Bear Grease - Ep. 131: THIS COUNTRY LIFE - Minding Your Manners, Part 1

Episode Date: July 28, 2023

What could a teacher, a trip to the principal’s office, a promise to an 11-year-old girl, the classic children’s book, “Where the Red Fern Grows,” and a hair salon all have in common? It’s a story that took Brent 46 years to live and about 15 minutes to tell. Come along with him this week as he navigates through that tale and others on how being respectful can be an investment, and a saving grace. It’s Part 1 of “Minding Your Manners." Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and Youtube Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From Coon Hunting to Trotlining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my stories and country skills that will help you beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcast the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I think I got a thing or two to teach you.

Mind in your manners. Mind in your manners. Man, that's like biscuits and gravy. And just like good biscuits and gravy these days, sometimes they're hard to find. It was instilled in my nogging at birth that as a male member of this planet that I was saddled with a few inherent responsibilities. Don't pick on folks smaller than you,

defend those that can't defend themselves, and show everyone as much respect as they'd allow. Now, obviously, we're talking about manners and acting right this week, but it's going to be a little different. This is going to be my first two-part episode. Next week in part two, we're going to dig into the specifics about manners, but today, I'm going to unravel a tale from my childhood that took 46 years to complete. But before I do, I want to tell you a story. A while back, I got an email from a young man who was in college in Arkansas. He was interested in coon hunting.

He was from another state, had never been coon hunting in his life, but he'd listened to Clay Nuckel and I talking about it on one of Clay's bare-grease episodes. He reached out, and his email was so kind and respectful and well thought out, so I invited him to come and go with me. And after a few days, we met up and we went hunting. He pulled up to my house in a truck that looked like he'd built it himself from parts that no one else wanted. He jumped out smiling, shook my hand firmly, and told me how much he appreciated me taking him hunting. He didn't know his behind from 15 cents when it came to anything about hounds or chasing coons with him.

And that was all right. It was fun for me to teach him, at least what I knew about it. And any time I get to hunt with someone that's interested in it and wanting to be there, they'll get just as excited as I do. And I really enjoy sharing it with them. It makes it that much more fun for me, and I've always said that sharing a burden with someone will lighten your load, and sharing a joy will multiply it. And I can't think of anything better to share than the love of a dog and witnessing what that's dog purpose in life is, because I promise you, neither one of us was having any more fun than old Whalen was. Now, like most folks putting themselves through college, he didn't have a lot of extra much.

money, especially to spend on hunting equipment. On his first night out, we drove to our hunting spot, and he pulled out a homemade light that attached to his head by a strap and powered by wires connected to a six-volt battery that he toted around in his hand like a rock. The wires weren't long enough for him to put the battery in his breeches' pocket, and that would have drove me crazy, but he'd never said a word about it. His hunting boots were a pair of Chuck Taylor Converses. He never complained about the wires coming loose causing his light to go out,

never commented that he wished he had a better one or a reference to anything about how dim it was. Never said anything about wading through water in his shoes that I know in my heart was the same pair that he was wearing in school that day. I didn't say nothing about him either. That would have been rude. He was happy to be there and I was enjoying his company. And we had a great time. a million questions, and Whelan did his job by treeing a few coons. I invited him to come back

again, and in a few days, when his schedule allowed it, I had a light waiting for him when he got there. It was an older coon hunting light that was more or less an emergency spare since I didn't use it, but I'd held on to it, and while it wasn't new, it was several steps above a headband and toting a battery. I'd invited my good friend Rex Whiteing to go with us, and he brought him an old pair hip boots that he had. To say my little buddy was overjoyed is quite an understatement. If you're unfamiliar with hip boots, they're just a rubber boot that have material sewn to the top of the boot called chaps and a strap and a buckle attached to the top

that you loop around your belt. The chaps are a waterproof layer for your breeches legs, and as long as you don't wade in water that's higher than they go up your legs, you're going to stay dry. Now, my new hunting buddy had never owned a pair of these boots in his life, and when he put them on and pulled the leggings up, he was looking at the straps and the buckles the way a calf looks at a new gate. He said, what are these for? I told him, I said, just fasten them.

They'll keep your chaps from falling down while you walk. And with that instruction, I had turned back to cutting whaling loose, and the three of us stood there in conversation in the dark, all about things about coon hunting. It was good to have Rex with us. He was my cone hunting mentor, and he was helping me train Whalen and answer a ton of questions from our guest. Whelan got treated, and we all three took off toward where he was. We were walking through the knee-deep water, and with every step, I just knew my young friend was enjoying those boots. What I didn't understand was why he kept falling further and further behind.

