Speaker 1: The Breakout by Scott Hendricks. I met Chief in my
Speaker 1: tenth year, when I finally mustered the courage to me
Speaker 1: interrupt to his barn on a cool June afternoon, interrupting
Speaker 1: him as he split a calm of bamboo. You need something,
Speaker 1: he asked, not sounding friendly. What are you doing? I said,
Speaker 1: genuinely interested. Who are you? He said, sounding annoyed, Henry Mason,
Speaker 1: I answered, walking into his barn, uninvited and mesmerized by
Speaker 1: the museum inside. You like to fish, he asked, seeming
Speaker 1: to accept the intrusion into his rustic sanctuary. In the
Speaker 1: cracking from the splitting bamboo, stop and Chief stood with
Speaker 1: an insulted frown. Now you've never been fishing ever, Chief asked,
Speaker 1: unbelieving that any young boy could reach the tender age
Speaker 1: of ten never catch a fish. I ain't, never had
Speaker 1: nobody take me. You be back here early in the
Speaker 1: morning before the sun rises, and wool fish you hear?
Speaker 1: My eyes got big, and I agreed. The next morning,
Speaker 1: I was waiting in the dark before the two large
Speaker 1: barn doors. He smiled slightly as he found me sitting
Speaker 1: Indian style, legs crossed, waiting for him. How long you
Speaker 1: been here boy, about thirty minutes, I said, as I
Speaker 1: watched the smile broaden across Chief's face, A thin stream
Speaker 1: of brown juice thrust from his lips. Under his direction,
Speaker 1: we lowered one of the canoes using his elaborate pulley system,
Speaker 1: and each took an end and walked it down to
Speaker 1: the edge to the lake. He returned to the barn
Speaker 1: and retrieved a fly rod from the wall, and soon
Speaker 1: we both stood along the edge of the lake, and
Speaker 1: for an hour. Chief instructed me on the proper way
Speaker 1: to hold and cast a fly rod. He kept time
Speaker 1: rhythmically clapping his hands, and soon my casts were in
Speaker 1: time with his clapping. He was able to rein in
Speaker 1: my knee to use my entire arm as if I
Speaker 1: were throwing a baseball, and focus that energy into the
Speaker 1: flick of my wrist. I practiced with a fly rod
Speaker 1: daily until I could place a popping bug into a
Speaker 1: mason jar lid. Satisfied that I was ready, we climbed
Speaker 1: into the canoe and Chief sculled the paddle smoothly, moving
Speaker 1: the canoe into the center of the lake. We quietly
Speaker 1: anchored both ends and situated ourselves perpendicular to a branch
Speaker 1: that grew from the water in a ragged, arthritic form.
Speaker 1: You smell that, Chief asked, as he inhaled long and deeply,
Speaker 1: but quietly through his nose. I closed my eyes and
Speaker 1: mimicked him, unsure what I was supposed to be smelling.
Speaker 1: I smelled stink, I said, as I opened my eyes.
Speaker 1: Must end riding stink. Well, that's it. What's it? You smell?
Speaker 1: Bedding bluegill? Chief said, his eyes coming alive and jumping around,
Speaker 1: surveying the oily water before him. See Chief said, as
Speaker 1: he pointed with the tip of his fly rod, See
Speaker 1: them yonder, breaking the surface and rolling. And I did
Speaker 1: see the rolling forms churned the water as if it
Speaker 1: were boiling in a pot. Suddenly Chief lost fifty years,
Speaker 1: and he and I were the same age. Anticipation grew
Speaker 1: as he hastily tied on a yellow and orange popping bug,
Speaker 1: white rubbery legs protruding from its sides, black dots covering
Speaker 1: the whole of the bug. As instructed, I held fly
Speaker 1: rod in my hand and watch Chief rhythmically extend the
Speaker 1: line forward and backward, lightly, placing the bug in the
Speaker 1: middle of the boiling water in front of us. As
Speaker 1: soon as it hit the water, the soft rolls turned
Speaker 1: into a small explosion, and I heard what would become
Speaker 1: the familiar plot. The fight was on chiefs rod bent
Speaker 1: and the tip following the direction of a spastic escape.
