THE OLD TIMER

Entry for February 15, 2007

We moved to Appleton, Wisc in 1960. Little did I know then we would have three very happy years there. I began as a merchandise manager of Mens and Boys in a Department store and one of the people I would meet shortly after my arrival was a young fellow named George Kubisiak. In one of our conversations he asked if I liked fishing. I replied, "I used to love it when I was young but I haven't been in since I was a kid." He told me we would go that week.
He picked me up one night and as we were driving out he said "Now we are going to fish on a farmers private lake. The farmer is very particular who he will let on his property so try top make an impression so that he will like you." We proceeded through the gate, down through the lane past several cows who looked at us in a disinterested manner and finally found John, kneeling in a freshly plowed field. We walked over to him and George introduced me to John who grunted a rather cold hello. While George and the farmer talked I kneeled down a few feet away and when I could see I had his attention, I began running my fingers through the loose soil. I then picked up a small handful and smelled it. I now had his full blown interest and with that I picked up another handful and stuck my tongue out and tasted the soil. Then in a rather pontifical I said "Needs little lime doesn't it?" He looked at me in some astonishment and replied "Thats just what a I was thinking---needs a little lime!!" Shortly after that George and I walked down to the lake and George exploded "Geez Jim, I didn't know you were a soil expert". I said "Hell George, I'm a fraud. I don't know anything about soil but I thought I might get him to think I do". At which point George said "Well, you certainly impressed him. He will let you come out and fish any time you want."
We then got into a small boat and rowed into the middle of the lake and began casting with fly rods. We were using what was called a "popper" because when the fish inhaled the lure, it would make a popping sound so that even though we were fishing after dark, if you cast out into the deepening shadows and began to twitch the line you would be rewarded with a fighting small bass who would come leaping out of the water. It was a fisherman's delight and George and I spent several evenings enjoying John's private lake. George had a radio program every evening through out most of the year and his gravelly manner of speaking to his unseen audience earned him the title of "The Old Timer". He died a few short year later after we had moved to Minneapolis. After hearing of his death, I was reminded how he had taken part in making those three years such happy ones. He was a character that has always occupied a special place in my memory bank.