He was almost three times as young as Rex and I. and was skinning his old Job's turkey. He should have been outrunning everyone out there except whaling. We got to the tree and we waited for him to get there. We let him find the coon and we cut whaling loose again. We just stood there talking in the dark, waiting for wailing the tree again, which he did in pretty short order.

We cut her lights back on and we three took off again. And again, he fell behind. When he made it to the tree, Rex and I had already found a coon and we showed it to him. We cut wailing loose again, and once again cut our lights out and found ourselves standing there talking in the dark. That boy never said a word about his boots, not one complaint. My coon hunting protege turned his light back on and walked back over to have another look at the coon that was still in that tree when Rex saw something that I hadn't paid any attention to.

He said, well, now I know why a college boy can't keep up with. with us. He's hobbled himself. I said, do what? Rick said, yeah, instead of attaching his bootstraps to his belt, looks like he's tied him together and he's toting him in his hand like a set of reins to keep him from falling down. No wonder he can't keep up. Well, I walked over to where he was standing and we looked at that cune for a minute, just talking. All the while, I was thinking of how not to embarrass him. So out of the blue, I just said, looks like his straps, on your boots have come undone. Those buckles are tricky sometime.

Let me fix it for you. I buckled one correctly around his belt, and as soon as I did, it was like he had an extra light above his head that wasn't attached to his hat. His face turned beat red, and I could tell that he had just figured it out, and he snapped the other.

And I never said anything, and he never said anything. And old Rex, he never said anything. At least we didn't say anything. in front of him. It was funny, and we still laugh about it. But what seems second nature to some may be a mystery to others, and it dang sure ain't a sign of someone's intelligence for not knowing.

That boy's smart as a will. My friend hasn't hunted with us in a while since his school load got so heavy, and the guy that didn't have a grasp on how a bootstrap worked will finish up his master's degree in business next fall. and that'll go nicely with the law degree he finished last spring. I'll tell you this, out of the three of us that was on that hunt that night, four, if you count old whaling, he'd be my pick to keep me out of the electric chair. Who knows I may need that one day, but one thing's for sure,

our meeting and becoming friends was a direct result of a well-written, respectful email. Manners can be a key that unlocks adventure and knowledge. I like to think we taught him a few things, and if he didn't teach me anything, he'd definitely reinforce some stuff. Being happy with what you have, living within your means, prioritizing your budget,

and working hard toward a better life is the best way to succeed. He may not have been able to afford a new truck, a new light, or even a new pair of hunting boots at that time, but he will, and those good manners, they didn't cost him a nickel. but it paved his way into a lifetime of a standing invitation to hunt with me whenever he wants.

And that's just how that happened. There's a ton of lists and books that describe the proper etiquette for different situations and the manners associated with them. It was just a part of growing up for me. While I could be considered semi-feral, how I acted in any place I found myself, was a part of my home training just like reading and writing at school was. saying please thank you, you're welcome, yes ma'am, and no sir. I do it a lot out of habit, but to the folks that hear it, it tells them that I value them as a neighbor,

and they may not be my next door neighbor, but in the scope of humanity, we're all neighbors to some degree. And I'm not sure when or why the decline in teaching children manners started, but it's not hard to see that it has. and to me, manners are a direct result of the amount of respect you have for others and yourself. Now, I've had grown folks around my children when they're talking to them and one of my kids would say, yes, ma'am. And the adult would say, oh, you don't have to say, yes, ma'am to me. And that's when I would say, oh, yes, they do. It's not a statement about your age. It's a sign of respect for you as an adult.

I was taught that just like every generation of my family before. I asked my oldest daughter about what her memory of manners training was in our family, and she gave me the example that I just quoted you. She gave me another one that when I or any other adult asked her a question, and she said yes or no, that I'd always say, I'm sorry, what did you say? And she'd correct it by using the appropriate term of respect by adding sir or ma'am, while I tried to set her on fire with my eyeballs. She still has good manners,

and I still get compliments from folks about how kind and respectful she is. She cuts hair for a living, and if you like to get some compliments, you ought to look her up and let her skills turn your head into something you and your parents could be proud of. Now, back at the beginning, I teased you about a story that took 46 years to complete. she's part of it and here it is last spring clay newcomb and i collaborated with jason phelps at phelps game calls and building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts now i'm going to tell you i love

mine because it's easy to use i'm not going to go i'm not going to win a turkey calling contest it's just not going to happen but when i run this call i get the sounds that gobblers are looking for i have a great turkey hunting track record if you go listen to real turkey out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out prime cuts at Phelps game calls.com.

