The Adventures of Jack and Billy Joe

by A. Jeff Tisdale

  Jack loaded the lunch bag, his drink, a canteen of water and the Sears Roebuck catalog in his bicycle basket and was ready to roll.

  “Now you be careful on US11, Jack,” she said, sticking her head out the door to watch him leave. “There’s getting to be more and more cars on it since gas is more plentiful.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jack replied. “I’ll watch out.”

  He was right on time to meet Billy Joe and hoped he would be there first. Whichever of the boys arrived first always chided the other for delaying the departure.

  Jack cut through the junior college campus and out its back gate to a gravel road, across the railroad track and down the little hill to US11.

  As he approached US11, he saw Billy Joe coming down the highway from the north. They arrived at the appointed meeting place at the same time.

  “Well, I see you made it on time for a change.” Jack manufactured a reason to fuss at Billy Joe.

  “I’m always on time. You’re the one who’s always late,” Billy Joe countered.

  Jack let that slide and they pedaled off to the south along US11 on the left shoulder facing traffic as they had been taught to do.

  They passed Rocky Creek, their old fishing hole, the State School for the Mentally Handicapped and then the rolling hills leading up to Tawanta Hill and its tower. Each hill was harder to pedal up than the last one but the boys could console themselves that coming back would be mostly downhill. This was tough going and at the top of each hill they would stop for a couple of minutes and sip a little water.

  Finally they reached the gravel road to the left that led past the fire tower. They turned in there and a few feet further, they turned right into the yard of the fire tower attendant’s house.

  They didn’t see Mr. Edwards’ car so they thought he might have gone into town. To make sure, Jack knocked on the door and they waited for a reply. None came.

  “I guess he’s not here,” Jack stated the obvious. “He won’t mind us goin’ on up to the top landing if we are careful and don’t go into the cab of the tower.”

  “Yeah, why would he care?” Billy Joe agreed. “We can leave everything except the catalog down here and go on up.”

  The boys pulled their bicycles into the shade at the end of the porch under a big oak tree where they would be out of the way of cars.

  Jack carried the catalog and they started to climb the tower steps. Each landing was up two sets of eight steps and there were twelve landings under the tower cab.

  The boys were puffing when they reached the top landing. There was a stiff breeze that they had not noticed at ground level.

  “I’ll put the catalog down on the steps leading up to the cab so we can both get pages from it,” Jack said.

  “What are we gonna do, just tear the pages out?”

  “Nah—use your pocketknife. Start with the middle pages first and just run the sharpest blade you have along the page and you should get a clean cut,” Jack directed.

  Billy Joe tried that and it did, indeed, make an even cut.

  “Yeah—that’s good,” he said with a smile as he folded the page into a paper airplane.

  “Sail ’er off. Let’s see if it will fly,” Jack urged. “Throw it off the side the wind is blowing to—not into it.”

  Billy Joe wet a finger and held it up as if he needed to do that to tell which way the wind was blowing. He launched the plane off the tower with the wind. It flew like a bird, turning and dancing on the wind, circling around and flirting with the tower.

  “I guess the wind is different at different levels of the tower,” Billy Joe noted.

  “Yeah. That’s great. That means they won’t go straight to the ground—they’ll float around and all do somethin’ different,” Jack pointed out. “Some should go a long way.”

  As fast as the boys could cut the pages and fold them, they sailed them off the tower. They really enjoyed themselves for over an hour.

  Finally, after tiring themselves out folding and sailing the little paper gliders, they gave it up and decided to climb down and eat their sandwiches and drink their Penny Drink.

  Climbing down the steps was easier than going up so they made good time in that direction.

  “Hi, boys. You havin’ fun?” said Mr. Edwards, who was standing at the bottom of the steps.

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said with a big smile. “Those paper airplanes really sail off the tower.”

  “I’m really glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “Now there’s something I need for you to do for me.”

  “Yes, sir. Glad to. What’s that?” Jack wondered.

  “Each of you take one of these”—he handed each boy a bushel burlap sack—“and pick up every piece of paper you can find. Next Saturday, I want you to come back out here and pick up those that blow down out of the trees.”

