HE WAS ONE OF A KIND
The picture above is of an extraordinary man. His name was Bill Warren, and he hailed from a rural corner of Whitfield County, Ga. He was as country as could be. I introduced you to him in a previous story about BUSTIN WOOD.
Bill was the patriarch of a reasonably large family. He worked as a forklift repairman and a part-time Baptist preacher. The man could repair anything. It seemed as if he never required instructions since he merely figured things out or relied on word of mouth old-timey techniques passed from one to another. There always seemed to be a home remedy for everything.
His hobbies included fishing, farming, whittling, and just about anything any red-blooded American adolescent male would enjoy. He was also a jokester and as playful as could be. In addition, he had no fear of snakes. As a matter of fact, he kept a pet Black Snake in his shed to assist in controlling mouse and rat infestation.
Bill was the most pampered guy I have ever known. His wife and children catered to his every need. He was absolute royalty. The homestead though modest, was managed as if it were a monarchy. Camelot in the country.
I intend to write from time to time about this extraordinary and entertaining character.
I once owned a condo in the mountains of North Carolina. It was a lovely place located in the Pisgah National Forest area. The region was known for its lush forests, fishing streams, lakes, and waterfalls, making it a true sportsman’s paradise. Not only did I enjoy the spot, but it was a favorite of my friends and family. It was well equipped and very comfortable. I would use it about once a month, so it was available for a loaner a good portion of the time. Also, it wasn’t a very long drive from Dalton or Atlanta, Ga.
I would use the place for casual weekend dates, but it was an excellent place to bring my buddies for fishing and men’s weekends for cards, golf, and hanging out. I loved the place.
Once in a while, I would permit the family to use it for mini-vacations. The family is my ex-wife’s aunts and uncles. They enjoyed going there as much as I did. The men loved to fish, and the women loved to relax and cook.
I once asked Bill to come along with me for a few days of fishing in the mountains. So, of course, he jumped at the opportunity to come with me. I thought it would be a blast, and we could spend some quality time together. It was way overdue. You see, Bill was my ex-father-in-law, and he was starting to show his age. Even though I was divorced from the family, I was always treated like their favorite son, and I treated them with love and respect in return as I would my parents.
When we arrived, we feasted on the food my ex-mother-in-law Pauline had prepared for us from her kitchen. Of course, we had everything to eat, including our favorite, two egg custard pies. After dinner, the two of us sat around and shot the bull for hours. I always enjoyed listening to Bill’s tales and wisdom.
The following morning we had breakfast, packed some lunch, and headed out to do some fishing.
I prepared a list of places to go. There were so many to chose from. We went from creek to creek and river to river with no luck. Then I decided to go on the wild side. I remembered a turn-off on Hwy 107 0n the way to Sylva that would take us up a mountain road where we could find a lake.
As we proceeded, the road narrowed and eventually turned into a gravel and dirt road with fall-off drainage ditches on both sides, which would have made it difficult to turn around if necessary. It was a dicey drive, and we took it very slowly.
As we continued up the mountain, we noticed an occasional small dwelling or a trailer off to the sides. Once in a while, we would see a person. We were definitely in Deliverance country.
After another thirty minutes or so, we arrived at a dam where many unsavory-looking mountain people all gave us “the look.” We left post haste. We didn’t feel comfortable there at all. We made it down the mountain, and we were followed by an old truck. I have no idea what they were doing there, but it wasn’t or us.
We decided to give it one more try on our way back to the condo, so we stopped off at Saphire Lake. This fishing spot was a deserted old park and slightly off the beaten path but not as isolated as the dam. Everything was old and overgrown, and we were all alone.
We stood on the edge of the lake and threw in our lines. Almost immediately, we both had fish on the hook. We caught a couple of Brim and released them. After about another ten minutes, I had another fish on the line. As I was reeling it in, Bill said to me in a very calm tone, “Son, don’t move. Look down at your feet.” When I looked done, I saw a large Water Mocassin by my toes. I thought, holy shit, now, what to do?
I slowly retrieved the fish and drew it towards the snake. As it passed by, the snake struck the fish. At that moment, I lifted the fish and the snake simultaneously. Its fangs snagged in the fish. I had them both on the line. As I turned to show Bill my unusual catch, he was already on the move. He quickly grabbed the snake just short of the head and pulled it out of the Brim with one hand, and popped the head with the palm of the other, killing it instantly. His move was Ninja-like. I’m glad Bill was with me, or I might have been bitten. He knew just what to do. Later, Bill told me that he had learned how to pop Water Moccasins when he was a young boy. I guess practice makes perfect. That was the end of that day's adventure. We had a remarkable memory of the day and spoke about it often.
The above picture is of Bill with the unfortunate Water Moccasin.
When Bill died, I placed the picture on a table next to his coffin. So many people thought the picture typified Bill’s essence and asked for copie that my daughter Becky left the funeral home and had several copies made on the spot and returned with a bunch of them that she distributed to friends.
When the coffin was closed, the original photo was placed on Bill’s chest forever.
After the funeral, the family gave me the honor of staying with Bill after everyone left until the burial was completed. It allowed me to reminisce. I was presented with his pride and joy as a remembrance: his Old Timer pocket and whittling knife.
In time I plan on writing more about Bill. There are lots of tales of his exploits and his being – what a fun guy. He was well-loved, and I cherish his memory.
