My Old Friend James.... The Man in the Middle

As a young man I was always fortunate, for some reason or another, to to be friends with folks of all ages, types and personalities. I would guess that it probably had something to do with the types of things I like to do and folks that members of my family would introduce me to. I was interested in things other teenage boys were into like hanging out with friends, sports, and of course, girls. I was also very much into deer hunting, coon hunting, fishing and talking on CB radios. These types of activities put me in contact with people older than myself and I was very fortunate to call quite a few of these mentors, and better yet, friends. This particular yarn is about one of those friends James "Middle Man" Taylor.

 He was not a very big fellow, some would call him small and wiry. I remember him being pretty strong for his size. He was a good bit older than me and was much closer to my Dad's age than my own. James had hair that was well over his collar and wore a sizable "horseshoe" mustache or goatee, and in the wintertime he was most likely sporting a full beard. He was usually found wearing work clothes or dressed for the outdoors as he was an avid outdoorsman. One of my girlfriends at the time, described him as looking alike an "old timey mountain man." This really didn't surprise me because she met him during deer season and he was dressed in his signature wide brimmed flat crowned leather hat and he was in his winter time full beard and long hair.  If you ever shook hands with him the first thing you would notice is his hands were like boot leather. This was an indication of how hard he worked. For most of the time I knew him, he worked on the family sawmill and farm. From some of the stories he told me, he had done some construction work also. From what I could tell, the man was not lazy at all. He had somewhat of a nasal tone to his voice but spoke with confidence. He had been plagued with health problems his whole life as he was a Type 1 diabetic and had dealt with that since childhood.

James's signature leather floppy hat 

James and I may seem to have made unlikely friends but it seems I have always been drawn to people like him. He was different in the fact that he followed his own path. The man was one of the most honest people I have ever been around and some would think to a fault... but that is not how I see it. If you asked him a question, you would need to be prepared for an honest answer. He and I did not agree on everything, and we were ok with that. If you needed his help with anything, all you had to do was ask. He would be there early and stay late. Looking back it's a wonder we got anything done at all when we were together. Let's just say James and I were both "talkers" and would carry on forever. We were from different generations and times, but we found so much common ground on things to talk about and things we liked to do. He had a knack for taking an opposing view on something just for the sake of a good conversation. He had a quirky, dry wit that made me laugh quite often even when he wasn't trying to. He and I would cut up and pick on each other so that if anyone who didn't know us was listening, they would probably think we were mad at each other.

The name "Middle Man" was his CB radio "handle." We both had base stations and spent many weekend nights talking into the wee hours of the morning. The CB fad had kicked back up in the late 80's and early 90's but it was nothing like it was back when my dad and Middle Man started in the 1970's. My dad and I both liked to mess around with radios and there was a local crowd that we talked to that often monitored CB channel 17. I also had a radio in my truck and when I was out and about, coming and going I would often turn on the radio and talk to any number of folks. This was before the days of everyone having a mobile phone, so it kind of made me (and my parents) feel good knowing if I needed help, all I had to do was turn on the radio and most of the time I could get someone to call for help on the phone. James helped us get our base station antenna setup up in the air and working when we decided to upgrade to a bigger and better one. In turn, when James upgraded his setup, I went to help him. When conditions were favorable we would also sit up at night and talk to folks all over the country and even different parts of the world. We had a contact in the Caribbean we would contact most every Sunday morning when conditions where coming out of the islands. Many nights he would sleep in the recliner beside his radio table. I do admit, it was also comforting to know that if I picked up the radio, most of the time he would answer back. Our many conversations on the radio were what kicked off our friendship.

Another thing He and I always agreed on, is we both loved to hunt and fish. During the fall and winter he was an avid deer hunter. I remember that he would always tag out and always filled his freezer along with his mom's. James had harvested a few big bucks in his time but he was not a trophy hunter at all, he hunted mostly for meat. He taught me a good bit about deer, squirrel and rabbit hunting. He showed me a more efficient way to skin rabbits and squirrels than I was using that was faster and didn't damage the meat or hide as much as the technique i was using. I remember his rifle of choice was a well worn .223 Ruger Mini 14. I asked him one time why he didn't use a larger caliber rifle like most deer hunters, his reply was, "When you can shoot well and kill 99% of the deer you shoot, it really don't matter what caliber it is."  The facts were, he was very comfortable with it and really could shoot that well. Most of the deer he shot didn't go far at all despite using what many "serious deer hunters" consider too small of a caliber to hunt with. I would like to know how many deer he harvested over the years with that thing. It was well worn but always clean, the action was smooth as butter and it was always ready for business. I have often thought of buying a new Ruger Mini 14 and hunting with it from time to time, just to remember my old friend.

When I killed my first bear, I had never dressed and butchered one. I gave him a call on the radio and he was more than willing to help me out. I gave him most of the meat and you would have thought I would have given him a 100 dollar bill.  Now that I sit back and think about it, a good bit of what he ate was wild game he killed over the year so the meat I give him was even more meat he had in reserve and didn't have to buy from the store. I gave him the hide also, he said he had something he wanted to make out of it. He told me that most of what he ate he either killed hunting or he grew there on the farm. He had goats for milk and meat. He raised pigs and rabbits that he also butchered for meat. He would let me know when he butchered rabbits because he knew I loved rabbit. He showed me how to cook rabbit and rice and make rabbit gravy.

He and I also went fishing from time to time. I swear the man could catch a bream in most any mud hole with just a bream buster and a cricket. I remember fishing in a local swamp apply named Big Swamp. We only fished a few hours but came back with a cooler full of red breast and covered in "skeeter" bites. At first I was not catching any fish and the best I could tell. I was doing the same thing he was, fishing the same bait and the same types of places. He finally looked over at me and said, "So do you want me to tell you, or do you just want to keep not catching fish and figure it out for yourself?" I was fishing with a plain colored hook and he was fishing with a gold colored hook and I was fishing a bit deeper than he was. He said, "in this dark cypress stained water, they like a little flash." I really don't know if he was right or not, but I did start catching fish when I changed my hook and fished a little more shallow. He just sit back and smiled and didn't say a word.

I have stated it before that one of my many faults is I don't keep in contact with people I care about near as much as I should. This was also the case with James. My dad called me when he passed away and like with a few other of my friends it hit home that I really do need to do better. You never know when you see someone for the very last time as none of us are promised tomorrow. At his wake his younger sister (who is about a year younger than me) told me a few old stories and assured me that he thought as much of me as I did of him. If the truth were told, James was one of my best friends while I was living back in Bladen County and like I have stated about my Uncle Don, I always think of him when deer season rolls around. As I sit here and write this opening day of the muzzle loading part of this year's deer season starts this weekend. I'm sure I will spend some time in the woods thinking about my old friend.

I searched forever for a leather hat like Middle Man's this is as close as I could find.