Another Henderson Reunion

I really didn’t mean it when I said Bass fear me. I was just trying to be funny, by livening up a story that I wrote some time ago of a rather boring fishing trip with a little humor. I was just joking. So David, what does that have to do with the Henderson Reunion? Nothing! Then, again, maybe everything.

 

This is the time of year that we have our many family reunions. We are truly blessed with family that loves them. I think we have five on our calendar, and we had our first Henderson one at Lake Talquin, South of Tallahassee, Florida. Cousin Joyce had rented a large house, (that a few of us shared), right on the lake with a nice dock, loaded with blind mosquitoes. However, the landlord said not to worry, that they don’t bite. What he didn’t tell us was that they flew in swarms and being blind they would fly into every crevice on your body, which would be somewhat discomforting. But the Henderson Clan arrived in a swarm also, and when they swarm, things happen! However, I, being the calm, cool and proper person that I am, I won’t go there. For the most part I just sat on the sidelines and uttered a few ‘Tisk, tisk, tisk’ or an occasional ‘Oh, my!’ Mainly because BJ and Cousin Joyce often reminded those of us that were of the ‘In-law’ kind, that no matter how long we have been ‘Married into the family,’ we were not blood, therefore were not entitled to comments about bloods. So, even though the ‘Truth shall set you free,’ I will be kind instead.

 

Friday night supper was hamburgers and hot dogs cooked by Chef Butch. Watching him cooking them was part of the entertainment. At one point when the flames were about a foot high on the gas grill, I mention to Butch that his grill was on fire to which he responded with, ‘Yeah, we are really cooking now.’ Robert (ever the grill master), was watching closely, so all was ok. It was a good time of fun and fellowship. There were about 50 people in the back yard. Not knowing everyone there, I’m not sure that some were people from the neighborhood that just showed up to see what all the commotion was about. But there we were with Butch a cooking and his wife Jodi forever cleaning up behind everyone, all the while listening to Joyce, BJ and Robert holding court. Becky, Mary, Lavon and I were hanging on every word. Cousin Barbara was reminiscing and Scooter was…well, Scooter was being Scooter, but she had a kindred spirit in Jodi, (the other cousin Jodi,that is), who she was entertaining, or maybe it was vice versa. I don’t know which, but they laughed a lot.  They spent some time ragging Willard, (Becky’s Husband) on the phone about wrecking his boat while trying to come over from the other side of the lake. He didn’t make it that night. Scooter is a high spirited sort that will liven up any gathering.  Her husband, Tom, brought a game where you tossed a bean bag into a hole. It was set up kind of like horseshoes. He and the kids played for hours. Ross finally made it down from Atlanta to every ones delight. Jimmy Joe and Helen made it in later, but that is enough about Friday Night, that I am willing to write about, with one exception that I will finish this story with.  

 

 

Saturday morning came early with Robert and Lavon up before 4 AM, for what reason no one knows. I soon followed for my own reasons. At the break of day and after much coffee I headed down to the dock to avenge my ‘Terminator’ from the night before, but to no avail. So it was back up to the house for a breakfast fit for a king. There were mounds of BJ’s pancakes, syrup, grits, eggs, sausage and all the coffee you can drink. I think we went through two bags of coffee in two days. What a great time sitting around talking about kinfolks, (good and bad), other reunions, and such. The landlord, with the contract in hand, paid us a visit and pulled Joyce off to the side to let her know that he didn’t rent this house to 50 people and etc,etc. She had to convince him only about 10 spent the night. It was decided after his visit that we would move supper to the camp ground where most of the clan were staying. In the mean time Jimmy Joe had put his 45 thousand dollar bass boat in the water, and now I’m really excited, because I will get to fish with a real bass fishing pro. Some may say that I exaggerate a little when talking about my fishing ability, and or feats. Be that it may, but today I was with one of the best and I was prepared to put all that talk to rest. As we headed across the lake at speeds that all the pros drive when bass hunting, I looked over his tackle strapped to the deck. The sixteen or so bait casting outfits were all top dollar and each lured for different situations. I then looked at my Shimano spinning outfit, that probably cost less than half of one of his rods, and decided that my real skills in bass fishing may just be a little less that what I have been proclaiming. Worse, Jimmy Joe had probably already noted such.

