Forever A Hillbilly: Part Two - Latsha

Forever A Hillbilly: Part Two - Latsha: Note: some of this material is new, as of today, and some is out of chronological order. But it’s too good to leave out. After all, this a...

Part Two - Latsha

Note: some of this material is new, as of today, and some is out of chronological order. But it’s too good to leave out. After all, this ain’t no book!

Greg once left a very rare, large and strange looking beetle on my front porch, along with a note:  “Mr. Gillum, I found this Rhino Beetle I thought you would want to see. It looked a little better before my brother stepped on it.”

     Greg’s mother once bought a new mop she was very proud of. Greg was headed out on a snake catching trip, so he cut the handle out to make a snake catching stick. He caught a bucket of snakes – Moccasins, rattlers, black snakes. When he got home, he spread them all out on the basement floor for display. His dad got him good because of the house full of snakes, while Mom got him even better because of her ruined new mop.

     One of our Wildlife Club field trips was to Degray lake. We were all asleep at daylight the next morning, except for Latsha. He excitedly woke us all up, telling us all he had located a school of white bass, right up at the edge of the water. We sleepily caught 115 large white bass.

     On another field trip, I set up a Woodsman contest, involving tree climbing, wood splitting, wood chopping. Guess who won all events.

     Greg has a spectacular collection of Indian relics. He walked about every creek bottom around Arkadelphia to find them. I called Greg yesterday on my cell phone. Guess what – Greg had discovered a new spot to hunt indian relics, and he and his sweet loving wife were on their way to search it out. The years have not changed Latsha. Or, his loyal wife.

     Greg figures he has fished about every pond within sight of a road around Arkadelphia. His largest black bass caught is 8 lbs. 4 ounces.    

The doc was right. Late in high school, Latsha was 5’ 10” and weighed 150 pounds. In the next two years, he grew six inches and gained 60 pounds – no fat.

     Greg joined the baseball team at Henderson State University. At 17, he was hitting the baseball over the scoreboard at HSU. Soon, he set a school record by hitting a home run 600 feet. Many people began to take notice. The tennis courts are beyond the baseball field at Henderson. When Greg came up to bat, the tennis team just stopped practicing, and just watched. In awe. And also, in case the ball lands in the tennis court. But if it was a good hit, it went over the courts, the path, the creek, and into the woods.

     The pro baseball scouts soon heard of Greg. They began to show up at his games. They interviewed him. But that was not to be Greg’s path.

     In 1992, he played his last baseball game at HSU. A scout from a super major softball team followed him to his car, and offered him the opportunity to play at the highest level of softball in the country.

     Greg said, “Well, my buddies and I already have a softball team.”

     “Well, just let me tell you what we can give you. We’ll send you a plane ticket each week, and fly you all over the country and Canada. This will give you an opportunity to play at softball’s highest level.” Then he went on to tell Greg what all  they could give him. The list was impressive. He would be back to Arkansas, and the woods he loved, each Monday. So, Greg agreed to sign up to play in the super majors. This year, he was inducted into the State Super Majors Softball Hall of Fame. All indications are he will be inducted at the national level in a few years. They don’t induct young guys, let them get a little age on them.

     By 1999, softball was no longer fun. Four days later, he was in Destin, Florida, signing on as the mate on a deep sea fishing boat, helping 40 clients catch a lot of fish. The afternoon was spent, with one helper, cleaning the catch of forty fishermen. Later, he signed onto a boat that goes after the largest fish. There he caught 600 pound blue marlins and sharks. He often hooked the monsters, then handed it off to a client to bring it in. The client takes home a trophy, Greg took home a very nice tip. He often made three hundred trips each year. He fished for 14 years, two trips per day.

     Latsha is a top notch duck hunting guide. He stays booked solid each season, and can perfectly imitate every sound a duck makes. He has a wide range of calls, and demonstrated them for me – feeding, greeting, come back, hail, chuckles, and more. He can even play a song on a duck call. He has guided for 25 years.

     Latsha has hunted a wide range of animals for many years. Now, he figures he has about shot his share, and just goes hunting to watch the animals, mostly.

     Greg worked for the Arkansas Game and Fish videoing wildlife for a year. Then, it was no longer fun.

     Though many around Greg have tried to change the path of his life, they are unsuccessful.  He sticks to his own chosen path, doing what he loves, no matter what. Now who can ask for more than that in this one lifetime that we all are given?

     Latsha’s favorite bible verse is Matthew 7: 13-14. Narrow is the gate that leads to life. Few find it. Greg has found the gate that leads to the life he wishes to lead; he sticks on that narrow path. No matter what.

