Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: TUESDAY, June 29, 1993                   TAG: 9309010268
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 6   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Kathleen Wilson
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

IT WAS A PARTY THE `BEVERLY HILLBILLIES' WOULD HAVE LOVED

``Lawrence and I both came from hard-working families with working-class ethics,'' Michelle explained, as seriously as she could while wearing a white baseball cap with a pink pig's snout, ears and corkscrew tail.

``So when we built the pool, we figured we really had become `The Beverly Hillbillies.'''

You should have seen Lawrence - they call him L.T. - wearing a chef's hat and sunglasses when he joined members of the band Fescue for his very own bluegrass version of George Thorogood's ``Bad to the Bone.''

Guests settled down at banquet tables covered with red table cloths in the NEW garage of the Taylor's tony home, where I could live very comfortably - if only they'd let me move in.

And if Diogenes is still out there wandering around with his lantern in search of that one honest man, he can call off the hunt. I found him.

He's Michelle's brother, Tom Blankenship.

Tom wanted to know where I got the ``gawd-awful'' shorts I was wearing. (Hawaiian print bicycle shorts that, I might add, I was wearing for the very first time.)

``I didn't invite you to MY pig pickin' because I didn't like you much,'' he told me. Not that Tom actually knew me or anything. We'd never met. (Is it any surprise that Tom's wife and Michelle's husband joke about forming a support group for people who married Blankenships?)

Besides, he figured there wasn't a pig's chance at a pig pickin' that I'd ever write about any party that a Republican threw.

Tom did take me out front to show me his car, though.

``It's an ego thing,'' he joked, showing off the kind of bright-red Corvette I always dreamed Prince Charming would arrive in back when I was in high school.

When Michelle joined us up on the road, the two got into a brother and sister bout of one-upmanship, showing off their fancy remote car-security systems.

``Betcha can't do THIS!'' taunted Michelle, punching a button on her key ring in the direction of her garage, causing the horn to blare from her Lincoln Town Car.

``You and that hillbilly stagecoach!'' Tom retorted.

\ Jimmy Bain is still this area's theme-meister of party-throwers.

This is the man who actually hosted a Beer Golf tournament a couple years ago. (You know, 18 bars with a different number of par brews at each. And yes, there was a designated driver...)

On June 12, Jimmy celebrated Flag Day as only Jimmy could, with his annual Beers of the World party in Salem.

I tried the Fisher D'Alsace LaBelle Strasbourgeoise from France. Everyone was afraid to try the Chimay Ale. It came in a big corked bottle with a label proclaiming that it had been brewed and bottled in Belgium by Trappist monks.

Joel Branscom, harmonica-playing, Kafka-loving Assistant Commonwealth's Attorney, was just drinking Bud.

Christian Moody, editor of the Salem Times-Register, was a manly man, sucking back a bottle of Cave Creek Chili beer dry, then biting the red pepper pickled inside.

It was OK with him that I worked at the Roanoke Times & World-News.

``Hey, I read Calvin and Hobbes every day,'' he said with a sly grin.

\ Adam Cicero is the ONLY reason in the world that I can imagine for wishing I was 14 again.

You remember Adam. He's the thoroughly appealing 14-year-old I met at Helen St. John's garden birthday party last year. He was showing off his sister, Holly, who was just a month old. Adam was proud of how she looked that day, the first she'd ever worn a party dress.

The sight of Adam earlier this month gliding Holly, now a 1-year-old, through her first swimming adventure in the Taylors' pool at the pig pickin' was nothing less than another Adam Cicero Kodak moment.

But Adam made my day when, after reading last week's column about Russ Peters' marriage proposal, he called the Mingling line and left the following message:

``Hey, Kathy. It's Adam. Sounds like I've got some competition, huh?''

This message is all the more delightful because Holly was giggling in the background.

According to his mom, Stephanie, Adam is not only the world's greatest brother, but he cooks and cleans and weeds the garden, too.

So, with those substantial mitigating factors in mind - no, Adam, you've got no competition.

But it sure makes my head spin to think about how much I must have.