Jimmy Reed

… Ain’t Nobody Happy

Nowadays individuality is not always smiled upon, and enlightened, social progressives promote the “it takes a village” mentality, which reminds me of a word I don’t like: uniformity.

Midnight Ride Of Tom Tripe

To be a Mohican, candidates had to read Huckleberry Finn, get wounded in a fight during recess at school, kiss a girl, and survive a life-threatening feat.

Old-Age Gauge

When I was approaching my fiftieth birthday, I still felt young, and defined old age as the years leading up to the big Seven Zero. Today is my sixty-eighth birthday, so I’ve re-adjusted my old-age gauge. Now, I consider people approaching the big Eight Zero as being old.

A Real Cowboy

I always wanted to be a cowboy. A while back, as I strutted through the airport, decked out in boots, jeans, a huge belt buckle, a western, snap-button shirt and wide-brimmed 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.

In A New York Minute

All I wanted was my hand back. The old man behind the counter in the country store way out in Louisiana farm country clasped it with eagle talon strength, squeezing tighter and tighter, his pained, bloodshot eyes locked with mine.

Tear Of Joy

Years before the 9/11 tragedy, James P. DeWolfe, an Episcopalian bishop, said, “Some morning it is likely that the headlines of the world will scream forth the news that New York has been bombed. As tragic as this will be, it will nevertheless accomplish the deep unity that Christians should have.”

’Pologize, Dice

On my dad’s Mississippi Delta farm, payday on Friday was always followed by a dice game on Saturday.

Home Art Gone….

We watched the jet descend, cleared to land, Oxford, Mississippi, 0900 hours, 21 August 2008. When its wheels squeaked on the runway, I joined in the solemn crowd’s collective whisper: “Welcome home, Donnie.”

A Debt Unpaid

In Robert Service’s poem, “The Cremation Of Sam McGee,” one line reads, “A promise made is a debt unpaid.” Jephthah found out how cruel this debt can be. In Judges, Old Testament character Jepththah is described as a mighty warrior, spurned by his countrymen, the Israelites, because he was a prostitute’s son. In self-exile, he honed his martial skills by leading bands of marauders in raids on caravans.

I Won’t Paint

Just the thought of Mama’s willow switch was usually a sufficient deterrent to my iniquitous nature. But not the time I painted my brother. It was layby … a time when cotton farmers know they’ve done all they can to make their crops … a time to turn off the irrigation, disk around fields, run water furrows one last time, and park the tractors. They fought the good fight. The rest was up to the weather, the crop, and the good Lord.

Something’s Rotten

In Act I of “Hamlet,” Marcellus, having observed the prince’s strange behavior, says, “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.” As the acts of the play that is my life seem to open and close ever more swiftly, I’m exhibiting strange behavior. Stress and worry are the reasons, created largely because something’s rotten in the state I’m in: old age.

Sweet Melon Revenge

While turning the other cheek may be virtuous, revenge is often more satisfying. Such was the case when we outsmarted Gravy Chin. His real name was Chester Kestler, and he grew produce, including watermelons, for local markets. Every feature about this tall, gangly, long-necked, slope-shouldered, ill-tempered farmer was asymmetrical, especially his chin. Like a sockeye salmon’s lower jaw, it projected out and up. We called him Gravy Chin because the prominent protuberance perpetually glistened with a patina of paste not unlike gravy grease.

What Angels Eat

Fortunately, watermelon isn’t a drug; if so, I am hopelessly addicted. Southerners who don’t love watermelon are worse than Yankees who turn up their noses at black-eyed peas. As Mark Twain said, “The true Southern watermelon is a boon apart. It is king by the grace of God over all the fruits of the earth, and must not be mentioned with commoner things. When one tastes watermelon, he knows what angels eat.”

Miss Lena, Junior’s Dead!

It’s a miracle some kids reach adulthood. When I was ten years old, my yearning to fly like Superman almost nipped me in the bud. At that young age, I idolized comic book characters, including Batman and Robin, Spider Man, Plastic Man, and Wonder Woman, but my number-one hero was Superman. I marveled at his feats of strength, his X-ray vision, and the way women fell all over him. But his flying skills fascinated me most.

My Guys

Each morning, when I walk out the door and head to work, I wear a badge identifying me as a teacher at a local community college. Each morning, when law enforcement officers walk out the door and head to work, they wear a badge, but they also strap on weapons, handcuffs and other items needed in their line of work.

Don’t Fish When Mama Says Don’t

“Y’all better not fish today,” Mama warned. “Mean-lookin’ front’s comin’ ’cross.” Pouncing on the scrambled eggs, sausage, grits and cathead biscuits she had placed before us, we replied, “Stripes runnin’ in the upper lake — nobody knows but us.”

Bureau-Rats

Recently, while reading the latest issue of Life Extension (my favorite health magazine), I learned that all of my life I’ve been using an illegal drug: walnuts.

Lagoon Bass

Deep down in his mute, cool, dimly lit domain, the monarch of the Mississippi Delta swamp hole lay in patient ambush while the terrified shiner just inches above him swam round and round in frantic arcs, desperately struggling to break free of his tether to the red and white bobber floating on the surface. 



Abe The Dealmaker

Abraham was a consummate dealmaker, and when (as told in the eighteenth chapter of Genesis) he attempted to persuade God to rethink his intentions toward the wicked inhabitants of Sodom, he elevated deal making to a high art.

Drawing Out Leviathan

Mark Twain once opined, “Faith is believing what you know ain’t so.” His opining didn’t shake my faith in Jason Lucas. Three things occupied most of my boyhood time: thinking about fishing, reading about fishing, and fishing.