Carr Benton is the owner of the feed store here in town. He is as redneck as they get. Always wearing cowboy boots and a hat. His mannerisms, speech, and demeanor spell country through and through. To judge him too quickly could lead to missing out on the fact that he is a Harvard graduate. To say he is smart is an understatement. He had a facility for schooling. To no purpose, just get in and get out. Harvard has always tried to reach out to all parts of the country looking for suitable students. Trying to raise awareness of the benefits of the keen Harvard-trained brain in all parts of America. Little did they realize that down South we cherish our irredeemable assholes. Carr is our boy and a wonderful torch bearer for the pricks of the world. Like Michigan football of late. The family of the guy who wrote their football fight song wants it back. Harvard wouldn’t turn down their returned sheepskin from Carr either.
Carr inherited the store and loosely manages the place. Business is good (the only feed store around) and with the help of a good manager, it makes him money. It affords him a 1960 Thunderbird convertible to drive around. To the outside observer, he knows how to make a business look like unemployment.
The only thing his manager hears him say is, “You figure it out.”
When people tell him that he sure was lucky to hire the right manager.
He replies, “You know, I might be a good judge of horseflesh.”
A sixty-five-year-old man driving around in a coral pink T-Bird convertible wearing a cowboy hat. That is about as country as you can get. As Carr says, “That’s Flyover Country”. His car is in perfect shape, new paint job, engine, brakes, and the best upholstery. If it can’t be done with panache, don’t bother. He has perfected the nod of the head and a touch of the brim of his hat with his index finger as a wave to others. If he just wasn’t such a prick.
Loretta says, “He doesn’t suffer fools well.”
To which Dwight replies, “Does that mean asshole?”
After Harvard when Mr. Benton returned home, he had a brand-new wife. A pretty New England girl he met at school. She was so vibrant and happy. You could tell this girl planned on building a life and she had an Ivy League man to do it with. She immediately got pregnant and nine months later there was a Carr Benton Jr. Well, what she didn’t plan on was that Sr. had no plans to move ahead. The feed store made enough money and there was a big library close by. His mother always said the smartest people in the world wanted to talk to him and they could be found at the Library. There were even people in there to help explain what they said if that was an issue. So, reading was his passion.
She was horrified by the prospect of a lifetime of tractor pulls, barbeques, rodeos, and long-neck beer. The ballroom dancing lessons, preparatory schools, and French lessons were all for naught here. Long gone are the days when at a dinner party someone would say, “Oh the poor. Has anyone heard how they’re doing?” She knew exactly how they are doing. She is in line with them at Walmart. They are buying lottery tickets at convenience stores. She concluded that lottery tickets are a plot by the government to get their money back from the poor.
Their lives had an at-rest inertia. No one wanted to fix or improve their situation. Carr thought that being married to a Harvard woman meant that at the end of the day, she would be recounting all of the things she learned or was doing. She felt the same about him. Their son was the impetus that a divorce needed. She was horrified that the schools didn’t give out participation trophies. He was horrified that participation trophies existed. It devolved from there. After ten years of bickering about child-rearing. They got a divorce. It was as if she was in a dumpster filled with fly paper. As she climbed out and started walking back East. She would have to pause every few steps and shake her leg. Trying to get rid of that last piece of paper stuck to her foot. The ultimate sadness of a divorce is that the paper is a metaphor for Jr.