James Michael Wisenbaker
Contributor
This is the second article in a series taken from Wisenbaker's memoirs about his time working on an archaeological dig at Hutto Pond, in Madison.
Working and living at Hutto Pond that summer proved quite the trial. On the other hand, since we were young and spirited, it did not seem to daunt us. I think the gnats, we labeled them as DPGs, annoyed us the most. As we worked in the unrelenting heat and humidity, they swarmed our faces and tried to light on our eyeballs or inside our mouths. Every day at lunch, we had to swat furiously to keep the flies and gnats at bay and off of our food and drinks.
Since Christa and Jackie had no electricity or running water at their trailer, we guys lived in tents, with only campfires, lanterns and flashlights. After work each day, we loaded up and went to North Florida Junior College to take showers. The school kindly afforded us that courtesy for the entire summer. Mr. John Cherry, a local man who had taught my intro to cultural anthropology class at Florida State University, made this arrangement on our behalf. I had forgotten about the shower detail until Christa recently brought it to my attention.
An occasional evening meal of a hamburger, fries and a coke in nearby Madison amounted to gourmet fare. One evening, as we sat inside an old-fashioned diner, Dan went to light his pipe, opening a box of matches. When he did, instead of matches, a joint of marijuana greeted him. He had lifted the small box off a table at the girls' trailer. Jackie had left her weed in a matchbox there. It just so happened that a deputy sheriff sat at a table near us in the café. After we left, Penton exploded and berated Moore for her stupidity. Had the deputy seen the drug, he likely would have run all of us out of town on a rail.
Another amusing thing happened one night when some of us bought ice cream cones. As we ate our treats, Mabry dropped his on the ground. He looked up at the counter, made a sad face at the server, and began mumbling as if he were slow of mind. She assumed that he was mentally disabled. When we started shaming Mabry, the girl glared at us and handed him a fresh cone at no charge.
We lucked out on one occasion, though, when Mrs. Willie Clare Copeland (perhaps a relative of my maternal grandfather), the town historian and some of her friends, visited Hutto Pond. When they saw our harsh living conditions, Mrs. Copeland graciously invited the entire crew to her lovely home. She served us a savory, homemade meal.
That evening also brought us some unscripted entertainment. As the lady of the house cooked our meal, David walked onto the Copeland's pier that jutted out into a small lake adjoining their property. Swindell had dressed in his most elegant attire—a remarkable feat for someone who bore the nickname of "Pigpen." When he walked onto the dock, he stepped onto a loose plank and went down into the murky lake. All of us guys howled, but Miss Willie Clare scowled at us for our bad-mannered reaction. I later learned that Mrs. Copeland, a lifelong resident of Madison, passed away at the age of 94 on July 8, 2006, just four months after my mother died and at about the same age.
Another of our fans, E.B. "Deacon" Browning, Sr., turned out to be Dan Penton's father's friend. He had worked as the superintendent of Madison County Schools. Deacon also wrote stories for the town's small newspaper as well as the Tallahassee Democrat. Since he liked our project, some skeptical townsfolk in Madison decided that we must be okay.
Stay tuned as part 3 will be featured in the Friday, July 9, Madison Enterprise-Recorder.