     His goal for each and every day is to make someone smile. And he reaches that goal, many times each day.

     And, I still just love Greg Latsha.

Forever A Hillbilly: Latsha

Forever A Hillbilly: Latsha: MY FIRST MEMORY OF GREG LATSHA was the year we moved to Arkadelphia. My son Corey was the eighth grade quarterback. At split end was a s...

Latsha

MY FIRST MEMORY OF GREG LATSHA was the year we moved to Arkadelphia. My son Corey was the eighth grade quarterback. At split end was a small, scrawny kid, who looked way too small to be out there with those bigger boys. But he knew how to catch a football, and he was Corey’s favorite go-to guy when a passing situation came up. But when he was tackled, and Greg wound up on the bottom of a big pile of really large guys, we all kept our fingers crossed that Greg would soon emerge unhurt from that pile of meaty boys. Or, be able to emerge at all. But, when all the big kids had been peeled off, Greg always jumped up with a smile. That was Greg’s last year of football. He was just too small.

     Greg showed up in my tenth grade biology class a couple of years later. He was somewhat of a cutup, and could be a class disturbance on a regular basis. But he really loved biology class, and worked at it harder than anyone else. In spite of his disturbances, not counting the fact that he was sometimes a major headache, I began to like Greg Latsha.

     One of the first projects we did that year was a fall wildflower collection. This was right down Greg’s alley, and his collection was much superior to anyone else’s. The same was true of his insect collection. He just put everybody else in the shade. Identifying all the local trees was a snap. He already knew them all, for the most part. I could tell he spent most all his time in the wilds, whether there was a project going on or not.

     I thought organizing a school wildlife club would be a great idea. Naturally, Greg was my star. ( I knew he would be. ) On club camping trips, I was amazed to learn that he could perfectly imitate the call of any bird out there, or any wild animal.

     Camped far back in the Ouachita Mountains one night with ten youngsters, we had a good campfire going. Greg gave a long wolf howl. He was immediately answered, right across the creek from our fire. I looked at the ten kids around that fire. Many very big eyes. Everybody was perfectly quiet, and I could tell the smarter ones were busy counting heads around that fire, suspecting one of our campers was out in the woods, playing a trick. When they reached ten, they bolted for the van, nearly pulling the door off, followed by all those not smart enough to count that high.

     The next morning, I cooked up dozens of eggs for breakfast.

     “Dig in guys, these eggs will be great! I only found one baby chick when I cracked these eggs, and I was able to get a good part of it out, so that won’t be much of a problem. Dig in!”

      They would not touch these eggs. I confessed to them that I was just kiddin’ around. But no luck. They still would not. I ate a lotta eggs that morning.

     It was a good day. No other incidents of note, except one of those guys who couldn’t count to ten walked up to and kicked a skunk, just to see what it would do. He found out, and pretty much became a loner for the rest of the trip.

     All day long, Greg was finding and showing us strange wild plants and animals. Though I considered myself a good woodsman, having spent much of my life in the wild, and after all, I am a biologist, I began to realize, Greg was already a really good woodsman.

     As we cooked supper, a snowstorm moved in. Lee Lester finally said, “Uh, Mr. Gillum, I think I am getting a case of the sniffles. Maybe we should go home.”  Everybody laughed at that, but I was beginning to agree with Lee. At the rate snow was falling, we might have a hard time getting out of here soon, and we might be snowed in for days by morning. So, we headed home. We got out of the mountains ok, but we did have a little trouble getting over Amity Mountain. One of the major problems in going home was finding somebody who was willing to sit next to the skunk kicker.

     We did other camp outs deep in the mountains that year. Most of the guys were at least just a little bit nervous at just being out there, and didn’t react well when Greg would bring in a giant snake or a tarantula or some such animal, then “give” it off to somebody else, but we had fun. I finally found about the only way I could keep Greg under control was by threatening to kick him out of the club, not let him come along any more. But he soon learned just how far to push me. Actually, I could never have done that. He was the star, the one normal humans looked up to out in the woods, and he just made the club. And besides that, I just loved Greg Latsha.

     Greg, of course, also took advanced biology. During those two years, Greg often brought me gifts he had found out in the woods. Something he wanted me to see.  I began to get a little nervous about this, because they usually showed up in five gallon buckets, top on, with air holes cut in it – meaning, there’s something alive, wild, and very angry inside. The first one held the largest black snake I have ever seen, as large as my forearm. I became very careful about opening one of Greg’s little gifts – just pull the top off, and run. Greg once brought me a photo he had taken in the woods of Arkansas, a black panther, even though they officially do not live in Arkansas. I asked Greg just a few days ago to show me that photo again. He said, “Ah, I don’t know where that picture is anymore.” Just par for the course for Greg Latsha, but it would have been the picture of a lifetime for me. I would still be showing it off to anybody who would look.

