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JIM JOHNS Nellie/William>Alta Ruth Burdett>Jim
Betty
2/7/04 Jim's surgery on the mole-they cut it out, and it was okay. It had grown almost to the size of the end of his thumb. With him shaving, every once and awhile he would rub it or scratch it. I had been watching it, and I told him its getting bigger and bigger. I made the appointment, and he had to go. It didn't leave much of a scar. He had two moles they took out, on the side of his neck and his cheek. All of his bypass surgery is doing good. He says he can feel the wire that they put inside him; he can feel it in there. We were weighing last night, and he weighs 185. We're
getting the garden ready now. My oldest son Scott has plowed a
fire break around the garden. We'll burn it off, inside and then
go in and harrow, and then we'll plant. I don't think I'll have
but one row of string beans, half a row of squash and half a row
of cucumbers, but that's long rows. Plenty of corn. We usually
plant tomatoes, potatoes. I like Dixie Lee peas, and I'll have
about three rows, and I'll can some. All the vegetables we can
grow down here we usually plant. All the animals are doing fine.
We have two dogs. I kept one of Sugar's puppies. It's a bulldog.
The pup rides with Jim on the four-wheeler. Jan
9, 2004 Conversation with Betty Brazell--- I had walking pneumonia, I got that right after I got out of surgery. I'm just getting over that. I've started gaining a little weight. They got the aneurysm, patched it up. I won't have any more tests on that until six months. Everything else seems to be okay. I lost from 145 to 105. I broke my arm, and then I had that aneurysm. We're both doing fine. The doctors say we're both doing real good. I'll
be planting a garden here pretty quick. The lowest we've had here
(southern Georgia) is about 32, but that's cold for here. The
wind chill makes it cut through you like a knife. It's warming
up a little bit now. A CONVERSATION WITH BETTY 9-13-03 We're doing great, but I've got to have more tests for a possible aneurysm underneath my stomach. The doctor said he doesn't think it's that bad, that I may need simple surgery with a scope. My arm isn't completely healed yet from when I broke it. I broke it right after we moved into this new place. They couldn't put a cast on it because I broke it up near the shoulder. They had to just bind it in place instead. I was sitting in a lawn chair, and it collapsed. My arm isn't bound now, but it is still weak. I can lift it only about half way up. When I went to therapy they were amazed that I had done as much as I had on my own, exercising it. The doctor said it won't ever be completely healed and back to the way it was, but I'm trying to prove him wrong. That's the hand that holds the jars and a lot of other things. Jim is doing great. He hasn't had major problems, but he does get really tired. I told him to slow down, that he's getting old, but he's a workaholic, and he won't. He says that he's afraid that if he slows down he won't get started again. He remembers all of the birthdays in his family. He remembers when all of you were born. He'll say, "Today is Virginia's birthday. I remember when she was born, blah blah blah." I remember when Barbara, my sister, was born. The doctor brought a little black bag, and when he left we had a little sister. I would tell her she was adopted, that the doctor brought her in a black bag. I had a good mother, and when I would come home I would ask her questions, and she would tell me the truth. Not
much more to tell except I sure do love that Jim. Betty and Jim's Wedding Betty Brazell and James E. Johns were united in holy matrimony the 21st day of August, 2003, at their residence located in Kingsland, Georgia. The Reverend Edward Dixon officiating. In keeping with Betty's wishes for a simple ceremony and with only one or two close family members in attendance, Betty's mom only told one or two other people about the impending special occasion and swore them to secrecy. These two only told three or four others and, also in keeping with Betty's wishes, in turn swore them to secrecy. The resulting occasion, and in keeping with Betty's wishes, had myself, Bill Johns, Jimmy's brother, and Betty's son, Scott, his wife, Missy and their two daughters, Lisa and Amber, and their son-in-law and baby daughter in attendance. Betty's mom's youngest sister, Estelly was able to attend. Betty's young grandson, little Jimmy was also there. This young nine-year-old knows that when people get married, young babies always follow. He was all smiles over the prospect of a new baby sister in the offing. Betty looked at her great grand daughter and had to give little Jimmy the disappointing news: no new baby sister. Of course, the minister's wife was in attendance. Estelly's daughter, Joan, apologized for not being able to attend. Little Jimmy's teacher, Mrs. Right whom Betty has known for many years, also had to apologize for not being able to attend. Betty's mom, who is elderly and was physically unable to attend, had to extend her apologies for not being there too. If I missed anyone who was there, or misspelled any names, I'll have to apologize. As a matter of fact I, along with a few other people, had to stand during the ceremony. This
quiet simple ceremony took on a life of its own. No longer quiet
or simple. Those two little bulldog pups weren't allowed to attend
due to standing room only. Betty's sister, Barbara, also had to
be there because she arranged for the simple fare of cake and
ice cream. (All in keeping with Betty's wishes) Also, and in keeping
with tradition, and due to the fact that Betty had probably overlooked
these small details, Barbara sagged the table with food and drink.
