Eerie Ed Eddards

Of all the men I employed during my farming career, Ed Eddards was the most peculiar. Eerie describes him better. One March day, he appeared out of thin air.

My Doberman Pinscher Guvnuh, my old black mentor Jaybird, and I were looking at a flat on a tractor when we heard, “I need a job.” We whirled around and there stood Ed. Growling, Guvnuh scooted against my leg, and Jaybird whispered, “Sumpin’ ain’t right ’bout dat man.” “You the boss?” “Yep. Ever done farm work?” “No. I learn quick.” I hired him.

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Ed was a wanderer who walked on life’s wild side. He got fired from his last job as a Greyhound bus driver for joyriding. After shuttling a football team to New Orleans, he took a girl sightseeing in the bus. If he hadn’t gone the wrong way on a one-way street and set off a galaxy of blue lights, he might have gotten away with it. One Friday night I witnessed firsthand Ed’s wild nature. We’d gotten a good July rain, and drove to town to shoot a few rounds of pool. We went in a farm truck with a rear bumper made of railroad iron. Mississippi Delta juke joints aren’t salubrious, and Joe’s Lounge was the unhealthiest. Farm hands had been known to get paid on Friday, go there, and disappear. We were chatting between games, when five men strolled in. One asked if we cared to shoot a few rounds. Ed agreed. In typical pool shark fashion, Ed let the guy beat him several games. After each loss, he demanded another round and upped the ante. When his opponent’s friends joined in the betting, Ed chalked his stick and cleaned house. “Boss, I sho’ fleeced them rednecks,” he said. “This here’s enough to pay down on that car I been wantin’.” Then the loser tapped him on the shoulder. “We’re from Arkansas. Folks on our side of the river don’t take kindly to pool sharks. Return the money, or tomorrow you’ll be a one-day-old ghost.” Ed’s eyes gleamed the way a birddog’s do when he sees his master take down a fowling piece. Juke joint brawls were prime entertainment for him. I intervened and told Ed to return the money. In the parking lot, Ed noticed there was only one car with an Arkansas tag. Before I could stop him, he rammed it with the railroad bumper. “That’ll teach them sore losers,” he guffawed. I was stunned, speechless. We made a big crop, and I loaned Ed enough money to buy his dream car. Later that day, he pulled up in a shiny Oldsmobile coupe. “Ain’t she a beauty, Boss?” I didn’t know whether he meant the car or the brunette beside him. “While we got some downtime at the farm, I’m takin’ my lady friend on a tour of New Orleans.” Just as he appeared out of thin air, he disappeared into thin air. That was the last I ever saw of eerie Ed Eddards.