Around the Banks

Johnny Bullard Guest Columnist You know I can still hear the sound of an organ keyboard being played and, at times, I am back in our den here at the Eight Mile Still. It is early summer, and the late Jessie Mae Rossin is ironing. It is the mid-1960s. I can still see the old Pepsi Cola bottle she put distilled water in, and the sprinkler cap, a leaden-looking perforated cap that fit perfectly into the top of that bottle. A ceaseless, seemingly monotonous task with the iron and ironing board setup in front of the TV tuned into one of the many daytime TV soap operas that once filled the weekday television airwaves with drama. It seemed the ironing kept rhythm with the musical theme, the sou