She also threatened Betty if Betty so much as dared to smoke in
her own home the day of the ceremony. When the ceremony was over,
the crowd applauded and I hugged Betty and had to apologize for
my tendency to cry at weddings. Reporter, Bill Johns A
CONVERSATION WITH JIM AND BETTY Betty: Everything is going great. Jim has been having tests, and everything is turning out fine. They ran a check on cholesterol, blood pressure ( which is a little low) and blood chemistry. He doesn't take any blood pressure medicine. No diabetes. He had a colonoscopy test for cancer. They had found polyps a few years ago, so he gets tests annually. His eyesight after cataract laser surgery is great. Now he doesn't wear glasses. Other than that mean streak, the doctor gave him a clean bill of health day before yesterday. I had ulcers which are cleared up. I had an aneurysm in my stomach underneath my heart. It's not getting any bigger, so they are just watching it. If it gets any bigger we'll decide what to do. I may have bypass surgery. We just moved into a new trailer. We don't have much of a garden this year. Jim: I'm getting where I can't do a lot. I had some X-rays done, and I asked the tech what it showed. She said, "A lot of hot air." Betty went to a wedding today for the second time. She went yesterday and couldn't find it, so she went again today since it wasn't yesterday anyway. It was about ten miles away. I'm working clearing land operating dozers, track hoes, front end loaders. It has been raining, and it's hard to work while it's wet, almost impossible. I will soon be a great-grandfather from Rick's daughter, Jana. Betty's granddaughter has a little girl who is six months old named Haley. I have a new grandson, Freddy's little boy. I've got 16 hens & 2 roosters. You have to have 2 roosters to keep each other ornery. They need competition. I haven't made any knives for several months. I
was trying to catch a swarm of bees. I found six swarms in a week.
The queen leaves the hive and takes a swarm of bees with her.
She lights on a limb, and if you can catch them in time you can
take all the frames out of a hive, put it underneath, give the
swarm a violent shake and they fall off into the hive. They will
be really disoriented, and you can shut them up with a lid. I
smeared some honey on the frames in the hive. They can smell it.
They just went marching in like an army. One swarm I found in
the apple tree. I shook it and they all fell down on the ground,
I couldn't get them to go into the hive. I must not have gotten
the queen in the hive or the rest of them would have gone in too.
Once I get them in there, there are frames the shape of the honeycomb,
and then they make their honeycomb in the frames. The queen will
lay eggs in the bottom. I have pollen traps on some of the hives,
and health food stores buy it. The bee pollen helps people build
up immunity to allergies. EULOGY
TO A MOTHER April 8, 2003
I'll
ask you to forgive me for using notes. I'd much rather speak without
notes but I suffer from an affliction. This affliction is commonly
known as "Our Family Curse" . . . . We all talk too
much. I've learned to make a short list of things I want to say
and when I get to the end of the list, I know it's time for me
to sit down and to shut up. But on a more-serious note: Cindy,
Rick, Billy, Fred-----Your mom loved you. Bobbye stayed with a
grandmother during her early childhood. She dearly loved this
grandmother. Bobbye said, and I quote, "When my children
were being born, this was the happiest time of my life since living
with my grandmother." "BLESSED
ARE THEY THAT MOURN"
I
am concerned about Bobbye. You know her and I went to school in
Istachatta, when Mama worked for General. (First Grade) What was
wrong with her? I noticed she had been sick for a long while .
