Once upon a time there was an author/folklorist/humorist with nary a particle of hyposcrisy in bone or blood. Sadly he did not die young.

He lived a respectable number of years and unfortunately encountered lawyers. (For those of you who have only heard stories that begin with “Once Upon a Time,” lawyers are related to trolls on their mother’s side and orges on the other.)

One of his observations as a result of experience became, “Never write anything about anybody that ain’t dead. That other bunch can sue you.”

In spite of his sound advice I have decided to take a chance. Another author said, “You should never let the truth interfere with a good story.” He was a historian and probably dabbled in politics to boot.

In this case, ”Truth is Stranger than Fiction” must carry the day.

Bill Diffee’s Airfield was located between Sledge and Crenshaw, surveyed and laid out parallel more or less with U. S. Highway 3, surrounded by four points of the compass, Cypress trees, swamps, power lines and the Moccasin Bend Hunting Club. It was a place to congregate, discuss local politics, hide from your creditors, ambush your debtors and generally catch up on the latest news.

Every so often a customers might show up and put everybody to work. We tried to discourage this on a regular basis, but we were not always successful, as in this case.

Rayner showed up one day with a boll weevil problem. He’d likely had several problems that day for such is the life of a farmer. The d—-d boll weevils were just warming up to collect interest on that day’s problems. Rayner always put in a full day, but that day he’d decided about 2 p.m. That he’d let perdition have its way without benefit of his participation. He elected to call in an air strike on the boll weevils, fire everybody that didn’t owe him money and saddle his horse to ride the fields.

When he showed up at the strip somebody noticed the breaking saddle and tack in the back of his truck and asked, “Rayner, ain’t you gettin’ too old to be ridin’ wild horses?

Before Rayner could reply, Bill Diffee said offhandedly, “Boy, Rayner would ride that d—-d airplane if it had a saddle on it.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Jiffy quick, there were tarp straps, bungee cords, bailing wire, duct tape and one breaking saddle adorning that Piper Pawnee as it turned into the wind with Rayner astride the saddle, booted and stirrupped.

Rayner did it. And he almost got away with it. If it hadn’t been for that streak of showmanship that ran in his family, he’d have gotten away with it.

The flight in itself was uneventful. The appointed pilot, well-braced by a double shot of cheap Scotch, made a textbook takeoff and landing. Rayner, similarly braced and with the added benefit of baling-wire and tarp-strap bracing, did well also until the plane stopped, more or less in front of the bleachers.

That’s when Rayner decided to swing off onto one stirrup and doff his hat to the crowd. At which point the pilot, having assured himself that his fuselage-bourn passenger and most of the tack were still aboard and safely aground, locked the plane’s starboard brake and turned the plane around.

Rayner lost the stirrup, fell to the ground where he was unceremoniously run over by the tail wheel.

Oops!

There were no injuries involved. (Pride don’t count.) But there were issues and complications because Rayner’s wife, Miss Lynn, being concerned about the boll weevil wars and not being able to make radio contact for confirmation on the tactical situation, turned her truck off the highway just in time to witness the father of her children conclude the ride of the decade at age 55 years, two months and three days.

If that didn’t qualify Rayner himself for the Mississippi Redneck Book of Records, the language Miss Lynn used at him, by all accounts, should have qualified her. Bear in mind that the witnesses were war aces in two theaters, mule skinners and river boat veterans who knew the value of cuss words in several languages. They remain astonished by her exceptional vocabulary.

After it was all over and the dust had settled, the main topic of conversation was, “He would have been luckier if he had fallen off at a higher altitude.”

She posted the air field “Off Limits” to all married personnel, war footing or not, especially the one married to her.

While a few of us got around the rule by divorce decree or natural attrition, Rayner never did. He remains in a state of perpetual disbarment from all locations aviational.

Following general orders,

Ricky Harpole.