Coon Hunting

While we are reeling from the murder of George Floyd, attention has turned away from Ahmaud Arbrey who was hunted down and killed by a father and a son. There is a term for what they did and I haven’t heard it in a while, but I know it is still being done as it was on Mr. Aubrey back in February in a seemingly quiet Georgia suburb. For those who do not know, it’s called “coon hunting.” Coon is short for raccoon. These little creatures are scavengers with black markings on their faces that make them look like cute bandits. It does not take much imagination to see how a raccoon could come to symbolize an African American person. While George Floyd was lynched, Ahmaud was coon hunted. It’s simple, first you stalk a person, then you use field tactics to corner the critter so there is no means of escape and then you kill the critter who in this case was Ahmaud Arbery. I lived in North Carolina from 1976 until 1979 when I enlisted in the United States Air Force out of Charlotte. Working in the mill with a crew of six out of eight African Americans in a cotton mill for wages far below their union counterparts there was talk I wasn’t supposed to hear, but could not ignore about the sport of coon hunting. This is a very difficult piece for me to write, but in light of the events as they unfolded in the past few weeks, the disturbing stories I heard can still give me nightmares. What is my greatest source of heartache is that I was not able to do anything about it, because it was a socially acceptable practice. In doing nothing however, we enter the realm of bystander where you choose what you hear and see, you make an active choice to suppress. But in these past few days, the sleeping giant has awakened... 

“We gonna go after Natches.” Billy Ray Adams proclaimed to his brother and his two high school friends. High school was over five years ago when Billy Ray was the star quarterback at Mount Lany High School a stone throw from Florida Georgia state line. Out in these parts the land was always wet and swampy and you had to be on the look out for Alligators and water moccasins. But tonight Billy Ray had his Ford pickup all gassed up and ready for action and tonight’s action would be a good old fashion coon hunt. It had been a while since the gang had gone out on one, Billy Ray would guess it was probably back in senior year of high school and while they did not kill the beast, they did razz him up a lot. Scared him so bad, a few weeks later he had a bus ticket to Detroit to live with his uncle.  

Jesse Payton was wearing his overalls and not much else as he piped up, “Natches was talking smack to my cousin Tessa. She told me he asked to do things to her that a good Christian girl has no right doing.” 

“I heard he has been pushing his luck for sure.” Godfrey Johnson ran his fingers through his short buzzed yellow hair. 

“I say we dump him out there in Bellfry Woods and have us a little hunting action.” Joe Adams smirked. He was two years older than his brother Billy Ray, but he had dropped out of high school for always getting into squabbles and fights. His behavior had not changed all that much as he hung out at Byers, one of those dives that dotted the state road leading to the swamps at the state line. He was a large man who always wore flannel shirts and worked as a bouncer at Byers on the weekends when some out of towners might happen in. Byers was a place for locals only. Couple times some do-gooders came in ready to report on how even after the abolition of Jim Crow, things for the colored hadn’t changed all that much. Joe knew who the Grand Dragon of the local chapter of the Klu Klux Klan was and would sometimes serve him his drinks on the house.  

So the four of them, Billy Ray, his brother Joe, Jesse Payton and Godfrey Johnson piled into the cab of Billy Ray’s old Ford as Billy Ray gunned the engine that sounded more like a jet airplane preparing for take off since Billy Ray had adjusted the exhaust system with accessories that made his Ford sound badass.

The Adams lived out in the sticks as Billy Ray referred to homestead and extra building that was converted into a garage where he and his father LeRoy worked on engines and such. According to his dad, Grandpa Quinlin used the extra building as a place to brew his homemade corn squeezins until the ATF finally was able to shut his still down. There were rumors of a shoot out, but LeRoy said that it was just a local legend. LeRoy had instilled in his son a sense of right and wrong in accordance with the mores of the rural community which broken down simply meant never bring dishonor on your name. While Poor White Trash had never been used outright to the Adames, there were plenty of upstanding citizens who would view these barefoot boys coming to church services as just that. But in upholding the honor of the family name, Billy Ray would do whatever he was asked by his father. This meant going on a coon hunt to restore the honor of Jesse’s cousin who Billy Ray had some quick backroom encounters with Tessa who wasn’t exactly an unwilling participant. Just thinking about Natches trying to put his hands on her almost put Billy Ray into a rage.  

