The Comanche
Catfish McDaris
My grandmother came from Oklahoma, near the panhandle of Texas. We heard her brother Woodrow Wilson Vann was dying of diabetes and cancer. Vann was a Comanche name. Uncle Woody was tougher than a mule shoe, but the doctors were getting ready to saw off his right foot. He asked me if I had a chaw. My granny told him I did not carry tobacco. I went running to the Rexall Drugstore and bought a package of Redman Chewing Tobacco. I opened it for him, and
he stuck a big dip in his bottom lip and smiled his thanks. The men in the white coats soon came for him.
Granny spoke with the doctor and we went to her sister’s Aunt Bertie. She lived on Turkey Creek and had no indoor plumbing. I had lots of cousins, they all fished and hunted. We came from the same blood, so they knew I was game and had grit.
My two cousins said I was sticking out like a sore thumb with my city haircut. So, we went to the wide place in the road, they called civilization. I sat down in the barber’s chair, they put a warm
towel on my head and started buzzing away. They had let a blind kid work me over with some sheep shears. They were all laughing, so I joined in. Aunt Bertie and my granny took one look at me and just shook their heads and gave me a big piece of pecan pie, I shared it with my cousins.
We got some gunny sacks, tomahawks, snelled fishing hooks, lots of fishing line, some empty milk jugs with the lids, then we headed to the creek. My cousins told me there were lots of water moccasins, cotton mouth snakes, snapping turtles. They said any snake in the water consider poisonous. They explained how we would set up bank poles and a trot line with the milk jugs. The most important thing, besides not drowning or getting snake bit was catching some minnows
or perch for bait or even baby catfish. We’d work three burlap sacks strung together and seine the creek for bait, walking at the same pace and scooping up our catch for the big boys in the afternoon. We ground up a piece of bread and soon had a bucket of minnows mostly. One of my cousins looked in the water and I could see the white yellow opened mouth of a snake. He grabbed me and tossed me up on the bank and rolled after me.
We chopped twenty saplings for our bank poles, tied a line, hook, and baited them all on likely fishing holes. Then we strung our milk jugs across a curve in the creek, all baited. Within minutes we were pulling in catfish, bass, crappie, and pike. All were great to eat. Granny came and got me and said Uncle Woody had taken a turn for the worse. They took his leg off at the hip and had started on the other leg. Just before we got to the hospital, he died.
My cousins were at the funeral. They gave me a Comanche knife. Uncle Woody had given me a Colt Derringer for the tobacco, and I had hidden it under the seat of granny’s Pontiac. I slipped them the pistol.
Catfish McDaris
My grandmother came from Oklahoma, near the panhandle of Texas. We heard her brother Woodrow Wilson Vann was dying of diabetes and cancer. Vann was a Comanche name. Uncle Woody was tougher than a mule shoe, but the doctors were getting ready to saw off his right foot. He asked me if I had a chaw. My granny told him I did not carry tobacco. I went running to the Rexall Drugstore and bought a package of Redman Chewing Tobacco. I opened it for him, and
he stuck a big dip in his bottom lip and smiled his thanks. The men in the white coats soon came for him.
Granny spoke with the doctor and we went to her sister’s Aunt Bertie. She lived on Turkey Creek and had no indoor plumbing. I had lots of cousins, they all fished and hunted. We came from the same blood, so they knew I was game and had grit.
My two cousins said I was sticking out like a sore thumb with my city haircut. So, we went to the wide place in the road, they called civilization. I sat down in the barber’s chair, they put a warm
towel on my head and started buzzing away. They had let a blind kid work me over with some sheep shears. They were all laughing, so I joined in. Aunt Bertie and my granny took one look at me and just shook their heads and gave me a big piece of pecan pie, I shared it with my cousins.
We got some gunny sacks, tomahawks, snelled fishing hooks, lots of fishing line, some empty milk jugs with the lids, then we headed to the creek. My cousins told me there were lots of water moccasins, cotton mouth snakes, snapping turtles. They said any snake in the water consider poisonous. They explained how we would set up bank poles and a trot line with the milk jugs. The most important thing, besides not drowning or getting snake bit was catching some minnows
or perch for bait or even baby catfish. We’d work three burlap sacks strung together and seine the creek for bait, walking at the same pace and scooping up our catch for the big boys in the afternoon. We ground up a piece of bread and soon had a bucket of minnows mostly. One of my cousins looked in the water and I could see the white yellow opened mouth of a snake. He grabbed me and tossed me up on the bank and rolled after me.
We chopped twenty saplings for our bank poles, tied a line, hook, and baited them all on likely fishing holes. Then we strung our milk jugs across a curve in the creek, all baited. Within minutes we were pulling in catfish, bass, crappie, and pike. All were great to eat. Granny came and got me and said Uncle Woody had taken a turn for the worse. They took his leg off at the hip and had started on the other leg. Just before we got to the hospital, he died.
My cousins were at the funeral. They gave me a Comanche knife. Uncle Woody had given me a Colt Derringer for the tobacco, and I had hidden it under the seat of granny’s Pontiac. I slipped them the pistol.