 

Well, if nothing else I will get some pointers from someone that has fished more bass tournaments than I have read about. So, after checking the charts and the fish finder we found the right spot and started fishing. I was using a spinnerbait, (but not the ‘Terminator’), that I had bought just the day before on our way to the lake. At this time I have to say that I brought all my skills into play, real and imagined, and fished as hard as I ever had at any time in my life. Number one I wanted to impress Jimmy Joe, and two, I really needed to land a big one to live up to my brags. Jimmy Joe started off with a spinnerbait but soon changed to a new style swimbait. I really loved the action of that bait and Jimmy Joe rigged one for me. He offered the use of one of his bait casters, but I declined remembering how long it had been since I used one. Backlashing was not what I wanted to do in front of him.

 

We fished the grass beds, the lily pads, and around the docks for miles of shore line. Jimmy finally said they must be in deepwater. Using the fish finder to help locate the fish, I watched Jimmy Joe check depth, water temp, cover, etc. We fished with plastic worms, jigs, Carolina rigs, everything. We went back to the grass, pads and docks. I had never fished so hard. I watch the Pro fish using everything in his arsenal. It was about this time, with us going at it for hours, that I then remembered what I wrote some time ago about how bass fear me and when they knew I was on the lake, they would run and hide. That was said in jest about a time when my long time friend Michael and I fished a tournament down at Lake Yale. Now after watching one of the best get ‘Skunked’ for the first time in more years then he can remember, I am now wanting to believe my own lies. But how did they know I was here? Then I remembered the ‘Terminator’ the night before. Finally, after mentioning that we should have brought the kitchen sink, Jimmy Joe headed back to our dock, discouraged, defeated, dejected, and ready to discard his jinks. And me, thinking about how I might salvage this time with a story, was ready to stretch the truth just a little, thinking Jimmy Joe would go along with me, but alas, he loaded up his boat, his wife Helen and headed back south, putting me and Lake Talquin far behind him. Gees…

 

After that I spent a couple of hours pondering things, it was soon time to head across the lake to the camp ground where Willard and Becky were frying mullet. That was some of the best mullet I had in a long while. BJ, who does not like mullet, ate three slabs herself. Larry and Wendy were there and Nicki, Jodi’s daughter had come in that afternoon along with Sam and Nell, with William in tow. We had another great time of fellowship with family. My mama always said that family was everything and sitting around the campers watching all the kids playing and adults in conversation I thought how true that was.

 

Before long it was time to head back and spend our last night on the lake. We sat around before turning in and rehashed the weekend while making plans to do it again. They say blood is thicker than water and the Henderson’s blood is thicker than most. Those that could not make the weekend missed out on a lot, but there is always next time, but I thank God for them all. We are blessed, BJ and I, with great a family on both sides, Butlers and Hendersons.

 

The next morning I tried one more time to avenge my ‘Terminator’ before we packed up and left. I had just bought my Terminator T-1 Short Arm Thumper Spinnerbait Friday Morning for about 8 bucks. While fishing off the dock on that Friday evening, I used almost every other lure I had, wanting to save the Terminator for Saturday, trying to catch the big one. Finally, just before dark I gave in and tied on the new spinner bait and cast it over by the neighboring dock. About half  way back in my retrieve I hooked onto a monster of a bass. He immediately headed out to deep water as I set the hook. He then turned and came right back at me and under our dock. Crying ‘Oh No!’ I fell to my knees and tried to pull him back out, but in a split second he went around one of the pilings and the next thing I know my line was slack. One cast and my brand new 8 dollar ‘Terminator’ was gone. The worst of it was that they now knew I was on the lake and every bass in the lake headed for a deep hole to hide. Yep, after this weekend I now know that bass really do fear me.

 

We loaded up and said our goodbyes that Sunday Morning, BJ and I headed to Albany to spend Mother’s Day with my Mom, Dad and siblings for another great gathering of family.

 

What a wonderful weekend. Just can’t wait till the next one.

