Throughout
my wildlife career I had experiences that were humorous, exciting, terrifying
and extremely boring. The most
memorable moments were down right bizarre.
While
I was colonel my boss upstairs, (my work boss – not God) called and asked if I
could pick someone up at the airport. We
had this political thing that evening so I figured it was someone coming in to schmooze.
I told him I would be glad to and asked
who was coming in.
 |
| Bass Pro Shop founder Johnny Morris www.mensjournal.com |
My mind went on a wild tear of “just maybes.” Just maybe we can talk about fishing. Or maybe Johnny (I figured we would go to
first names immediately) would invite me to fly back to Missouri with him to
hangout for a few days (I would pack an overnight bag just in case). Or just maybe he would feel so safe and
secure in the comfort of my black Ford that he would lure me away from the NCWRC
to become his chief of security.
Obviously, the possibilities were endless.
After
an hour or so of bragging to everyone in the office that I would hanging with
JM that evening, my phone rang again.
“There’s
a little change of plans. Mr. Morris
will have a passenger coming in with him.”
 |
| Miss Missouri Sidney Friar www.missmissourinews.wordpress.com |
“No
problem.”
“It’s
Miss Missouri.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
My
mind was reeling. Not only did I stand a
really good chance of being given a Bass Tracker – no, a Nitro bass boat - for my
excellent driving and host skills, now an evening with a beauty queen was in the mix.
I
spent another hour updating everyone that would listen on the newest member of
my crew for the evening.
The
phone rang.
“There’s
another development. There will be a
couple of more passengers – a bluegrass band from Branson. Is that a problem?”
“Well,
no – it’s not a problem. But I can only squeeze so many in the Crown Vic. We may have to bring a second car. And
what about their instruments?”
“I’ll
check and call you back.”
I
had this vision of a bass fiddle strapped to the roof of the car with banjo and
guitar necks stuck out the window as Johnny Morris, Miss Missouri, The Darlings, and the game warden rolled up to a rich guy’s house.
 |
| Ride mister? |
A
few minutes later the phone rang again.
“We’ve
got the band covered – a service is coming to pick them up. Get this, the guitar player doesn’t have any
arms.”
A
long pregnant pause.
“I’m
serious. They said he plays with his
feet.” Another long pause. “You might have to give him a hand with his
guitar.”
 |
| Tony Melendez www.mtv.com |
Give
an armless guy a hand? And there we had
it all laid out. I had gone from budding with
the king of the Bass Pro empire, to kicking back with Miss Missouri, to Branson bluegrass band
roadie, to jokes about an armless man. Surely it couldn't get worse.
As promised, I met them as they got off a private jet – the jet that just hours earlier I thought
may whisk me away to a dream job or two days fishing with the king. Johnny
Morris was extremely friendly and a sincerely nice guy. Miss Missouri became Sidney – a friendly 20ish woman that was younger
than my daughter. The bluegrass band was
a father/son combo with another young player – all very polite. And Tony
Melendez, who didn’t need a hand with anything – another nice guy. I figured this evening would be salvaged.
The
band threw their gear into a couple of SUVs that had come for them and I led JM
and Sidney over to the private terminal. They
needed to change for the gathering.
Sidney pulled a Clark Kent. She
ducked into the restroom, shucked the jeans, and seconds later reemerged as a
beauty queen. I loaded their bags into
the trunk and both hopped into the backseat.
Now
I truly felt like a chauffeur. “Where
to Miss Daisy?”
I
made the short trip across town to the party. It was
a Who’s Who of conservative politics. The
governor was shaking hands on the back porch.
Department secretaries were bumping into each. NASCAR legend and NRA board member Richard
Childress was working the crowd. I was parking the car.
The
host welcomed everyone. We had barbecue. The governor made a short speech. Johnny Morris gave a warm testimonial on the value of conservation. Others spoke.
The band played a few songs.
Sidney sang (she has a nice voice).
Tony took the stage. He was
inspiring. He told of being born in Nicaragua
and of the challenges he faced growing up in Los Angeles. There was no bitterness. Although most folks had already pulled out,
he led the remaining group in a version of Let It Be.
It was a weird day and a strange evening. But, I still had the trip back to the airport
and I knew that this time Johnny hang with me up front - talk Carolina rigs and crank baits. Nope.
I pulled the car around and they hopped in the back. To the airport colonel.
I
felt as though I was trapped in a bad joke: Johnny Morris, Miss Missouri, and
an armless Nicaraguan guitar player walk into a bar…
As
we drew near to the airport, I asked Johnny if he gets to fish any these days. He said that it was mostly work related, but
he still got on the water. I suggested
that maybe the work angle took some of the fun out of it.
He thought for a second and said, “You
would think so, but even after all these years I still love to fish.”
That
made me like him even more.
No comments:
Post a Comment