Speaker 1: Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves.
Speaker 1: From coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living.
Speaker 1: I want you to stay a while as I share
Speaker 1: my experiences and life lessons. This Country Life is presented
Speaker 1: by Case Knives on Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you
Speaker 1: the best outdoor podcast the airways had off. All right, friends,
Speaker 1: grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some
Speaker 1: stories to share. Collections. It's all about the things folks collect.
Speaker 1: This week, I'm gonna talk about some of the things
Speaker 1: I collect, some of the things my family has, and
Speaker 1: give you a little background.
Speaker 2: On some of them as well.
Speaker 1: But first, I'm gonna tell you a story.
Speaker 2: Back a few years after the turn of the century.
Speaker 1: And I know that sounds like a long time ago,
Speaker 1: but it really wasn't. Or I like to think it was,
Speaker 1: because the reference used to me like eighty years ago,
Speaker 1: but not anymore now it's less than twenty five. Anyway,
Speaker 1: I was kicking it around southeast Arkansas and was a
Speaker 1: special Agent in charge of the five County tenth Judicial
Speaker 1: District Drug Task Force. My office was in Monticella, a
Speaker 1: booming little metropolis of about ninety five hundred humans. On
Speaker 1: the edge of the Mississippi Delta region of Arkansas in
Speaker 1: Drew County, the University of Arkansas at Montecella is there
Speaker 1: gold bowl evils. That's right, I said bowl weavil And
Speaker 1: like they say, ain't nothing more evil than a dang
Speaker 1: bowl evil. It's also the birth home of Ensign Rodney
Speaker 1: Shelton Falls and sin False is considered by many to
Speaker 1: be one of, if not the first American casualty of
Speaker 1: World War Two, having been struck by strafing Japanese planes
Speaker 1: during the initial attack of the United States in Pearl
Speaker 1: Harbor and some foss. We thank you for your sacrifice.
Speaker 1: And the current mayor of mane Soela is my old
Speaker 1: partner from the Drug Task Force. Jason Akers is my
Speaker 1: brother in blue and one of the very best friends
Speaker 1: I have on this planet. He's the kind of guy
Speaker 1: that if he got thrown in jail and I couldn't
Speaker 1: get him out, I'd get.
Speaker 2: In there with him.
Speaker 1: But this story takes place long before he was elected
Speaker 1: the town mayor and has absolutely nothing to do with him.
Speaker 1: I enjoyed my time in Manaseella. Back in high school,
Speaker 1: some of my friends and I would make the sixteen
Speaker 1: mile trip east across the Slain River to go to
Speaker 1: the walk In movie theater or stop at the fish
Speaker 1: Place just on the edge of town that my grandparents
Speaker 1: frequented every Friday. So when I wound up there as
Speaker 1: the Drug Task Force commander some fifteen years later, I
Speaker 1: was quite familiar with the folks in the area. It
Speaker 1: would be the place where I started a collection, a
Speaker 1: collection that I also laid the foundation of at the
Speaker 1: feet of my father. It's not knives this time, it's shotguns.
Speaker 1: Browning Shotguns Belgium made a five semi automatic shotguns to
Speaker 1: be specific. Now, those shotguns have been revered in my family,
Speaker 1: like a lot of other families, since John Browning had
Speaker 1: to wherewithal to design and patent that metal and wood
Speaker 1: framed example of exquisiteness. My dad had several, I have several,
Speaker 1: and so to all other members of my family. There
Speaker 1: are works of art and how they operate is the
Speaker 1: thing of genius. My admiration for them did not match
Speaker 1: my ability to afford them early on, and I didn't
Speaker 1: become a policeman to get rich, and that plan worked
Speaker 1: out for me. Bind them came on the rare occasion
Speaker 1: I found some disposable income. At the same time, I
Speaker 1: found a good deal on an A five. Those two
Speaker 1: things hardly, if ever, came about concurrently.
Speaker 2: But one Friday morning.
