(Vanity)My column on a fishing buddy

Outdoor View Magazine ^ | June 21, 2008 | myself

[girlangler]

Day is done... Gone the sun From the lake... From the hills... From the sky. All is well... Safely rest God is nigh.

Fading light.... Dims the sight And a star.... Gems the sky.... Gleaming bright From afar.... Drawing nigh Falls the night.

“TAPS“

- Major General Daniel Butterfield (www.west-point.org/taps/Taps.html )

By ******

That haunting melody never moved me as much as it did recently, at the graveside service of a man who touched my life with his humility, kindness, and a love of fishing.

Delbert Lee Fellers was a man who found great pleasure in the simple things we all take for granted. His love of fishing, and our time together doing so, is an unparalleled inheritance he chose to bestow upon me.

Sitting on the bank of a pond watching Delbert fish for bass, one would never guess how much he sacrificed so that we have the freedom to enjoy such small pleasures, or that he was the embodiment of what “Webster’s Dictionary” defines as a hero, “ . . . an illustrious warrior . . . Bold . . . Courageous.”

A distant relative, Delbert Lee Fellers died on Memorial Day at the age of 85, and was buried among our ancestors’ graves, on a piece of ground awarded to a forebearer for his service in the Revolutionary War. The property was later deeded to the community for a church and graveyard. The (now) three cemeteries are final resting places for many of our ancestors who served in all wars and armed conflicts since the War for Independence.

It is a fitting it serves as Delbert’s final resting place.

During the graveside services, with the Appalachian Mountains serving as a backdrop, a military Honor Guard honored a man who never asked for recognition, and never understood how his selflessness earned him the nation’s fourth highest honor for exceptional gallantry in battle, having been “performed with marked distinction.”

Delbert said he was just doing his job the day he earned a U.S. Army Silver Star, doing what he was trained to do for his country.

It was here at Delbert’s gravesite, and after researching the extraordinary efforts of the men who fought in WWII, I realized why he was never in a hurry, was always patient, savoring every moment on the bank of a pond or a lakeshore, and relished every tug at the end of his fishing line.

ENCOUNTERING A HERO

In the 1990s, I met Delbert for the first time in the nearby town of Greeneville Tenn., where I called on his wife looking for genealogy information about my mother’s family’s history. It was easy to like this small-framed man with a perpetual smile on his face.

While we shared a kinship through marriage, he was genuinely proud of the lineage his wife and children shared with me. He and I took a ride to see a local landmark associated with family history, and during the ride we enjoyed a long conversation about our favorite topic, fishing.

I spoke with him briefly when his wife died, as I then lived in the same town.

One day Delbert, then in his early 80s, stopped by my house to visit and invite me to fish in his “honey holes,” private ponds in the rural countryside, where he had permission from the landowners to fish for bass.

As much as I love fishing, I had so much on my plate, I surmised. I really wanted to, but just didn’t have time to go fishing right then.

There was no way I was telling this eager man that, though, as it was evident a fishing trip with me at this time was of the utmost importance.

Little did I know then, these hours spent together on those ponds were to have an everlasting impact on my life.

FROM HOME TO ETERNITY

Like most young boys in rural east Tennessee in the 1940s, Delbert grew up fishing, hunting rabbits and squirrels, nurtured by hardworking parents who had spent the past years surviving the Great Depression.

Delbert loved to shoot his .22 rifle when hunting small game, and said he honed his shooting skills with this rifle, shooting at an old tobacco barn.

“I could shoot one spot on that barn, and hit the exact spot over and over,” he said. He remembered setting trotlines in the nearby Nolichucky River, the same river the legendary Davy Crockett fished as a boy.

But by 1944, Delbert would leave the idyllic world he knew here to serve his country in one of the many hard fought battles of WWII.

When he later returned to Greene County, the memories he carried home with him would always be dormant below the surface of his calm demeanor, shaping the man who always smiled and took time to help others.

ANGAUR ISLAND/OPERATION STALEMATE II

When the combined U.S. forces sent the U.S. Army’s 81st Wildcat Division, 322d (company F), to a chain of South Pacific islands, called the Pelelius (also known as Palau Islands), Delbert was part of a team of sharpshooters that would engage the enemy in fierce and sometimes hand to hand battle. He came home with a Silver Star, Purple Heart, Bronze Star, and several other meritorious medals.

Delbert ended up on a Japanese occupied island known as Angaur during Operation Stalemate II, a battle to take the Peleliu Islands, which was one of the last Japanese strongholds to defend their mainland, and a pivotal battle that brought victory to the U.S. and its allies in this war.

This battle ranked alongside those more notable ones fought at Tarawa and Iwo Jima, and is recorded as one of the bloodiest battles of the Pacific theatre, having had the highest percentage of casualties by any marine unit in the Pacific during that war.

