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Feeding 600 people in three hours takes more planning than you'd think — and the crew has it down to a science.

Rain, snow, or heat wave, Carol Ann Pruitt has logged the same three miles since 2002 — and she's seen the town change one sidewalk at a time.
Local Personalities  |  September 16, 2026

Every Tuesday at 7:30, four people slide into the same booth at O'Rourke's Pub on Main Street. They order the same thing — two sodas, two beers, one basket of fries to split — and they wait for the trivia host to start reading questions. They have been doing this for six years. In that time, they have never finished higher than fourth place.

They call themselves the Same Old Suspects, which is a name they picked in 2018 because it was the only thing they could all agree on. The team is made up of Marlene, a retired school librarian; her brother Pete, who drives a delivery route; Pete's neighbor Dev, who works at the auto parts store; and Dev's cousin Angela, who moved back to town two years ago and took over the vacant seat when the previous fourth member, a guy named Hank, moved to Florida.

"We're not bad at trivia," Marlene told me, sounding like she'd been waiting for someone to ask. "We're bad at the categories they pick. There's a difference."

She's not wrong. The Suspects are strong on literature, geography, and anything from before 1985. They fall apart on pop music, sports, and whatever the host calls "the internet category." Their record for a single round is a perfect 10, which they achieved once, in 2021, on a night when every question happened to be about rivers.

More Than a Scorecard

The Suspects have become a fixture at O'Rourke's, and not because they're competitive. They're the team that claps for other teams. They're the ones who buy a round for whoever's in last place. The host, a local teacher named Renee, said she's had to remind them more than once that they're allowed to take the game seriously.

"They're here for the booth, not the trophy," Renee said. "And honestly, that's the whole point."

What keeps the team together isn't trivia. Marlene's husband died in 2017, and the Tuesday night tradition started a few months later when Pete suggested she needed something to look forward to. Dev had just gone through a divorce. Angela was new in town and didn't know anyone. The booth became a standing appointment none of them wanted to break.

They've missed maybe five Tuesdays in six years. Once for a snowstorm, twice for family obligations, and twice when O'Rourke's closed for repairs. On those nights, they met at Pete's kitchen table and played a trivia app on his phone. It wasn't the same, but it was close enough.

What They'd Tell You If You Asked

If you're thinking about joining a trivia night but you're worried you won't be good enough, the Suspects have a message: that's not the point. They've been losing for six years and they've never once considered quitting.

"We know the answers to the questions that matter," Marlene said, and then she laughed at herself for saying something that sounded like it belonged on a greeting card. Then she said it again anyway, because she meant it.

If you show up at O'Rourke's on a Tuesday, look for the booth by the window. They'll make room. They always do.

Design is future


We asked a dozen residents what tourists overlook, and their answers said a lot about who we are.

Behind Miller's Hardware, a half-acre of wildflowers and tomato vines has quietly become the town's most peaceful spot.

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For six years, the Same Old Suspects have shown up at O'Rourke's to lose at trivia — and to keep a friendship alive.

B. Johnso

Computer inside


The Whitakers built a tiny library in their front yard in 2014. They've been quietly keeping it full ever since.

Feeding 600 people in three hours takes more planning than you'd think — and the crew has it down to a science.

What's next?

Rain, snow, or heat wave, Carol Ann Pruitt has logged the same three miles since 2002 — and she's seen the town change one sidewalk at a time.


The Whitakers built a tiny library in their front yard in 2014. They've been quietly keeping it full ever since.

Conclusion


A tiny storefront with a hand-painted sign has quietly become the place where half the town starts its day.

Elite author
Gerald Pines has blown the same whistle for twenty-five years of Thanksgiving morning football, and he has no plans to stop.
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03 Comments

Gerald Pines has blown the same whistle for twenty-five years of Thanksgiving morning football, and he has no plans to stop.

Alice Rose

Sep 23, 2026 at 3:12 pm

What started as a kids' craft table has turned into the most hotly contested competition in town.

O.Henry

Sep 13, 2026 at 3:12 pm

No lattes, no pastries, no events calendar. Just books, a creaky floor, and the owner who knows what you'll want next.

Lima Azumi

Sep 13, 2026 at 3:12 pm

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