Preamble … or should I say, “pre-ramble.” The following stories were written over 50 years ago during a classroom assignment under the direction of Ms. Elsie McConville at Ohio’s Columbiana-Crestview High School.
The subject was creative writing, a course in which the teacher would give baseline ideas, and each individual student could choose any subject to write upon which applied the given instruction.
On one particular day, during the same class period, the planets and stars aligned, inspiring two much younger storytellers to write about one momentous day. Neither knew it at the time, but it was somehow triggered by something within the assignment’s description. As you will read, one reported the non-fictional, un-exaggerated truth — the other is a klutz.
“The Big Fish” — by Jim Abrams
“Bring the net over, Batch, I’ve got one! I’ve got a fish on the line, and I think it’s a catfish!” I yelled as my pole bent double. My ex-good friend, Mike Batchelor, came running.
Unfortunately, he was carrying a fishhook. I accepted it gratefully. I realized that due to his complete lack of fishing experience, his vocabulary was lacking the word “net.”
“I’ve never seen a catfish before,” screamed the immature angler as he leaped around the shore. I was heaving on the rod with every muscle I had, but the big cat just kept heading for the bottom of the lake, only slightly hampered by my tugs. My pole was bent beyond all tolerance levels, but for some reason it held together. The fish was taking the line off my reel so fast that it was beginning to smoke; I had to splash water on it to keep it cool enough to hold.
“It must be Old Ugly, the biggest catfish in Ohio,” I told Mike hopefully.
“Gee! I’ve heard about him. Every time he swims by, you can hear his mouth tinkle ‘cause of all the fishhooks in it. He breaks everybody’s line! Nobody can catch him!”
“Bull! I’ll get him. This 50-pound test line wouldn’t break under the strain of a Mac truck,” I said confidently.
I was now making some progress in getting the fish turned toward shore; then it jumped. It was Old Ugly! His head cleared the water at 6 feet, and his tail wasn’t above the surface yet.
“Do you want me to swim out and catch him?” Mike asked, trying to help. He couldn’t help it if he was a klutz.
“No, just sit down and watch how I beach Old Ugly. If you pay attention, you might learn something,” I said with a little doubt.
Three and a half hours had gone by since Old Ugly had swallowed the black snake I was using for bait. My hands were blistered and bleeding, but now the gigantic fish had met his match. Mike gazed on the situation with great interest. I worked Old Ugly up to the shore and was about to land him when the trouble happened.
“I’ll get him,” Mike yelled enthusiastically. Before I could stop him, he ran over to my line.
“Don’t touch that, you idiot!” I screamed frantically, but too late. He grabbed the 50-pound test line, attempted to pick up the new world’s record out of the water, and the line broke. Old Ugly, seeing his freedom, swam deep into the lake.
“Why didn’t you grab him by the tail? Why didn’t you let ME land him? Why did you have to get up? Why did I even bring you ?” I murmured as I sat down and cried into my raw hands.
“Don’t worry about it, Jim, and just think, you can catch him again tomorrow,” Mike said innocently. I then nonchalantly broke my fishing rod over his head and spent the rest of the afternoon crying over my misfortune and loss of my klutzy friend.
“The Big Fish” — by Mike Batchelor
One sunny July day, Jim Abrams asked me if I wanted to do a little fishing. Jim stated that we would go to Mike Mecure’s lake. He also said that there was an abundance of all sorts of fish.
Well, I agreed to go fishing with Jim. Since he was only an amateur fisherman, I knew I would have to help him along. I would have to instruct him in all the basics, like which end of the line to throw in the water and how to bait a hook.
Later that afternoon, we arrived at Mecure’s lake. It was a beautiful, clear lake set back from the road, with a few nice shade trees around it. It looked like a wonderful place to spend an afternoon.
I told Jim to start the day slow and easy. I asked him to see if he could possibly catch a bluegill. Jim, like a little boy with a new toy, was very excited. I carefully and explicitly explained to him how to cast his line into the water. After about a half-hour question and answer period, Jim declared with confidence that he was indeed ready for this first big step.
After six or eight tries, Jim managed to throw his line a few feet out into the water. He was giddy with joy. A thought then crossed my mind. “Jim,” I asked, “You do have bait on your line, don’t you?”
“What’s bait?” Jim inquisitively questioned.
I, in turn, spent about three-quarters of an hour showing the great fisherman how to bring his line in, bait his hook and then cast his line out again.
After this was accomplished, I realized I’d better stay close and watch him, just in case he fell into the water. In a few moments, something very strange happened. Jim’s line began shooting out and his pole began to bend. From the amount of bend, the direction and speed of the line, I quickly deduced that he had a rather large catfish on his line.
“OH, lookie, lookie!” Jim hollered. “I bet I have a whale on my line. Oh, for joy, for joy,” Jim said as he enthusiastically jumped up and down.
“Now just hold on,” I calmly said. I then went on explaining to Jim how to tire out and then reel in the fish. He followed my directions quite well for a time. Soon, he had the fish reeled all the way to shore. The cat was quite tired by now.
The sight of the fish so near must have excited poor Jimmy. Despite my explicit instructions to the contrary, he tried to lift the fish straight up out of the water. Naturally, as any true fisherman knows, such a weight will snap the type of line he had on.
The fish was lost. Jim threw down his rod in disgust and spent the rest of the sunny afternoon crying.
And so ends the tail
So ends the tale of the big fish, a fish whose waving tail was the last that was ever seen of its existence. As for the two angler essayists, you may be familiar with the first since you find him in local papers writing about all things wild in Ohio. He also served for many years with the Ohio Department of Natural Resources as an officer and trainer. That truthteller, by the way, is me.
The second author became something of a ne’er-do-well after his school years, having scammed so many to help support such silly things as the Pennsylvania Association of Community Foundations and the Erie Community Foundation — organizations whose goals and grants would increase access to health care, workforce training and other philanthropic hoodoo.
Why, it’s even rumored he finagled his way into the limelight for leading coalitions that created a School-Based Health Care Center, expanded Magee Women’s Research Institute and established a new community college. After 31 years of being the CEO (a term more delicate from what I’m certain was of a more dictatorial style), he was finally ousted — causing his staff and many benefactors to throw a party.
I will assume they had invited him to the shindig to shame him for all that stuff, but I wasn’t there. In all fairness, I will allow Mr. Batchelor the last word — hope I don’t need to edit too much of his grammar and spelling.
In fairness…
I was a bit traumatized when my old pal Jim asked me to relive the agony caused by his fishing ineptitude and our loss of Old Ugly, oh so many years ago. When we were young, lazy summer days seemed to last forever. Now that we are old, I can confirm the adages we’ve heard through the decades: life is short, time flies, live every day, hold your friends and family close.
The real star of this literary tete-a-tete is Mrs. McConville. She, somehow, inspired a love of writing in two country boys who, unbelievable to many, managed to accomplish a thing or two during their fleeting professional lives.
Jim lived his dream, always wanting to work for the Department of Natural Resources. I somehow managed to stay one step ahead of the sheriff, building a career in philanthropy.
While I’ve been blessed with many deep and long-lasting friendships, I wasn’t good about keeping in touch with my early classmates. Life is short, time flies. Maybe I’ll be able to do some fishing again with the truth-teller, my old pal Jim.
I have a feeling Old Ugly might still be in Mecure’s lake.