 

One last straw on my loaded back came on Wednesday Night at church, after telling how I lost the ‘Terminator,’ my friend, Gene, told me he just bought three of them at a yard sale for a dollar apiece. Wouldn’t you know it…

 

David Butler

2012

 

 

 

The Last Full Measure

Remembering Sergeant Ruben Thomas

His uniform was not that of the armed forces of our country, but no less honorable. He never had to face an opposing army advancing on him, but he walked in harms way daily. He never served in a foreign land, but he lived eight hours a day in a world most people know little or nothing about. We are thankful that our armed forces are out there standing in the gap, but we are no less thankful that Ruben stood between us and the evil that exist behind the prison fence. He knew the danger, but refused to be paralyzed by it. Bill Brewer, the officer that rushed to his aid is the best example of that kind of courage. So today and the rest of the tomorrows as the anguish of our loss starts to dim, we should build a memorial in our hearts for those that shouldered the burden of watching over the incarcerated and gave their last full measure of courage.

Rest in peace Ruben…

David Butler

2012

Jimmie’s Hot Dogs!

I have no doubt that if you placed me on island in the middle of a hurricane that was blowing sand and water in my face at 150 miles a hour, with water up to my chin, and you gave me a Jimmie’s Hot Dog and ask me to taste it, and tell you where it came from, I could. Put me in a room with a million different hot dogs, and I could pick out Jimmie’s. That may be overstating it a mite, but I have been eating those wonderful dogs for over 60 years and I can truly say that they taste and looked the same today as they have always looked and tasted.

I know, having said that, you think those dogs are the only thing I eat, don’t you? Actually, I mostly only get them when I go home to Albany Georgia for a visit. Today was such a day. We Butler’s have been gathering each year on the Saturday before Christmas at my parent’s home for the past six decades. My mom always cooks Brunswick Stew and we get Jimmies to go with it. That tradition has not changed in all of those years. Five generations of kids have eaten those dogs at their house, and I don’t know of one that doesn’t love them.

On many occasions my parents, when coming to Florida to one of my kid’s birthday parties, would bring a cooler full of the hot dogs. Two of my daughters rode up together today, and one said to the other, “I don’t know what exit is what around Albany, but I can get you to Jimmie’s.” At lunch today my wife Barbara Jo, and daughter Terri Jo, held up the Jimmie’s while daughter Candi Jo, took a picture of them and sent it as a ‘Goode Goode’ to Missy Jo, my daughter in South Carolina that couldn’t make it this year. They got the expected reply. I simply can’t explain the attraction to this phenomenal food. When we cook the dogs at home I may eat two, and if I get one at the fast food restaurants, I usual get just one. However, I can eat four Jimmie’s before I can even take a sip of tea.  

So, what is so special about them? I don’t know if I can tell you or not, without you experiencing one of those delectable treats yourself. While you can get them with all the modern trimmings, the two dogs that are the most sold, and also their flagship are, ‘All the way and without onions,’ wrapped in wax paper and put into a brown paper bag. And since people buy them by the dozens, the bags will have on the front something like; ‘16AW or 12 WO.’ All the way is a little red weenie on a toasted bun, sliced down the middle rather from the side, with mustard, chili and onions. Without onions is just that. They are sold from the same building across from the bus station with no tables or chairs, and behind the same counter by the same women as they were in the 1940’s. Well, maybe not the same women, but when I close my eyes and look back, I see the same set up of four to five women behind that same counter preparing the dogs. It starts with the pot of boiling dogs, and with a lady bagging them at the other end. And the line will be out the door. I doubt anyone would dispute that.

I loved growing up in Albany where one of my very first jobs was selling the Albany Herald on the city streets as a young boy, always earning enough extra to buy at least one dog and a coke a cola. However, I’m sad to say that I don’t know the town anymore. I fear that the ‘Grand dame of the South’ has gone the way of all the other ‘Progressive cities.’  You would think that you were in Detroit instead of Albany. I have never seen such division between people. I am just thankful that Jimmie’s is still around to bring back all those youthful memories. Some traditions are worth keeping and while I know there may be others around town, Jimmie’s Hot Dogs surly ranks up at the top where it never was about black or white, but rather about the little red Winnie.

Jimmy Baltas, you did good, Jimmie’s Hot Dogs may be the last business standing in town.

