Or, “What Happens When Two Boys Think They Can Improve Nature”

A Piedmont Lantern Story

Folks in Piedmont will tell you there are bad ideas, worse ideas, and then there are Jim Leroy and Jimmy Matthew ideas, which live in a category all by themselves. It is a category usually written in red ink, often accompanied by eyewitness statements that begin with “Now I ain’t sayin’ I’m blamin’ the boys, but…”

This particular catastrophe began with the simple fact that Jimmy Matthew got bored.

And as every soul in Calhoun County knows, a bored Jimmy Matthew is about as safe as a live grenade in a tumble dryer.

It all started on a warm April Friday when the boys were in Gadsden, loungin’ by the Coosa River, skippin’ rocks and talkin’ big. They’d been hearin’ tales about an enormous catfish that lived near the Broad Street bridge, the kind folks whispered about in barbershops and bait stores. Creatures that could swallow a grown man’s boot whole, maybe even the man too, if he wasn’t quick.

Jimmy Matthew spat into the water and said, “Jim Leroy, I reckon we ought to bring one of them river monsters up to Piedmont so folks can see it proper.”

Jim Leroy stared at him like he’d suggested catching thunder in a mason jar.

“You talkin’ about catchin’ one alive?”

“Catch it? No. Borrow it,” Jimmy Matthew said, as if that clarified anything.

Now, if common sense had been present, it would have spoken up. It would have said, “Boys, leave them catfish alone. The Lord made ‘em big for a reason.” But common sense was on vacation that day, or had possibly resigned from its position after years of abuse.

So, the boys fetched an old cattle trough, which they filled halfway with river water, and rigged up a pulley system made out of rope, rust, and optimism. Their plan, as best as anybody later pieced together, involved coaxing a giant catfish into a feed sack, haulin’ him into the trough, and then takin’ him home in their Pawpaw’s pickup truck.

It was a plan that did not survive contact with reality.

Because the catfish they lured up was not only enormous but possessed a level of irritation not often found in freshwater animals. When the boys tugged the rope, the catfish came straight up like an aquatic cannonball. It knocked Jim Leroy into the mud, slapped Jimmy square across the chest, and flopped itself into the trough with such force that half the river exited over the boys’ heads.

That catfish was not content to stay put. No sir. It began thrashin’ like it was tryin’ to enter a rodeo competition.

Now here is where Piedmont witnesses begin to contribute their commentary.

Witness No. 1: Mrs. Eloise Pickens

She saw the boys pushin’ a splashin’ wheelbarrow down Woolf Avenue.

“I thought they’d caught a demon,” she reported to the pastor. “Or that the Rapture had begun in stages. I swear that bloomin’ thing was cussin’ in fish talk.”

Witness No. 2: Clarence Smalls

From his porch, he yelled, “Boys, that ain’t a catfish. That’s a lawsuit with scales.”

Witness No. 3: Deputy Harlan Biddle

He later told the sheriff, “I tried to stop them, but that evil fish barked at me.”

The boys, drenched and jubilant, were makin’ for Mrs. Delphine’s Dixie Boarding House, intendin’ to show the catfish to the railroad men, when the inevitable happened.

The wheelbarrow hit a pothole.

The catfish achieved brief but meaningful flight.

It landed smack-dab in the middle of Center Avenue, slid a full ten feet, and came to rest against the front tire of Mr. Truman Hale’s Buick. Truman, who had been eatin’ a vanilla cone, blinked three times before muttering, “What in holy hell?”

The catfish, still full of righteous fury, began floppin’ around and chasin’ pedestrians. Folks fled in all directions. Mrs. Crowder climbed a lamppost. A traveling salesman fainted. Two children joined hands and started prayin’.

Someone yelled, “Call the sheriff!”

Someone else yelled, “Call the Game and Fish Department!”

And one elderly gentleman shouted, “Call Jesus!” although it was unclear whether he meant the Messiah or the man from the tire shop.

Jimmy Matthew shouted, “Don’t let him get away!”
Jim Leroy shouted, “I never wanted to do this!”
The catfish didn’t shout, but expressed quite a bit of righteous indignation.

Finally, Sheriff Garner arrived, took one look at the scene, removed his hat, and sighed the sigh of a man who wished he’d taken the day off.

With the help of three volunteers, one mop bucket, and an old church quilt, they subdued the creature and hauled it back to the river, where it swam away with a flick of contempt.

Later that night, the townsfolk gathered at Huddle House and reconstructed the entire event as if it were a historic battle.

Some blamed the boys.
Some blamed the pothole.
Some blamed the fish for bein’ uppity.

Only one thing was unanimous.

Next time Jim Leroy and Jimmy Matthew mentioned “fishin’,” the sheriff insisted they be supervised by clergy, law enforcement, or possibly the National Guard.

And as Mrs. Eloise Pickens said:

“If the Lord had intended Piedmont to host wild river monsters, He would have installed a sturdier Center Avenue.”