Because the Mississippi Delta is snake heaven, many folks who live there learn to tolerate them. Even my mother wasn’t too frightened by snakes, as long as she saw them ahead of time; instead of chopping one to pieces with her hoe when working in the garden, she’d just shoo him away because she knew snakes preyed on varmints that preyed on her vegetables. On the other hand, if she discovered a chicken snake in one of her hen nests, he had eaten his last egg, and became haute cuisine for the hogs.
Mostly, though, snake phobia is common. Brick Branton, my roommate during our college freshman year, got his nickname from his physique. He was short, with a thick neck, chest, and legs — built like a brick, strong as one, and fearful of nothing … except snakes.
When a big, dumb Yankee kid found out about Brick’s phobia, he sneaked into our room one night after I’d fallen asleep, and hung a spookily real looking lime-green rubber snake with red eyes and forked tongue from the bottom of my bed — the one above Brick’s.
My roomy returned from a date, crawled in bed and decided to read a bit. Immediately upon clicking on the light, the pseudo-serpent dangled in his face.
Brick’s bellow shook the building, and his sudden exit from bed catapulted me straight into the ceiling. In time, he identified the prankster, re-designed his face, and almost sent him back across the Mason-Dixon in a box.
Years later, Brick and I were chatting about our college days. When I mentioned the snake incident, he told me about an even more horrifying encounter with a real snake.
On a trip to Florida, he couldn’t find suitable lodging, and ended up in a somewhat seedy motel. Worn out from traveling, all he wanted was a good night’s rest. He pulled back the sheets, got in bed, and reached over for the pillow. When he picked it up, a moccasin raised its sleepy head and peered angrily at him through slanted eyes. Brick went ballistic.
“You were lucky. Moccasins are venomous. What did you do?”
“He never had a chance to strike,” Brick said. “I nearly ripped the door off its hinges, tore the chain lock from the jamb, ran down to the front office in my underwear, jerked the night attendant over the counter, dragged him to the room, and made him pick up the pillow. The poor guy was also terrified of snakes, and nearly trampled me as he fled. Without mentioning the damaged door, the trembling clerk refunded the trembling guest’s money.”
“Everyone has phobias, and handling them is difficult,” I said. “All we can do is try to put them behind us, and go on with life.”
“Well, one thing is for certain,” he said. “In a flash, I put that snake behind me, but I still shudder when I think about that night I almost spent with what I’ll always remember as ‘Brick’s bed buddy’.”
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
