Gotta Tell You A Story

First let me describe what you are seeing. The historic Noxubee County Jail in Macon Mississippi was converted some years ago to a public library. Up stairs was the gallows.

Just a quick note about the history of the area. Noxubee in Choctaw means something like "stinking water or odor of dead fish." The Noxubee River runs just outside the town. Hold on, I've got to tell you a true story about an ole boy I met.

Just about fifteen miles S.W. of Macon is an old meeting ground of the Choctaws. It was here that the white man stole thousands of acres from the Indians at the "Treaty of Dancing Rabbit Creek" just prior to the trail of tears removal. The time was somewhere around 1832 give or take year or two. Now for my story. This ain't no shit. My friend J.W. who retired a few years ago told me this story about himself and a friend.

It seems that J.W. and his buddy were drinking and having a high old time at the Southern-Air Club which is on the West side of the Tombigbee River in Columbus. Tombigbee in Choctaw means "Box Maker" probably a crude box for carrying the bones of the singing people's ancestors. Anyway these ole boys were starting to feel real bullet proof after midnight. This was back in the spring of 64. It was Saturday night, actually Sunday morning. J.W. had a 63 Plymouth which he says "was purdy fast." Around 1:45, am one of them came up with the exceptional idea of setting a land speed record to New Orleans. Grown men do their most rational thinking in these situations. So J.W. said they lit out at 2:00 am straight up. He said, "I looked at my watch right after they slammed the jail door behind me in Macon. It was 2:20.

His car was impounded inside a chain link fence next to the jail. He described the events just after daylight.

"They come to my cell with some kinda bologna and eggs or sump'um. I could'nt eat that stuff. They didn't put my buddy in jail, I was the one DUI, and goin' too fast. He was leaned up against a tree on the other side of the chain link fence. I hollered down to him and ast him to go and get me some cheese and crackers or sump'um cause I was starvin. Directly he come back with some crackers of some kind. He'd throw them crackers up to the winder and I was missing most of'um. Them crackers wus fallin' on the ground whur my car was impounded. There was two or three German Shepherd dogs down there. Ever time I'd miss a catch, it'ud fall down amongst them dogs. They'd growl and fight over that stuff, you never seen the like. I looked like a damned monkey with my arm run through them bars tryin' to catch that stuff."

Now J.W. didn't tell me how or when he got out, or if he ever caught a cracker. The story was always ongoing.

He lives in Louisville. That's Louis-ville, not pronounced like the town in Kin-tuck-ie as the native Americans would say. Now Winston County didn't sell beer so J.W. would have to go to Noxubee County to get a couple of six packs. They could take the highway around through Starkville to Brooksville and Macon or they could take a gravel road through the river bottom and save several miles. One Saturday J.W. and his buddy decided that they were thirsty. A trip to Noxubee county had to be made. Now again, wise men think alike and fools seldom differ. So after days of spring rains, these ole boys made the decision you would expect. Yes they took the short cut across the river bottom.

"We got over there in a that river bottom. Tha road was bad. We sunk down to tha frame on that ole truck. We messed around there and decided to walk to some body's house and git'um to pull us out. We got this ole boy over there with a tractor. He hooked on and yanked the bumper clean of tha truck. Finally he got us out. I ast him how much we owed him. He said ah bout five dollars. I give him our beer money. We come on back home. HEY! that ain't the only time I crossed that bottom. I remember being out in front of the truck with a pole, feeling around to see how deep the water wus. My wife would be drivin' and them kids would be cryin' and takin' on. Boy it was sump'um."

"I used to wake up on Sunday mornin' and there would be knuckle bumps all over my ole head. One morning I was shavin'. I had a little ole cut on my lip a while back that was healed up. I messed around there and hit sump'um with tha razor. I pulled it out and it was a little piece of asphalt."