Speaker 1: I was in my office in Monticella and my secretary
Speaker 1: popped in and said she was taking her lunch break
Speaker 1: and getting an early look at in the States sale
Speaker 1: that was taking place not far away. Buy me a shotgun,
Speaker 1: was the last thing I told her. Is she beat
Speaker 1: feet out the door. Fifteen minutes later she came running
Speaker 1: in and said, Hey, they got an old shotgun down
Speaker 1: there for one hundred and fifty dollars. A one hundred
Speaker 1: and fifty dollars shotgun wasn't much even then, at the
Speaker 1: turn of the last century. And I asked her what
Speaker 1: kind it was. She said, I don't know, but it's
Speaker 1: real pretty. That's in a case. It looks like it's leather,
Speaker 1: but it's it's I think it's imitation like vinyl. It's
Speaker 1: cracking in places and tore. I told her I wasn't
Speaker 1: interested in one hundred and fifty shotgun and a cracking
Speaker 1: vinyl case. Doubtfully, it was a very good one for
Speaker 1: that kind of money, and at that time I actually
Speaker 1: had the extra funds. She said she was going back
Speaker 1: down there, and as the door was closing, I told
Speaker 1: her to see what kind it was and give me
Speaker 1: a call. A short time later, my nokid cell phone
Speaker 1: started buzzing, and when I answered, she said, it says
Speaker 1: Browning on the side of the metal. And I said
Speaker 1: for one hundred and fifty dollars. She said, well, that's
Speaker 1: what the tag on it says. I asked her, was
Speaker 1: it all rusted up? She said, no, it looks new.
Speaker 1: But the lady said it was old. She said it
Speaker 1: was her husband's bird gun. Now where I grew up,
Speaker 1: if you said bird, you meant Bob white quail. And
Speaker 1: if you were to draw a picture of a bird hunter,
Speaker 1: he'd have a pair of leather lace up boots, a
Speaker 1: flannel shirt and a matching set of ducks back canvas breeches,
Speaker 1: coat and a hat just like the one that my
Speaker 1: dad shot to pieces that belonged to his cousin Wayne Fry.
Speaker 1: He'd also more than likely have a Browning Auto five
Speaker 1: shotgun in twelve sixteen or twenty gage. Not everybody, but
Speaker 1: a lot of folks. Coincidentally, it was a brown and
Speaker 1: a five that my dad used to obliterate Wayne's hat
Speaker 1: back in The Father's Day, episode number two twenty three,
Speaker 1: when he said her husband's bird gun. I'm pretty sure
Speaker 1: I jumped over the desk to get down there. When
Speaker 1: I drove up, she was sitting on the porch talking
Speaker 1: to an elderly lady who was overseeing a yard full
Speaker 1: of antique furniture and items that no one would call junk.
Speaker 1: I remember her being not unlike my own grandmother, an
Speaker 1: absolute walking definition of a Southern lady. Her hair was
Speaker 1: beauty parlor fixed, and her dress and shoes looked like
Speaker 1: they came right out of my grandma's closet. She invited
Speaker 1: me to sit down on the porch with them, and
Speaker 1: I did. I introduced myself, and she asked me about
Speaker 1: being a policeman and said that I didn't look like
Speaker 1: any policeman she'd ever seen with all those whiskers. Well,
Speaker 1: I showed her my badge and ID and I told
Speaker 1: her the nature of my work.
Speaker 2: She said folks ought to be.
Speaker 1: Ashamed of themselves, and that I should be very careful
Speaker 1: dealing with that meanness. I told her I would. She said,
Speaker 1: you want to see that shotgun? I said, yes, ma'am.
Speaker 1: She said, it's right in Yonder on the kitchen table.
Speaker 1: Help yourself well. I walked in her house, and that
Speaker 1: was immacktly clean and tidy as any home I'd ever
Speaker 1: been in. Everything in there was old, but well taken
Speaker 1: care of in its place and served a purpose. The
Speaker 1: old wood floors creaked under the big oval oriental rug
Speaker 1: she had in the living room. As I made my
Speaker 1: way toward the dining room, just a head laying on
Speaker 1: the table was a full leather shotgun case, just like
Speaker 1: my secretary had described. Tied to that zipper was a
Speaker 1: tag that was marked one hundred and fifty dollars. The
Speaker 1: zipper was rusted in spots and wouldn't go all the
Speaker 1: way down. I opened it as far as I could,
Speaker 1: and then I saw the butt plate on that shotgun FN,
Speaker 1: which stood for Fabric Nationale. That was the gun maker
Speaker 1: in Belgium. We're up until the mid nineteen seventies. All
Speaker 1: the A fives were produced after that. The barrels were
Speaker 1: inscribed made in Japan when production was moved to there.
