news-record.com

GREENSBORO — I ate lunch with PD on Monday at Stamey’s.

They didn’t know me. But they sure knew him.

PD had spent nearly three decades behind the cash register, in his green apron, working as the shift manager and ringing up barbecue plates and milkshakes. He knew everybody, from the customers to the staff.

And they knew him.

A few weeks ago, he retired. He is 83. His legs and hips can’t take the constant standing behind the counter anymore. So, a few Sundays ago, he got a big send-off at the restaurant, the longtime staple across from the Greensboro Coliseum.

PD got a plaque — and a promise. He could get a free milkshake with every visit.

Well, he went Monday. Me and him.

And there he sat at the counter, sixth stool from the right. He dug a spoon into his milkshake — chocolate, his favorite. During Stamey’s busy lunch rush, where the worldly and working-class eat on High Point Road, he held court.

He couldn’t have been happier.

“How does it feel to be on the other side of the counter?’’ asked waitress Patty Thomas.

“Well,’’ he said, “I feel lost over here.’’

“We were just talking about you this morning,’’ Patty told PD, “And here you are!’’

And there he was. Prentiss David Freeman, better known as PD.

He saw our country grow up. He was nearly 16, selling sandwiches and magazines at a newsstand in Fayetteville, when he heard on the radio about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. He knew he had to go help.

So, he signed up on his 17th birthday. On his 18th birthday, he went. Prentiss Freeman — PD, the oldest of three, the son of a garbage man — joined the Navy and spent four years in the South Pacific.

He nearly got killed once. A few Japanese warplanes dropped two bombs 30 yards from his barracks. The bombs didn’t go off. PD and his buddies jumped into a foxhole. Back then, he felt invincible. Today, he feels just lucky.

He came back, married Maxine Morrison in June 1946 and raised two daughters and a son. PD sold shoes and owned a string of steakhouse restaurants, from Macon, Ga., through Greensboro, to Richmond, Va.

But after competition killed his franchise, PD visited the man he first met over breakfast at Stamey’s on Battleground. That was Charles Stamey, the second-generation barbecue man.

PD asked about a job. Stamey hired him. It was February 1980. PD started out working the drive-through window at Stamey’s bigger, fancier restaurant on High Point Road that had just opened. In two months, he moved to shift manager.

PD never left.

A few years ago, he missed President George W. Bush when he stopped by Stamey’s. But he didn’t miss the coaches coming over from the ACC men’s basketball tournament across the street.

He’s even got an autograph from UNC coach Roy Williams.

Yes, PD loved his spot behind the cash register. Wearing his green apron.

“I was a poor country boy with not a lot of education, and I felt this was as good as I could do,’’ PD said Monday. “And yeah, I think everything worked out good. I don’t have as many gray hairs if I was running my own place, doing it yourself.

“I was working for somebody else, and they had all the responsibility,’’ he says, laughing. “But it was hard to walk away. I was doing well financially. And I really liked it. But there comes a time when you can’t do it anymore.

“After 83 years, my legs plumb wore out.’’

Maxine, his wife of nearly 58 years, died a few weeks before Christmas 2003. She was 75, suffering from Alzheimer’s. So, PD lives with his oldest daughter, Gail, in a stretch of country where Richard Petty first learned to drive.

He’s got a sister in Raleigh, whom he visits. And he has his recliner where he watches the Atlanta Braves. And he has six grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren, all of whom call him “Paw Paw.’’

And yes, he has Stamey’s. And his free milkshake.

“It’s my No. 1 home,’’ he said Monday at the counter, at Stool No. 6. “I’ve spent more time here than anywhere else.’’

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com