Myrick's Mill fish frys were a community social event of the best kind. They might happen on any night of the week but usually took place in the evening after someone fishing in the pond had caught a big mess of fish. Everybody came to the fish frys.

This was a come-as-you-are kind of event. Some people would see the fish fry taking place and just stop and join us. Others would come to the store to pick up some last minute supplies and discover the crowd gathering. Seeing a fish fry was underway, they went home to get Mamma and the chillun. Never mind that supper was being prepared at home; it'll hold till tomorrow night. There was a fish fry underway at Myricks Mill! Some would be there in greasy work clothes, while others would come dressed spic 'n span.

I remember one person in particular --- Mr. Bo. Mr. Bo always wore overalls and a denim railroad cap. On special occasions, he wore starched and ironed overalls with a long sleeve white shirt. The railroad cap, that part that stood tall with a flat crown, was also starched and ironed. The only time that I ever saw Mr. Bo without overalls and the railroad cap was at his funeral. To this day, it bothers me that they buried Mr. Bo bareheaded, in a pair of dress slacks and a white shirt. I'm not superstitious nor do I believe that burial garments have any eternal significance. But, somehow I have just never felt like they did right by Mr. Bo burying him that way.

Mr. Sam was a bootlegger and fish poacher that lived a little ways up the road from the mill on Griffins Gift Church Road. Near the head of the big lake, Mr. Sam had his own private entrance into the creek that lead to the lake. He slipped into the lake at this secret place on the creek and never paid to fish like everyone else. Not only did he slip into the lake from the back way; he was notorious for putting out gill nets, especially around a big shellcracker bed during the spawning season. Now that kind of fishing got a lot of honest fishermen upset, especially when they paid to fish and found gill nets around the fish bed. It wasn't uncommon to hear Mr. Sam around the store complaining that some #x*-&# had torn up his nets. Mamma could never figure out why Daddy didn't seem to want to stop him from poaching fish with gill nets. Mr. Sam traded at the store and I guess Daddy didn't want to make him mad for fear he'd quit trading. He was a good customer. Or maybe Daddy just knew that it wouldn't do any good to say anything.

A lot of people around the community referred to him as Old Man Sam, like they didn't have high regards for him or something. He always cussed a lot, acted mean, and was also known to make, sell, and haul a lot of whiskey in the old used hearses that he bought from a funeral home up in Macon. The old panel truck hearse still had the wreath emblem on the side panel, typical of funeral cars that carried the casket. I guess he liked these old hearses because the entire cargo area was enclosed and no one could see what he was hauling around in the back. Although he was always nice to us chillun, Mr. Sam always appeared as a spooky sort of character; I guess because of those old hearses that he drove.

Anyway, Mr. Sam caught or trapped a lot of fish with gill nets. Most of the time he'd sell his fish to people who'd come by his house to buy whiskey. I reckon he was one of those folks that worked two jobs………..selling fish and mak'in whiskey, both illegal. Come to think of it, I don't know that he ever did anything legal in those days. On rare occasions Mr. Sam's conscience over gillnetting the fish beds must have gotten the best of him; At least, that's the best that I can figure it? He'd pitch a fish fry under the pine grove, too and invite everyone. The crowd gathered as usual. A good mess of fresh fish, lard fried, and outdoors in an iron wash pot, never failed to draw a crowd.

Myricks Mill fish frys transcended politics, greed, sin and all manner of social standing.

©2003 - William C. Humphries, Jr.