I really feel bad for her. Please let me know. I love you , Lois
4-6-2003 (Editor Note: Bobbye suffered a stroke a few years ago,
and she has been disabled since then. Recently she slipped into
a final decline.) I did not know Bobbye Johns. Was she Jim Johns' wife? If so, I don't think I ever saw her. I know Jim always came to the reunions but I don't ever remember his wife. Let me know. Regardless, the family has my deepest sympathy. Too many are leaving us, all at once. luv Barb Burdett S. 4-4-3003 (Editor's Note: Yes, she and Jim remained married although separated for many years. Bobbye leaves her children: Rick, Cynthia, Bill and Fred.) I'm
so glad to see a tribute to her on our family's website. She was
a large, and memorable, part of many lives. I can still remember
her huddling the whole brood of us off to church, where she played
the organ. I remember the little parakeet she had for so many
years. I always felt at ease with Aunt Bobbye. I got to roam with
the other children, and there were always a lot of "neat
goings on" around their property. And I remember, vaguely,
the lake where we all went swimming after church. Just tons of
cousins having a great time. She always fed us, too. I don't remember
a lot about it, because I was so young. But I do remember food.
:-) And God Bless Her. She always had a hug for me.
Bobbye Johns, 72, passed away at 11:55 AM, April 2, 2003 after a long illness. Visiting hours will be at Merritt Funeral Home, #2 S. Lemon Av., Brooksville FL, between the hours of 6:00 and 8:00 PM, Monday April 7, 2003. I believe there will be a service conducted at the same location at 11:00 AM, Tuesday, April 8, 2003. An opportunity will be given at graveside for any member of family or friends to give a brief statement in Bobbye's behalf. Interment to be between a favorite grandmother of Bobbye's and her grandfather. The location of the cemetery and additional information may be obtained from the funeral home by calling 352-796-6699.
A PHONE CALL TO JIM 12/21/02 Johnny Boy and Dwight, our cousins, came over in Okeechobee they were telling us about the electric train they had. They said that all they had to do was plug it into the wall for it to run. I wanted one like that. I didn't understand that we didn't have electricity for it to work. We had neighbors at Taylor's Creek in Okeechobee named Mack. They made sure that we always had Christmas. They got me a little train that didn't run on electricity. I think that when people get married they should build a monstrous big house and then fill it up with kids. Then, as the kids grow up they should tear rooms off that house until they end up with just a little bitty house. Daddy had a portable cane mill to grind sugar cane. He pulled it around with a Model T. He jacked up one wheel and put a belt over the wheel to run the cane mill. I remember the barrels of cane juice with feed sacks tied over the top of them to keep rats and cockroaches out of it. When it was fermented they would make moonshine out of it. It was years before I figured out that they made a little bit of syrup and a lot of liquor. I remember thirty barrels sitting in the barn. It seems to me that it was about three weeks that they let the barrels sit and then they ran it through a liquor still to make moonshine. You probably don't know what a liquor still is; I quit running them years ago because they put you in jail for running those. Did I ever tell you about the day Martha Nell was born? Mama told us we had to go to bed because we would have a new brother or sister the next day. We heard Martha Nell crying, and we went into the bedroom. Mama was sitting on the side of the bed cleaning Martha Nell up. She weighed over eleven pounds. The doctor was over in the kitchen huddled over the wood stove. A storm had come through and tore part of the roof off of the house during the time she was being born. The
house sat a pretty good ways off the highway. It was sandy from
the highway up to the house. Some Indians had a Model A skeeter
that they had cut the body off. One time I heard a skeeter coming
up to the house wide open. Sometimes they would leave the windshield
on when they made the skeeters, sometimes not. They would build
a bed on the chassis. They used them for hauling stuff around
and for farm vehicles. They would sit on the bed and drive it
from there. I heard that skeeter coming down the road with about
twenty drunk Indians. They made that turn, and I remember sand
just flying. When the driver got to the house he was the only
one left on the skeeter. THE PORTO-LET SAGA by Bill Johns Jimmy
Johns' dredge had a contract to do some channel clearing for the
submarine base just north of Jacksonville, Florida and near St.
