Date: Sun, 18 Jan 1998 21:32:52 -0700 From: Charlie Ford To: type2@bigkitty.azaccess.com Subject: Tracking The Dead Man This is an essay I wrote a few days ago about an old man that ran from the nursing home here in Hazlehurst. I hope you don't mind the post, but the Mothership became known because of this incident. I am once again accepted in this small town, only now they know me as a professional tracker that drives the only VW in our small town. : ) --------------------------------essay starts here----------------------------------- I didn't know Mr. J.C. Bryant, but I kind of wish I had. To me he was just an old black man of 62 years of age, that had taken off from the nursing home here in Hazlehurst, Georgia. All I was too him, was a volunteer trying to assist in finding him. Hopefully alive. When I first arrived to help on Sunday afternoon, the first thing I noticed was that all the black folks, mostly family, friends, and excitement chasers (black), were standing at one end of the parking lot. The white folks, mostly the rescue team, and other excitement chasers (white), were standing at the other end of the lot. Things still change ever so slowly in south Georgia, even for something as serious as a lost old man. Also when I pulled up everyone noticed me. I drive a 79 Volkswagen bus and all heads turned to see what hippie might exit the vehicle. I think it put them at ease when they saw that my hair was short, and they heard my south Georgia accent. Someone made the statement that day that "This is probably the most family to visit this old man since he came to live in this place". The sad part is that what that person said is most likely accurate, and could be said about most of the "old folks" living in the home. Mr. Bryant had never been more popular than now, he was the talk of the town. But he wasn't there to enjoy this burst of popularity. He was lying alone in a pine thicket some three hundred yards away from the, all of a sudden, attentive crowd. After I arrived on Sunday, all of us stood and patiently watched and waited while the area was searched using technology. each time the radio would come to life everyone quieted to hear the hopefully 'good news". At dark the helicopters with infra-red stayed and continued the search, but most everyone else left and went to the warmth of their homes. No foot search today. On Monday, permission was given by the Chief for three other men and myself to walk through the woods across from the nursing home. To be honest I was just glad to finally feel like I was actively trying to help find him. I was finally doing something. There is nothing worse than volunteering and feeling useless. The trees in the woods were maybe 8 to 10 years old and stood about 15 to 20 feet high. They were planted by machine, so of course they were laid out in rows. I only wish the trail I had chosen to follow had been laid out in a row. But no, it wove back and forth through briars and bramble, taller than my head. I got tangled and cut a few times. Not to mention the fact that for the first 100 yards or so, I was walking in about a foot of water. Eventually the ground rose high enough for there to be dry land. My feet were already wet so it didn't matter much. I kept listening for the others, but I could hear no one. Pine trees have a way of muffling sound. I found what looked to be an animal trail and followed it. Maybe, just maybe this was the way he came. I kept following the trail, making mental note of the general direction it was taking me. It intersected with another trail, and that trail led to a clearing. Mosquitoes swarmed around my head and I began to think it was summer. Mid January and the Georgia State Bird is out in force. Altogether, I guess I walked about 300 yards into the forest. The trail then turned and cut through thick brush once again. I had sufferd a belly full of briars, so I scouted upland trying to site a place to cross without getting tangled and cut. I saw a clearing ahead so I cut my own trail up to it, pushing through the brush. On arrival, I stopped, lit a cigarette, thought a little about the beauty I was standing in, and walked on. The clearing went quite a ways and I decided I could travel it and cover more ground. I walked ahead maybe 50 more yards and stopped again, listening, thinking, and adoring. This had been my first time in south Georgia forest in five years and I have always loved this land. It's the greenest place I have ever been, especially in mid-January. While standing there, I saw yet another trail that led out to some young pine saplings that bordered the older trees I had been searching. I turned onto the trail, walked about 30 feet, and there lay Mr. Bryant. He surprised me, as much as I "didn't" surprise him. I started yelling for the others. I heard someone yell back and I knew that others were on the way. The helicopter, that had just arrived for the search, was hovering overhead, I waved my arms in the air so they would mark my location. after everyone was signaled I stood there alone, in a pine thicket, with a dead man laying a few feet away. While there I had to wonder what he might have thought as his last few breaths squeezed from his body. I wonder if he was afraid. I wonder who he might have thought about, or what he might have seenas he passed away. Was there a light, or was there just darkness, then nothing? There was a reasonable speculation made by a fellow that Mr. Bryant might have known his death was eminent, and he may have just walked away purposely to be alone to die. I guess I think spiritually enough to believe this could happen. But you see, there was also speculation that he left because he wanted a drink of whiskey. Mr. Bryant was alone when he died, no matter what the reason. I would speculate that he was pushing himself pretty hard when he left the "home" that day. Being an old man he may have gotten dis-oriented and afraid, and laid down, thinking someone would eventually come for him. He may have just sat down to try and catch his breath, and resting he calmly fell asleep, never to wake again. I heard from someone that Mr. Bryant had spent most of his life working in the woods. If this is true, I figure all in all, a stand of Georgia Pine trees wouldn't be a bad place to take your last breath. They do have an aroma that is undeniably pleasant. I wish I had known Mr. J. C. Bryant. I wish I could have heard him tell the stories about when he was a child, or how to skin a pine tree so that the sap runs down to the tin with accuracy. I wish I could have told him about the feeling you get when you see the Grand Canyon for the first time, or see the Giant Redwoods of Northern California. If he was a woodsman he would have liked that I think. Who knows, he may have stayed around the nursing home to listen and tell old stories. Old men love to do that you know. Thanks for tolerating the ramblings, Charlie Ford "79" Transporter, dressed for the road The Mothership The"Turning 40 Nostalgic VW Service Tour, and Search for the Beginning of Wind". http://www.slurpee.net/~keen/charlie/charlie.html "Wider still and wider.....shall thy bounds be set" ------------------------------------------------------------------------- To leave the list, send an UNSUBSCRIBE message to TYPE2-REQUEST@TYPE2.COM -------------------------------------------------------------------------