Don’t Antagonize Angry, Awful Alvin Alligator

My father’s Mississippi Delta farm was so remote that a step in any direction was closer to civilization. Drainage canals crisscrossing the area provided ideal habitat for creatures that would have been right at home in the Jurassic Era: bullfrogs, catfish, moccasins, beavers, loggerhead turtles, fish eels, and alligators. My boyhood best friend and mentor Jaybird told terrifying tales about the canals, hoping to make us avoid them. The old black man knew that if we got in trouble, we’d be too far away to call for help. His stories about the canals’ alligators were the most frightening of all.

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Casting caution to the winds

In one story, he claimed that he and his pal Alvin were fishing in a spot on one canal called Bottomless Bend. When Alvin’s line got hung and he waded out to untangle it, the surface erupted, and ridged, spiked lines following a giant, gaping, tooth-filled alligator’s jaw, torpedoed toward him. In a heartbeat Alvin disappeared. When we asked if the giant gator Jaybird named Alvin in memory of his devoured friend still lived, he assured us that not only did he still lurk in Bottomless Bend, but also was bigger and meaner than ever. Sensing that we couldn’t resist seeing for ourselves, he said, “I’m warning you boys — don’t antagonize angry, awful Alvin Alligator.” Casting caution to the winds, my pals and I devised a plan that was certain to bring about Alvin’s demise: We would build a bomb. First, we stole a can of calcium carbide from the farm’s shop. When mixed with water, it generates a volatile gas used as cutting torch fuel. Next, we poured the carbide into a large glass jug, sealed watertight with a cork, weighted, and attached to a strong cord for lowering it into Bottomless Bend.

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flinging fish, snakes, turtles, and mud in every direction

Once the bomb was resting on the bottom near Alvin’s lair, our plan called for running the cord through a heavy piece of iron with a hole drilled in it that would zip down the cord and burst the glass, causing an instant explosion. We couldn’t wait to drag the vanquished blood brute of the deep to Jaybird’s doorstep. A large culvert projecting over the bend provided an ideal base of operations. From it we lowered the jug until it rested on the bottom, ran the cord through the iron, and dropped it. Following an instant earth-shaking, seismic, doomsday rumble, a geyser rivaling Old Faithful erupted skyward, flinging fish, snakes, turtles, and mud in every direction. Certain that everyone at the farm headquarters heard the blast and would investigate, we fled the scene. Later that day, we returned to the bend, but found no trace of Alvin. When we told Jaybird what we did, he muttered, “I heard that loud boom and figured you crazy kids were up to no good. Now that mean man-killer is madder than ever. I’m warning you fools, unless y’all can’t wait to be hot lunch for an enraged reptile, stay away from Bottomless Bend: Don’t antagonize angry, awful Alvin Alligator.”

This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s upcoming book, entitled The Jaybird Tales. The book will be available before the holiday season. Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (jimmycecilreedjr@gmail.com).

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