Speaker 1: And when you hook them, you want to be sure
Speaker 1: to try and ease them away from the bed so
Speaker 1: that they don't disturb the other fish, he said, as
Speaker 1: he lifted the rod above his head, pulling the line
Speaker 1: toward his lap. He brought the fish to the side
Speaker 1: of the canoe and into his hand, raising it flat
Speaker 1: as if he were offering me something to eat. The
Speaker 1: bluegill glistened in the morning sun. Flashes of purples and
Speaker 1: rusts and greens shone on the fish as it flexed
Speaker 1: and flopped back into the murky black water. Your turn,
Speaker 1: Remember what I told you, Chief said, as he quietly
Speaker 1: kept rhythm with his hands. My heart was beating wildly
Speaker 1: as I began to work the rod. I soon landed
Speaker 1: my bug close to the same spot where Chief hooked
Speaker 1: his fish, and the water erupted again. Excitedly, I jerked
Speaker 1: my line, peeling the bug behind me clear into the
Speaker 1: next zip code. Now you have to hesitate one Mississippi
Speaker 1: lifts smoothly. Don't jerk it, Chief counted patiently. I immediately put
Speaker 1: the bug back into action, and as soon as it
Speaker 1: hit the water, there was a slight break on the surface,
Speaker 1: followed by a kerplot one Mississippi, and the fish was on.
Speaker 1: A feeling of euphoria enveloped my entire being, and adrenaline
Speaker 1: pushed through my body. After several seconds, the bluegill was
Speaker 1: pulled into the canoe, and now in my hand. I
Speaker 1: surveyed it like a rare treasure, marveling at the coloring.
Speaker 1: It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Speaker 1: I took it off the hook and pulled in several more,
Speaker 1: just like it before. I noticed that Chief was no
Speaker 1: longer fishing, but just watching and guiding and patiently teaching me.
Speaker 1: And by the end of the morning, I was a
Speaker 1: brim fisherman. I was hooked Chief and I fished every
Speaker 1: chance we got For several years. After that, I went
Speaker 1: away to college and finally came home for spring break
Speaker 1: during my second year. Beforegoing a trip to one of
Speaker 1: Florida's beaches, all I had on my mind was spending
Speaker 1: the entire week with Chief. My first stop was the barn,
Speaker 1: which was closed up tight and cobwebs extended in spots
Speaker 1: on the doors, creating a bridge between them. I went
Speaker 1: up to Chief's house and tried his back door. It
Speaker 1: was locked and there were no lights on inside. As
Speaker 1: I walked to the front of the house, Chief's neighbor,
Speaker 1: Missus Livingston, was in his yard cutting tulips. He's in
Speaker 1: the nursing home, she said, almost proud that he was,
Speaker 1: and she wasn't. She never looked up and kept cutting twulips,
Speaker 1: unfazed that she was trespassing and caught doing so well,
Speaker 1: Which one I asked, hollering so she could hear the
Speaker 1: one connected to the hospital. She said, a decibel higher
Speaker 1: than my own voice, mocking me as if she could
Speaker 1: hear just fine, and there was no need for me
Speaker 1: to speak so loudly. Thank you, I said even louder.
Speaker 1: You're welcome, she screamed, winning the vocal battle. I stood
Speaker 1: impatiently at the nurse's station, waiting for his room number
Speaker 1: when I spotted him. He was standing before a large
Speaker 1: picture window, cane in hand, staring over a small pond.
Speaker 1: You think there's any fish in there? I asked, He
Speaker 1: slowly turned his whole body to see me. Boy, he said.