Mary's, Georgia. The job was under the auspices of the Army Corp.
of Engineers. The job was going about as well as any other job
of this nature would. Problems, to be sure, but nothing insurmountable.
One of the biggest problems wasn't mechanical or technical in
nature. It was of a personnel nature. Some
of these people who follow dredges as a career come from a wide
range of people types. College professors have been known to work
these boats during the summer just to keep in touch with the real
world. And the range of personnel goes from there down to the
bottom dregs of society. And these dregs don't always hold the
bottom positions. Sometimes they manage, by hook or crook, to
rise to mid-level positions of supervision. The inevitable result
is problems for all underneath who bask in the rays emanating
from these bottom-feeders. Jimmy
Johns told a story that well illustrates this point. A superintendent,
who shall remain nameless, had the simple task thrust upon him
of simply seeing to it that the porto-let for the dredge be swapped
out with a clean one on a periodic basis. In short, as often as
was necessary. This gentleman had more-pressing duties to attend
to. And the hands on the dredge be damned. He was told about the
problem. And this is important, "he was told". Jimmy's
shift found the portable john to have had its capacity exceeded.
Don't dump overboard. This is against strict pollution rules from
the Environmental Protection Agency. And a sensible rule this
one is too. Jimmy,
with nearly fifty years of experience dealing with dredges and
the people who inhabit them thought of a simple solution to the
problem. Get that malingering sucker's attention, whatever it
takes. Really, a straightforward solution. Jimmy requested the
men on his shift to use a 5-gallon bucket as temporary "facilities"
and to be sure and not dump overboard. Against EPA rules. Very
official. The men, knowing Jimmy by reputation for getting things
done, were more than happy to comply. These men respected him
and didn't have to ask what was up. Knowing Jimmy, they'd find
out soon enough. Shift end. A five-gallon bucket full of cigarette
butts and other items which shall remain nameless. Jimmy took
this bucket personally up to the superintendent's office and I'm
not sure on this point, but he either put the bucket on the desk,
or under the desk, or behind the desk. No matter, it all smelled
the same. The superintendent came to work the next morning, bright
and early. The stench when he opened his office door was vile.
A hurried inspection revealed the source. Remember that five-gallon
bucket? "We'll get to the bottom of this, and in a hurry."
In a hurry? Strange thing for that dude to now be concerned with.
One
of the deck hands was called on the carpet. The superintendent
said he knew that this lowly deck hand knew who had done this
terrible thing and if he didn't fess up, then get his stuff and
hit the road. This deck hand told the superintendent, with all
due respect, that his name was "Deck hand", his employee
number was BR549, and then turned on his heel and walked out without
as much as a "goodbye". A direct quote as related by
Jimmy Johns, himself. Finally,
the big moment in this investigation. Jimmy, the guilty party,
was also called on the carpet. "Johns, did you do this?"
Jimmy Johns, "Yes, I did." "Well, we're just going
to have to relieve you of your duties and terminate your employment."
