It’s not enough to be sitting down when you get this kind of news. Even lying down wouldn’t have cut it. I could have used a crash cart standing by when I heard that the fabled Georgetown One Stop was closing its doors. I was in Georgia during the summer, exactly 535 miles away from the center of the catfish universe, blissfully unprepared to have my world crumble faster than a hushpuppy under heavy foot traffic. But crumble it did.
“Catfish Honey Hole Closes.” That was the headline of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette for the first of July, 2012. The carefully folded clipping fell out of an envelope sent to me by fellow Georgetown regulars Pat and Guilford Rice, who knew that I wouldn’t believe the bad news unless I saw it in black and white. I read and reread the clipping, hoping that somehow I had misunderstood the article and that instead of closing, the legendary catfish restaurant was in fact opening a Searcy branch in River Oaks a block from my house. No such luck.
For Bison readers who are new to the area, let me explain why locals now take off their hats and weep uncontrollably whenever the phrase “One Stop” comes up in conversation. The restaurant opened 16 years ago in Georgetown, a community of 126 people about a half-hour west of Searcy. The owner, JoAnn Taylor, had been frying catfish for years when friends encouraged her to open a restaurant. Her tiny square building could seat about 50 people at a time, and it was never wise to go without calling ahead first.
The food was just that good. JoAnn always insisted on serving catfish fresh from the river, and she trimmed each piece herself. The glistening filets that emerged from her deep fryer were simply the best I have ever had. It was hard to keep from falling over in ecstasy with each bite. That’s why the menu featured only two options: large or small. Ever gracious, JoAnn kept some chicken handy for the apostate few who didn’t care for catfish. Diners also got French fries, hushpuppies, a cup of coleslaw and a slice of homemade lemon cake. All for under $10.
JoAnn never advertised. She didn’t have to. As customers sat at the plastic white tables and folding chairs, they were surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. Photographs of smiling catfish lovers graced the walls, giving their silent testimony to the true Southern family that made up the One Stop. The look of contented satisfaction was on every face, along with just a hint of ketchup. I had been there many times over the years, with several different groups of friends. While the drive there was part of the fun — checking out the zedonk in Kensett and puzzling over the empty mansion on Highway 36 — nothing was better than introducing new people to White County’s best-kept secret. Afterward I always offered to help them to the door, as the post-catfish euphoria makes it hard to keep one’s balance.
So when I got the news that JoAnn was going to retire, I felt like Charlie Bucket when he first heard that there were no more Wonka golden tickets to be found.
But like little Charlie, I was destined for a second chance. Imagine my delight last week when Pat Rice told me that the One Stop would reopen for charity for two days only. Local missionary Clint Butler — who helped JoAnn restore the restaurant after a flood in 2011 — would be raising money for an overseas trip to build a kitchen for LivingStone International University, a new Christian college in Uganda. Great food and a great cause.
So for two glorious days, the catfish flowed once again. As I sat with a table full of some of my best friends, we talked of good times at the One Stop. Several Harding celebrities were there, too. But best of all, I had just one more chance to raise a red plastic glass of sweet tea to the woman who I have often wished would adopt me. She is a true Southern belle, and I know I speak for all of Arkansas when I steal a line from Douglas Adams and say, “So long, and thanks for all the fish.”
