Blum on Bridge Southern Hospitality is For Real
	This is a story about Derrick. Sure, I attended a Regional last week where the usual tales of bridge are told. However, it was Derrick probably knowing only that bridges cross over water, highways and railroad tracks that made my week in Winston-Salem, N.C., a most memorable one. Let me tell you about "me and Derrick." Greensboro is about as far from Winston-Salem as Naples is from Marco. But because I was landing in the middle of the Tuesday evening rush hour I decided to take the "puddle jumper" from Charlotte to the smaller but closer Winston airport. I carried my bag to the street where there was the grand total of one taxicab. The driver quickly came over, took my bag, and in that wondrously unique Southern drawl politely asked my destination. I had just met Derrick. It's only a 10-minute drive to the Adams Mark Hotel, but in that short time period I found that Derrick was Winston-born, married to Angela for three months, and owned the cab he was driving since 1992. It also became clear to me that Angela and his cab were the two loves of his life. Angela, like Derrick, was in her mid-30s, worked for Pepsi Cola and helped drive the cab on weekends. Because Greensboro was so near, I mentioned that Connie and I made numerous trips there to visit her daughter, Denise. Apparently this didn't impress Derrick as, believe it or not, he had only been there twice in his life. His cab was his pride and joy. It was immaculate; not a speck of dust, dark leather seats glistened as the sun reflected through the window. It was cleaned almost daily to keep his passengers satisfied. He planned to follow Angela to Indiana on his first big trip to show off the cab to her parents. At the hotel he asked me to call Angela at home Sunday so he could drive me back to the airport. I agreed, little anticipating what was to be become a "Keystone Cops" adventure. Two hours before the appointed time of 8 p.m. I made my first call and got no answer. Finally, after repeated calls, I was rewarded when Derrick answered in that slow drawl that sounded as if he was asleep. "Ah wuz waitin' and Ahl be right thar," he said. And he was. The "puddle jumper" was to take me to Charlotte, and USAir was to leave for Fort Myers at 10:06 p.m. Derrick said he would drive me to Charlotte but I told him it wouldn't be necessary as I had a paid ticket. I did ask him how many times he'd been to Charlotte. "Once," he said. I said, "That's cool." At the terminal were all of four people, including the ticket agent who greeted me. I became a little irked when the agent kept me waiting while gabbing on the phone. Suddenly I heard the words "Fort Myers" and realized she was discussing me. After hanging up, she informed me that the "PJ" had sprung an oil leak and couldn't fly. USAir would pay for a night at a hotel for the only other ticket holder and me, flying us out Monday. Derrick to the rescue: "Ahl drive 'em to Charlotte." The agent caused Derrick to go bug-eyed when she told him the airline would pay him $100 for the trip. It turns out the fourth fellow was Derrick's brother (of course, what else) and had been to Charlotte. So he gave Derrick directions. Derrick called Angela, who was worried sick, but he told her he hadn't the time to pick her up. Interstate 85 has a speed limit of 65 mph. Derrick drove at a steady 57. I'm up front with Derrick. Lee, whose flight to Philly was to leave at the same time as mine, sat in back. Derrick fretted about Angela, so out came my cell phone. He told her both he and the cab were fine. Halfway to Charlotte, Derrick says "Ah gotta have a cup of coffee." Both Lee and I choked, but he quickly found coffee near the interstate and off we went. Now I'm sweating, so I called USAir and found they were holding both planes for us, as the agent had called. Finally Derrick realized we might not make our flight so he upped the speed to 60. At 10, we were out of the cab, but Derrick was still worried about Angela. So, as I ran huffing and puffing with bag in tow, I called her. I must have sounded near death as I told her Derrick was fine and on his way to her side. It also soothed her to know about the $100 plus tips he received from us. With heart pounding I boarded the delayed flight, sitting in a middle seat. My worries were abated somewhat when I found the window seat was occupied by a young lady intending to follow her parents' footsteps in the field of cardiology; on my right was Cardiologist Ron Levine of the Naples Heart Center.