ABSTRACT
J erry's wide gut, shirtless, sweating, dominated the porch; him hollering for another beer from his brother Sam who had gone back upstairs
through the shattered door frame Jerry broke in a rage last night. Jessi Rae, her mouth grimaced, missing many teeth, sat on a dark green car seat across from him on the narrow side porch. They were talking about "hillbillies." It was one of many discussions on this topic, a subject that they savored with ever renewed fascination. All three of them, with varying degrees of pride, buffoonery, shamelessness, or gusto, made a point of letting me know that they were hillbillies. Jerry and Sam were hillbillies from "West Goddamn Virginia! That's how they say it down there." Except they both had been
born in Detroit. Their daddy left West Virginia in 1941 and came to Detroit to work on the assembly lines. He married a woman from Kentucky (or from Detroit-their stories varied) and they raised six kids together in an apartment building just a couple of miles from downtown. The building was full of other Appalachian migrants or hillbillies. Jessi Rae's family lived there when they arrived from Kentucky in the early 1960s. Jerry and Jessi Rae met as teenagers in 1968 and they have been together ever since.
