Meet the Hunting Club members
See that guy over in the red corner booth of Doreen's 24 HR Eat Gas Now Cafe? Not the one about to knock over that cup of hot coffee with the Texas map he's unfolded on the table. I'm talking about the thick-shouldered guy with short gray hair and the gap in his front teeth.
That's Doc.
He's the anchor of our group of middle-aged outdoorsmen. Doc has been around since most of us were puppies, which is a funny way to put it because Doc loves dogs and puppies, and that particular character trait is why I named my house cat "Doc." I know that's a weird transition and an even weirder reason to name a cat, but it just seemed to work. Even his grandkids call him Doc.
How can it get better than that?
Doc is a dedicated bird hunter. A former coach, school principal and soon-to-be former assistant superintendent with big wrinkled hands and a ready smile, Doc is everyone's brother, uncle, dad or granddad.
I've only seen him show sadness once in the 32 years I've known him, when his favorite Brittany spaniel died. Except for that dark day, he's shined a smile on everyone he meets.
He's a virtual walking sports encyclopedia, especially regarding Texas public schools. Give him the name of a town and he can tell you the school mascot, and half the time he can tell you someone who came from that town and will even know the last time their football team went to state. The man seldom misses. Once on a trip to hunt pheasant in Booker, Texas, Doc successfully identified every school mascot at each city-limit sign between that tiny Panhandle town and Dallas.
Sometimes he'd just as soon watch his bird dogs work as take a shot on the covey rise. He talks to his dogs like they are kids, and if I'm lyin' I'm dyin'. The dogs will turn their heads as if listening, then grin at him and do the things they were told to do.
Doc is one of those guys you just like to be with. He's easygoing, likes people and I've never met anyone who didn't like him back.
Sitting next to Doc is the history buff we call Wrong Willie. He's the one with the map, and he's also the Hunting Club's eternal planner. Willie always has a journey in the works. Even when he's on a trip, he's planning another.
Willie spends a lot of time sighing at the bathroom scales. With a goal to remain under 200 pounds, he is seldom pleased. He'll eat three bowls of chips in a Mexican restaurant, then order a grilled chicken salad.
The boy is deadly with a 20-gauge shotgun and never misses with a rifle. A Civil War buff, he sometimes hunts with a black powder rifle, but we made him stop wearing his campaign uniforms.
He loves to fish and is at the moment planning another trip to Alaska for salmon, an Amazon fishing trip for peacock bass and a run down to the Texas Gulf Coast for redfish. He'll have the time this summer, because he's also retiring. He just needs someone to go with him.
Scratching his gray beard there and looking pensively out of the window is Woodrow. He retired last year and is driving us nuts because right now he has no one to play with during the week. I get at least two pleading phone calls from him each work week, begging me to hang it up, retire and go with him ... wherever. Something is always going to happen when he's around.
Woodrow is an avid outdoorsman and a voracious reader. He loves nature books, and once he's read a tome on a particular area or river, he's ready to visit the location.
One of the most brilliant conversationalists and lecturers in the state, he can hold an audience spellbound with his stories and always ends with a standing ovation. He now supplements his retirement check on the speaking circuit when he's not calling me on the phone to join him in another adventure.
Sleeping upright beside Woodrow is Jerry Wayne. He retired last year and joins us whenever the group gets together. He can't hear it thunder half of the time, but he's always in the conversation. He loves country music, but he misses half the correct words to the songs, so it's always a treat to hear his version.
Sour cream sends him into a rage. I think he was frightened by a sour cream enchilada once. He and Willie have been together since they were kids. They know each other so well, it's like being around twins. They've spent a lot of time pulling practical jokes on each other through the years, sometimes dragging the other Hunting Club members into the fray with usually disastrous results.
The Cap'n coming in the door there absorbs books like a sponge. He has an incredible memory and sometimes recites entire passages or paragraphs. He always seems to have a quote that relates to whatever is going on with the Club.
The Cap'n comes and goes like a wraith. He'll show up when you're talking about him, then simply vanish before you know it. He arrives late to a hunting or fishing trip, then leaves at the most bizarre times.
He can't shoot worth spit.
There are a couple of other guys who come and go, but they're not here right now.
We've never shot anyone. No one has ever left a gate open anywhere. We've never shot anyone's cows thinking they were deer. No one has ever violated any game laws -- after entering adulthood, that is.
So with that type of collective resume, you'd think we could find someone who'd offer this endearing bunch a good price on a quality deer lease, but then I think they always find out about me, and that's why we're sitting here in Doreen's cafe, looking through the paper on a Saturday morning.
2008 looks like another banner year for the Hunting Club.
• Reavis Wortham's e-mail address is r.wortham@tx.rr.com.
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