Speaker 1: His eyes danced as he brought a shaking hand to
Speaker 1: my cheek, cupping it before slowly moving in to hug me.
Speaker 1: How did you know I was here, he asked, your
Speaker 1: neighbor I went by your house that old nag. Was
Speaker 1: she stealing my tulips? He asked, his voice sounding stronger,
Speaker 1: almost defiant. We visited for an hour. I told him
Speaker 1: about my trip to Montana. He wanted to know every cast,
Speaker 1: every change of fly, and every toug on the line.
Speaker 1: He was anxious to know what it felt like to
Speaker 1: catch a wild rainbow trout. He asked if I had
Speaker 1: fished dry flies only not lie, and I told him
Speaker 1: I had. I showed him photos of me holding a
Speaker 1: trout in one hand and a fly rod that he
Speaker 1: and I built in the other. I wish now I
Speaker 1: had taken him so we could share those memories. I
Speaker 1: wish I could have been with you, he said, with
Speaker 1: a mixture of pride and sadness. I missfishing with you. Boy.
Speaker 1: My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. He
Speaker 1: had me follow him to his room. We walked slowly.
Speaker 1: He sat in his recliner and instructed me to pull
Speaker 1: a box from under his bed, and as he prompted
Speaker 1: me to open it, I saw a frame photo of
Speaker 1: Chief and me. We stood beside each other, each holding
Speaker 1: the end of a stringer full of bluegill and chinkapins.
Speaker 1: I hand made rough hewn frame. Surrounded the photo. Carved
Speaker 1: into the bottom were two words for Henry. Often wondered
Speaker 1: if he remembered my real name because he only called
Speaker 1: me boy, but he did know. I imagine he called
Speaker 1: me boy because he never had one of his own.
Speaker 1: I was his boy, Chief. I asked, what is the
Speaker 1: one thing you want to do before you become one
Speaker 1: day older? You mean before I die, he said, as
Speaker 1: a sly smile tilted one corner of his mouth stained
Speaker 1: with red man tobacco juice. He quickly answered, saving me
Speaker 1: from having to reply, go fishing with you, boy, his
Speaker 1: voice breaking, we sat in silence, both unable to speak.
Speaker 1: His crooked finger rubbed his top lip was trying to
Speaker 1: stop the tears. I stood and immediately went to the
Speaker 1: nurses station. I told the nurse I wanted to take
Speaker 1: Chief outside for some sun. She soon arrived with a
Speaker 1: wheelchair and walked us to the door She punched in
Speaker 1: the code and opened the front doors into the warm
Speaker 1: spring day. You smell that, Chief asked, slightly, turning toward
Speaker 1: the small pond. Those bastards are bedding up. After sitting
Speaker 1: a short while, I told Chief to stay put. Where
Speaker 1: are you going? He asked. I bent down and whispered
Speaker 1: in his ear. Get ready to leave this When I
Speaker 1: pull up, We're going fishing. A smile flooded his face
Speaker 1: as he set the brake on the wheelchair and folded
Speaker 1: up the foot rest, preparing for his escape. I pulled
Speaker 1: the car in front of him and slung open the door,
Speaker 1: and with the help of his cane, Chief stood and
Speaker 1: fell into my car's front seat. Let's go, he screamed.
Speaker 1: His twelve year old Bobby mac Spencer rode, shotgun pounding
Speaker 1: on my dash. From sheer excitement, the joy of breaking
Speaker 1: out of prison and the prospect of holding a fly
Speaker 1: rod again had the old man giddy. Is anyone following us?
Speaker 1: I asked, as adrenaline pushed through me. I don't see anybody,
Speaker 1: he said, without looking, unable to twist his body to
Speaker 1: look behind us. We arrived at his house and immediately
Speaker 1: drove through the backyard to his barn and bouncing across
Speaker 1: the rolls of his neglected and overgrown garden. There she is,
Speaker 1: he said, proudly, smiling. Before I could fully stop the car,
Speaker 1: Chief opened the door as if he thought he could
Speaker 1: jump out. The door swung open with a four so
Speaker 1: strong it swung back toward Chief, and he stopped its
Speaker 1: momentum with the tip of his cane, swinging his legs out. Simultaneously.
