Memories of Tommy

Be devoted to one another in brotherly love, give preference to one another in honor.
Romans 12:10

The full moon was a bright as the low beam on a ‘63 Volkswagon. Tommy had talked me into my first "all night" fishing trip on Lake Jordan, a major reservoir in Central Alabama. At about 2:00 AM, I mumbled that I was tuckered out, the fishing was slow and I was going to curl up on the front platform of his bass boat.

"Yer gonna miss some good ‘spots’ (spotted bass) you sissy-wimp," he drawled in his Crenshaw County accent.
"Yea, but I will be a rested sissy-wimp come daybreak when you put me on those stripers." (hybrid striped bass)

The humid summer night blanketed me like a soft cotton sheet and I was lullabied by the gentle lapping against the fiberglass hull. My celestial comfort was suddenly and seriously disrupted. My head was wearing a four pound spotted bass, still attached to Tommy’s rod, flapping fish slime all over my face. Laughing hysterically, he shouted loud enough for the full moon to hear him, "TOLD YOU THAT YOU WAS GONNA MISS SOME GOOD FISH, YOU WIMP!" It was a trick that he had played on a few other night fishing buddies I later found out.

I realized that sleeping would be a risky endeavor now, so I grabbed my rod and caught a few spots myself, eagerly awaiting the dawn. We happened to be in a secluded slough when the sun started peeking through the trees. I love those mornings when you can see the sun on one horizon and the full moon on the other! The next site I didn’t love at all.

We started to notice some human activity in a old lake home on the bluff high above the slough; it was a scrawny woman looking at us through her sliding glass window. Suddenly and without warning, (again) the ol’ gal drops her bathrobe—and it was NOT a pretty site! I remember being in utter shock, while Tommy was laughing his tail off.
"Tommy, are you seeing what I am seeing?" I asked stupidly.
"You tol’ me you wanted me to put you on to some strippers at dawn!" he shouted.
" I think that was ‘stripers’, now fire up that Evinrude and get me the heck outta here!" I pleaded.

He had warned me one day on the Alabama River to stay clear of what he referred to as "River Gals", rough females who lived on the water's edge. I didn’t believe him, so I guess he wanted to take me to a spot on Lake Jordan to show me the truth. ( A few years later, a very drunk woman in a bikini tried to swim out to my boat and wanted a ride, because she thought I was ‘cute’. Like I said, she was VERY drunk. Her mullet-headed boyfriend, cut-off jeans and Bud in hand was laughing and hollering for her to "swim faster, he's gettin' away!" And no, she did not get a boat ride, my much smaller Evinrude outboard was full throttle as I escaped out of Saugahatchee Creek.) Back to the story:

Still laughing, Tommy manned the console and headed for the canal, a long stretch of swift moving water. Within thirty minutes of daybreak, I had three of the best fresh water fights I have ever had, three 8-10 lb stripers, working with and against the swift water, which to this day causes my heart to beat faster recalling that morning. Tommy simply laughed at me; everytime I got the fish close, it would zing the drag and head for deep water. I could tell he was having more fun watching me than fishing himself.

You could not have found two more unlikely friends. Tommy, a country boy, me, an army brat. He dropped out of high school, yet I was intimidated by his intelligence. He seemed to know it too, as my high-falutin’ Master’s degree from Auburn never impressed him, being a Bama fan. On one particular trip, his Evinrude outboard blew in the middle of the Coosa River. We had enough power to limp back to the boat ramp. Instead of taking out a loan and buying a new motor like I would have done, Tommy took the motor apart piece by piece, laid it out all over the deck of his boat and had it back together within a few weeks and we were fishing again.

He could have easily been a mechanical or electrical engineer given the educational opportunities. He always had a project going; he worked constantly on ham radios and built my first computer. He had made a good living for himself and his family working for the city of Montgomery and doing radio/computer repairs on the side.

I imagine Tommy’s greatest memory with me had to be the holy grail of bass fishing, the ten pound club. I snapped these photos after he landed an 11 pound bass from a private pond that I had permission to fish. We both whooped and hollered when he landed that fish, knowing a once in a lifetime experience had just occurred. ( I have only caught one, a ten pounder.) After the photo session, Tommy said, "You got the pictures, that’s all I need."...and released that beauty. We watched silently and smiled as she disappeared into the deep.

It is with great sorrow that my earthly friendship with Tommy has also disappeared into the deep, and I am left with only memories of my good friend. About five years ago, he was taken from this world at 39 years old by a heart attack, leaving a wife, a young son and a multitude of friends. At the visitation, his wife Marie gathered herself in Annie’s embrace, as they had their own connection over the years, and wondered allowed, "What am I going to do?"

I swallowed hard and drifted over to Tommy’s casket; dressed in his Scoutmaster’s shirt and blue jeans, I had to smile. I remembered how uncomfortable he looked at his own mama’s funeral in that ill-fitting suit that was dragged out for marrying and burying. He was comfortable, at rest and at peace. Oh how I wished for one more fishing trip...maybe someday, in heaven.

Carpe diem, my friends! Seize the Day! Don't let another day pass without contacting those Tommys in your lives!

My memories of my dear friend will always be strong, and I just felt I owed him some hardcopy. I also wanted those of you reading my blog to see what a wonderful life I have been blessed with...to have encountered friends with whom I have shared...brotherly love............Mark

Last summer at the folk's place with a trophy bluegill