Jimmy again: "And just exactly how would you like to handle
this? You want to go through the National Labor Relations Board
or the Army Corp. of Engineers?" I should mention that Jimmy
had already made each inspector with the Army Corp. of Engineers
one of his handmade knifes. Jimmy was tops with this group of
men as he invariably is with any group of fairly decent people
he comes in contact with. In
the wind-up, that 5-gallon bucket didn't stink nearly as bad as
the stink about to fall on this superintendent's head. Discretion
being the better part of valor, this sport did some quick checking,
decided that he was just about to make a terrible mistake, got
on the horn and had a full john carried off and an empty put in
its place. Case closed. And Jimmy's star, here again, shone more
brightly than ever. ENTOMOLOGY by Bill Johns So
why am I trying to show off by using such big words? Because I
discovered something quite remarkable today and had to go look
up some big words and I had been essentially clueless about their
meaning before now. I now know just slightly more than I did yesterday
at this time. And what was this big discovery of mine? END
A STRONG MAN BY Bill Johns Jimmy Johns was always a strong person, even from the time he was a little boy. He backed himself up to a Ford truck as a teenager, locked his fingers in the truck rim, and raised the truck front end off the ground. Fairly impressive, even for a grown man, much less a teenager. But his greatest strength was in a far-different area. Long-suffering and patience. Learned from a good teacher, our Mom. I saw Jimmy tolerate another young fellow's annoyance and harassment one evening much longer than I would ever have been able to. Jimmy finally had enough. The young man was about to get much smarter very quickly, much smarter than he'd ever been before. Jimmy was much easier with this young fellow than I would have been under similar circumstances. Jimmy simply got a hand on his young student, muscled him down on the lake shore, rubbed his face in the mud for a suitable length of time, and then let him up. No brutality, no gouging, battering, broken bones, nothing like that. He just simply rubbed the kid's face in the mud. The young man got up and had a much wiser look on his muddy face than had been previously noted. Looked as if he'd just learned something valuable. I heard him say, "I guess I asked for that." Yes he had, and more. I saw Jimmy work thirty two hours straight on a dredge once, go home for eight hours, come back and work sixteen hours more. A feat I've never been able to even approach. But has all of this endurance and strength paid off? Jimmy was recently operating a piece of heavy equipment and got to feeling a bit off his feed. Re-occurrent pains in the middle of his chest. He thought this may have been caused by some stomach upset. His heart being the culprit never stayed long on his mind. After all, isn't the heart located in the left side of the chest? Jimmy thought about going home and getting under the air conditioner and cooling for awhile; possibly take a nap. The doctor's office was closer than home, so Jimmy decided to drop in at the doctor's office just to be on the safe side. Jimmy had gone way past a simple doctor's visit. The family curse, clogged arteries, had brought him to the place of an imminent heart attack. A most-fortunate decision on his part. May have saved him from honorable mention in the obits. One quadruple bypass operation later, Jimmy was doing his best to do as those young nurses requested of him. Not his style to have anyone help him in and out of bed, help him walk for a short distance, help him do much of anything. But, catching this condition soon enough will allow him to progress much faster than a full-blown heart attack would have. If he'd gone home as he'd originally planned, the outcome could have been far worse than it turned out to be. The doctors have observed that his heart muscle is very strong. We'd known this for years. But even a strong heart like Jimmy's must have adequate blood flow or it starts dying. I'll
be going up to see my brother Sunday. Have a knife that needs
polishing and sharpening. Betty told me that this would be good
for Jimmy. Even if he can't do the work himself, he can show me
how to do it. The knife just happens to be one made by Jimmy.
