His name was Walton Cook but most people who knew him only knew him as "Cookie." Many of you knew him by his appearance rather than his acquaintance. He was a "fixture" around downtown Central City and our coffee shops in particular. He lived in the Gish Apartments (and in fact, died there) and drove an old white Rambler with a pale green top. He ran errands for Mrs. Roxie Gish (owner of the Gish Apartments) and more famously, chauffered Tobe Gish and Judge Arthur Iler to Ellis Park a couple of times a week to the horse races.
Cookie was also a fixture at Lester Motors. He was one of the greatest "go-fers" I have ever seen. We'd send him out for parts we needed quickly or to other dealerships to pick up a vehicle we may have purchased from them or to the Auto Auction to drive one of the cars we purchased there, home.
Cookie was a "world class" hitch-hiker, one of the best I have ever seen. If I wanted to take a trip to Seattle for lunch at the Space Needle and I hopped a jet, took a cab from the airport and rode the elevator to the top and Cookie was to meet me there, he'd get there first. Only difference would be that he'd have "hitch-hiked" across the country to the front door and climbed the steps.
One of my favorite "Cookie" stories was told to me by my late good friend and fellow automobile salesman, Ralph Bethel. It goes like this...
A few years ago, a person who'll remain "nameless" here had a dog that had a skin affliction that caused him to lose most of his (or her, I forget which) hair. For the purpose of this story, I'll call the dog "FiFi." This "nameless" person was told by the local veternarian that the best treatment for "Fifi's" problem could be found at the Veterinary School at Purdue University in Lafayette, Indiana. A call was made to the University and arrangements were made for "FiFi" to arrive for treatment on a certain date. "FiFi's" mode of transportation would be via "Cookie's" infamous thumb. That's right!...Cookie would take "FiFi" to Lafayette (about 300 miles) by hitchhiking.
For those who didn't have the pleasure of meeting or knowing Cookie, it's important that you know his physical appearance. Cookie was a bachelor and didn't have a wife to iron his clothes. He also didn't have an iron. He always wore a pair of dress slacks, wing tip shoes and a crisp, white long sleeve dress shirt (at least it was crisp and white for it's first few days). When the shirt became either too dirty or too wrinkled for Cookie, he simply purchased a new one (he did this at least once a month). Cookie had brown hair that he liked to comb straight back on his head. To accomplish this, his preference for hair pomade was just that....Hair Pomade! He only had to comb his hair when he got up in the morning...it would hold in place until the next morning...every single strand. He bore an "uncanny" resemblance to Al Capp's famous cartoon sleuth "Fearless Fosdick," or even to "Dick Tracy." His face had lots of wrinkles like a person who worked outdoors in the sun a lot. I say this not to criticize Cookie's looks (I couldn't imagine him looking any other way) but it's important that you have an idea of his general appearance so you can understand the "miracle of any sane human who didn't know him from Adam, giving him a ride in their car."
This particular morning, it was crisp so "FiFi's" owners brought him to Lester's along with a nice calico throw (a small blanket) to keep him (or her) warm during the trip. The family, including the two kids came before school to bid "FiFi" adieu and a safe journey. Everyone was kissing and "making over" FiFi when the annointed time came to leave. Cookie wrapped the little dog up in the blanket, stepped across the street and waited for a ride (he didn't even bother to walk the one block over to highway 431 which had more traffic). He had been standing on the corner opposite the dealership for about three minutes. A car backed onto First Street from the parking lot of Central City Lumber Company. It was a salesman that had been "hawking his wares" there. He started down the street and saw Cookie standing with a hairless dog in a blanket, "less than white" white shirt, "slicked back" hair, muddy wingtip shoes and his thumb sticking out. Curiously, he stopped. Cookie opened the passenger door and the man asked where he was going. "Layfayette Indiana to Purdue University," Cookie told him. "Hop in, Friend" said the salesman, "that happens to be just where I'm headed!" Away they went.
At about 4:30 that same afternoon, Ralph was over at the gas station, across the street from the showroom.. A pickup truck pulled up in front of the door and stopped. The passenger door opened up and there was ol' Cookie, blanket and all. He had hitchhiked 300 miles, deposited "FiFi" at the clinic and hitchhiked 300 miles back in a span of about nine hours. It would be nearly impossible to drive that distance in the same time frame.. In fact, using today's technology, if you "Google" the distance from Central City to Lafayette it takes 4 hours and 44 minutes to drive it, not counting finding the correct place in the University and not counting finding a ride (or rides) home. He went there with one ride and he returned with one ride. This should have gone into Ripley's Believe It or Not!