Speaker 1: The Belgian brownings were what true browning folks wanted, and
Speaker 1: I was holding one right now. I slowly pulled it
Speaker 1: from the Chamois lion case, waiting for it to turn
Speaker 1: into something that would warrant one hundred and fifty dollars
Speaker 1: price tag.
Speaker 2: But it didn't. It only got better.
Speaker 1: There wasn't a blemish on it, The bluing was intact,
Speaker 1: no scratches on the wood jackpot. I couldn't wait to
Speaker 1: show my dad and Tim the deal I'd gotten, But
Speaker 1: before I got to the front door, I had a
Speaker 1: bad feeling in my stomach. There was no way I
Speaker 1: could give that lady one hundred and fifty dollars for
Speaker 1: a shotgun that was worth three times that I stolen
Speaker 1: watermelons and done up other than the fariest deeds in
Speaker 1: my life that I hope and pray I have a
Speaker 1: tone for. But no way was I going to be
Speaker 1: the sweet old lady out of a shotgun that belonged
Speaker 1: to her husband. Did you like the gun? Oh yes, ma'am.
Speaker 1: I like to just find and I'd like to buy
Speaker 1: it from me, But I'm afraid I can't give you
Speaker 1: what you're asking. She said, Well, how much would you
Speaker 1: like to give me for it? Your secretary says, you
Speaker 1: like to hunting. I'd like to see it go to
Speaker 1: someone who likes to hunt as much as my as
Speaker 1: my herald did. So no, ma'am, it's not too high.
Speaker 1: That shotgun is worth more than that it is. I said, yes, ma'am,
Speaker 1: quite a bit more. She looked thoughtful for a moment,
Speaker 1: and she said, well, that's the price on there, and
Speaker 1: that's what i'll take for it. I told her it
Speaker 1: was worth more, and she said again, no, that's the price.
Speaker 2: Take it or leave it. Well.
Speaker 1: I wrote her a check and I folded it up
Speaker 1: and I handed it to her. She smiled and stuck
Speaker 1: it in her from pocket, and without looking at it,
Speaker 1: and said, I guess I can take a check and
Speaker 1: trust a policeman, even a hairy one like you. I
Speaker 1: hugged her neck and thanked her, and she told me,
Speaker 1: I hope you get as much enjoyment out of that
Speaker 1: gun as my herald did. I left there with a
Speaker 1: clear conscience and a piece of history. Now, twenty plus
Speaker 1: years later, I can see that shotgun sitting in my
Speaker 1: safe every time I open it up, and I have
Speaker 1: no idea if it even shoots. I've never loaded it,
Speaker 1: much less fired. It was meant to be and has
Speaker 1: always been, a bird gun, and the Bob White quails
Speaker 1: have all but disappeared in South Arkansas. The gaming fish Man.
Speaker 1: They're working hard to bring them back, and I'm thankful
Speaker 1: for it. I hope to have the opportunity soon to
Speaker 1: take my brother Tim and his sons and mine on
Speaker 1: a quail hunt, maybe out west, somewhere where you can
Speaker 1: still walk them up behind a good dog, shoot into
Speaker 1: a covey rise, so they can experience what Tim and
Speaker 1: I did when we were young. Birds were plentiful. I've
Speaker 1: been saving that shotgun, whose serial numbers revealed it was
Speaker 1: manufactured in nineteen fifty eight, just for such an occasion.
Speaker 1: Then that portion of its story will be complete. Its
Speaker 1: journey from Harold to Harold's widow to me will end
Speaker 1: that chapter of the one hundred and fifty dollars shotgun
Speaker 1: that coincidentally, in nineteen fifty eight sold new for one
Speaker 1: hundred and fifty dollars that I bought with a folded
Speaker 1: check that I made out to her for two hundred
Speaker 1: and fifty.
Speaker 2: And that's just how that happened.
Speaker 1: Collections can be as varied as the collectors, from fishing
Speaker 1: baits to beanie babies. There's someone somewhere that likes to
Speaker 1: stack them up and proudly display them for others to
Speaker 1: look at, or keep them hidden from sight, only enjoying
Speaker 1: the ownership and the satisfaction that comes from owning quantities
Speaker 1: of the object of their desires, like my wife's shoe
Speaker 1: collection that would rival that of Amelda Marcos. Don't know
Speaker 1: who Amelda is? Google is your friend, Well maybe not
Speaker 1: your friend, but you can see who that woman is
Speaker 1: I just named by using it. Anyway, I come from
Speaker 1: a long line of collectors. My mama likes anything that's
Speaker 1: connected with depression glass dishes, antique furniture, quilts, and the like.