It deserves better than the neglect it's received. So does Jimmy's
heart. I know a whole big family that will encourage Jimmy to
follow doctor's orders from now on. He's too important to us all
than for him to suffer from neglect. Even his own neglect. |
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(reprinted from The Bryant-Burdett Connection First Edition) JIM People who are "supposed" to do things for a person or who "owe" us "things" are not always the ones who provide what is expected. However, it seems that we almost inevitably "get what’s coming to us" one way or another. The Dads in my life were men who did not necessarily owe me dad things, which made them seem all the more special. The first dad type who influenced me was my brother, Jim. Jim cut his own education short because of an undiagnosed, untreated eye problem. He would tell me when he was an adult that as a boy trying to learn in school "the words would jump all over the page." Yet, just seven years older than I, Jim taught me to read when I was so young that I don’t even remember when I didn’t know how. His teaching methods created a learning environment that was a teacher’s dream. When I would count to 100 for him or correctly read the words in a book he would give me rides on the mule or in the wheelbarrow. Jim was capable of administering tough love before anyone even thought up the term, of telling a lie if he thought it appropriate, but a pure-hearted lie. At the beginning of first grade for me he told me that it wasn’t allowed for me to miss school, that the teacher would beat me and give me an "F". We attended a one-room country school that had an enrollment of around 30, but even so I received glowing praise and a certificate for being the only child in the school with a perfect attendance that first year. I must have figured out some things by second grade because it would not be until sixth grade that I would again have a perfect attendance. Still, the habit was instilled, and I rarely missed more than two days of school during any term. One day Jim was gathering firewood on the sled pulled by Jenny, the mule. He had allowed me to ride on the sled as Jenny pulled it along, and I held on by clutching a broken place where the board was missing. Jim, unknowingly, allowed the sled to be dragged over a rough root or stump, and my hand was painfully scraped. I cried and waved my hand frantically, and he held it and tried to soothe me. Suddenly a butterfly landed on my hand, diverting my attention, and Jim told me, "See? The butterfly is here because it doesn’t want you to be hurt and cry." When I was in college Jim slipped me extra money here and there, money earned by hard labor aboard dredge boats. He was just in his early twenties when Mama became ill and died. It is rumored that he paid for her death and dying by extra work done in that honorable old Florida trade known as "poachin’ ‘gators and runnin’ ‘shine." Jim always took care of his own. …by his youngest sister, Virginia Isabelle |
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THE MAN BY BILL JOHNS It
was early-1957 and we'd just lost our mom. Strange as it may seem,
I really didn't grieve that much. Mom had lost nearly a year-long
battle with cancer. She'd never suffer anymore. I was glad about
that and also the fact that she'd never suffer any more disappointments
either. Over forty years later, I still miss my mom but am still
glad that she'll never suffer anymore. Especially with me not being
able to do anything about it. I would turn twenty in February back
then, which means that I was still nineteen at the time. There were
associated expenses and we were essentially broke, a not-uncommon
part of our growing-up years. By broke, I'm talking about financial
only, not emotional or spiritual. Our mom was, by universal assent,
one of the best people I've ever been around. Anyhow, Mom deserved
better than a pauper's funeral. Jimmy Johns knew some people and
a way, not entirely risk-free, to raise some quick money.
One may not entirely agree with the method, but one may not be a
couple of young sons with a problem either. We did what we thought
we had to. We picked up a 1940 Dodge business coupe from a vacant
lot somewhere in St. Petersburg, FL. and drove somewhere just across
the Florida/Georgia border. Jimmy knew these people well. We loaded
ten 5-gallon cans of moonshine whiskey into the trunk of the Dodge.
The young man Jimmy talked to had told him that the whiskey was
a bit dark this time and if Jimmy was willing to wait, they could
run it through the charcoal filter again. Jimmy said that it would
be fine as is and we left. I couldn't have offered a knowledgeable
opinion on the relative quality of light versus dark moonshine whiskey
anyhow, so I, for once, kept my mouth shut. Jimmy
had been up to the hunting cabin with his son Rick. Rick was a young
squirt then. Only way into the camp was by boat. Jimmy was coming
home and it turned really cold. Rick's lips were turning purple
by then. Jimmy had him lie down in the bow of the boat and covered
him up with a slicker suit to keep the spray off of him. Arrived
home somewhere around ten or eleven at night. Someone, in the meantime,
had broken into the deer enclosure on the Weeki Wachee River, the
same river Jimmy and his son had been on the night before, shot
a big stag with bow and arrows and poached the deer. Jimmy was asked
about his whereabouts the night before. On the Weeki Wachee River,
of course. No way for the man to prove anything one way or the other.
The Touch of the Master's Hand It was battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it Hardly worth his while To waste his
time on the old violin, But he held it up with a smile. "What
am I bid, good people", he cried, "Who starts the bidding
for me?" "One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?" "Three dollars
once, three dollars twice, going for three", Excerpted from the poem by Myra Brooks Welch.