  “We gotta pick them up?” Billy Joe asked in disbelief.

  “Oh, yes. Fun is not normally free. If you don’t pick them up, I’ll have to and I didn’t have the fun of sailin’ them off the tower. I suggest you get started so you can finish before dark and make it home by supper,” he said with the same big smile.

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said as they each took a sack.

  “You and your big idea of sailin’ airplanes off the tower,” Billy Joe said when they were out of earshot of Mr. Edwards.

  “You enjoyed every plane you sailed off the tower and you know it,” Jack said.

  “I’ll let you know at supper time if I liked it this much,” Billy Joe retorted.

  Chapter Three

  The Fishing Trip

  The paper airplanes were fun to sail off the fire tower, but both boys questioned if it had been worth all the work picking them up. They had sailed for miles, it seemed, around the tower.

  Riding back home on their bikes, Jack was trying to get Billy Joe’s mind off the work he had been required to do.

  “Sho’ wu’d like to go on a good fishing trip to somewhere we ain’t never been.” Jack dangled a bait toward Billy Joe.

  “Yeah, me too, but that ain’t likely to happen.” Billy Joe went for the bait. “We been to every fishing hole around here and as far as I can see, we ain’t got no way to go to them that are far off.”

  “I don’t know,” Jack cryptically continued. “Tomorrow could change that if we work it right.”

  “What’cha doin’ tomorrow?” Billy Joe asked, knowing that he and Jack would probably be doing the same as always, biking, hiking or fishing.

  “My Uncle Red and Aunt Bert are comin’ in this afternoon so I suspect we’ll be sittin’ around talkin’ to them,” Jack replied.

  “You can’t get out of that?”

  “I don’t wanna get out of it,” Jack said. “My Uncle Red is a traveling salesman for a wholesale hardware company out of New Orleans. He covers Mississippi, Alabama and Arkansas. Lots of strange things happen to him and I love to hear him tell about it.”

  “Why haven’t I ever met your Uncle Red?”

  “When he comes, it’s usually after dark and the next day he leaves early to see some more customers or he goes fishing.”

  “Goes fishing?” Billy Joe questioned.

  “Yeah—he owns a fishin’ camp at Wilkerson’s Ferry on the Pascagoula River and another one on the locks up at Demopolis, Alabama. He loves to fish. I think he must be the best fisherman in the world.”

  “Prob’ly not,” Billy Joe offered, “but I’d like to meet him and talk about fishin’.”

  “Maybe you could come over tonight for a little while,” Jack suggested, “and you can meet him. He and Daddy usually talk about pipe and fixtures and other hardware but Uncle Red’s favorite thing to do is fish.”

  “Your daddy doesn’t fish so I’ll bet we can get your Uncle Red talkin’ on fishin’ with us for a while.”

  “My daddy does go to Red’s camp at Wilkerson’s Ferry sometimes but that’s just so he can talk to Red, I think.”

  “When I’m a grown man, I’m gonna have a fishing camp everywhe
re there’s good fishin’,” Billy Joe declared.

  “Yeah, me too,” Jack seconded the thought. “You just keep reading those comic books. I’m gonna ask Momma if you can come over tonight to meet my Uncle Red.”

  He left Billy Joe in his bedroom reading Captain Marvel and went to find his mother. He found her in the kitchen talking to his daddy.

  “What’s goin’ on, Jack?” his father asked. “Where’s Billy Joe?”

  “He’s in my room reading comic books. Can he come over tonight to meet Uncle Red?”

  “Do you mean for supper or to spend the night or what?” his mother asked.

  “I just meant, just come over and meet Red and then go home,” Jack said, “but if he could eat supper and spend the night that would be really good.”

  Jack’s mother and father looked at each other and laughed.

  “You stepped into that one, Millie,” his father said.

  “Well, I don’t care,” she said. “We’re havin’ a platter of chicken fried cubed steaks, mashed potatoes and vegetables. There ought to be plenty.”

  “There you go, Jack,” his father ended the discussion. “Go tell Billy Joe to ask his mother if it’s all right with her.”

