You'll have to forgive me if my memory fades
in and out as I tell you about my life in others. You see, I was born
in 1948 to a tackle box manufacturer. Back then we were all made of metal.
You know, the kind with the expandable metal sides that your fingers
got caught into more than once.
I now sit on the upper shelf of a shed
on Graball road in Yazoo City, Mississippi. There is so much dust on
me that I can hardly see out of my latch. Can't say that it's been all
that good for me to breathe in the
dust either. It used to be I was the "new" model with 3 levels and different
sections of all shapes and sizes. That is long gone now as I understand through
distant cousins that the city slickers have gone to a = soft bag..[sigh].
My
first owners were brothers Mark and Danny. Mark always wanted the lower section
for all of his crappie hooks while Danny was the young lad who wanted all of
the in line spinners separated by color and size. Sort of a pre odd couple
if you will. I remember the nights when they left me out on the porch
and by morning
the dew would leave me wet and sticky.
Then there was the time Mark's dad bought
him that new plastic rat that was supposed to call them up through the moss
on the ponds. I remember not being able to open because my latch
had rusted after
all of those nights being left out on the porch. Anyway, at least their lures
were always well protected with me. Danny moved off to become a jet mechanic
and Mark stayed around the house through school. I must say I liked being
the protector of Mark's lures because he always kept me clean and dry.
In the 60's
I was bought at a flea market for what I believe was a rip off. After all,
I was the top of the line metal made box when I came out and to
tell you the truth
in my mind I still was. I wish the old geezer that sold me would have tried
to open me up when all of his collectors coins were inside of me.
Man, what I would
have given to have my latch undone when he lifted me up by the handle then.
The hippie used me pretty much for everything
but fishing lures. I stored his pot.
I was used as a planter. I kept all of his bills and the cards with the
naked ladies on them. Man was I humiliated. Here I was, this tackle
box that was
once the talk of the Woolworth's and now reduced to a potheads
junk tray. I think
the second happiest day of my life was when I went to little Charlie when
the dopers had a garage sale.
Charlie cleaned me up and gave me a
nice new paint
job. Oiled me up so I was as quiet as when I was first bought. I knew he
had good things in store for us. It was now the late 70's and he
would carry me
down to the creek and we would fish together. Sometimes I was his
foot rest but I
didn't mind. It had been years since I was someones fishing buddy. I was
with him when he through that #7 black and gold rapala and jerked
it at Mather lake
in Sacramento, Cali. Man, you should have seen his face when he casted
and twitched that jerkbait. The fish hit and jerked his rod so hard
that
he screamed and ran
backwards. All the time he was backing up he was dragging what I swear
was a 7 pound largemouth. He kicked me over that day but as luck would
have it my latch
was closed [wink].
Charlie went to college and when his parents
moved back to Yazoo City they thought to bring me. I figured things
would
work
out regardless
of where I was going as I knew that Charlie's dad had just bought a new
top of the line bass boat. Well, all of his gear wound up being put
in
all types of
soft tackle boxes. Probably so as not to scratch his new boat.
I wonder
if he knew my history and what I meant to young boys that would become
productive members
of society if he would have set me up on this shelf out here in this shed
in the late 80's. Oh well, I am but one of the last of a breed. The
hard sided
tackle boxes. Long after the soft sided ones wear out boxes like
me will still be around.
Well, I have to go now another one of the
many sunsets that come and go have
come and gone and it's hard for me to see. Maybe one day the door will
open and a lad will take me as I am and although I won't be as shiny
and
new as I once
was, I'll give him joy.
Sincerely, C.D. Plano......aka (Mark McManaway)
Mark McManaway
Local Anglers Guide Service
Fishing
w/you is my motivation (214) 207-8276
Marks Web Site Local
Anglers
Other Articles By Mark
