Jimmy Reed

Green-uns

In T. S. Eliot’s poem, “The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock,” the narrator, Prufrock himself, deals with a number of problems aging men face, and toward the end of the poem, ponders two of them. Speculating on ways to disguise the fact that his plumage is thinning, he asks, “Shall I part my hair behind?” And because his bowels — no longer young and supple, but rebellious toward any foods less milder than pabulum, asks, “Do I dare to eat a peach?”

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 and scatter corn from her apron, and the flock flapped to the feeding frenzy. As they ate, Mama eased a cane fitted with a hook under a soon-to-be-plucked pullet and snatched. Sunday’s supper squawked for mercy, but the unmerciful executioner rung its neck. The decapitated carcass flopped its finale in a feathery flurry, and I fled in fright.

Dreamers And Doers

If people fall into two categories — dreamers and doers, I’m a dreamer. That’s good. Or, if like fish, people fall into two categories — dead and alive, I’m not floating downstream, which dead fish do, their final destiny dictated by the mainstream current. I swim upstream. That’s good.

Americanism

Christmas and Easter celebrate Jesus Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection. Next in importance to these holidays is Independence Day, which marks the birthday of America, a nation in the making when a group of tough, courageous, Christian revolutionaries demanded, fought for, gained independence, and established a government based on Christ’s teachings.

Born American

Like most folks, I ponder departing this earth with trepidation, and ask myself: If forced to lay down my life in the last full measure of devotion, for what would I die? Two answers come to mind readily: God and family. There is another honorable, patriotic answer: Country.

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.”

Just E-Madgin

Rarely did my black mentor, Jaybird, stand still; if he was on his feet he was busy, doing something purposely … never aimlessly. For him, hard work was as natural as breathing. Even though he was well up in years when he began teaching me many of the values I live by today, when we worked together in the fields, it was a challenge to keep up with him.

Can We Puh-leez Have Reverence!

Bugsy, Brent and I were three happy teenagers that Saturday in early June. Working chartreuse jigs around willow clumps, we filled two stringers with slab-sided speckled crappie. We couldn’t wait to be back on the lake at daybreak the next morning. “Fishing on the Lord’s Day?” Mama hissed, glaring holes through our sinful souls. “Heathens! You will do no such thing. You’ll attend church, and when I look up in the balcony during the service, y’all better be listening to the preacher, not cuttin’ up. Now … eat supper and dress them fish.”

Unlikely Angel

Mama always taught us to treat others with dignity and respect until they deserved to be treated otherwise, for as she said, unaware to us, they might be angels. Her words rang true when I met a most unlikely angel: Sergeant Major Henry Dawkins.

Not A Bed Of Roses

Along with most other folks, I complained about the cold weather so long that, apparently, the Lord got weary of listening and rewarded us with an ongoing spate of semi-hemi-Hades hot weather. So far, in the leafy month of June, on the verge of swoon, I’ve sweltered in heat that would turn the plumpest plum into a prune.

Living Forever

Never-ending mortal existence would not be a good thing, as confirmed by the life of the Wandering Jew. According to medieval folklore, he taunted Jesus when He was groaning under the weight of a huge cross while trudging up the hill known as Calvary. The Jew’s curse was not death, but the opposite: the curse of living forever. The poor wretch despised immortality, but could not die … at least until the Second Coming, according to legend.

Sturm Und Drang

Americans are now experiencing tremendous storm and stress — or Sturm und Drang, as Germans call it. Much of the angst has to do with the economy.

Die Prayin’

At lunchtime that Friday, Boss, my father, brought us a special treat. We five tractor drivers had just finished the last cultivation of his cotton crop and were headed for the lot when a long, steady, soaking summer rain set in — just what the almost mature crop needed to finish filling the bolls.

As Domino Thought

About the time I began going around telling folks I was a writer, I took to heart something philosopher Francis Bacon once said: “A man would do well to carry a pencil and paper in his pocket, and write down thoughts of the moment. Those that come unsought for are commonly the most valuable, and should be secured, because they seldom return.” So, I’m never without a notebook and pencil in my shirt pocket. As a result, I’ve become a diligent daily diarist, and have amassed boxes full of notebooks.

Planted By The Waters

Novelist Charles Dickens said, “Father Time is not always a hard parent, and, though he tarries for none of his children, often lays his hand lightly upon those who have used him well; making them old men and women inexorably enough, but leaving their hearts and spirits young…. With such people the gray head is but the impression of the old fellow’s hand in giving them his blessing, and every wrinkle but a notch in the quiet calendar of a well-spent life.”

You Are A Diamond

Sometimes teachers inspire students; sometimes, it’s the other way around, as is the case with Gloria, one of my students, who is studying to become a nurse.

Foolish Mistakes

Few aviators complete their careers without escaping dangerous incidents, usually when they have little flying experience. Within months of receiving my pilot’s license, I escaped the Grim Reaper’s grasp twice: once when I attempted a foolish maneuver that almost sent me to Davy Jones’ locker, and again when I initiated a near miss with another aircraft.

Pierced Hands

In his superbly crafted poem entitled “The Creation,” famed African-American poet and educator, James Weldon Johnson, uses majestic imagery to explain how God built the cosmos. The Creator’s hands are key to this imagery, as illustrated in the following lines:

Easter Hands

A long time ago, on a Mississippi Delta cotton plantation, an old black man told a wonderful story to a group of small children that not one of them has ever forgotten. The old storyteller's name was Jaybird.

If You Want To Be With Me

In his prime, Jaybird was a lady’s man, but the woman he tried hardest to attract paid him scant little attention — and none at all when his money ran out. Her name was Sallie Mae Jones, and he told me about her once. Even after so many years, my old black mentor got misty-eyed just thinking about her.