The Touch of The Master’s hand BY BILL JOHNS And just exactly what makes a master? Born that way? Happens overnight? Dumb luck? If not this, then what? Perhaps all of that and just as likely, none of that. Jimmy Johns knows how to make knives. He knows a lot of other things too, but at this one thing, he’s a master. These knives are all handmade. But how can this be, you ask? There are the unmistakable marks of machine-tool work on his knives. He made the machines too. The hollow-ground blades? That’s produced on a machine of his own design. Two washing machine electric motors, a couple of shafts made by Jimmy on his own lathe, a couple of jack shafts made by him, the belt pulleys made by him. (The pulleys available commercially didn’t suit him.) And turning a couple of belts that turn two grinding stones rotating in opposite directions. He made the two motors rotate in opposite directions by changing the wiring in one of the motors. Draw the finished knife between these two stones and voila! a perfect hollow-ground blade every time. I asked him onetime how he did all of this. He patiently tried to explain to me that those things are designed to do what he needs them to do. Simple enough? I thought so myself; never had the temerity to ask again. Every blade made by Jimmy has his initials stamped on one side and the date of manufacture stamped on the other side. I was looking at a couple of his knives this morning. One made 11/4/93 has some rust and tarnish on the blade. The other knife, a beautiful fillet knife, made 4/8/95 has a still-spotless blade after all these years of constant use. The difference? |
These
hides no longer had the gators enclosed. He showed me how to stretch
a 'gator hide because this information is valuable. Hides sell by
the foot. Now don't go getting all misty-eyed on me about stretching
gator hides being dishonest. What do you think relieving 'gators
of their hides is in the first place? It
was a dark and stormy night . . . No kidding, it really was a dark
and stormy night. Jimmy Johns just had to go for a walk in the game
preserve on this dark and stormy night. Of course, he just had to
walk right down the ruts of the dirt road leading into this game
preserve. Leaves nice, easy-to-follow footprints, too. Any game
warden that can show up for work and convince people that he still
has a pulse should have no problem following these footprints on
this dark and stormy night; which was the whole idea in the first
place. Jimmy Johns walked a suitable distance into this forbidden
area, backtracked himself and waited for the inevitable. Sho'nuff,
here come the man. This minion of the law had no trouble following
those clear footprints going into that game preserve. He had one
heck of a time trying to figure where that lawbreaker went after
the footprints mysteriously disappeared. Must be space aliens, or
maybe he'd been working too much, or maybe he'd just imagined those
footprints in the first place. Best keep this to himself. Wouldn't
want too many people hearing about him tracking some imaginary poacher
on this dark and stormy night. We,
Jimmy and I, were unloading our dredge at a boat ramp on one occasion
when the warden stopped by to schmooze and bat the breeze for a
bit. Helps to get to know your opponent, I suppose. Anyhow, he asked
Jimmy if he'd been getting any deer lately. Jimmy told him, "I
ain't gonna tell you." Jimmy then asked the warden where he'd
be patrolling that night. Same answer: "I ain't gonna tell
you." I suspect a mutual admiration going on in that exchange.
On the warden's part, anyhow. There's much more, but I'm tired of
typing right now, so I think I'll go and have a shot of coffee.
More later.
Someone had obviously
been giving himself classroom procedure. One blade is probably made
from a carbon steel while the other one is obviously made from stainless
cutlery quality steel. Someone learned quite a bit in that intervening
time period.
I’m very proud that Jimmy did let me automate part of his process. I had about a 35-year career in industrial automation and recognized a bottleneck . Jimmy taught himself how to temper steel. I noticed that this was a tedious procedure requiring almost constant attention. I finally talked him into letting me install a temperature controller in his process. Now, all he has to do is select some temp. numbers and walk away. The blade tempering temp. now can be set to 1800 degrees Fahrenheit, automatically ramp down to 900 degree soak temperature after the programmed time and shut off at a pre-selected time. This frees Jimmy to do other parts of the process in the meantime. His one nod to modern technology hasn’t hurt the quality of his knives one bit. I was honored and pleased to make this one small contribution.
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