The victorious taking, from mid-September to mid-October 1944, of these islands cost “9,800 U.S. casualties, including 1,121 Marines / 278 soldiers KIA; 73 Marines / 373 soldiers missing; and 5,142 Marines / 1,008 soldiers WIA .”(Sources -- Morison, Samuel Eliot (1958). Leyte: June 1944 - Jan 1945, vol. 12 of History of United States Naval Operations in World War II. Little, Brown and Company. ISBN 0316583170. U.S. Army Campaigns of World War II: Western Pacific).

“Japanese garrison suffered over 13,000 casualties. The number of prisoners taken by the U. S. forces was less than 300. Most were captured near the end of the campaign, when they started running out of food and water. Twenty six Japanese soldiers held out in the caves in Peleliu until 1947 and finally surrendered after a Japanese Admiral from Japan convinced them the war was over.(Sources -- Morison, Samuel Eliot (1958). Leyte: June 1944 - Jan 1945, vol. 12 of History of United States Naval Operations in World War II. Little, Brown and Company. ISBN 0316583170. U.S. Army Campaigns of World War II: Western Pacific).

THE FINAL BATTLE

Throughout the several years Delbert and I fished together, we had many conversations. As he grew older, I began to notice he was slowing down. So, we’d spend more time talking while fishing, and little by little, he would tell me about his wartime experiences.

By this time Delbert was facing another battle, the one that took his life. In pain with cancer, our last fishing trip was short, although he tried so hard to hang in there because he loved to go fishing with me.

The first few years of our fishing trips, he would run around the banks of that big pond, actually outrunning me, and I was several decades younger than he was. During our final fishing trip I could tell he was in a lot of pain, so I lied and told him I was tired and we needed to go home.

I knew it would be our last.

I’ve fished from coast to coast, in all sorts of lucrative places. But this final fishing trip with Delbert was the most wonderful day of my life, even though I was overcome with sadness.

For it was on this trip Delbert decided to share his very personal experiences with me. He told me, in great detail, about that day in 1944 when his life was changed so drastically.

He fought back tears as he told me how he and another sharpshooter took out a nest of Japanese machine gunners and saved a whole lot of American lives, how he watched in horror his platoon leader being shot, his lifeless corpse hanging from a tree.

He recalled reaching down to pick up a dead radio operator’s helmet after he was killed, and how the machine gun bullets knocked the helmet out of his hand, filling him full of shrapnel.

He said the guy operating the radio, a young man from some small town in the U.S., had told him that morning "I don't want to go out today, I have a bad feeling."

Listening to his words, I knew I would never again regret, dread, or turn down a day of fishing. I knew how precious life is, and how blessed I am for every day spent fishing with Delbert.

[girlangler]

I have posted threads about my fishing buddy on FR before, and just finished this column and wanted to share it with some of you who posted on previous threads about Delbert.

This article probably has typos/mistakes, as it is so hard to write through tears. I miss him terribly.

This article will be in the July/August issue of "Outdoor View" magazine. I'm planning on writing more detailed articles about Delbert later for other publications.

[girlangler]

There are so many other freepers I’d like to share this with, but I can’t remember all their posting names.

In a hurry (as usual) now, have another deadline. But I’ll try to find some of them and ping them later.

[NewJerseyJoe]

I once got a birthday card for my Dad. On the front was some expository, somewhat transcendental bit of text (which I wish I’d kept a copy of) — part of which read something like fishing is time for the soul. On the inside, it said “Happy birthday to the man who taught me that there’s more to fishing than catching fish.”

[girlangler]

LOL, I wish I had that quote before I wrote this column, and if I could find out who wrote that I’d quote them.

WONDERFUL quote. Wish I could find that birthday card.

[skeeter]

We have our heros today, but guys like your friend - we won't see their kind again, not in my lifetime.

Thanks.

[NormsRevenge]

‘Til we all meet at that ol’ ‘Honey Hole’ in the sky.. God bless Delbert and family and keep on fishing, girlangler... and Thanks for sharing this.

All my Uncles and almost everyone I knew as a kid to be a WW2 vet are gone. They all fished.

[SandRat]

and now he’s with the best fishing buddy anyone could ask for -— Mar 1:17 And Jesus said unto them, Come ye after me, and I will make you to become fishers of men.

[Eaker]

Wonderful story.

Brings back a few memories of my own and a bit of a tear for what is gone.

Thanks!
Eaker

[jazusamo]

Thank you for writing and sharing this with us, Girl.

A FRiend and FReeper said something like, those who pass to the other side are always with us as long as we remember.

I know Delbert will always be with you.

[johnny7]

Fishing is such a wonderful sport when it comes to bonding with an individual. You learn a lot about a person... their amount of patience... instinct... outdoor knowledge... not to mention their whole, life history. Over the years, I've had a few fishing buddies... but they've all moved on to other things more pressing in their lives.