David Butler

2011

Then there was David Mead…

“What kind of tree is that David?” “That is an Acer rubrum, or Red Maple. It has a broad, flat simple palmately lobed notched v-shaped leaves. Seeds are winged and about three quarters of an inch long. It is more common in the southwestern and eastern parts of Ohio.” “Un huh, and that one?” “Oh you mean the Castanea dentate? Or what you would call the Chestnut? It is native to the northeastern states. You can see it has broad flat simple not lobed coarse teeth leaves about 5 to 8 inches long. The fruit has a short stout stem, with its nut in a spiny husk 2-3 inches in diameter.”

 “Ok.”                                                                                                                 

“That one over there is a Betula nigra, or River Birch, which is typically found growing on stream banks and in swampy lowlands. It can grow to 80 feet in height and is sometimes use for furniture and woodenware. This one here is a Ginkgo biloba or Maidenhair Tree, which most people just call it Gingko. It is native to china and is mostly an ornamental tree in the states. Here is a Fraxinus Americana or White Ash, which is the largest of the Ash trees, with some reaching 100 feet in height. The wood from this tree is used to make the famous Louisville slugger bats.”

Every now and then I get to feeling that I am not up to date on trees as I should be, so I go see my friend and neighbor, David. We always take a stroll around his property and look at his trees. All 500 plus species of them!  And my friend will tell me about and name every one of his trees. All of them, including the scientific names. He has 50 species of Oaks and at least that many of the maples. He even has a Cedar of Lebanon, ( Cedrus libani ). I can not imagine anyone out side of some professor in some college that knows more or has as many different species of trees as David. I cannot even pronounce the scientific names much less remember them.

To say that David was different would be understating it a mite. Along with the trees, I also don’t know of anyone anywhere in any country that has as many record albums as David. All of them are in the original cardboard covers and in protective plastic sleeves, on shelves, cataloged according to type of music. Part of the collection is in a semi trailer that has shelves from floor to ceiling on both sides with two rows of shelves in the center from floor to ceiling. The rest is in his large studio with the same type of shelf set up. I do not think 50,000 will touch the number.

He has a record player in his studio with all kinds of amps and big, (very big), speakers and he listens to every album when he buys them. I have listened to many of the old ones with him. He asked me the other night, when I was over there, did I have one that I wanted to hear, and I thought that this was a good time to test him. So I said, do you have ‘Old Dog Tray?’ He asked who recorded it, and I said I don’t know, but Stephen Foster wrote it. And yes, he had an album of folk songs by him. I guess the love of music just comes natural to David who as a junior in high school played First French horn for the University of Florida’s Orchestra, also having co wrote and recorded 14 songs. David was even invited to audition for the Jacksonville Symphony Orchestra, but at the time he was hoping for a spot in the major leagues as a catcher. That dream died when he blew out his knee.

Hoarder he is, but in a fanatical organized way. Workaholic also. Always working in his trees during the day, and on his album collection at night. David is a retired correctional officer and stone cutter. Stone cutter? Yes a stone cutter, then again not just any stone cutter, but an award winning stone cutter, having pioneered the famous Tri-Mead and Fox Cut in precious stones. He even made trips to Africa to purchase his stones. Rumor has it that he even cut some for the mafia, or maybe it was that he was approached by them to cut some. If you want to talk precious stone cutting, he is your man, just be prepared to stay awhile. He will also show you his trophies and awards, along with some of the stones he cut.

Yep that is my friend David, (Plant a tree for me), Mead. There are none like him anywhere. Well suited to the life that he and wife Dawn, with daughter, Hunter live, along with their two dogs, a three foot long iguana, 50,000+ record albums and all those trees.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

ad lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poem are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

-Alfred Joyce Kilmer-

 

David Butler

Occupiers – My opinion

How did we get from a nation of ‘Earn what you get,’ to a nation of ‘Give me what you got?’ I guess I am out of touch with a society that thinks there should be no losers, only winners. A nation that believes I should have as much as you, and if you have more than me, then you should give it to me. Every child should have a ‘Participation trophy,’ as if getting a little plastic trophy makes them feel good about themselves for just showing up.  I don’t care how hard he works for his wealth, I want my share. My dumb mistakes are everyone else’s fault.

