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| The elusive - and tasty - wild turkey gobbler. |
(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator
George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere
in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Cousin Jake: an old country
turkey hunter remembered” was originally published in the March 22, 2001 edition
of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)
There are people who strive for total perfection in their
chosen professions. There are those who, through some powers or happenings,
gain total perfection without really trying.
This thought came to mind as I was traveling along the Ridge
Road a few days back on my motorcycle. As I rode along, enjoying the blossoming
beauty of the coming springtime, a large wild turkey gobbler flew up from
beside the road and flew right alongside of my motorcycle as I rode up the
road.
As I watched the beautiful turkey flying so gracefully
alongside, the thought came to mind of an old man that I once knew when I was
growing up in the rural area near the country town of Sweet Water.
Since the spring turkey season is upon us, I thought I might
share with my readers the story of this old man.
I was never a good turkey hunter due to the fact that I had
rather watch the wild turkey than shoot and kill it. I do know, however, that
the art of turkey hunting is truly a sport that requires total perfection if
one is to be successful.
Cousin Jake was an old man who lived nearby in the farm
community where I grew up. He was probably one of the most successful, if not
the best, turkey hunter anywhere in the area. If some kind of record had been
kept on the old man, he would have been one of the best in the whole country in
the art of turkey hunting.
Cousin Jake got his name by a habit of calling everyone he
came in contact with “Cuz.” So, after a while, the nickname, “Cousin Jake,” was
given the old man. This name would stick to the old man for the rest of his
life.
Cousin Jake did not appear to be a man who was an expert in
anything. He was a large man, heavy set, with quite a large stomach. This was
due largely to his never-ending hunger pains he said he suffered from.
He wore no special or camouflage hunting clothing when he
hunted turkeys. His garb was always a pair of overalls with a jumper; he never
wore a shirt under his jumper or even an undershirt. Winter or summer, it was always
the overalls and jumper and his high-top brogans.
He always wore about a three- or four-day growth of
whiskers. Four days without shaving for Cousin Jake was equaled to about 10 or
12 days to any other man.
The old man also had the habit of chewing tobacco. He always
had a “chew” in his jaw unless he was doing what he loved most: trying to kill
that hunger pain that he said bothered him so much. He also said that chewing
tobacco would also keep the bugs and mosquitoes away once the tobacco got into
your system. From being around the old man, as a young boy, I believed that.
His turkey hunting equipment consisted of a small cow horn,
about four inches long, with a short piece of fat lightwood splinter wedged in
the small end. He would rub the end of the splinter with a short piece of
slate. This turkey caller seemed as old as Cousin Jake himself. This equipment
was always kept in the bib pocket of his overalls. Nothing else was kept there,
not even his chewing tobacco.
His hunting weapon was even older than his turkey caller. It
was a single shot 12-gauge shotgun. The stock of the weapon had been reinforced
by wrapping copper wire around it just below the trigger guard.
The ejector that was supposed to eject the empty shell from
the firing chamber had long worn out or had been broken.
This didn’t bother Cousin Jake; he carried with him a piece
of brass rod about three inches long. After firing the ancient old long tom
shotgun, he would unbreech the gun and drop the piece of brass down the barrel.
This would knock the empty shell casing loose and the empty
casing would fall to the ground. Cousin Jake had perfected the skill of
unloading to the point that he always would catch the empty casing before it
hit the ground. He said that by catching it he did not have to bend over and
pick it up.
Besides being a great turkey hunter, he was, without a
doubt, one of the best mechanics around. He drove an old, old pickup truck that
looked like it would not go another mile. It looked like an accident waiting
for a place to happen.
Each of the spark plugs had a “jump spark” on it. This was
supposed to keep them from fouling up and would delay the timing of the engine
a bit. No one knew for sure just how Cousin Jake kept his pickup going, but it
always carried the old man wherever he wanted to go.
Cousin Jake was not a man to break the game laws. He always
said that if he couldn’t kill a turkey legally, he would not bother to kill one
at all. He always managed to seek out the largest turkey gobblers, the ones
with the longest beards.
He had dozens and dozens of turkey beards tacked on the
walls inside the hallway of his old house, and he always carried the longest beard
in the pocket of his jumper to show the crowd.
Cousin Jake always won all the turkey-calling contests. He
would pull his caller from his pocket, and after he was through with his
calling and yelping, there was no doubt to anyone who was the best. He would
show off a bit by using only his mouth and a small oak leaf. Yes, sir, Cousin
Jake was always the best; no one doubted that.
The sound of the old man’s old shotgun and turkey caller is
silent now. Cousin Jake was killed in an accident in his old ancient pickup truck
quite a number of years ago.
Even today, those who knew the old man and his ability to
give the call of the wild turkey, experience a feeling of sadness when the old
turkey hunters of the community gather for a story telling or tale swapping of
hunting the wild turkey.
Somewhere beyond the sunset I know that Cousin Jake is
hunting wild turkeys, and if the Lord himself is around for only a moment, Cousin
Jake is calling Him “Cuz.”
(Singleton, the author
of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of
79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime
resident of Monroeville, he was born during a late-night thunderstorm on Dec.
14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946,
served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat
deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County on June
28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit
from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. For years, Singleton’s columns,
titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared
in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe
County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first
column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He is
buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of
Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm
records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns
are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part
of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)
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