It's odd that I fish at all... considering the miserable introduction/instruction and downright, bad luck I had as a 'yute'. Losing shad darts by the dozen for a fish I still have never caught... having a father who could care less about fishing or the outdoors... and having no fishing spots within bike-riding range.

if it wasn't for Bassmaster Magazine... and their articles on lures, presentation and proven fishing strategies(suscribed for a number of years in my early 20's)... I know I wouldn't have returned to the sport and wouldn't have experienced the thrills that cultivate an enduring love for the challenges fishing brings.

Here's to the wonderful sport of fishing... and fishing buddies remembered! ;)

[NewJerseyJoe]

Believe it or not, posting that message got me thinking... I remembered that I had copied that text for a card for my Dad -- he had a stroke back in 1996, and we had a special birthday party for him in early 1997. I started searching through my old files -- and JUST NOW, I found that text! In a sub-sub-sub-sub....folder on the external hard drive swapped in from my last PC (circa 2000). Here it is:

Some men are drawn to nature ... especially nature with fish in it! Give such a man a pole, a hook, and a bucket of bait, and he’ll be in bliss. To actually catch a fish is fine, but not essential. The first and only requirement is a great open space with some water in it. A space in time. A space for the soul.

Happy Birthday
to the man who taught me there’s more to fishing than just the fish.

[NewJerseyJoe]

If you're looking for a copyright for what I posted, it's probably some anonymous author at Hallmark Cards, ca. 1997. Sorry I couldn't be a help in that dept.

Here's another amusing fishing observation:

Some people are under the impression that all that is required to make a good fisherman is the ability to tell lies easily and without blushing; but this is a mistake. Mere bald fabrication is useless; the veriest tyro can manage that. It is in the circumstantial detail, the embellishing touches of probability, the general air of scrupulous -- almost of pedantic -- veracity, that the experienced angler is seen.

--Jerome K. Jerome, from Three Men in a Boat

[george76]

Thanks

[Grammy]

As a late bloomer in fishing (didn't start til I was over 50) I understand Delbert. It is a very good way to ponder... what has been, what will be, and to sort through it all. He had a lot of sorting to do. I am sure he would be embarrassed, but proud of the article.

[Grammy]

Don’t know if you were pinged or not, but you should be.

[girlangler]

Yes Grammy, Delbert would be so embarrassed, his face would turn red, then he’d say “Aw shucks, don’t know why you’d want to make such a big deal.”

Then he would smile and be very proud. This is just one column in a small magazine, I have plans to publish much more about him.

At his funeral, I met his youngest brother for the first time. He is also an older gentleman. He told me “That Delbert, he just bragged and bragged about a young woman (I’m young to them LOL) coming all the way from above Knoxville to Greeneville to take him fishing.”

He then said, “No wonder he was bragging about it.”

[Liberty Valance]

Gone fishin' bump! Great article girlangler.

[girlangler]

Thanks.

You are making me and Grammy VERY jealous with that photo.

Eventually she and I are going fishing together again. When we do, I am catching one the size in that photo, and she will have tons of excuses why she catches minnows (ducking now as Grammy throws a fit).

[B4Ranch]

Delbert Fellers sounds like a man who knew how to make the most of the sport we call fishing. True friends are few and far between.

[JustaDumbBlonde]

Excellent remembrance for Mr. Fellers, who will be smiling upon every bass you land from now until you meet again one day. I can only hope that your memories of him are stronger than the pain of losing such a fine companion. Take care.

[girlangler]

JustaDumbBlonde.

I think I got it. You have NO IDEA how many times I have added you to pings, but I get a message saying no such name.

I am spelling it wrong. I have tried Just with a capital J, A with a capital A, etc., and on and on.

I have been spelling Blond, well Blond (duh). I don’t use spellcheck when I am on my FR hit and miss posts. My Dad (another great angler) used to sing “Jolie Blon (d) to me, and I even tried that spelling.

Maybe I didn’t spell Blonde right.

Anyway, glad to see you here, and that you took the time to comment on my column (I’m humbled). I need a ping list. I have so many freepers I love to communicate with, but half the time I can’t seem to get a ping right.

Jeeze, I’m tired, going to bed. But I am so glad to get your ping. And that goes for Spirit of Allegiance (Allegience), another one I can’t seem to get spelled right. And I love her/his pings.

[gardengirl]

Couldn’t reply to this one yest—hits too close to home.

Great article! What a perfect tribute to a most wonderful human being! Love the old guys, hate to lose them. They’re so special, but would deny any such thing if you confronted them with it.

