Finding Ray 4

Looking for Ray got me back into looking for something else. Jim Dugger's pulpwood truck relit an old flame, "flung a cravin' on me" to borrow one of Jerry Clower's old phrases. I want one of those trucks, and l want one bad. Actually, I have for decades, but now the desire is overwhelming. 

Lately I have squirreled away a little money, and I'm ready and able to buy. When I mentioned purchasing one fifteen years ago, my wife reacted violently. When I mentioned it again the Sunday after I found Jim Dugger, she just said, "You don't need one of those."

My response was, "Trust me Baby, need's got nothing to do with it."

And it doesn't except in an emotional sense. I'm sure not planning on hauling pulpwood. That's too much like work. I just want to drive it around town, transport my dogs in it, and dare people to park near me at Walmart. I even want to drive it to work some and maybe to church. Since sweet Penny didn't pitch too much of a fit this time, I know I can get away with it; I can buy one without a major conflict. And why not? I mean, I don't want a sports car, and I can't pick up women in a ragged pulpwood truck so why should she disapprove?

It was the truck, Jim's truck, that not only got me determined to buy one, but it also loosened up Jim's tongue. Once I gushed over the old wood hauler, he started talking about the old days and how he met Ray and all sorts of stuff. He and Ray hauled together for years. They met in jail in Montgomery County back in the early '70s and became partners soon afterwards. According to Jim, pulpwooding was Ray's  favorite activity, besides drinking, fighting, hunting, fishing, trapping, and hitchhiking around the State. Ray liked a lot of things and lived like he did, like life was a gift that he couldn't get enough of. Jim bailed Ray out often because when Ray had money, he liked to go to honky tonks, drink beer, and start fights. Jim needed him running a chainsaw and helping load the trucks which put money in Ray's pocket which led to honky tonks which led to fighting which led to, well, you get the picture.

That answered some questions for me. I remember the '70s. I was there. Racial attitudes and relations were a bit different then. Strike that, a lot different. So now I knew how they became friends and how their common interests overrode the racial tensions of the day. And since the suspicion Jim had when I first drove up had melted away like the morning dew, I now felt comfortable enough to ask point blank: "Where is Ray now? Please, tell me if you know."

Jim gave me another long look before he began to speak again.

Finding Ray 3

When I drove up to Jim Duggar's, he was standing in his front yard with his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. I presumed that was him and when I introduced myself he confirmed it. I had found him and all in a single day.

"I'm a friend of Ray's," I told him, but his face didn't change. He just looked at me sort of like the other man, studying me, trying to figure if I was a good guy or a bad guy. At least that is what I thought.

He didn't answer. I was uncomfortable and shifted my weight from one foot to the other while I anticipated him saying something.

"He used to live on Steen Hill Road in Carroll County. We hunted and trapped and fished together."

He just kept looking. Suspicious. Cautious.

"I haven't seen him in years, and I figured you might know where he is."

"Why?" he finally spoke after a few more seconds of silence.

He noticed my confusion.

"Why you think I might know?"

"Somebody told me you used to bail him out of jail."

"Who told you that?"

"I don't know," I replied. Then it hit me how fishy that sounded. It even sounded fishy to me.

"You don't know?!"

"I read it in some paper work somebody left on my front porch."

"Somebody you don't know is writing stuff about me and leaving it on your porch?"

How much sense does that make, I thought. How could he not be suspicious?Instead of closing the distance between us, I had managed to widen it, and it had not taken me long to do it.

"Uh, I was writing about him, Ray, on my blog and somebody left copies of some old arrest records and a sheriff's handwritten notes on my porch. The notes mentioned you bailing Ray out of jail in the mid '70s. I'm just trying to find my old friend."

He said nothing. This is not going well, I thought. Then I noticed the old pulpwood truck over by some pines trees at the edge of his yard.

"Wow," I said, pointing at the old Ford. "May I take a look at your truck?"

That broke the scowl. We slowly strolled over and started a walk around while he gave me info on the old junker. It was a 1960 Ford 350 with a 292 V 8. It had duals on the back and the classic short wood rack with a PTO winch for loading logs, short wood. He told me what he paid for it, how many tons of wood it would haul, how he had made a lot of money with it.

"I paid for my ten acres and trailer house with that truck," he told me with pride. "I used to work four days a week and clear around $1,500. That was when pine pulpwood was bringing $40 a ton."

The lovely rack on the back of the old Ford

"Mind if I take some pictures?" I asked. He didn't mind and I started filling my phone full. 

My interest in his truck seemed to bring down Jim's guard. His eyes now said he trusted me, or at least he wasn't suspicious anymore. Then we started negotiating on a price since I wanted to buy the Ford. We walked around and around the truck while I snapped pictures and asked questions. It needs a master cylinder. The gas tank is not hooked up. Two of the tires are flat.

