Jimmy Reed

Atlas

For Atlas the Airedale, a dog’s life was heaven. His luminous eyes shone in quizzical, mischievous anticipation, his mustache-framed mouth smiled permanently, and his wiry coat glowed like amber. He had rocket fuel energy and an anvil’s tolerance for pain.

… And Smoking, Too

The circumstances that caused my friend Randy Jackson to quit smoking at age twelve weren’t a blessing, although the result was.

Mr. Hall’s 8 Ball

In the small Mississippi Delta town of Leland, we members of the class of 1961 were blessed to have J. T. Hall as our principal. In addition to being the school’s administrative leader, he had taught and coached every member of our class.

Keep On Waving

In the movie “Crocodile Dundee,” one scene involved the Australian hunter’s visit to New York City. In keeping with his outback, mannerly ways, he greeted passersby on a crowded sidewalk, tipped his hat and said, “goo-day, Mate.”

America’s Achilles Heel

Recently, a civic organization asked me to be the guest speaker during their weekly luncheon. My ego being what it is, I accepted, even though final examinations were in progress at the small college where I teach.

Looking For His Flute

Even if the hospital is a short distance away, city mothers expecting to give birth at any time may feel a little anxious. When Mama was pregnant with me, her first child, she was more than just a little anxious: The hospital was half a county away.

A Deal’s A Deal

Mark Twain once said, “The way it is now, asylums can hold all the sane people, but if we try to shut up all the insane we’d run out of building materials.”

Sweet Riggum

When our cousin Millicent, who lived up north in a big city, came to the Mississippi Delta for a visit, the pure country air didn’t invigorate her as much as our vernacular vexed her.

The Real Sheriff

Jaybird, the old black man who was my boyhood best friend and mentor, warned me not to be deputized, but our little Mississippi Delta farming community was too far out for the law’s long arm to reach quickly, so I let the sheriff talk me into carrying a badge.

Sometimes It Bees That Way

Ever so often a fellow stumbles into calamities worse than he could ever imagine. Consider mythological Actaeon. He and his dogs were hunting when he spied Artemis bathing in a stream. Red-blooded god Actaeon froze, staring at that stark-naked, gorgeous babe.

Boy, Boy, Boy, Boy, Boy

Newman was old, cantankerous, and deaf as a doorknob, but mighty handy around the farm. One of his regular chores was hauling off garbage, and he would let me sit on his knees and steer the old flat bed truck as we drove to the dump.

Burning Old Jack

Bubba was always cheerful, but on that August day, when he handed me a can, he was as solemn as a mortician.

A Real Cowboy

I always wanted to be a cowboy. A while back, as I strutted through an airport, decked out in boots, jeans, a big belt buckle, western, snap-button shirt and wide-brimmed, ten-gallon Stetson, a little girl tugged at her mother’s dress, pointed at me and squealed, “Look, Mama — a real cowboy!” I’m still floating on that comment.

Muddy Buddies

A Harley-Davidson motorcycle might be the highest art form ever devised by mankind. Its engine’s deep-throated, all-American, guts-and-glory roar brings tears to my eyes.

Job, Wife, And Truck

There are strange things done at cotton gins By the men who bale white gold; We ginners all have a tale or two That’d make your blood run cold. In long days and nights, we’ve seen strange sights, But the strangest I ever did gaze Was that night ole Jock parked at my dock, With a load o’ bales — all set ablaze! —J. Reed

Beware Bees, Bearded Brother

Because hirsute honey lovers have raided their hives since the dawn of creation, bees hate hairy creatures, and the preacher’s face was covered with hair.

All-Day Sucker

Folks who think money can do anything don’t have much of it. Years ago, on Uptown Avenue, the main thoroughfare of my little hometown in the Mississippi Delta, Andy, a friend of mine, didn’t have a cent, and was certain money could do anything … especially buy him an All-Day Sucker at Peach-Eye’s Grocery.

Peanut Lady’s Paradise

“He was such good man,” the tiny Oriental woman said in tortured English, handing me a bag of peanuts. A solitary tear coursed down her leathery, grieving face. “One minute we talk, next minute he fall dead.”

Yo’ Country Cousin

My mother and Jaybird befriended animals — then slaughtered them. Mama loved chickens, but showed no feelings when fixing to fry fowl for family feasts. She’d chortle her feed call while scattering corn from her apron, and the flock flapped to the feeding frenzy.

Better Nate Than Lever

In one of the “Dirty Harry” movies, Clint Eastwood aims a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum hand cannon with a culvert-sized barrel squarely between the eyes of a hoodlum who fingers his own gun’s trigger momentarily, then decides a stretch in the hoosegow is preferable to instant headlessness, and gingerly hands over his much smaller pop gun. Handcuffing the thug, Eastwood observed, “A man has got to know his limitations.”