State. The Ole Miss fans wore Archie buttons and the State fans wore buttons with ‘Archie Who?’ Marty wore an Archie button and wouldn’t take it off, so I broke up with him.  I had my standards. 

In fifth grade, Marty entered a talent contest at the Pavilion at the Fair. That’s when I first knew how deep he was into music. In the summer of ’72, Mama, and I moved to Cleveland. Marty moved to Nashville. His Mama put him on a bus and sent him on his way. He would come home, and we’d hang out. 

Later, when Marty was trying to decide about leaving Columbia Records, his mama told him to go listen to pine trees in Philadelphia. He told me that, and it stuck with me. When I’m stressed, I listen to the pine trees. 

I went to Cleveland, graduated from high school, and started college. I was the only one in my class who went to Mississippi State, Delta State and Ole Miss.

I moved up to Ole Miss early. Mama took me to the bank. Daddy had set us up with savings bonds for college. They figured out how much I needed for tuition, dorm, and books, and put it in my checking account tied to Mama’s. I had all that money and went to Nelson’s department store and bought $800 worth of clothes. I didn’t pay tuition, books, or dorm.

I was majoring in theater and convinced Mama that The Warehouse was where I bought my theater supplies. But Mama was at a Christmas party and heard someone talking about throwing a party at The Warehouse. Mama said, ‘Why are you having your party at The Warehouse?’ They said, ‘It’s a great bar where all the kids go.’ Mama opened the bank statement, saw how much I spent at The Warehouse, and opened my grades. My college career came to a screeching halt.

Now, I rescue animals every day. We have about 400 dogs and cats in our shelter at the Animal Rescue Fund in Jackson, MS. I relax at the Fair and being a Sweet Potato Queen. But that’s another story.” 

Here’s the link to part one of Pippa’s story.