He started at $1200. By the time we had circled the truck a few times and I had asked more questions about it's mechanical condition, we settled on $700. I thought that was a good price IF I could crank it up and drive it home. But to get this thing, I would have to haul it away on a trailer. I don't even own a trailer.

I found out more about Jim. He is from a family of sixteen, picked cotton when he was four years old and started pulpwooding with his dad when he was twelve. Now he is retired, having made far more money than I ever will. I warmed up to me enough that he even posed for a selfie.

Jim Duggar and me on March the 30th

Finally I felt comfortable enough to get back to my original reason for coming here. "Did Ray ever haul pulpwood?" I asked, and for the first time that day, he started talking about my old friend. 

Comp I Students (ARC)

This assignment is just like our last one: you are for or against this product. Here are the pictures so you can have access at home to do your pre-writing and just to enjoy the beauty. 

And don't plagiarize from the brochure. Read the brochure, but do not use its language unless you put it in quotation marks. 

4/9 - 4/15

Monday I did nothing.

Tuesday I wrote bicycles with Brian Waldrop. We drive to Money and braved the crazy wind. I did a total of 17.44; he did a little more. We went out the road that crosses the bridge and goes west. He stopped at the turn around to wait on me. When I got there, the look of fear on his face was most disturbing. He did not say any words, but his face said, I am afraid you will die. I was afraid also.

Brian was out of pocket Wednesday and believe it or not, I went out on my own. My pitiful legs could barely turn the crank for a miserly 7.22 miles. For the rest of the week, it seems I was running to and fro trying to put out fires, but for the life of me I can’t tell you what I was doing except one thing. I finally got my tax stuff to Bob Knight. He was one of Dad’s old friends and besides my siblings, he was the first person I called after Dad passed in 2013. I did not want him or any of the Taylor, Powell crew to hear it word of mouth. I may have called David Lott that day also. Dad and David were big fishing buddies and I felt his friends should hear about his death from the family. I hope I made that happen.

Now on this Monday morning, it is 37 degrees and windy. Outdoors looks like spring but feels like winter. For a couple of decades now, our springs have been getting colder and colder. The cotton planting date has even shifted by sixteen days. I still have to pick up my tax returns, and I need to do some visitation. In addition to all that, tonight is Over 60s at Itta Bena Baptist. So maybe I will exercise tomorrow. We have another eating Thursday. Sigh. Then date night Friday: more eating. I am trying to regain some fitness and an appropriate weight before I die.

4/2 - 4/8

Monday I did nothing.

Tuesday I did nothing.

Wednesday I thought about doing something but I did nothing.

Thursday I thought some more but failed some more to do anything.

Friday I did nothing. Well, I did SOMETHING, but it was not exercise related. I went to the pastors' breakfast in North Carrollton and then I rode around and investigated. Investigated? Yeah, I'm trying to find a pulpwood truck. I am determined to purchase an old ragged shortwood truck that I can drive to work and go to church in. Something like this one. I'm going through a mid-life crises but instead of wanting an expensive sports car, I want a ragged pulpwood truck. My wife has even come around and agreed to let me purchase one. She knows that if I'm cruising around in this, I ain't looking for women. 

Saturday I did nothing.

Sunday, besides going to church, I did nothing.

So it was an unblemished week of nothing. I'm getting real good at nothing. It's a gift. Praise be to God. "The gifts and calling of God are without repentance."

Finding Ray 2

Part of being educated is knowing whom to ask for help. In order to find Jim Dugger, I needed an address or a phone number. The only lead I had was that he lived in the Popular Creek area back in the mid-70s. I could, of course, just ride out there and start asking questions. I've done that sort of thing before and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. People can get real clammy when you ask for so and so. They think bill collector or IRS or police. 

I did not know if he was still alive, had moved, or possibly was incarcerated over at Parchmen. He could even be in a nursing home as far as I knew. So I did what my four degrees, and my 61 years of living had taught me. I asked a kid. One of my students to be precise. 

They know how to Google stuff and snoop around on the internet. In fact they are so good at that stuff that I can't get them not to do it. Plagiarism is a major problem in teaching writing. But I'm off on a rabbit trail. In nothing flat, one of the football players in my 9:25 Tuesday/Thursday class on the Moorhead Campus had me an address for a Jim Dugger in Kosciusko, Mississippi. Is it the same one? I wondered. Is it his son? Do I even have the name right? Reading those handwritten notes left some room for doubt. And if I did have the name right and managed to find him, would he even talk to me? There was only one way to find out: drive over there and start asking questions, and that is exactly what I did.

On Friday morning, I slept in a little late, drank some extra coffee and hung out with the cats. Then I got dressed and headed towards K-town. First, however, I punched in the address on my Maps on my smartphone. Actually, there were two listings so I just typed in the first one and drove off. It dropped a pin on what looked like was probably a gravel road off Highway 19, closer to West than to Kosciusko, but addresses can be strange like that. It was a start and nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they say.

