Tater Jones was an avid angler with a reliable propensity for never catching fish. He did a lot of angling, but ended most days out of bait and no fish. He got his nickname, Tater, from Ben Joe Crewes, the dockmaster at Mudbug Landing on the Ashepoo River, who said to a bunch of crate-sitting catfish noodlers, “That Jones feller needs to buy him a sack of taters because he ain’t gonna be eating no fish.” And ever since that day, Frederick Ellmore Jones, all two hundred and forty pounds, dark shaggy hair, and bearded face of him, became Tater Jones to most folks in Yemassee County.
That wasn’t even half the story because Callie Mae Hughes, who Tater’d been dating since he was co-captain of the Yemassee County High School football team, abruptly ended their relationship. In high school, Callie Mae was on the cheerleading squad, and now, ten years after their graduation, Callie Mae was Catfish Queen for the annual Catfish and Hush Puppy festival, the event of the year in the thriving metropolis of Deep Pond, population four hundred and twelve.
As expected, Ben Joe Crewes had something to say about Tater’s romantic calamity. Ben Joe had an opinion on just about everything, and folks tended to listen. So, when the news got out that Callie Mae was seen around town with Eddie Pender, Ben Joe’s summation of the situation was, “Tater must have mixed up his bait. Probably been usin’ beer on the catfish and worms on Callie Mae.” That elicited a chorus of guffaws from the noodle gang who liked nothing better than sitting around taking pleasure in other folks’ discomfort.
And that’s the way it was at Mudbug Landing until a fancy-looking dude driving a shiny black Mercedes-Maybach S580 with New York license plates showed up at Mudbug on a hot June day. The fancy dude was none other than Alfonso Del Rio, the famous movie producer. The Mudbug boys, clueless about Mr. Del Rio’s prominence, only saw a city slicker wearing a shiny watch, big sunglasses, and skinny trousers. They were going to give him a hard time regardless, because that’s what would prevent a possible power shift.
Alfonso approached the noodle gang, raising his sunglasses from his eyes and resting them on his head just above his slicked back hairline. “Good morning, gentlemen. I am looking for an experienced fishing guide who knows this area and where to catch fish.” He gave the noodlers an affable smile.
Simultaneously, with near psychic synchrony, the noodlers knew exactly who to recommend. Ben Joe took the lead and pointed to a jon boat tied up at the dock. It was Tater’s boat, and Tater was in it getting ready to go fishing. “See that big feller in the green boat? The one with the straw hat and blue shirt,” Ben Joe said. “That’s Tater Jones. He’s the best in these parts. He’s the one y’all want to talk with.”
“Thank you very much,” said Alfonso, and he headed down the boat ramp toward Tater. The noodle boys could barely contain themselves until Alfonso was out of earshot. Then they snorted, giggled, and thigh slapped, totally tickled by what they had done.
“That slicker’s gonna have a great day fishin’ with Tater,” a noodler said. “He’ll be bug bit and sun burned with no fish. That’ll be the end of him.”
“How hot is that car gonna get sitting out in this sun?” Ben Joe asked the group. “If they catch something, they’ll be able to fry it on the hood.” More laughs.
Tater and Alfonso did a bunch of talking, but not much about fishing. Mostly, it was about the movie Alfonso was filming. Because many scenes would be filmed on the Ashepoo, Alfonso offered to hire Tater as consultant and river guide. Alfonso asked Tater to keep it quiet until there was an official announcement, because the production company was tying up some final arrangements with the Deep Pond mayor’s office.
The fee for Tater’s services was a number bigger than Tater had ever dreamed of, and Alfonso offered to pay him one thousand dollars that very morning for a quick tour of the river.
Two weeks later, the story hit the local newspapers. Tater became a celebrity. “Local Angler to Join Film Crew,” read the headline of the Yemassee Sun Times. A picture of Tater standing next to his boat holding a fishing rod and shaking hands with Alfonso Del Rio accompanied the article.
A week after filming started, the Sun Times ran another picture of Tater being kissed on the cheek by the beautiful Gina Hawley, the female star of the film. The headline was, “Tater Jones Saves Movie Star from Gator Attack,” and the article provided details of Gina falling overboard and Tater jumping into the river to save her. In truth, the gator in question was asleep on a mud bank and wasn’t big enough to make a plate of gator tail fritters, but film folks can find drama anywhere, especially if it’ll create good headlines.
National news services picked up the story, and the next thing he knew, Tater was on a plane to New York for interviews on morning talk shows. He was a hit wherever he went, and he met a whole bunch of girls just as pretty as Callie Mae.
Oh, and if y’all like outdoor stuff, be sure to watch Season One of “Tater Tales” on Netflix. Tater Jones will tell you all he knows about rivers and fishing.
Landon Thorne writes boisterous Southern fiction affectionately drawn from his generational heritage in the South Carolina Lowcountry. A modern-day renaissance man, Landon is a poet, journalist, film producer, Yale graduate, and successful business leader. MacMillan and McGraw-Hill have published his poetry in anthologies, and the NY Times Book Review favorably mentioned it. Time-Life Books has published his photography, and Landon’s internationally distributed op-ed columns have stirred up an occasional ruckus. To add to the fun, Landon is pursuing an MFA in creative writing… and his silly dog, Blue, has promised not to eat Landon’s homework.
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