Uncle Hoyt’s Double Cola

I can see the orange and white camper sitting atop the red Georgia clay, in the summertime, with peach ice cream churning in a mixer under the awning. Yellow jackets swarm around the basket where the peach peels were tossed, fighting with one another for just one taste of the sweet, sweet syrup. The smell of summertime everywhere, of freshly cut grass and fresh picked beans, the stems curling in the heat. I can hear my sweet Aunt Gladys calling me, “Sugar,” with the syllables slow and purposeful, “come in here and get you a Double Cola!” I would go running to her house, where she kept two rooms shut off and air conditioned in her big old Southern farmhouse. Once in the door, I had to slow down because Uncle Hoyt was a nervous fellow and didn’t like little children running all over the place. He and Aunt Gladys never had any children of their own, and they virtually adopted me and my cousins any chance they could get.

The old 40’s style refrigerator hummed, and sometimes made a God-awful racket if you shut the door too hard. The clanging of the Double Cola bottles along with the refreshing burst of cold air made me jump with excitement. Growing up in the South, most people thought that Coca Cola was the drink of the gods, but it was Double Cola that won my heart. It’s smooth, almost silky sweet taste mellowed the carbonation and didn’t give me the hiccups. I knew that getting a Double Cola at Aunt Gladys’ house was a real treat. Uncle Hoyt always kidded with us that those were his last bottles, such a seemingly endless supply. Aunt Gladys would always reassure me that I wasn’t taking his last Double Cola and showed me several cases stacked in a corner.

Uncle Hoyt would hoist us into his big, bony lap and tell us stories about camping and farming. He’d tell us about the herds of cattle that he once had grazing on the land. He’d tell us about the farmhands, and their families. Most memorable, he would hug us with his long, bony arms and the stubble on his face would brush my cheek, making it tickle. When he would stand, his head would nearly touch the ceiling and when he was able to walk, he was out in the yard or the garden. His stories made me dream of days in the 1940’s, when they were just a young couple trying to survive in rural Georgia.

Many stormy nights, the cousins would sit in the front parlor playing a board game and listening to the old 1930’s Philco cabinet radio. Uncle Hoyt would go to bed with the chickens so we had to be extra quiet, and careful not to wake him. There were times where our tickle boxes would get turned over, and I could hear him telling Aunt Gladys to tell us to hush. As a kid, I didn’t realize how truly sick he was or that his lungs were about to give out on him. In my mind, he will always be a frail, yet majestic man. He shared his love of Double Cola’s, and his love of togetherness. His big blue eyes held such a gentle spirit, even if sometimes his height was intimidating.

The old refrigerator soon gave way to a brown, new-style refrigerator, and Uncle Hoyt passed on. His supply of Double Cola’s soon dwindled away and faded from my memory. I always yearned for a taste of the sweet bliss and preferred it over any other soda. There were times when I would find a stray six pack in a store out of town, but that was a rare occasion. It wasn’t until just recently, almost thirty years later, that I found the sweet soda again. One taste and it brought back the memories of childhood, the hum of the old tractor, and the smell of freshly turned dirt. Another taste, and I could remember sitting in the rocking chairs of the big front porch, rocking until the crickets fell into slumber. Laughing, loving, and learning of a bygone era. It’s funny how something as simple as a little known soda could transcend time and take me back to my childhood, smelling the scents of their house and almost being able to taste the homemade peach ice cream. Perhaps all these years, it wasn’t the soda I craved, rather it was the breadth of the love that was spread amongst aunts and uncles, cousins, and such.

Sidenote: Freshway Market in Zebulon, Georgia now carries Double Cola, and other varieties, in their store. Take a sip of Double Cola, and take a trip down memory lane. Double Cola was rolled out in 1933, and earned its name from the 12 ounce bottles, which were “double” other rival sodas of the era.