But it was our shared love of Henry Lamont, today's groom, that really made us fast friends. Bonnie Blue had worked with him and I had taught him, and I think he was as dear to each of us as a son.

Now we stood together waiting for the car that was moving about a foot a minute. The car in which we

could see Fred tapping his palms on the steering wheel.

"Debbie better make that Henry happy," Bonnie Blue said. "That's all I got to say about it."

"Amen," I agreed. Then I remembered Debbie was my niece and that I loved her. "I hope they make each other happy."

"Amen. You and Fred have been married how long?"

"Forty years. Forty happy years."

The car pulled up in front of us and Fred leaned over and opened the car door. "Dammit! Next time you walk."

The reception was held at The Club. This is a beautiful private club on the crest of Red Mountain. Not much imagination went into naming it, but a lot went into the design of the building. Every room has walls of windows that afford spectacular views of the city of Birmingham on one side, and on the other Shades Valley and Shades Mountain.

There are two things that always startle people who are visiting Birmingham for the first time. The first is that the terrain is mountainous, the rolling last gasp of the Appalachian chain, rich in ore. The second is the statue of Vulcan, the god of the forge. The largest iron statue in the world, it stands on the crest of Red Mountain close to The Club where the reception was being held. Visible from anywhere in downtown Birmingham, it makes getting lost almost impossible. Head toward it, you're going south. If it's on your left, you're heading west. So it does serve a navigational purpose as well as being a symbol of the iron industry that the city was built upon.

And it's a nice tourist attraction. There's a pleasant

park at the base of the statue for picnics, and the people who climb the steps to the top of the statue are rewarded with a spectacular view of downtown Birmingham and distant mountains. There is also a neat little gift shop with T-shirts and beer buggers emblazoned with the back view of Vulcan and the words, "Buns of Iron." That's because the picnickers are being mooned by the largest iron butt in the world. So are all the residents on the south side of Red Mountain. Vulcan, the god of the forge, wears an apron that comes only halfway around.

Every few years, a halfhearted attempt will be made to cover Vulcan's derriere. But nothing comes of it. The truth is that most of us are rather fond of old Vulcan, bare-assed though he is.