Several years ago, when we wintered in Dauphin Island, we ventured out in search of B&B Pecans on the advice of condo friends we’d recently made. “It’s not to be missed,” they told us. So, we didn’t.
We took the long way—a ferry ride to Fort Morgan and then a drive up the coast, a delightful ride through Alabama back roads. We also discovered that while the trip, after the ferry ride, took an hour, it only took a record second for us to finish eating one bag of praline pecans. We’ve since learned to act as referees for one another.
We’re back visiting Gulf Shores. With our first step on the sand, we agreed we needed to return to B&B Pecans in Fairhope. This time, more than the allure of delicious pecans drew us to the Mom and Pop shop on our second day on the island. We were eager to see Clarence Bishop, the charming owner, the storyteller. On me and my husband’s best travels, we absorb people’s warmth and their stories.
Years ago on our first visit, Clarence’s slow southern drawl captivated us as he shared stories of his loves—his wife Sandra (she was somewhere exercising that first visit, I believe), his family, his photos, his beginnings, his Korean War years. Our lives collided with his for a half hour—and it was smashing success. He left us amazed and wanting to know more.
This is our fourth visit, and Clarence greeted us as if we were old friends. It didn’t matter if we’d been there three times or ten thousand. He met us entering the building as he walked an entire two hundred feet from the house next door to the retail store. When we pulled up, I saw him exit the house. Southern comfort washed over me, knowing he was still greeting customers in his friendly fashion. It was like coming home. You won’t meet eyes with Clarence without a conversation. When he discovered, once again, we were from Illinois, he immediately guided us to the poster size photo display of his bride (who is from DeKalb) and his tour and stories began anew.
He’s been married sixty-seven years to his bride. When I dared to ask his age, he smiled and asked me to guess. I started at 80. He didn’t let me in on the secret easily, but I now know he’s 90. Fortunately, we again witnessed a true storyteller in action.
Having served three years in the Korean War, he’s donned a Korean War Veteran hat with pride every time we’ve visited. He’s also shown us to his other Korean War hats on display. “They beat the hell out of me,” he remarked. As evidence, he showed us his jaw where shrapnel had to be dug out.
Storytellers don’t know strangers. He is no exception to that rule, touring us around his pecans, his office, his photos, and his facilities. He answered questions we pitched him with a detailed response. When we left, way later than the five minutes it would have taken us to decide what we wanted, we didn’t want to be strangers. Maybe it’s because he’s so darn cute. But more, it’s because he expresses such great pride in his wife, his family, his service to our country, and the good fortune and hard work it took to maintain his business that his kids now run. They’ve weathered hardships and hurricanes, but you’ll have to come visit yourself for those stories.
Clarence doesn’t push the pecan sales, but he’ll find what your heart desires. What he sells is himself, and he is magical. I rather think his type of magic has been the sweet success behind his business.
There’s something about watching him tell his story that feels like true love and a life well lived. I wanted him to know we loved the minutes we mingled with him.
Our visit ended with a purchase of our tried-and-true favorites, praline pecans and honey toasted pecans, along with some mini-turtle pecans for a little extra sweetness. Oh, and we’ve since learned to buy the larger bags.
