I hope everyone has a favorite uncle. Kids need favorite uncles. Mine was my father’s brother, Randy. Uncle Randy is 12 years younger than dad was, and he’s 12 years older than Sweet Pea. He’s an impressive character even before you know much about him. He was a college football player at Northwest Mississippi Jr. College and the heavy weight Judo Champion of the state of Mississippi. You may not think being a Judo champion in Mississippi is a big deal, and maybe it’s not, but he beat up the whole DEKE chapter from Ole Miss when they tried to put him in the Fountain in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel in Memphis. From my perspective, that makes him a pretty bad ass. Uncle Randy eventually went to Ole Miss, and in addition to having beat up a frat in the lobby of the Peabody, he ultimately graduated from Law School.
I remember Uncle Randy had a king hell Camaro, but always seemed to prefer his old pickup truck. I did, too. Uncle Randy and I are pickup truck guys. In the Camaro we had to drive on roads. In the truck we went to the Place. The Place was a farm that Uncle Randy bought right after he got out of Law School. There was lot of fun to be had at the place. The Place has to be one of my all time favorite places to go. It wasn’t much. Just about 40 acres with a falling down barn, a well, a creek and an old, well worn house where Otis lived. What ever farming was done on the Place was done by Otis.
Uncle Randy had a motorcycle. He used to take me for rides on it. We’d go see his all motorcycle friends. They weren’t a gang or anything. They were just a bunch of good ole boys with motorcycles. We rode all over North Mississippi and I had a hell of a time. I had to promise not to tell about going for a ride on the motorcycle. Mom and Dad didn’t like motorcycles at all. Writing this is probably the first time I have shared that particular adventure with anyone. Mom and Dad passed many years ago, so I am safe from punishment until I reach the hereafter. Back in the day, riding with Uncle Randy was an incredibly exciting, forbidden adventure. Perhaps one of the things that made it so special was that I couldn’t tell anyone about it, not Sweet Pea and certainly not blabber mouth…excuse me….the Goob. I learned that the key to keeping a secret was to not tell anyone.
Papaw bought two horses to put on the Place. One was an easy-going Quarter horse named ‘Bill’, and the other was a very tightly wound Tennessee Walker named ‘Ginger’. Something I noticed was that when we visited Mamaw and Papaw, Dad sometimes just didn’t have ‘time’ to take us to the place to ride. Sweet Pea, Matt and I understood. There was more to a visit to Mamaw and Papaw’s house than riding horses. Uncle Randy always had time to take us to the Place, and ride with us. We rode all up in the woods, and saw where the catfish ponds used to be. We made it all the way to the top of a hill one time and could look out over that fields between the Place and Highway 51.
Uncle Randy loved cigars. Despite rumors to the contrary, he never let me have a cigar or a beer. He did send me to the Big Star occasionally to buy cigars for him, but he never gave me one. It never ceases to amaze me that the folks at Big Star did not bat an eye at a 12-year-old boy buying a dozen King Edward cigars. My! how have times changed.
One time when Uncle Randy took Sweet Pea, the Goob and I to the Place, he let me shoot a shotgun. It was the very first time I ever shot a gun. It was a 12Ga. Uncle Randy put a tin-can on a fence post, and I shot it off. I don’t remember Uncle Randy laughing when the gun knocked me down, but I know he must have. I know I probably laughed too and I am sure the Goob and Sweet Pea laughed. Neither one of them shot the gun.
When I was about 10 or 12, I read Uncle Randy’s copy of The American Rifleman, a magazine published by the NRA. It was very interesting reading for a kid who had never been hunting, and only fired a gun once. For Christmas that year, and a number of years thereafter, Uncle Randy gave me an NRA membership. A subscription to the National Rifleman was one of the benefits of membership. I used to read it cover to cover. I was amazed at the letters they published from soldiers in View Nam who were using the ‘new’ M-16. I wondered how the guys over there managed to fight the Viet Cong when their guns kept jamming all the time.
In the early 1960s, Ole Miss had a really good football team. Mom and Dad used to deposit us at Mamaw and Papaw’s house while they drove down to Oxford to watch an Ole Miss football game. I used to try to stay awake until Uncle Randy came in at night. He stayed out really late, way past 9:00pm. I don’t think I ever managed to stay awake until he came in, but it was fun to try. One of the best things about staying with Mamaw and Papaw when Mom and Dad went to a game was that Uncle Randy would pay me twenty five cents to rake the front yard . Mom and Dad always dropped us off on Friday afternoon after school. Uncle Randy would have me rake the yard, and then he would take me to the Hernando High football game that night. He always bought me a coke and a hotdog, so I didn’t have to spend my twenty-five cents.
Sweet Pea, The Goob and I spent a good deal of time at Mamaw and Papaw’s. One time when the Goob and I were riding Ginger together, we ducked to go under some tree limbs. When we ducked down, we must have spooked Ginger because she started bucking and threw both of us off. Uncle Randy came running over and he checked the Goob first.
“Boy, are you hurt?”, Uncle Randy said in a loud but calm voice.
“Yes sir”, came the reply in a shaky voice
“Where are you hurt?”, Uncle Randy asked as he inspected the Goob for damage.
“I don’t know, but I’m hurt somewhere”, the Goob said.
I always liked staying at Mamaw and Papaw’s house. I spent a lot of time with Uncle Randy doing things that I never would have had a chance to otherwise do. Riding motorcycles and shooting guns was fun beyond description. Uncle Randy was a man of amazing adventure to a 10 or 12 year old kid. One night Uncle Randy and I went fishing on the spillway over at Arkabutla Reservoir. Well, I’m just going put this out there. When you are 12 years old and you are fishing in the middle of the night about 50 feet from where Uncle Randy is fishing, and you reel in your line expecting to find a catfish but instead find a snaggle toothed prehistoric monster fish with legs and a hell of a snout sporting a million sharp, pointy teeth, well, you will scream like a girl.
It was a pretty decent Alligator Gar.
I hope you have a favorite uncle. I hope he was as much fun as mine.
It’s not as ugly as an alligator gar, and it’s a lot more fun.
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