  “Helen will call me to see if it’s okay or I may call her first so she’ll know Billy Joe has, indeed, been asked.”

  “Thank you, ma’am, sir,” Jack said, leaving the room before they could change their minds.

  “My momma’s gonna call your momma and ask if you can have supper with us and spend the night,” Jack said, entering his bedroom where Billy Joe was still perched on one of the twin beds reading a comic book.

  “Hot dog!” Billy Joe said. “This is workin’ out good. Momma will prob’ly let me spend the night but I doubt if she was gonna let me come over here after dark to meet your Uncle Red.”

  The bedroom door opened and Jack’s mother came in.

  “I just talked to your momma, Billy Joe. She said you can have supper and spend the night but she wants you to come home first to clean up and get some pajamas and your toothbrush.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” Billy Joe properly responded.

  As soon as his mother had left the room, Jack said, “Let’s go to your house and get your junk. Then we can come back here and read comic books until Uncle Red comes.”

  They left the house on a run, mounted their bicycles and disappeared up Court Street toward Billy Joe’s house.

  At Billy Joe’s house, his mother informed him that he had to take a bath, comb his hair and put on clean clothes.

  “Aw, Momma, I just had a bath yesterday. I don’t need one today,” Billy Joe protested.

  “Boy, don’t argue with me or I won’t let you go a’tall,” she said firmly. “You are not goin’ over to spend the night at Millie’s house as dirty as you are. Now scoot. Get in there and scrub yourself good.”

  After he had gotten his bath, combed his hair and smelled much better, he said to Jack, “I hope your Uncle Red is worth all this.”

  It was just after seven that evening when Red and Bert pulled up in front of the house. Jack’s father and mother went out to meet them, where hugs were exchanged all around. Jack endured a hug from each of them and Bert said, “Boy, you are growin’ like a weed. You’re gonna be taller than me soon.”

  Jack didn’t know why all adults felt like they had to say that. They couldn’t see him grow.

  “And this,” Millie said, “is Jack’s best friend, Billy Joe.”

  “Sir—ma’am,” Billy Joe said.

  Red nodded to Billy Joe, and Bert said, “I’ve heard Jack speak of you, Billy Joe. I’m glad to finally meet you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” Billy Joe replied self-consciously.

  They all went into the house with Jack and Billy Joe bringing their luggage.

  Jack’s father made drinks for the adults using the Canadian Club from the pantry with Coca-Cola. Jack wondered if it was actually Canadian Club or if it was from that “keg of evidence” the sheriff gave his father.

  Red and Bert seemed to like it either way.

  After supper and coffee, the men went into the living room while the women cleaned up the supper dishes. The boys followed the men and sat on the floor so they could get in the conversation if it turned to fishing.

  “So,” Red said, “you boys are best friends.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack answered. “Since school has been out, we have spent most of our time fishing.” Jack was anxious to change the subject to fishing.

  Jack’s father chuckled at the obvious attempt.

  “You’ve got some good fishin’ in this area, that’s for sure,” Red said. “Where do y’all go?”

  “Mostly in the creeks but sometimes out to the Leaf River when our mommas will let us,” Billy Joe said.

  “They would live on that river if we let them,” Jack’s father said.

  “How about Bogue Homa Lake? Don’t y’all ever go up there?” Red asked. “That’s some of the best shellcracker fishin’ in this state.”

  No, sir,” Jack said. “We have to get there on our bikes, when our mommas will let us, and Bogue Homa is such a big lake with lily pads all around its bank, you need a boat.”

  “Well, I tell you what, boys,” Red said. “You dig us a keg of worms and I’ll come down here and take you both to Bogue Homa Lake fishing.”

  “When you wanna do that?” Jack asked.

  “Heah, Jack,” Jack’s father admonished. “Don’t pin Red down. He’s a busy man.”

  “Naw,” Red said. “You just call me when you are ready and I’ll tell you when I can come down here and we’ll for sure go.”