Speaker 1: I met him and helped him stand, and we both
Speaker 1: felt above the barn door, eventually finding the key. Except
Speaker 1: for dust and cobwebs, everything was as he left it.
Speaker 1: No family was available to pilfer. No one else knew
Speaker 1: what treasures lay hidden within the rustic walls. There were
Speaker 1: two fly rods on the rack that once held a
Speaker 1: dozen at a time. I left these two here because
Speaker 1: I hoped we'd go fishing together one more day, he said.
Speaker 1: I moved the canoe to the lake's edge and set
Speaker 1: Chief up in the back. After replacing his leader, I
Speaker 1: rigged up his favorite orange and yellow popping bug and
Speaker 1: placed the rod in his weak, shaking hand. I watched
Speaker 1: as his grip tightened on the supple court. I sculled
Speaker 1: the canoe into the center of the lake. We quietly
Speaker 1: anchored both ends, situating ourselves horizontally to the same ragged,
Speaker 1: arthritic branch that grew from the water. I watched as
Speaker 1: he moved a shaking thumb to his mouth, sticking his
Speaker 1: tongue out and placing moisture on the end of it.
Speaker 1: He robed the grime off the bamboo rod, cleaning his
Speaker 1: handwritten label Chiefs Rods, Bluegills. Special pride shone across his
Speaker 1: face as he read it, and this familiar crooked smile returned.
Speaker 1: You smell that, he asked again, as he cast his
Speaker 1: line before him. The bug was quickly and softly sucked
Speaker 1: into the black depths, the rooster tail of water trail
Speaker 1: from his line as he raised his rod. The rod
Speaker 1: immediately bent and the fight was on once again. Okay,
Speaker 1: let me tell you a little bit about this story.
Speaker 1: The author, Scott Hendricks, is the author of three. He
Speaker 1: has three novels out at the moment. One is called
Speaker 1: The Garden Spot, the other is called The Resting Spot,
Speaker 1: and his latest novel is called Justine, which I'm reading
Speaker 1: right now and it's excellent. It's really good book. This story,
Speaker 1: the breakout was entered in the Saturday Evening Post Great
Speaker 1: American Fiction Contest, and he one runner up in the
Speaker 1: twenty twenty five Great American Fiction Contest with this short story.
Speaker 1: I've had the pleasure of talking to Scott over the phone.
Speaker 1: He's a super nice guy. I actually bought these books
Speaker 1: directly from him, with his autograph on them. I really
Speaker 1: appreciate Scott. He's a good writer. He's got a great imagination.
Speaker 1: He's a Southern writer. He's from Mississippi. I'm going to
Speaker 1: put his Amazon and the description right there at the top,
Speaker 1: and if you guys are interested in reading some good books,
Speaker 1: click on that link and take a look at The
Speaker 1: Garden Spot, The Resting Spot, and Just Dean both excellent.
Speaker 1: All three excellent novels. Scott, thank you for allowing me
Speaker 1: to read your short story. I loved it. It brought
Speaker 1: back so many memories with me and some of the
Speaker 1: older guys I fished with, and it just hit home
Speaker 1: for me and it was like I was there with
Speaker 1: Chief the whole time. It is a great story and
Speaker 1: I know why you got runner up, probably should have
Speaker 1: won it. Thank you, Scott for your permission to read
Speaker 1: this story. Okay, that's gonna wind this podcast up a
Speaker 1: non monster podcast. I'd like to do these every once
Speaker 1: in a while because these stories are just really good.
Speaker 1: So I hope you all enjoyed it, and we'll see
Speaker 1: you on the next podcast.