Read Online Happy, Happy, Happy: My Life and Legacy as the Duck Commander by Phil Robertson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Phil Robertson
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down from above as my brothers watched in amazement.
Jimmy Frank got tangled in a dead tree underneath the water, but Tommy kept moving forward. The ducks spotted him. They stirred but didn’t fly. When he felt he was close enough, Tommy shot them on the water, surprisingly downing only two ducks. Still the ducks didn’t fly away but continued to mill around, dodging in and out among the trees. And more ducks kept spiraling down from above the hole.
By the time it was over, my brothers downed a total of ten ducks.
As amazing as the number of ducks on the water was, even more impressive was the old cypress. It was nearly twenty feet wide at the base and hollow from water level to about thirty feet up. The opening was wide enough for a man to easily pass through, and it was there that Tommy and I, along with our friend Maurice Greer, built a blind with a porch from which eleven men could shoot.
The big hollow at the water level was so large that a pirogue could be pulled into it (a larger boat was used to reach the area and was hidden some one hundred yards away, beneath somebuck brush). After sinking the pirogue to conceal it, we made our way to the blind above by climbing up through the hollow on several boards that we’d nailed on the inside to form a ladder. When we got to the shooting porch, ducks that circled to look at the decoys often flew right in front of us. At times, we actually shot down at the ducks.
The old cypress tree was one of the Almighty’s great creations, and it’s where we spent many glorious mornings together as a family. But during my rompin’ and stompin’ days, I never embraced its beauty and rarely cherished the time I spent with my father and brothers.
The old cypress tree was one of the Almighty’s great creations, and it’s where we spent many glorious mornings together.
The only things I seemed to be worried about were how many ducks I could kill and when my next drink was coming.
By then, I had a growing family at home. Our sons Jase and Willie had been born, and Kay was at the end of her rope with me. I was always out, partying with my buddies, leaving her alone to raise our three sons. I was growing more distant from everything I had known and been taught and was pulling even farther away from the people who loved me the most. Kay felt her entire life was in ruins and that she had failed as a wife. After a while, the school where I was teaching couldno longer ignore my public conduct. Students and their parents were beginning to notice my boorish behavior, and my days as a teacher and coach were numbered.
Sadly, even as my life continued to spiral out of control, like a downed duck falling from the sky, I failed to realize that “callous” also described me as a man.
HONKY-TONK
Rule No. 6 for Living Happy, Happy, Happy
Put the Bottle Down (You’ll Thank Me in the Morning)
A fter I resigned from my teaching position (before the school board could fire me), I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life: I leased a honky-tonk in the middle of nowhere. I managed the place, worked the bar, cooked for the customers, and broke up occasional fights. One of my specialties was something I called squirrel mulligan: ten pounds of freshly killed squirrels, ten pounds of onions, ten pounds of potatoes, and enough crumbled crackers to give it the proper thickness. It didn’t taste too bad, and its aroma smelled better than the overwhelming scent of urine and stale beer that permeated the place. I also served fried chicken, pickled pig’s feet, and boiled eggs, though most of the regulars, including me, were only there to drink as much beer and whiskey as we could.
It was a rough, rough place. I managed the place beforeintegration was firmly established in the South, so my honky-tonk was somewhat unusual. It was really a segregated beer joint, which you didn’t see very often. The blacks drove up in the back, and we had their jive going on back there, and the rednecks came
Jimmy Frank got tangled in a dead tree underneath the water, but Tommy kept moving forward. The ducks spotted him. They stirred but didn’t fly. When he felt he was close enough, Tommy shot them on the water, surprisingly downing only two ducks. Still the ducks didn’t fly away but continued to mill around, dodging in and out among the trees. And more ducks kept spiraling down from above the hole.
By the time it was over, my brothers downed a total of ten ducks.
As amazing as the number of ducks on the water was, even more impressive was the old cypress. It was nearly twenty feet wide at the base and hollow from water level to about thirty feet up. The opening was wide enough for a man to easily pass through, and it was there that Tommy and I, along with our friend Maurice Greer, built a blind with a porch from which eleven men could shoot.
The big hollow at the water level was so large that a pirogue could be pulled into it (a larger boat was used to reach the area and was hidden some one hundred yards away, beneath somebuck brush). After sinking the pirogue to conceal it, we made our way to the blind above by climbing up through the hollow on several boards that we’d nailed on the inside to form a ladder. When we got to the shooting porch, ducks that circled to look at the decoys often flew right in front of us. At times, we actually shot down at the ducks.
The old cypress tree was one of the Almighty’s great creations, and it’s where we spent many glorious mornings together as a family. But during my rompin’ and stompin’ days, I never embraced its beauty and rarely cherished the time I spent with my father and brothers.
The old cypress tree was one of the Almighty’s great creations, and it’s where we spent many glorious mornings together.
The only things I seemed to be worried about were how many ducks I could kill and when my next drink was coming.
By then, I had a growing family at home. Our sons Jase and Willie had been born, and Kay was at the end of her rope with me. I was always out, partying with my buddies, leaving her alone to raise our three sons. I was growing more distant from everything I had known and been taught and was pulling even farther away from the people who loved me the most. Kay felt her entire life was in ruins and that she had failed as a wife. After a while, the school where I was teaching couldno longer ignore my public conduct. Students and their parents were beginning to notice my boorish behavior, and my days as a teacher and coach were numbered.
Sadly, even as my life continued to spiral out of control, like a downed duck falling from the sky, I failed to realize that “callous” also described me as a man.
HONKY-TONK
Rule No. 6 for Living Happy, Happy, Happy
Put the Bottle Down (You’ll Thank Me in the Morning)
A fter I resigned from my teaching position (before the school board could fire me), I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life: I leased a honky-tonk in the middle of nowhere. I managed the place, worked the bar, cooked for the customers, and broke up occasional fights. One of my specialties was something I called squirrel mulligan: ten pounds of freshly killed squirrels, ten pounds of onions, ten pounds of potatoes, and enough crumbled crackers to give it the proper thickness. It didn’t taste too bad, and its aroma smelled better than the overwhelming scent of urine and stale beer that permeated the place. I also served fried chicken, pickled pig’s feet, and boiled eggs, though most of the regulars, including me, were only there to drink as much beer and whiskey as we could.
It was a rough, rough place. I managed the place beforeintegration was firmly established in the South, so my honky-tonk was somewhat unusual. It was really a segregated beer joint, which you didn’t see very often. The blacks drove up in the back, and we had their jive going on back there, and the rednecks came
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