When my GPS signal got even with the pin on my phone map, there was nothing on both sides of the road but pine trees. I stopped and looked for any hint of a vehicle going off road. I looked for a drive, for wheel tracks in the grass, for any hint that someone might live around there. I found nothing. Then I drove slowly down the road. A mile or so later, I came upon an old man in his front yard and stopped and asked him. He did not know any Jim Dugger. "Maybe you want to go back that way to that next bunch of houses and ask them," he suggested. So I did.

At the next bunch of houses I drove into a long narrow, gravel drive past trailer house after trailer house. I came upon an elderly African-American man with white hair. That's when it occurred to me that I didn't know if Dugger was black or white. He was working on an old car and since I was near the pin on the map I stopped and took a shot. "Jim?" I asked in hope.

"No. I'm his son?"

I got out, shook his hand, and introduced myself. "Jim Dugger's son?" I quizzed.

"No. I'm Jim Love's son. But I know Jim Dugger. What do you want with him?"

I was flabbergasted. Could it really go down this easy?

"I am looking for an old friend, and I have reason to believe Jim Dugger knows him."

He studied my face like he was suspicious and was sure he could read me at the same time. After a little bit of a stare down, he went to his car and retrieved his phone from its charger. I watched in anticipation while he dialed and then said, "There is somebody here looking for you." He handed me the phone.

"Jim Dugger?" I spoke. "I am Zane Hodge, and I'm an old friend of Ray's. I'd like to talk with you if you don't mind."

He was silent for what seemed like forever. I was about to ask if he was still there when he spoke and gave me directions to his house. I thanked him and Jim Love's son and left for the other side of Kosciusko. 

3/26 - 4/1

Monday, I walked a little at work and afterwards rode 8.21 miles with Brian Waldrop. I remain pathetically pitiful, and the strong winds we encountered on The Road of the Cursed Wind (AKA Money Road) caused me to question why I do this at all.

Tuesday, I stayed in the backyard and lifted some weights which included some squats. I did not do anything again until Saturday when I worked in the yard, contracted red bugs, and took a ride with Brian. We rode 13.06 and by nightfall I was itching and scratching like a Naked and Afraid cast member. It was dreadful, and it got worse. By Sunday I was miserable. In the next post I will tell you more about a bad case of chiggers.

So for the week, I rode twice and lifted weights once, just enough to keep me fat and huffing. Maybe next week. Maybe I will get it going and return to some form of fitness and health. 

203 - 204

203

daffodils bloom,
birds sing soar feed,
man peers out window

204

wind shakes limbs,
butterflies flutter,
cat naps in shade.

Spring Birds

I stepped outside my front door Monday morning to a mild spring day. The sky was a bit overcast, but the temperatures were pleasant and the prospects for a good day seemed to jump out and tap me on the shoulder. Loading stuff into my truck to go to work, I noticed a single robin sitting on the roof top of 333 West Monroe Ave. Standing in the driveway, I listened to the myriad of birds from the surrounding yards making their joyous music, God's free radio as I have often described it. Our avian friends obviously like spring time as much as we do.

Momma liked loved birds and because of her I am super aware of them all the time. I have always noticed them, somewhat, but her influence now forces me to see, listen, and look for our winged neighbors all the time, everywhere. She noticed birds. She pointed them out. She took photographs of them. She kept them in her house. My daddy died feeding Mom's birds when she was in the hospital.

Saturday morning I mowed the lawn. Before I finished, two robins swooped down, landed, and began to feed. They love a freshly cut yard and are always the first ones in it. Later in the day, I had one spot that was not cut because one of our vehicles had been parked there while I mowed. Penny and I moved my old truck to the back and on the return trip to the front, there were two starlings and a sparrow working the grass. I decided to forego the additional mowing to leave them be. I've become soft like that in my old age.

Monday morning, the robin on the roof glided down and started to hop, peck, and I presume to eat worms. They are such glorious birds, robins, and they always cause me to notice their beauty and the dignity God gave them. One of my church members once told me that "God was having a good day when He created trees." I'll adjust that to, God was having a great day when He created birds. They are the most available source of free beauty and music, of joy and simple pleasure that I am aware of. They are delicate, yet they survive the cold, the wind, the rain, the storms, the heat. Without jobs they build homes, feed themselves, and raise their families. 

The Bible even tells us as much:

     Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into               barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value                 than they? (Matthew 6:26 NKJV)

The context is of God's care for humanity, and the speaker is Jesus. He is telling us to take comfort and faith by observing nature, by looking at what God put in front of us to teach us and delight us. "Because He lives we can face tomorrow." Because they live, we can enjoy today. Praise be to God. Thank you, Lord, for the birds. May I never forget to notice them.