An Unforgettable Character by Bobill
Russ Firman was born in Wilkinson Country, Georgia, the last of nine children. He was an infant when both
his
parents died about a week
apart. Russ's brothers and sisters who were too young to fend
for themselves were taken in and raised by kinfolks which were mostly
poor.
Russ
was more fortunate;
he was adopted
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. His adopted mother (referred to as mother hereafter) was a
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 fifteen and for the next three
years worked as a farmhand and at various saw mill jobs. The day he turned eighteen,
he slipped out of bed before his parents were awake, dressed in the dark,
and sneaked out of the house. He hot-wired his mother's car and drove
to Macon where he enlisted in the army. He used the last dime he had to call his
mother to tell her what he'd done and where she could pick up
her car. She must have been upset and angry, but my guess is that she and her
husband were relieved that Russ would be the army's problem for
awhile.
Russ was in the army when WWII broke out and he served in the Army
Medical Corp in Europe, mostly in France, for two years. He re-enlisted
and served for a total of six years before he decided to give up army
life and go back home to Georgia. When Russ got married, the couple
set up housekeeping not far from where his parents lived. I lived with
Russ and his wife for the better part of the summer after I graduated
from high school - helping Russ farm and cut and load pulpwood. We worked hard,
but we also shared some fun time together. He and I developed a
strong friendship and respect for each other during that summer that would last
until he died.
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 his first wife. Russ
was a good -timer with a taste for good whiskey and a penchant for gambling. I
was fond of Russ and his wife, and I was sorry when I heard
they were getting a divorce. For the next few years, Russ sewed acres of wild
oats and burned a warehouse full of candles at both ends. His second
marriage was like a roller coaster for awhile, but eventually the couple settled
into the marriage, which had its share of interruptions, but lasted until
Russ's died in 1997.
Russ’s
charm and sense of humor was known all over Wilkinson County, and he knew how
to have fun and how to tell a good story. Here's one
of his war stories he'd tell sometime after he'd had a snort or two.
“Without a doubt, the German Eighty Eight artillery piece was the
meanest gun that the Germans had, and it scared the daylights out of
all of us. The Eighty Eight artillery 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 heard 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 spell
when you wouldn't hear nothing - and then there'd be this ear-busting explosion.
And man did an Eighty Eight shell pack a hell of wallop. One day an old
boy from south Alabama told me that he believed the shells were talking directly
to him. Then he (the boy from Alabama) 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."
Russ was known to get into a little trouble from time to time, and
when he did, there was always something funny that came out of it - like this one:
It seems that Russ was in a bar room scrap one Saturday night. The issue wasn't settled by
the hand-to-hand combat that night, and some charges
were filed against Russ
at the county sheriff's office. A trial was held about two months later, and the
following is an exchange between one of the
lawyers and Russ who
took the witness stand in his own defense. Russ never explained to me the point
of this exchange..
“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 of the Oconee River: 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. Farman?”
“Yes sir, I've been known to take a drink from time to time.”
“I mean do you like to take a drink of whiskey or beer from time to
time?”
“Yes sir, I’ve been known to do that."
“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 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 in 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 also 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. According to her, a 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
latched onto Russ's nose. The crane limped away with a
damaged wing and Russ went home with a bloody nose. According to her, Russ
declared the match a draw.
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. He had a house dog
called 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. Russ had a mule he
called Jamokey which he plowed sometimes, but mostly treated like one
of the family, and he and Jamokey would sometimes have long discussions. One day
I asked Russ why he got along so well with animals.
"Aint nothing to it," he said; "Just let an animal know you love
him and won't ever hurt him and he'll love you right back."
"I was visiting with Russ at the VA hospital in Milledgeville,
Ga. one
day when he came right out and said.
"Bud, the doctor sunk my cork yesterday."
" What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"He says I got prostate cancer, and you're the first person I've told it
to."
Two years after the diagnosis, Russ snuffed out his own life with a
hunting rifle that had been a Christmas present. Russ was proud to the point of
vanity, and if
I were to speculate on the matter, I'd say he couldn't live with the thoughts of
what that disease would turn him into. Two preachers spoke at Russ's funeral.
One of them had known him many years, but not like I'd known him, and I regret
that I didn’t get up and say a few words. Russ was buried in the Poplar
Springs Church cemetery where his parents were buried. It's the church he had
attended and where his mother had been the pianist for many years. I visit
Russ's grave from time to time and think of him often - and I hope that this
special friend whom I still miss - who was so restless in his first life, has
found
peace in a second.
Click a photo to see enlargement
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