Speaker 1: And while I just talked about my dad's affinity for
Speaker 1: brown and shotguns, it is along that same vein that
Speaker 1: he had another collection by Centennial Quarters. For all you
Speaker 1: folks that don't know what one is, I'm going to
Speaker 1: suggest you google it, and if you have to Google
Speaker 1: that up, may the Lord have mercy upon your ill
Speaker 1: informed soul. Nineteen seventy six wasn't that long ago? Never
Speaker 1: mind apparently it was, But starting forty eight years ago
Speaker 1: and every year thereafter, my father snatched up by Centennial
Speaker 1: quarters like they were gold. He could sniff one out
Speaker 1: quicker than whaling can of bandido. There wasn't one safe
Speaker 1: anywhere close, And when he passed away, there were gallon
Speaker 1: jars of them on shelves in his closet. I carry
Speaker 1: one in my pocket from that collection, along with the
Speaker 1: sundry of other items. I don't leave the house without.
Speaker 1: What was his fascination with him, I don't know. I
Speaker 1: never asked him. I asked him, and he said the
Speaker 1: same thing. He just liked him. His affinity for bisentennial
Speaker 1: quarters was surpassed only by his desire not to spend
Speaker 1: quarters of any kind. My dad was notoriously a tightwad
Speaker 1: when he came to spending money on anything he thought
Speaker 1: was frivolous. Fifteen hundred dollars for a dog, no problem, boat,
Speaker 1: motor okay, fishing, poles, hunting boots, shotguns, horses, saddles. In tact,
Speaker 1: take my money, said Buddy Reeves.
Speaker 2: Dad.
Speaker 1: I'm hungry. We'll get someone when we get to the house.
Speaker 1: But I'm hungry now. Guess what, You'll still be hungry
Speaker 1: when we get home. Case in point, He and I
Speaker 1: took a trip out west in July of two thousand
Speaker 1: and one. He'd never been past Oklahoma, and he wanted
Speaker 1: to see Mount Rushmore. I'll relate the details of that
Speaker 1: trip and another story. Trust me, it can stand on
Speaker 1: its own without any poetic licensing. So I'm just gonna
Speaker 1: fast forward to us standing in the Black Hills of
Speaker 1: South Dakota at the Crazy Horse Memorial. We walked all
Speaker 1: through the visitor center, admiring historical photographs and information not
Speaker 1: only about the memorial, but about the man himself. We
Speaker 1: walked out to the visitor center on a big deck
Speaker 1: out back, and therein all that's grandeur was Chief Crazy
Speaker 1: Horse's likeness being carved out of a mountain. It was
Speaker 1: absolutely enormous, and like most places there, there were those
Speaker 1: big coin operated binoculars that would give you a magnified
Speaker 1: view of the scenery. I saw a small yellow speck
Speaker 1: on the outstretched arm of the Chief and I realized
Speaker 1: it was a bulldozer. They rarely put the size of
Speaker 1: that relief carving in perspective, and I dropped a quarter
Speaker 1: in to get a closer look, and it really took
Speaker 1: my breath away as how big that thing really was. Dad,
Speaker 1: you ain't gonna believe how big this thing is. He
Speaker 1: was like a little kid trying not to run on
Speaker 1: the pool deck. After being warned by the lifeguard for
Speaker 1: the final time, I went back to gazing at the mountain,
Speaker 1: and I caught him in my peripheral vision, turning that
Speaker 1: big set of binoculars to where he could see what
Speaker 1: I'd so excitedly described to him. Where is it that
Speaker 1: son right there where I can't see nothing. I looked
Speaker 1: over at him and staring through the viewfinder, and I
Speaker 1: was like, Dad, it's pointed right at the mountain. Just
Speaker 1: looked through it. He said, I don't see nothing but black.
Speaker 1: This thing's broke. I said, no, Dad, it ain't broke.
Speaker 1: You got to drop a quarter in that slot and
Speaker 1: make it work. He drew his head back and looked
Speaker 1: at me like I'd lost my mind. A quarter, I said, yes, sir,
Speaker 1: put a quarter in that slot and it'll turn on
Speaker 1: for you. His face turned into a portrait of what
Speaker 1: someone looks like when they smell sired milk.
