My First Gun Fight Stories I tell of my youth growing up in South West Alabama and South East Georgia have a ring of, not truth, but of fiction. My children and now my grandchildren roll their eyes and display disbelief that we had no TV, only one car and at times, no car. They chalk it up as Papa fibbing again! Some time @ 1953 the man my father was working for decided to move his logging operation from Alberta Alabama to Fargo Georgia! It was not an earth-shaking event to anyone outside tiny Alberta, a nondescript little mill town with one grocery store, one tiny post office and a service station, no school but we did have a country doctor who had the bedside manner of a Marcus Welby. Alberta is about 30 odd miles from Selma Alabama, there is not much going on there now, then the lumber industry was flourishing and men like my daddy were trading their lives for a pittance! At any rate we pulled up stakes and made the long trek across Alabama and them Georgia and ended up in the far South East corner of Georgia, Fargo Georgia, nestled against the border of the Okefenokee Swamp, the second largest fresh water swamp in the nation. I thought I had died and had landed in Heaven! My Mama thought she had died and ended up in the other place! I loved the wildness of the swamp and the chance of seeing a bear, snake or alligator was just right for me. I will never forget my mama looking around at the tall pines that literally blotted out the sun on that late summer afternoon as we clattered into Fargo, she said, “I am not going to live here!” She protested every day until she finally caused my dad to move her back to the red clay, Kudzu infested hills of South West Alabama! (10 years later!) A couple of years later the story I am attempting to relay erupted! We were in our 2nd. or 3rd. house in Fargo, Daddy would move on a moment’s notice to get a better house for us. A new boy moved in across the dusty side street n Fargo and, of course, I made it my business to get to know him, inviting him over for a snack, showing him my favorites on the Suwanee River, just a few hundred yards from our “mill yard” home. (A tri-plex no less!) It took me just a few exposures to this new boy for me to learn that maybe it was not a good idea to associate with him; he was a “bad actor! He smoked, he cussed, and he attempted to cause me to do the same. I kind of cut him loose and began to avoid him. Two of my brother’s got brand new Schwinn bicycles that Christmas and proudly parked them near door each night, the new had not worn off of them yet, the bikes and my brother’s. On mu way to school one day a friend stopped me and told me he had seen Johnny, the new boy up town last night, riding one of my brother’s new bike! I said, “He stole it!” I told mama and daddy about it, they looked outside and the bike was there, apparently no worse for the wear, they decided, wisely, to let it go, just kids stuff. That did not satisfy me, I told mama that I was going to catch the thief if he tried it again. That night I set up in a window overlooking the bike and he did not show, I was disappointed because I smelled a good opportunity to avenge my brother’s honor and I planned to leave that new boy with some loose teeth and a fat lip! The next night I set up again, just after dark and waited to ambush the culprit. Suppertime came and no new boy, Mama called me to supper so I left to eat. When I came back the bike was gone! Aha, he is up town, one place was open after dark so it was easy to locate the no good culprit. I jumped on my bike and careened up town and met the new boy coming out of the only open place, I said, “you stole my brother’s bike and I am fixin to whip your butt! I locked eyes with him and a chilling look came into his eyes as he said, No, you aint and he reached behind his back and pulled a piece of 2x4 that had two single edged razor blades imbedded in them and a pi of coat hanger fashioned for a grip. With the other hand he pulled a semi-automatic pistol and pointed it at me! As luck would have it, the man who brought us to Fargo, Donald Lyons, a former Alabama football player, B-17 pilot and fine, fine man walked out the door of the open place. He glanced at the two of s squared off and said, “what are you two peckerwoods doing? About that time he saw the pistol. “Boy, he addressed the new boy, does your daddy know you got that gun?” “Yeah, snarled the new boy, his eyes, wild and crazy!” Well, said Donald, tell him he does not have a job!” That kind of let the air out of the new boy and he hooked the razor block to his belt and slipped the pistol back into his pocket and kind of side wined off into the warm night. I suddenly noticed that I had not taken a breath in a couple of minutes and I recovered enough to toss a warning at the retreating back of the new boy, “The next time I catch you up toe I am going to whoop you! All the while thinking as to how I should avid that new boy if possible! Donald did follow up on his threat but did not fire the new boy’s father who was innocent, The new boy’s folks lived in a duplex, divided by a part that did not reach the ceiling, the new boy and climbed over the partition and stolen the pistol along with jewelry, clothes and anything of value. I was glad when he was brought to justice and he left our town for parts unknown, I suspect a juvenile institution1 Moral to story, never show up at a gunfight with just your fists! ☺ G.B.
Posted on: Wed, 05 Mar 2014 14:12:42 +0000
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