How did we turn out this generation of entitled hellions with their inflated sense of what they have coming to them, (as someone said).

 I am a master of failure. While I do not cherish that title, I also know it has made me a better person. I look back on the failures as learning experiences, and it gave me a sense of drive to do better. I have flaws in my character, but whining about failures and envying what others have is not one of them. My parents taught us that you work for what you get, and to respect others that do the same.  

I think about my little 8 year old niece, who is going to the state championship in gymnastics this year. She has had to go through many events, where she did not always win, to get there. Her failures only made her stronger and more determined.  Her strong desire for excellence, while it may or may not take her to the Olympics one day, will certainly take her down the road to a successful life.  

Then we have the ‘Have not,’ occupying Wall Street, demanding their participation trophy, just for being born.

I think about George Dawson, a black man who learned to read at age 98, after working 90 of those years and raising seven children, all of them college graduates. His story is one that should shame anyone who thinks ‘He is entitled.’

Then there’s my dad, who retired for the third time at 82, and only then due to my mom’s failing health. He never had fame or wealth, but he is known as a ‘Working Man.’ A title that ‘Occupiers’ have no desire to achieve, who would rather spend two months in a tent demanding their fair share, than flipping hamburgers to earn a days pay.

Ok David, tell us what you really think!

In 2 Thessalonians 3:10, Paul said “For even when we were with you, we gave you this rule: The one who is unwilling to work shall not eat.”

Someone said, “Give a man a fish and he will eat that day, but give him a fishing pole and he will eat from now on.” I say, “Tell the man where he can find the bamboo, hook, line and bait. Go get it and start fishing.”

Our country is on the verge of going socialist, with our president leading the way. But show me a country where it has worked. Don’t give me the banking Scandinavian countries where all the money is either. You want to see socialism failure, just look at Greece, a country of lazy incompetent idiots who want everything handed to them. Sound familiar? Occupiers maybe?

We are a better country than that.

David Butler

Richard

How do you say goodbye to a friend?

He was standing at my desk when the phone rang at seven AM that morning. His doctor was on the other end and wanted to know how long would it take for him to get to the hospital. Richard told her about 15 minutes and then asked why. She said that she didn’t like what she saw on the x-rays or the blood work and wanted to run more test, and for him to leave now, and they would be waiting for him.

 

That was nearly six months ago and now Richard Grayson Odom, Sr. is gone, having died of cancer. During the short few months between diagnose and death, I watched my friend teach a class on how to die with dignity. The lessons he taught should be written down and published in a book, and that book be required reading for anyone dying of cancer. The book title should be, “There is No Whining in Dying.” Richard certainly did none of that. The book should have a chapter on the bucket list. Richard certainly did have one. Only it did not include any of the things that you would normal think would be on it. His bucket list was short. In fact it was just one thing. That was spending time with his family and friends and telling them how much he loved them and telling them all goodbye. I heard him say more times than I can count that he gets to do something very few people get to do, and that is, “I get to tell everyone bye.” How great is that?

 

The times that another long time friend and coworker, JB Hall and I would visit him, we would ask him how he was doing, and he would say, “I don’t have a thing to complain about.” The pain would be so bad that he could barely move, but he never complained. About the only thing he could eat was the peanut butter cookies that Judy, JB’s wife made for him. I can not think of anything other than those cookies that he asked for from us other that taking care of the guys at work. They were on his mind all the time. However, his love for his wife, Rose and his children was his greatest topic.

 

During his last days he could barely speak above a whisper, but he didn’t waste words. He used them to tell us how much he loved us. He died with dignity holding Rose’s hand.

 

Goodbye my friend, go with God Speed.

 

David Butler

First Lieutenant James Hudgins

Gentleman Warrior.

For heroism while participating in aerial flight evidenced by voluntary action above and beyond the call of duty in the Republic of Vietnam, First Lieutenant Hudgins distinguished himself by exceptionally valorous action on13 November 1967, while serving as fire team leader of an armed helicopter during a rescue operation near Que Son,Republic of Vietnam.