  With dreams of a wonderful fishing trip with Red, the boys listened to Red describe his two fishing cabins and relate some of his best fishing experiences. The boys finally went off to bed to have good fishing dreams based on Red’s experiences.

  “Red,” Jesse began in a very serious tone, “do you remember Lige Garner?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Red said. “Wasn’t he your top plumber when I ran the hardware store in Ellisville? And if I remember rightly, he was very good at his job.”

  “He was that, but he had a bad problem with a bottle.”

  “Yeah, I remember that too,” Red added. “What’s the problem with Lige?”

  “He came around a few weeks ago wanting his job back. I have trained Leonard Garner, Lige’s cousin, and he is even better than Lige and Leonard doesn’t drink.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “He keeps coming around at work time some mornings and has gotten to the point where he almost demands his job back. If it hadn’t been for Leonard getting between us on one occasion, I think I would have had to defend myself physically.”

  “Jesse, call the sheriff on that fool,” Red almost insisted.

  “I did speak to the deputy assigned to Ellisville and he said there was not much he could do as long as Lige only asked for a job and didn’t attack me.”

  “You got a pistol, Jesse?”

  “No, I don’t, and I’d rather find another way to handle it if I can.”

  “Yeah, I know you would like to handle it that way, but sometimes you can’t,” Red advised. “If he were a younger man, I think I’d go to his father, brothers or other relatives to get them to talk to him. That still might do some good. Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to call the sheriff and insist he come get this fellow.”

  Jesse let it go at that.

  The next morning at breakfast, the boys wanted to talk about the fishing trip they were planning to Bogue Homa Lake but they didn’t get a chance to get into the conversation.

  Red and Bert hugged everybody, got into their car and drove away. They always left a warm feeling. It was a definite pleasure to have been with them.

  “Daddy, we need a keg,” Jack said. “Do you have one we can get?”

  “Yeah, I think so. What do you want it for?”

  “Uncle Red said when we dig a keg of worms, he wi
ll take us to Bogue Homa Lake, fishin’,” Jack explained. “We wanna get started diggin’ worms.”

  Jack’s father laughed. “Boys—that was just one of Red’s exaggerations. He didn’t actually mean for you to dig a full keg of worms. Nobody could use that many.”

  “Well, we wanna make sure,” Jack said. “If we dig a keg full, he will have to come take us to the lake.”

  “You know, you’re right,” he said, thinking about the joke it would be on Red when he saw a full keg of worms. “Come on around to the garage and we’ll see if we’ve got a keg in good enough shape to hold worms.”

  The three walked around the house to the garage. Under the platform that led from the breezeway, there were four kegs. Jack’s father looked over each and decided on one.

  “This one should hold your worms satisfactorily,” he said. “Just make sure you keep the worms covered with good rich dirt and sprinkle in a little water every day—not a lot of water, though. You don’t want to drown them.”

  “He said a keg of worms,” Jack remembered. “Do you think he meant worms with dirt in them or a keg of nothing but worms?”

  “Yeah, I wondered that myself,” Billy Joe responded.

  “Come on, boys,” Jack’s father said. “He was pulling your leg when he said ‘a keg of worms.’ He will expect you to put dirt in the keg. The worms will die if you don’t. Besides, how can you three use a keg of worms in a day of fishing?”

  “Just the same,” Jack said, “we had better get as many worms in the keg as we can. That’s what he said he wanted to take us to Bogue Homa.”

  Billy Joe nodded his agreement.

  “Okay then,” Jack’s father said. “Why don’t you start with that pile of boards under the seedling pecan tree in the chicken yard. Just pick up the boards and lean them against the back of the chicken house so they will dry. Then dig where the boards were. There should be plenty of worms in that rich soil.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Jack, handing the keg to Billy Joe and picking up a round-bladed shovel from the corner. “Let’s go, Billy Joe.”

  “Start out by putting a couple shovels of dirt in the bottom of the keg,” his father said as they walked away.

  In the chicken yard, the boys found the boards and a three-foot-by-five-foot RC Cola sign. They moved the boards, leaning them against the back of the chicken house. They laid the RC Cola sign on top of the chicken house to get it out of the way.