I think you'll be glad you did, and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting. action. There was never a time when my mother got called to the school for any reason as a result of my behavior that the first question out of her mouth wasn't, was he disrespectful? One time I'm reminded of was in the sixth grade. I don't remember if it was before or after the time I hopped a train with an accomplice leaving school and the rest of those suckers for a day of freedom and cigarettes. But on this day, because of a minor class. room coup I'd orchestrated, I and another friend who'd remain a friend of mine for the rest of

his life, found ourselves in the principal's office. Our teacher, Miss Marianne Mowbley, had left the room and put our classmate Amy Ashcraft in charge of sitting on her stool and taking names and writing them on the chalkboard of those of us she caught talking. Now, Miss Mowbley hadn't been gone long enough for a cat to lickets behind one of my old. old pal Donald started talking to me. The sound of chalk hitting the chalkboard made me look up and see Amy writing, Brent and Donald, real pretty like girls writing on the chalkboard do. But I hadn't been talking, not loud anyway.

I was mostly listening, but regardless, having your name on the board was doomed. I knew what that meant. Miss Mowley had warned us. Get caught talking, and you're headed to the office. Going to the office back then was a one-way ticket to getting your ham smoked. Unless you was buying a pencil or going home for puking after a wild ride on the merry-go-round, your fate was sealed when you crossed the office threshold, as mine often was. I looked at Donald and being a highly decorated veteran of getting my ham smoked at the office,

I said, buddy, I ain't taking no whooping this time. I ain't done nothing wrong much. I had been to the office on multiple occasions for very deserving reasons, but this time I was mostly innocent and I was taking a stand. Donald said, well, I ain't taking one neither. And that's just how easy our sixth grade nonviolent insurrection was planned. Miss Mowgli, God bless her, it was her first year to teach. She got me and Donald's same class. story short, when the principal got the report of mine and my co-conspirators alleged transgressions,

he told me to assume the position and get ready for three licks with his paddle. I said, no, sir, I didn't do nothing wrong, and I'd like to call my mama. He looked at me like I had lost my mind and was smiling when he said, Well, here, Brent, just use my phone. I thanked him and thought to myself, jokes on you, pal. she's just to wipe that smile off your face and clean your plow when she gets here for you and everybody here have wronged her baby boy. I called her at her work at the Warren Bank.

I told her what I just told y'all, and she said, I'll be there in just a minute. I hung up and Donald said, I want to call my mama too. Sure, son, go right ahead, was the principal's answer. He was smiling even bigger. Now, my mama and Donald's mama got there at the same time as fate would have it. They both walked in the office and the principal said, I betty, sorry to get you away from work, but Brent wanted you here.

He said the same thing, Donald's mama. He told her why I was there. She looked at me and I told her what I had been accused of. And she looked at him and said, was he disrespectful to you or Miss Mowbly? And they both said, oh, absolutely not. She looked at me and said, were you talking? And I said, no, ma'am. She was looking at me with that same stare that I would later use on my oldest daughter

when I tried to set her on fire with my eyes for having bad manners. The silence was deafening. She kept staring at me and the truth came out, yes ma'am, but I was just whispering. The principal gave me three licks with that paddle, and then my mama gave me three more. Donald received the same. fame fate. Now, I've told that story a million times, but what always stuck out in my mind in that situation and the countless others that lay ahead of me along the story journey of my education

that my mama always wanted to know first how I'd acted toward my teachers or administrators before being told what I had supposedly done. I forgave Amy Ashcraft for writing my name down after a few days. She was just doing what she was told to do, and I knew better. Later that same year, I read where the red firm grows, and I brought a jar from home, and I set it up on my desk, and I taped a piece of paper to it that I had written, By Brenna Cung Dog Fund.