Today is Veterans Day when we take a moment to salute all the men and women that served in the military of this great country of ours. I have known and served with a lot of men that I am honored to salute, but none any more than my friend James. Today James is a mild, if not meek, mannered gentleman serving as an assistant warden at Hamilton Correctional Institution in Jasper Florida. When first meeting him, his demeanor belies the warrior that received the Distinguished Flying Cross, for heroism mention above.

The citation continues in part: When his aircraft came under intense hostile fire, Lieutenant Hudgins immediately returned the fire and skillfully maneuvered his helicopter between the lift ships and the enemy positions. His aircraft received several hits, but he elected to continue with the flight. His action contributed greatly to the successful recover of the downed aircraft and injured crewmembers. Lieutenant Hudgins display of personal bravery is in keeping with the highest traditions of the military service, and reflects great credit upon himself, his unit, and the United States Army.

James’ helicopter along with four more were shot down during that heavy contested battle. This hero of the First Cavalry Division was shot down several other times while flying the Huey Gunship and was decorated along with the DFC, the Silver Star and 30 plus Air Metals, among others. In writing James up for the Silver Star, his platoon Leader submitted the following after action report:

Statement of Herbert L. Lawton

On16 October 1967, Lt. James Hudgins distinguished himself in support of the Company C., 227th AHB Ready Reaction Force.

The flight-supporting 2nd Bn, 12th Cavalry, 1st Cavalry Division (Airmobile) – was operating approximately 25 nautical miles northwest of Chu Lai RVN.

The flight had been conducting a troop move when I received the information that the 2/12 Command and Control ship had been downed by enemy fire and that both pilots were wounded.  While the troops were loading to be transported to the site of the downed aircraft, I notified Lt. Hudgins of the mission.  He in turn informed me that his wingman was taking on fuel and could not accompany us on the mission.  However, recognizing the gravity of the situation and the necessity for haste, Lt. Hudgins elected to disregard basic gunship tactics and accompany the flight alone.  He did this with the knowledge that he would have no cover for himself on his firing runs. 

Enroute to the LZ, I learned that the aircraft on the ground had received hits from both .50 and .30 cal automatic weapons and that the LZ was red.  Informed of this Lt. Hudgins, with complete disregard for his own safety, insisted that he would accomplish the mission without support of his wingman.

The site of the downed aircraft was a large rice paddy, the ship being located in the center.  The ceiling was approximately 500′ absolute with visibility periodically impaired by mist and rain showers.  Having no contact with the downed aircraft, and unable to determine the direction of fire, I elected to land to the west, into the wind.  As soon as the flight of five touched down on the LZ, we began receiving automatic weapons fire from the south and north.  Rounds were observed hitting around the downed aircraft and between the aircraft of the flight.  Through muzzle flashes and sound, numerous automatic weapons were spotted in the tree lines on both sides of the flight.  Because he was alone, Lt. Hudgins was forced to repeatedly over fly automatic weapons positions in order to lay suppressive fire on all fire reported.  With cool professionalism, Lt. Hudgins skillfully maneuvered his lone gunship to effectively cover the most area in the shortest amount of time.  Because of a delay in loading the wounded personnel, Lt. Hudgins ship expended all ammunition except for the pilots personal weapons before the flight departed the LZ.  Realizing the psychological effects of the gunships on the enemy, Lt. Hudgins made repeated runs while his copilot fired (his M29 grenade launcher) from the cockpit.

Later in the day, Lt. Hudgins, accompanied by his wingman, volunteered to escort the aircraft recovery ship into the LZ although other escort gunships were standing by for the mission.  The LZ was still receiving fire and Lt. Hudgins again expended all ammunition on this lift and the subsequent extraction of the security forces.

Although the entire flight was subjected to constant enemy fire on both lifts, the effectiveness of Lt. Hudgins support was evidenced by the fact that with the exception of Lt. Hudgins ship, not one of the flight received any hits.  Three ships in the immediate vicinity did receive hits while the gunships were absent.

Lt. Hudgins professional skill, cool judgment, and complete disregard for personal safety in the pursuit of his mission reflect great credit upon himself, his unit, and the United States Army.

Herbert L. Lawton
1/Lt    Armor
Platoon Leader

So, I salute my friend and all my fellow veterans today and everyday.

David Butler