We called him Woot
Dear editor: “Surprise!” they shouted as they piled out of the car, a group of my high school friends. It was my birthday in 1953.
Right behind them came a pickup truck, with a teenage black neighbor and his two hounds.
My birthday party was to be a possum hunt. Woot was the dog man. That night began a friendship that spanned about seventy years.
That night also held a surprise for us all. What fun we all had as the dogs ran here and yon. Woot yelped to the dogs and I asked about the on-going conversation between them and learned a good hunter can talk dog language. He would whoop to ask the dogs what they were smelling or tracking and they would answer back.
But that one night, the dogs lied to Woot. They found a skunk and ran it underground. When Woot, with more gumption than anyone I have ever known, reached into that hole to pull out the possum, he pulled out the skunk, which greeted us all with an unwanted flavor. I don’t remember the fate of the skunk, but I do remember our fate: complaining to each other: “You stink.” The poor dogs rubbed heads and bodies against the ground to try to remove the smell. Woot joined us in laughter as we burned our hotdogs and marshmallows over the bonfire. For all the years since, we teased each other about our stinking hunt together. Eventually I learned his given name: Eddie Palmer. He grew up in a time, and so far in the country, that schooling was not available, but he earned a living as a school bus driver for many years.
When the Federal government declared all bus drivers must pass a written test to continue driving, Woot aced it on a computer, no less.
Maybe he lacked formal schooling, but he was one smart man. He never faced a problem that he could not solve.
Hunting and fishing were his loves. He fed his family with raccoons, possums, fish, deer and rabbits as well as the store-bought foods that were far less tasty.
We shared other hunts, with other groups, including my classmates on our fiftieth reunion, and a group of co-workers from the Center for Disease Control, who were amazed at how well anyone could converse with dogs at a distance.
Our last hunt was quite different: His new pup was learning how to find raccoons, and I knew where the critters were up a tree. Young Red ran around in circles and uphill and down. I “treed” the prey with my flashlight in the nearby persimmon tree where I had seen them feed the evening before. When Woot shot, the dogs answered and Red got a personal introduction to the smell and sight of a raccoon.
A man of faith, he spent many hours working at his church by doing physical work to improve the building and grounds.
His fellow members were the first to call me, for they knew of the depth of the friendship that bound us together over years, miles, faith and race.
On nights when frost chills the autumn air and the skies shimmer with stars between scattered clouds and you go outside, listen to the night. You just may hear a distant baying and a whooping as Woot and his hounds pursue their prey across the clouds.
I will be listening, too, for the familiar voices to echo across the night and the angels giggle with glee.
Sincerely, Susan Lindsley