Amis was the only contribution. She dropped a quarter in there, and as she walked away, I told her that if I ever had a daughter, I would name her Amy, And she laughed at me. Miss Mowbley would teach for 40 more years before retired. And while I was somewhat a rebellious child, she never gave up on me that year. The sixth grade was a tough time for me. I was sorting through a whole bunch of things,

and it would have been easy for her, a first year teacher, to just let me coast along, but she didn't. She held me accountable, and she let me know that she cared about me. I acted like a clown in her first year teaching, and she didn't deserve that. And I never forgot it, and to this day, I still feel guilty about it. Last year, my oldest daughter, whose name is, y'all say it with me. Amy had just started fixing hair in my hometown and called me and said, Dad, you'll never guess whose hair I'm scheduled to do today.

Of course, I had no idea. But when she told me it was Miss Mowbly, I got it. a little emotional. I hadn't seen her in over 40 years, but I hadn't forgotten her. I told Amy that I wanted to pay for it and I did over the phone. I told that when Ms. Mowley got there not to say anything to her about it until she was finished fixing her hair, then I wanted to tell her who her daddy was and that I loved her and that I was very thankful for her not giving up on me that year. Regardless of the trouble I got into, she never quit me. That probably wasn't the first time I'd made Miss Mobbly cry through something that I'd done.

But it's the only one she ever deserved. In episode 127, Know Your Trees, I briefly mentioned an incident in high school where I took it upon myself to cram a wad of wet paper towels in one end of an industrial grade steel pipe that we used to practice cutting with an acetylene torch. I went to the open end, and with that unlit torch, I released an unknown amount of acetylene gas into my homemade cannon. I don't remember where my watermelon stealing buddy was, but I'm sure it was his idea to do it.

Probably. Anyway, when I sparked that Flint Stryker and lit the gas, it shot that wide of wet paper towels across that shop like a shooting star. It was also so loud that the principal heard the explosion from his office on the other end of the school. My Agri teacher, who should have been given a medal for working in a common. combat zone every day with a class full of hooligans, stepped out of his office and said, I don't know who did it, but somebody's in trouble.

That quote was sent to me by my friend Johnny Nolan, who listened to the podcast and reached out to me. He was also standing in the general vicinity of me when I did it. He and a couple of others, along with yours truly, were standing there trying to look innocent when the principal came running in expecting to see the streets of Tel Aviv and focused his gaze from clear across that shop on me and the boys around me. I thought I'm as good as dead, but no one squealed. Not a one. We all went to the office, and I fessed up, but I'm pretty sure that they all got a few leaks as well.

I know Johnny did. They dispatched justice back in those days with a shotgun method. If you shoot into the covey enough, you're bound to hit the right bird. And the ones that had no hand in it, well, they probably got away or something at sometimes, so it pretty well evens out. They called my mama, and she came up there again. And there we all sat, looking like we were all waiting for our turn in the electric chair. She said, come on, and we walked into the principal's office and sat down.

He told her that I more or less had built a bomb and set it all. in shop class, and I swear to my soul, the first question she asked wasn't, did I kill anybody or did anybody get hurt? It was, you guessed it, was he disrespectful? I believe in my heart, the only reason she let me live from the sixth grade until I graduated school was because of my manners. It pays to be polite and respectful. I thank you all for listening, and the those have left reviews and shared our podcast with others. Man, we're hearing from folks from all over the world. England, Germany, Australia, Scotland, Finland,

Norway, Africa, Japan, even outer space, places like California. Catch part two next week. And be good to one another. It really don't get more country than that. Thank a teacher. And teachers, y'all be thankful you weren't teaching in the Warren School District. from 1978 to 1984. Here in my rain at Bufundry.

This is Brent Reeves. Signing off. Y'all be careful. On Blood Trails, the stories don't end when the hunt is over. They just get darker. I've seen something in the road. I instantly thought it was a sleeping bag. And there was a full of blood.

Oh, my God, he doesn't have a hit. Blood Trails is a true crime podcast born in the outdoors, Where the terrain is unforgiving, the evidence is scarce, and the truth gets buried under brush and silence. Indications were he should be right there, but he wasn't. This season, we're going deeper, from cold case files to whispered suspicions, from remote mountains to frozen backwards. Each story begins in the wilderness and ends in darkness. Because out here, there are no witnesses, no cameras, just fragments and the people left. behind trying to piece them back together.

He's not an honest person. He's incapable of being honest. Somebody somewhere knows something. I'm Jordan Sillers. Season 2 of Blood Trails premieres April 16th. Follow now on Apple, Iheart, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts.