My Unforgettable Friend Russ Firman This rounder taught me a few things about life Russ Firman was born in Wilkinson Country, Georgia, the last of six children in his family. He was still an infant when both his parents died only two weeks apart. Those children who were too young to fend for themselves were taken in and raised, by mostly poor relatives. Russ was more fortunate; he was adopted and raised by a fairly well-off couple who had no children of their own. The couple was getting along in age and raising Russ was more than they’d bargained for. The wife was a hard-nosed, domineering, religious-minded woman who gave Russ a full measure of stern spiritual guidance and most of the material things he wanted. Russ rebelled against the former and showed little gratitude for the latter. Russ quit school at the age of fourteen and for the next three years worked as a farmhand and at various saw mill jobs. During the last year before he turned eighteen, he drove a log truck - while nearly driving his aging parents crazy. The day he turned eighteen, he drove to Macon in his mother’s car, which he had taken without her permission, and joined the army. He called his adopted parents and told them what he’d done and where they could pick up the car. The mother was very upset, but my guess is that she and her husband were relieved that Russ would be army’s problem for awhile My first memory of Russ was when he came to visit with us during a leave of absence from the army. It was about six months after the end of World War II, and Russ had just returned from Europe where he had served for three years. I was fifteen years old, and remember thinking how proud I was that this handsome soldier in a neatly fitting army uniform and two rows of badges and medals on his chest was a friend of the family. When I asked Russ to tell me about the war, he gave this reply. “Bo, I’ve tried to forget about the fighting part of the war. It’s the good times with the girls that I like to remember. Dam, those French girls were good looking and mighty friendly. When we’d come into a French town right after the Germans had left, the girls would meet us in droves. If we stayed in a town more than a day or two, I’d have to carry a stick to beat the girls off after dark. The way the French girls made so much over the American soldiers didn’t set well with the French soldiers. Naturally, that led to fights between the French and Americans. I’m more of a lover than fighter, so when a fight broke out in a bar, I’d duck out the back and go looking for another place that had some girls.” At that point my mother interrupted, “that’s enough of that, Russ Firman," she said. Then she turned to me. “Bo, go cut a box of wood for the stove." “Yes mam,” I said grudgingly and headed for the wood pile. The next time I saw Russ was about two years later. He was out of the army and was back home living with his adopted parents. It was long before he was courting Sonya Waverly. They were married in the spring of the year that I graduated from high school, and I spent the better part of the summer living with them. They had set up house keeping in a small house just down the highway from where Russ's parents lived. During the first few weeks I mostly helped Russ with the plowing and other farming chores, and during latter part of the summer I helped him cut and load logs which he hauled to a saw mill in town. Russ and I spent a lot of time together that summer. We worked mostly, but we also took time off to have some fun, and we had some remarkable adventures. Like the day I caught that big old catfish in the Oconee River and then lost him when he broke the string I had tied him to. I was so excited that I jumped in the river after the fish. I was upset at first when I saw Russ standing on the bank busting his gut laughing. But it didn’t take long for me to see the absurdity and humor of trying to run down a fish in water and then I started laughing too. Then there was our run-in with that large timber rattle snake that nearly bit me and which Russ let me shoot with his brand new automatic shot gun. When we talked about that snake incident over the years, I noticed how the number of rattles kept get larger. When I pointed that out to Russ he replied, “it just goes to show that a rattle snake can still grow rattles after he’s dead. Looking back, I know now that Russ and I developed bonds of friendship and respect that summer strong enough to last a lifetime. When I hear the country song, “She’s A Good Hearted Woman In Love With a Good Timing Man, I still think of Russ and Sonya. He was a hard-drinking, cane-raising, poker-playing fellow and could be difficult to live with. I thought highly of Russ and Sonya and really felt bad when they divorced after a few years of marriage. For the next few years Russ raised a lot of hell and burned a lot of candles on both ends. He mixed heavy drinking with reckless poker playing and squandered a good-sized inheritance in the process. He finally married again, this time to a woman who had a wild side herself. The first few years of the marriage were as wild as a carnival ride, but they eventually tamed each other and settled down. That marriage, even though there were some interruptions, lasted until Russ's death several years later. Russ’s sense of humor was known all over Wilkinson County, and his strong point was that he could mix pathos with humor. His weak point was that he’d tell the same tales and jokes over and over. He must have told me the following tale a hundred times. “Bo, he’d say, without a doubt, the German Eighty Eight artillery gun was the most dreaded weapon that the Germans had. It struck terror in all of us, and you didn’t ever hear one of those shells coming in, without a tighter breathing and zero at the bone. The Eighty Eight artillery gun could shoot a shell so far that most of the time you wouldn’t even hear the gun that fired the shell. The first thing you’d hear would be a low whistling-swooshing sound that would get louder and higher-pitched as the shell got closer. Then there’d be a short span of silence, followed by a tremendous explosion. An Eighty Eight shell packed a hell of wallop. One day a soldier from south Alabama told me that he believed the shells were talking directly to him. Then he gave his rendition of an incoming Eighty Eight shell: Hey -- boy -- you -- ain’t -- never -- going -- back -- to --Ala --------- BAM. That south Alabama boy was blown to pieces the next day by an Eighty Eight shell." Sometimes you couldn’t tell whether Russ was actually being serious or trying to be funny, and that’s what makes the following story interesting. It seems that Russ was in a bar room scrap one Saturday night. The issue was not settled by the hand-to-hand combat that night, and some charges were filed against Russ at the sheriff office. A trial was held about two months after the incident, and what follows is an an exchange between one of the lawyers and Russ who took the stand in his own defense. Nobody ever explained to me what point the lawyer was trying to make. “State your name, where you live, and your occupation,” the lawyer began. “My name is Russ Firman. I live in Wilkinson County, right off highway Fifty Seven, about two miles from the Balls Ferry Bridge which crosses the Oconee River between Wilkinson County and Washington County.” “So you live on the Wilkinson County side of the Balls Ferry Bridge?” “Yes sir, on this side; as you know the other side is Washington County.” “And what’s your occupation, Mr. Firman?” “You mean what do I do for a living?” “Yes sir, that’s what I mean.” “I haul logs with a run-down Forty Nine Ford truck, when it ain’t broke down, which it is most of the time. And to tell you the truth, it ain’t much of a living.” “And have you lived in Wilkinson County all your life, Mr. Firman?” “Not yet I ain’t.” “I mean up to now.” “Yes sir, if you don’t count the years I spent in the army. ” “Do you like to take a drink from time to time, Mr. Firman?” “Yes sir, I do like to take a drink of water from time to time and sometimes I’ll have a Cocola when I get real thirsty.” “I mean do you like to take a drink of whiskey or beer from time to time?” “Yes sir, I’ve been known to take a drink of both from time to time.” “Is it true, Mr. Firman that you like to drink good, high-priced whiskey?” “Yes sir, I do like to drink good, high-priced whiskey, when I can afford it, and when I can’t, I’ll drink about anything I can get, including moon shine.” “Mr. Firman, were you in the Black Cat Hawk Lounge on the night of September 20?” “I can’t rightly say because I don’t remember anything from that night.” “So you don’t admit being there that night?” “I guess I had to be somewhere, but since I don’t remember where, I can’t say I remember being in the Black Hawk Lounge.” “Do you remember seeing Mr. Jesse Jones the night of September 20?” “No sir I don’t. If I did, I’d most likely remember where I saw him. Like I said I don’t remember anything from that night, especially where I was or who I saw, But I feel like if I’d seen Mr. Jones that night, I’d remember where I saw him, especially if it was in the Black Hawk Lounge.” Russ loved to fish and he especially loved to fish the Oconee River.His second wife loved fishing almost as much as he did, and the river provided them many a mess of catfish and eels. His wife enjoyed humor about as much as Russ and she loved to tell tales on Russ. One of her favorites was about the day he tangled with a crane while fishing at the river. The crane got a wing snagged on one of Russ's set hooks while trying to steal the small fish that served as bait. When Russ pulled in the line and tried to release the crane, the crane attacked him. The crane eventually got loose and they called a truce. Russ said the scrap was a draw. The crane flew away with a damaged wing and Russ came home with a bloody nose. His wife would end the tale by performing her animated version of the fight and she always emphasized the part where the crane latched onto Russ’s nose. Like I said, Russ was a hard drinker, and sometimes he’d go on a drinking spell for two or three weeks. I remember the time I caught him on the very tail-end of his recovery from a drinking spree. I went by Russ's house one day and noticed it looked empty. It turned out he and his wife had split up and that Russ was living in in an old beat-up house a few miles outside of tow. When I got to the house, I could see the porch was almost falling down and that weeds had just about covered up the house. I scattered several goats that were lounging on the front porch and walked into the front room. That was easy because there was no door, only a frame. The only occupants at the time were a goat who was drinking from a pot of water on the floor and Uncle Ross who was curled up asleep on the bed. The bed and a badly scratched up chest of drawers were the only furniture. I herded the goat out the door, and walked over to the bed and shook one of the post. “Wake up Russ, I said.” Nothing moved except his lips. "Sarg, let me sleep. It’s not my turn to stand guard.” That dialog was repeated several times, and each time I shook the bed post a little harder. At length, Russ opened his eyes just a little against the glare of the sun coming through the open window, and asked, that you, Bo?” “It’s me," I said. What the heck you doing sleeping your life away on such a fine day?" He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “What day of the week is it," he asked? “Wednesday.” “Dam Bo, he said. :You woke me up after only three days of sleep.” “By the way,” I said, “I like your fancy living quarters, but the place could use a little fixing up. And about your farming, you have a good stand of weeds in the yard.” “You mean to tell me you came all the way out here to make fun of my place, which by the way, suits me just fine, thank you," he said. “Not really, where’s your wife?, I asked. “I think she’s living somewhere in Milledgeville.” “You think you’re in shape to talk to her if she’ll let you?" I asked.” “Dam right, I’m ready to talk to her," he said.” “What will you tell her?” I asked. “That I won’t ever take another drink,” he said. “You don’t expect her to believe you, do you?” I asked. “No, but then I’ll throw in a little sweet talk and that’ll win her over,” he said. “Really?” I asked. “Yes siree, let’s me and you go find her,” he said. Russ loved and got along with animals like few people I’ve ever known. Around his place there’d always be some cats and dogs [inside and outside] chickens and guineas, and sometimes a goat and a mule or two. And he was usually on speaking terms with the whole bunch. One time he had a house dog named Baby Boy that he wouldn’t let anybody refer to as a dog. He’d say Baby Boy’s feeling would get hurt if you called him a dog. At one time Russ had a mule named Jamokey which he plowed sometimes but mostly treated like one of the family. When Russ would wrap his arms around that mule’s head, they both appeared to be as content as peas in a pod. I’m convinced their conversations were a lot more two-way than was apparent to a casual observer. One day, I asked Russ what was the secret of getting along so well with animals. “Bo," he said. There ain’t no secret to getting along with animals. It’s just got to be a two-way street. Let them know you love them and won’t ever hurt them and they’ll love you right back.” When Russ was diagnosed with cancer, I was the first one he told the tragic news, but when his condition worsened, he chose to confide in others and not in me. Two years after the diagnosis, Russ took his own life. Russ was proud to the point of vanity, and the idea of what he would become if he let the disease run its course must have been more than he could bear. Two preachers spoke at Russ's funeral. One of them had known him many years, but not like I'd know him, and I regret that I didn’t say a few words at his funeral. Russ was buried in the cemetery near the church where his mother had been the organist for many years and where I had attended services when I was growing up. I went by the cemetery a few months ago and was glad to see that a little headstone had finally been installed to mark his grave. I truly hope this man, who was so restless in life, is finally resting in peace.