(((((HUGS))))) girlangler, lots of hugs. I know exactly where you’re coming from. Smiling through tears

[BnBlFlag]

Great article....and very moving.
Your Dad would sing “Jole Blon” to you. Here’s an interesting tidbit for you.
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From “The Bayou” Blog of the Beaumont Enterprise
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Jole Blon: Celebrating a Cajun Master

Cajun is near and dear to folks here in Southeast Texas. And no one personifies Cajun music and culture like the legendary Fiddler Harry Choates. For the uninitiated, here’s a little bit on the master (courtesy of the folks at the Museum of the Gulf Coast):

“Singer, fiddler, and songwriter. Known as the “Godfather of Cajun Music.” Moved to Port Arthur, Texas in 1930’s with mother and began playing in barbershops for nickels thrown to him. Wrote and recorded “Jole Blon” (1946), which is considered by many Cajuns as their national anthem. Other hits include “Basile Waltz,” “Port Arthur Waltz,” “Poor Hobo,” and “Grand Mamou.” Buried in Calvary Cemetery in Port Arthur.”

Choates was not only a talented musician, but also one of the more tragic figures of Southeast Texas lore. He was a bad alcoholic who sold away the rights to many of his songs for a pittance (including what would become the “cajun national anthem,” Jole Blon).

Today, the Jefferson County and Port Arthur Historical Societies are planning to honor this beacon of Cajun Culture with the unveiling of a historical marker at his grave in Port Arthur. During his short 28-year life, he inspired thousands with his unique blend of Cajun and Western musics.

Over the years, many have recorded Jole Blon, including Gary “US” Bonds, Waylon Jennings and Bruce Springsteen. Update: After much hullabaloo, Gator has posted another rendition of “Jole Blon.” This one is by Beaumont’s own, Charles Thibodeaux, recorded in Austin. It’s a longer clip, which is why Gator didn’t post it the first time. But, in order to do Harry proud, we’ve decided to change things up.

“Laisser les bons temps rouler”
(If I could figure out how to post the song from this article, I would’ve done it).

Posted by GATOR at 12:03 AM

Labels: Cajuns, Harry Choates, music, Port Arthur

June 21, 2008 11:47 AM
...an old cowhand in Uncle Norman’s McNeese Cowboy Band said...
Mention was made of the McNeese State University Marching Band.

For decades, when the Cowboys scored a touchdown, the band played Jole Blon. I assume they still do.

I can’t remember what we played when the extra point was made.

There is something about Jole Blon that inspires Coonasses.

June 21, 2008 1:26 PM
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[girlangler]

OMGosh.

Thank you for this post. Yes, my Dad sang “Jole Blon” to me when I was a kid (Dad loved to fish, was a happy man who was always singing, whistling tunes).

He was from Tennessee, and we had never been to Louisiana, and I couldn’t understand what Jole Blon meant.

Years later, I moved to Louisiana, went to college at McNeese State University (my husband also attended McNeese many years before I did).

I became the McNeese State University’s student newspaper, the “Contraband” editor. I attended all football games, used to hang out in the press box, and experienced the band playing “Jole Blon” at the touchdowns.

McNeese football games were some parties, as Cajuns DO like to party.

I wonder who this poster is referring to when he wrote “Uncle Norman’s McNeese Cowboy Band.

I wonder if Uncle Norman is Mr. Bulber, who was the dean of music in the 1940s (long before I attended the university).

It is truly a small world. Thanks so much for your post.

[girlangler]

Dang, I always go back and find typos in my articles after I send them off. That’s why good editors are essential. I had one editor who made me look good for years.

My first editor, at my first newspaper job in Louisiana, used to take my articles and chew them up. We were also friends and he was a mentor, and it really hurt my feelings.

Sometimes I actually despised him for being so critical, since this little very green college intern thought she was Pulitzer material.

He would print out my articles, throw them on my desk, and demand “Where’s the lead?”

I’d point to the first paragraph and say “Right there.”

He’d say “No it isn’t, rewrite it.”

He’d make me rewrite them over and over. But he taught me how to write a lead paragraph, and much more.

He was also an angler and wonderful man.

[gardengirl]

Don’t you hate that?! LOL I try so hard not to make any mistakes, and about the time I hit send and wing one out to my editor, I’m going—wait, come back! I can’t believe I didn’t catch that! Then I have to send her a catch up email and say—fix that please! Between the two of us, we manage to catch most of them. The few times she’s corrected something, commas or whatever or a sentence that she thought was too long, she either changed the whole meaning or made it worse. In five years, Josie hasn’t changed more than a couple of things. I’m not sure if that means I’m good or she’s tolerant! LOL OTOH, Josie doesn’t garden at all, so she has no idea whether I’m telling the truth or spinning complete fabrications, and she doesn’t care what I write about so I have a lot of leeway.

It always amazes me just how much you can get across with the written word, and how many ways people can misread what you wrote!

If you had any typos in this one, I couldn’t see them. I was crying too hard. Again, so sorry about your loss.