Speaker 2: You already put one in.
Speaker 1: Yes, sir, he said, oh, heck, I'll just look through yours.
Speaker 1: A quarter twenty five cents. Twenty five cents is what
Speaker 1: separated him from seining to sight. He'd only dreamt of
Speaker 1: sin before today, and he wasn't about to spend one
Speaker 1: to see it. He collected quarters, but he didn't spend them.
Speaker 2: Not for that anyway.
Speaker 1: My brother Tim collects a bunch of stuff very reminiscent
Speaker 1: of my own, but he's got a lot more of each,
Speaker 1: from knives and firearms and Indian artifacts from where we live,
Speaker 1: and a collection of memorabilia from a local battle from
Speaker 1: the war between the States, musket balls that had been
Speaker 1: dropped on the field to battle, along with fired ones
Speaker 1: that held the deformity of being fired and striking something
Speaker 1: or someone. Down near the river, there were camps occupied
Speaker 1: by soldiers, and just like any place where people gather,
Speaker 1: people lose things even back then, bullets and buckles and
Speaker 1: spurs and knapsacks, horse tacking the like. Less than one
Speaker 1: hundred years later, our older relatives talked about scratching around
Speaker 1: on the banks of the river when they were down
Speaker 1: there fishing and picking up the lead bullets from that
Speaker 1: battle to hammer into fishing weights, a practice the soldiers
Speaker 1: themselves did anytime they were stationed near water. That's quite
Speaker 1: a collectible. A piece of lead that was built for
Speaker 1: taking the life being fashioned into something to catch a fish.
Speaker 1: The most remarkable item from that struggle is a handful
Speaker 1: of coins, not unlike what a lot of us towed
Speaker 1: around today. These, however, belonged to a soldier who lost
Speaker 1: them on the field of battle one hundred and sixty
Speaker 1: years ago. Five cent pieces back then were called half dimes,
Speaker 1: and there were two of them, along with twenty three
Speaker 1: dimes and seven quarters four dollars fifteen cents many from
Speaker 1: eighteen sixty to eighteen sixty three. That is equal to
Speaker 1: about eighty dollars today. But in eighteen sixty four a
Speaker 1: Union soldier's pay was thirteen dollars a month. My brother
Speaker 1: had found in the area about the size of a
Speaker 1: kitchen table, a falling American's.
Speaker 2: Wages for a week of war.
Speaker 1: Now, this battle took place on land that belongs to
Speaker 1: TAM's father in law, mister Billy Bryant, by turkey hunting mentor,
Speaker 1: who turned.
Speaker 2: Ninety one this year.
Speaker 1: He was raised there on that piece of land that
Speaker 1: was given to him by his father. His father told
Speaker 1: him a story of when he himself was a little
Speaker 1: boy and was squirrel hunting. One day, while walking through
Speaker 1: the woods, he walked upon something that caught his eye
Speaker 1: and after looking closer and moving leaves, he found the
Speaker 1: skeletal remains of a Union soldier near the base of
Speaker 1: a tree. Covered in leaf litter and the passage of time,
Speaker 1: the ragged wool of his uniform was still somewhat visible.
Speaker 1: He ran all the way home and was so shaken
Speaker 1: that he couldn't find that place again to show anyone
Speaker 1: where he'd found him so they could bury the remains.
Speaker 1: A not so gentle reminder that some collections are not
Speaker 1: to be taken lightly, and the story of their existence
Speaker 1: is important to document, to be told and not forgotten.
Speaker 1: I dare say there is no better self taught his
Speaker 1: story and on the Battle of Marksmel than my brother Tim,
Speaker 1: to our family and other sentence of that terrible time
Speaker 1: who still reside there. It is a place to be
Speaker 1: revered for the human struggle of all involved. I'll share
Speaker 1: some photos of the items on my social media pages.
Speaker 1: Slide on over there and give those pages a follow
Speaker 1: if you'd like to see them. Also, for you folks
Speaker 1: are starting to think about whitetail season and are so inclined,
Speaker 1: check out First Light's new whitetail kits over at the
Speaker 1: first light dot com.
Speaker 2: That's First Light l I T E dot com.
Speaker 1: Thank y'all for listening until next week. This is Brent
Speaker 1: Reeves signing off.
Speaker 2: Y'all be careful,