     Toward the end of high school, Greg was still a small, skinny kid. His mother took him to the doctor, asked him why he was just not growing. After the doctor examined him thoroughly, the doc came in smiling. “Just sit back and watch. Something BIG is about to happen here!”

CONTINUED

Forever A Hillbilly: Goodbye Kikimanjaro

Forever A Hillbilly: Goodbye Kikimanjaro: WE LIVED IN THE SHADOW OF KILIMANJARO FOR SEVERAL DAYS.   Yeen Lan, the Rafiki director, called us the last day before heading back to K...

Goodbye Kikimanjaro

WE LIVED IN THE SHADOW OF KILIMANJARO FOR SEVERAL DAYS.

 Yeen Lan, the Rafiki director, called us the last day before heading back to Kenya. We were able to tell her we had seen the top of Kilimanjaro every day, a rare event. This mountain is the tallest free standing mountain in the world, over 18,000 feet, standing right on the equator. It is a four day climb, the last day being through hellish arctic conditions.  She told us she had prayed for us to see the mountain in all its glory. She said some people stay there for weeks without ever seeing the top. Don't doubt that Yeen Lan has those connections. I personally believe Yeen Lan is an African legend in the making. If we live long enough, many people will be enthralled to find we actually know her.

     We got bad news just before heading back to Kenya. Deb, the director at Rafiki Tanzania, told us our visa was a one way thing, and we would have to buy another to cross the border back into Kenya, at $100 each. No way around it, that's just how it's done. We didn't have that much on us, and only cash could be used.

     Deb insisted on cashing a personal check of ours before we left. Barb seemed confident we would never need that money, I wasn't so sure, and I took Deb up on her offer. But, as I well knew, its very easy to underestimate Barbara's abilities, when it comes to public relations.

     On the bus headed out, we saw many small, circular compounds in the bush. Mud and cow manure huts were surrounded by a high fence of thorns. Most were unoccupied. The Masai, with their herds of cattle, mules and goats, just went wherever the grazing was in this dry, arid land that is East Africa. The donkeys were used to haul containers of muddy water from sources that might be many miles away.

     Drinking water was a real problem there. The Masai often had to drink from the same source the cattle had been in, a very bad thing in Africa. Many people die because of the water. Modern water wells and filtering systems could save many lives there.

     Young boys herded the goats. "Isn't that dangerous?" I had asked. "Yes, we do lose boys often." Those who survive and become a man are a very formidable force, with only a spear, in protecting their herds from lions.

     Traditionally, a young Masai warrior-to-be has to draw first blood in the killing of a lion to become a man. One youngster showed me how this was done.

     When a lion stalks their animals, four or five warriors track it down. They surround it, each with a spear and a cowhide shield. The young warrior seeking to become a man confronts it. When the lion charges, he braces the back of the spear with his foot, points the spear at the charging lion. If things go well, the lion will be impaled, and the warrior crouches behind the cowhide shield. But if things go bad...

     Other warriors then move in and help. This is technically not legal now, but many older men show many scars from the day they became a man.

      Masai often open up a vein in a cow's neck, drink the blood, and close it back up. Safer than drinking muddy water, I guess.

     When dry times hit, and the grazing dries up, they move the cattle into downtown Moshe, into the moist micro climate at the base of Kilimanjaro. They have been doing this for eons, long before Moshe, and besides, who is going to stand up and tell these seven-foot-tall warriors no? Since they strongly believe that all the cattle and the grazing in the world belongs to them, they go where they wish, paying no attention to borders.

     Barbara is the only woman I have ever heard of who has held their hands, and danced with these warriors. Their hands were sorta rough, she reported. However, she had no spear, and her vertical jump was not impressive. I was not invited to dance, and I was not going to insist. Barbara’s boldness has landed her in many unusual situations around the world. But she was well warned by our free lance spy friend in Austria – You travel far too lightly about the world...people will entrap you... you should have never allow me into your car yesterday...

Barbara’s reply –we had you out-numbered.

**
My new book, The Truest Friend, Tooter of the Fourche LaFave, is now available on amazon.com. A personalized edition is available from me.  barbandpat1966@suddenlink.net. 

Forever A Hillbilly: A Sears and Roebuck Family

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