It was in my late teens that I spent a very brief period of time, just weeks, working in the town of Dolthan, Alabama on a construction job down there. Back then Dolthan really was just a small town.
One day while having a flat tire repaired at a busy service station on US 431, a major route for northern tourists traveling to and from parts of the Florida Panhandle, I watched as the owner of the service station interacted with the many customers. most of them northerners headed south. "I love yankees," he would say as they drove away. "I just love yankees."
After a bit a man came in driving a new Chrysler with Alabama tags. The service station owner pumped his gas, took his money, and then as the man drove away he shouted, "Damned Yankee!" as if the driver could actually hear him.
"What's the difference between him and the rest of those yankees?" I asked.
"Those other yankees come down here to vacation, spend their money and go home," the man explained, "That damned Yankee came here to stay."