Photo from the author’s collection.
My father was many things: son of a family down on its luck because of the Depression, self-taught engineer, and artist. He was courageous, reckless at times, and fiercely ambitious. He was also handsome enough to entice Miss Burke County of 1938 to marry him.
His idols were engineers of dams and skyscrapers, and engineer he was and looked the part in John Wayne boots and army khaki pants, tweed coat and felt fedora in cold weather. Shirt with flap pockets for his Chesterfields.
Some days when disappointment haunted him, he might drink to cut the stress. He took me fishing sometimes far off in the salt marshes and bays around Brunswick where redfish congregated over oyster beds at high tide a mile from the rental dock across open salt water. We fished with live shrimp. When the Spots, Redfish and Sheepshead were biting, it was arm-numbing fun reeling them in to the old wooden boat with its hand-crank gas engine.
On one September Saturday outing a storm came on fast across the marshes and fishermen hurried to retrieve their lines and stow their rods before starting their outboards. We did too. But a hard pull on the starter rope failed to crank the engine.
Dad tossed his cigarette and checked the gas. Empty. He grabbed the gas can and with an unsteady but very deliberate motion he filled the engine’s tank, spilling enough gas to top off Brunswick Sound..
With the gas cap back in place, Dad coiled and yanked the starter line. The engine sprang to life without a hitch. Pleased with himself, he lit a cigarette in celebration and tossed the still burning match into the oily film that surrounded our tiny boat.
Nearby fishermen stopped their escape preparations and watched as four-foot flames surrounded our boat.
Standing at the stern seat, Dad grabbed the tiller and, disdainful of the audience of incredulous fishermen, steered us through the flames. Sitting paralyzed with fear in the front of the boat, I looked back to see my father assume a stance that reminded me of the painting in my classroom of Washington Crossing the Delaware
Maybe not for you at the time, but this is really funny, your Dad sounds like a guy that would be really great to have as a friend!!!
Tillman,
Thanks for your comment. When I was a boy he was an an exciting guy to be around. He also had to deal with some terrible disappointments and the consequences of the ups and downs in the construction field. Fishing was often his solace and I learned to love it as well. I must post my own big bass story soon.
Joe
Joe
Always a great story, Daddy. I can see it clearly in my mind. Wish I could have met him. Granny Baby was the sweetest person I ever met.
Hi Mary,
Thanks for reading. Your grandmother’s stories have inspired much of what I write about and I hope you saw the one about the car turning over on a remote back road while she was driving. You can copy and paste the article link into your search engine with this address. https://longleafjournal.com/baby-on-the-dirt-road-recalling-my-mothers-grit/.
Dad