Good Mornin’! Good Mornin’!
Today he turns 87.
It’s my dad’s birthday, Bill Stowers.
If you see him, give him a hug and a smile if you don’t mind.
The Army veteran, farmer, outdoorsman and marksman has quite a few talents.
He’s also good at blowing up stumps. As a kid, he taught me how to hunt and fish and bought me rifles and shotguns.
His green thumb gene didn’t translate into any benefits when it came to getting Delta dirt on my hands.
For some reason I was drawn to stage and screen and journalism.
But the things I saw and experienced helped shape me as a writer and the farming tasks that were so boring and mundane and impossible to fathom are now part of the lexicon of a large portion of my writing.
I reckon riding around in his Chevy truck up and down turnrows, back and forth to town to the co-op and parts store paid off somewhat for me.
He was born in Itta Bena and would later move to Macon Plantation in 1947.
Inverness High School and Mississippi State educated him before Uncle Sam called him to Germany after WWII during his junior year.
He was an MP, picked up some German – which came in handy for those prank callers on the party line – and he came home to farm the Delta dirt his dad owned.
As a hunter I’ve seen him bring down deer using both his left and right hands and at distances only Chris Kyle would attempt and pull off.
He built Cordy Brake Hunting Club with his buddies, he was an early member of the Benoit Outing Club and at one time he handgrabbed catfish until he brought up a huge loggerhead turtle in Macon Lake.
A practical joker, his rattlesnake escapades are legendary.
He keeps a shovel in his pickup and would set it in front of the snake to strike.
After several striking attempts the snake would knock itself out, my dad would milk the venomous teeth and pull them out, drop the now non-deadly treasure into a croaker sack and head to town.
One fellah said he’d like the snake so my dad obliged him by opening his car door and shaking the snake free into his car explaining, “I need my croaker sack back.”
A bream and crappie fisherman extraordinaire, I still have a few of the jigs he taught me how to create many decades ago. My fishing gear is never as wet as it should be but stays ready with the love of the time spent with him on the lake. A man of few words but he’s my dad.
He never pushed me into a vocation but I do wish he’d given me more of the disciplined life that was instilled in his Army training all those years ago.
It’s his birthday, so Happy Birthday, Bill! I hope it’s a great day!