Cookie wasn't a racist but he had no desire to be black. In his mind, he thought African-Americans were derived from people who were originally caucasian but had the unfortunate experience of being invaded by a "skin-piercing" creature he called a "Blackjack Worm." You "caught" the "Blackjack Worm" by (1) eating or drinking from dishes or silverware that was previously used by someone that had already been invaded or (2) breathing the air of a densely populated area where the "Blackjack Worm" would thrive. For this reason, he generally drank his coffee from styrofoam cups or ate from paper plates. He usually tried to avoid densely populated areas where he felt breathing contaminated air would affect him. The "Blackjack Worm" began as a small dark mole or spot on the skin and slowly grew until it consumed the whole body. (I'm not making this up....this is how his mind functioned). I mention that to tell you this:
One hot summer day I took several cars to the Auto Auction in Clarksville, Indiana (across the river from Louisville) and sold them. I believe I took six cars. I also purchased five different cars to replace them. I went ahead and sent these five back to Central City with the drivers who bought the original six. That left me and Cookie without a way home. It was about 100 degrees outside and was getting toward the end of the day and the end of the auction. Most of the cars and trucks going across the block now were older, rougher units. They were getting down to the last 10 vehicles when I purchased an old Ford pickup truck for $300. I figured it would get us back to Central City and I'd resell it to one of the wholesalers (who came by the lot daily) for $400 or $500. I paid for our purchases and had Cookie wait out front of the office in the old truck. I climbed in and we headed south. When we got to the I-65 bridge crossing the Ohio River into Louisville, Cookie suddenly started rolling his window up and told me to do the same. "What did you say?" I asked him. "Hurry, roll up your window" he said, nearly in a state of panic. Like an "idiot," I complied. In a matter of moments, it was 130 degrees in the old truck and the windows were beginning to sweat. The two of us were thoroughly "soaked" with perspiration. "Why in the world did we roll up the windows?" I asked him. "Because it's humid out there and the "Blackjack Worm" is in the air...we don't want to breathe one into our lungs" was his reply. Quickly, I rolled my window back down and my eyes up in my head while sticking my head out the window searching for fresh air. I didn't care if I caught the "Blackjack Worm" or "Malaria," I just had to cool off. Cookie kept his window rolled up for another ten miles or so and held his breath as much as he could. Amazingly enough, he never caught the "Blackjack Worm." I later found out that he was in the pool room several years ago and a friend of his who happened to be black told him how he became black and Cookie always believed it.
I remember taking Cookie with me one day for some business in Madisonville. We arrived early and the person I went to see wouldn't be there for another thirty minutes, so we went for a cup of coffee at McDonald's, just down the street. The place was busy and there was a particularly large amount of senior citizens in there, including a group that arrived from a local rest home in a van. One of these ladies was sitting at a table across the room and she was in a wheel chair. She appeared to have a "blank stare" and she had a problem holding her head still, sort of like a life-sized "bobblehead" doll. Her stare was straight at Cookie. He was drinking his coffee and enjoying a cigarette (there was no such thing as "smoke-free" in those days) and he "mumbled" something to me which I didn't understand. I leaned over closer and asked him to repeat it and he said "that old woman is staring at me." "You're right," I told him, "she's staring right at you...in fact EVERYBODY IN HERE is staring at you...and they're staring at ME too because I'm sitting here with you!" With that we left.
Cookie was a veteran and drew some sort of Veteran's Disability check. One day he got a veteran's bonus check in the mail for about $500.
This was probably when the Kentucky Lottery began because a "one-time" veteran's bonus was part of that program. Anyhow, he stopped me to explain it to him. He couldn't understand why anyone would just up and send him $500.00 (his regular monthly check wasn't much more than that). I explained to him that it was his to keep and after a lot of persuading, he finally agreed to cash it. He tried to give me $100 for my "legal advice," and I had to do some more "persuading" to convince him that I wasn't a lawyer and the advice was free. I often wondered what he spent it on (or if he even did spend it on anything) as his lifestyle never changed. He was always the same old "Cookie."
Cookie died a few years ago alone in his apartment. There weren't a lot of people at his funeral but the ones that were there looked like a "who's who" of community leaders and judges and lawyers. He knew most of them and was happy to "place bets" for them when he ventured to Ellis Park, which was most of July and August each summer. I suspect Ellis Park is where a major portion of his veteran's bonus went, but it doesn't matter....it was what he enjoyed.
I imagine that when Cookie expired and passed from this life, his soul simply stood up from his body, stuck out his thumb and an angel arrived in a golden limousine and took him on to heaven...one ride and non-stop.
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