“Things a feller ought to know”

By LEON YOUNGBLOOD

“There’re just some things a feller ought to know,” old Rip said, way back in 1983.  We were fishing in the beaver pond near Shockley Springs Baptist Church way back in the woods in Northwest Florida.

BRIAR CIRCLE

“Tell me, Uncle Rip,” I said, though he was not a relative; everybody just called him “Uncle.”

“Well, now, did you know: ‘irregardless’ is not a word.”

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“I knew that,” I said.  “I learned the hard way at Junior College.  Some teachers were laughing at a column I wrote for the college paper, and I thought they were laughing at my story.  They were laughing at my use of ‘irregardless’ twice.”

Rip reflected a moment, then said, “Yep, my twelve-year-old-great-granddaughter told me when I was sayin’ it.  Did you know all toads are frogs but not all frogs are toads?”

“I think I did.  I never really gave it much thought.”

“Well, you ought to.  That could come up any time in a conversation, y’know.  You don’t want to look like a fool.  And by the same token, all venoms are poison, but not all poisons are venom—in case you ever get snake-bit.”

“Are spiders poisonous or venomous?” I asked.

“They could be both, because all venoms are poison.  It don’t matter.  The distinctions are just for perfectionists—like my twelve-year-old-great-granddaughter.  Now, can you back up a trailer?”

“Not a big one,” I confessed, knowing Rip used to drive lumber trucks.  “I’m okay with small ones.”

“That’ll do.  Now, a feller oughter to sound smart, even if he ain’t.  Can you quote any famous people?”

I wasn’t expecting this one.  “Some,” I answered.

“Awright: who said, ‘Dern the potaters, full speed ahead!’?”

I could respond to this one quickly.  “Uncle Rip, I have no idea!”

“Admiral Farraqua, over at Mobile Bay.  Who said, ‘Never give a sucker an even break’?”

“W. C. Fields?”

“Naw, naw, that was old Pete Tiberius Barnum, up by Andalusia. You should know local history. He owned a store an’ made it a point to cheat everybody he could, like it was his religion, or something.  He come down South as a Carpetbagger, y’know.  He died along about 1910.  My grandparents knew him.”

“Did he also say, ‘There’s a sucker born every minute’?”

Rip’s face lit up.  “Why, I think he did!  How’d you know?”

“I just heard it somewhere,” I said.  I did not tell him it was a different P. T. Barnum.

The pond we were fishing in was next to a dirt road that served the area.  It had beavers in it, and at that moment, Rip saw one in the distance.  He pointed it out, saying, “You know beavers only eat bark, an’ leaves and plants.  They don’t eat fish.”

I knew that.

“They can still mess up a pond, though,” Rip said.  I knew that, too.

“A feller ought to be able to fend for hisself, and live off the land.  If you had to, could you butcher a deer—wait a minute!”

Rip’s reel sang out, and he pulled in a nice sized bluegill.  After the excitement subsided, I nswered the question I anticipated from the old man, and said, “I’m not much with game, Uncle Rip.  But I know how to clean fish!”

The fish had begun biting, at that point, and that disrupted our conversation all along; but Rip still managed to share stories from his younger days, Native American recipes, woodcrafts and other things “a feller ought to know.”  I can add to that list:  One thing “a feller ought to know” is how to listen to our elders.  Uncle Rip is gone, now, but the wealth of fond memories he gave has lasted for decades.  Thanks, Uncle Rip.  And RIP.