Some of the deputies were friends of the family and they each confirmed that overt discrimination would get their badges removed, but there were plenty of covert tactics that could be used. One of the deputies intervened in a dispute between a black and white patron at Byers. The fact that there was one of them in the bar had caused some consternation, but when one of the patrons complained about the strange smell, the fight erupted. There were three of them in which the bigger one was engaged in fisticuffs. The deputy called out a warning which the man did not heed as he was engaged in the fight. So the deputy brought down his nightstick and incapciatated the assailant to such a degree, the man’s skull was fractured. After nearly a month recovering, his mental faculties would never be the same, his family filed charges, but were never acted on due. Case was closed.  

Natches Campbell worked as a janitor at one of the local schools. He had learned the subtle art of being invisible while on the job, because any possible inappropriate interaction with a student would bring the hammer of justice down heavy on him. He never spoke to the children and never reacted when one of them made an observation about the dark shade of his skin or his wide nose or his prominent lips. While still not quite thirty years old, he was beginning to appear as a much older man, but he discovered the older he appeared, the less he was perceived as a threat.  

Tessa worked at a barbecue shack called Uncle Babcock’s and Natches loved the flavor of the tangy sauce and the healthy helping of the ribs. Tessa wore blouses that were too tight under her black apron and skirts that were a few inches too short to accompany an over application of lipstick and mascara, but in Uncle Babcock’s she was one of the favorites who seemed to be on a first name basis with just about everyone. Due to the cuisine, Uncle Babcock’s was a favorite of the colored community as well, but diplomatic seating always kept the two groups apart. Josiah Babcock, the owner, instructed his servers to seat the white families in the front room while bringing the black patrons to the back room separated by a half wall, but still enough of a barrier to keep everyone happy. He told his servers that most people preferred the segregation practices of the establishment. But for some reason on the night in question, Natches requested to be seated in the front room with the white patrons. Not knowing what to do, Tessa checked with her shift supervisor and Josiah’s son Edwin who was a student at University of Georgia in Athens.  

“I dunno.” He was counting tickets and making a count as he called it. “Just let him sit where he wants. We don’t need any trouble.”

Natches explained that he liked the front room, because it seemed the aroma from the kitchen would flout out into this part of the dining room. He ordered some ribs and collard greens like always. Tessa thought it odd that he would sit at a table set for four all by himself. He never tipped very well either from what she remembered about him, but he was friendly and outgoing with a hearty laugh that seemed to warm up the room. She brought him an iced tea as he requested, but then he said, “Y’all got some pretty eyes.” 

“Thank you.” Tessa blushed.

Sammy the cook overheard and spit on the food when he plated Natches’ order and then caught Tessa’s attention, “Is that man flirting with you?” Man was not the word Sammy used either, but Tessa rolled her eyes.

“He’s harmless. He comes in here almost every week.” She took the plate unaware that Sammy had spit into the food.  

“You bes’ stay clear of that man.” As once again Sammy did not use the word man.  

When Tessa put the plate on the table, Natches took his fork and pulled the meat from the bone and then his expression became very serious, “Miss, someone has spit on my food.” 

“There must be some mistake.” She shook her head.

“Ain’ no mistake. I know when someone spit in my food. Ain’ the first time.” He threw his napkin on the plate. “I need to see the manager.” 

“Natches, he’s kinda busy.” She took his plate from the table.

“No ma’am, I need to see him.” He slapped the table with his open palm, rattling the glass and silverware. Everyone was now staring at him.

She went and got Edwin who huffed and stomped out into the dining room to deal with Natches. Witnessing the ordeal, Sammy decided to call his best friend Jesse to tell him what that man did to his cousin Tessa.

So here they were in front of Natches’ house. He lived alone since his mother passed a few years ago from cancer. He never married, never felt the need for company. When Billy Ray’s Ford pulled up, Natches was dozing in front of the television. His mama lived in this house since she got married to Natches’ father nearly fifty years ago. Serving for a year in Vietnam, Natches displayed his service ribbons in a static display on the wall beneath his photograph of him in his uniform. When he came home, he had running water and central heat installed so his mother would not have to put her feet on a cold floor each morning to light the stove for warmth. It didn’t get that cold for eleven months out of the year, but when January came around, the rain mixed with ice did not stop turning the ground into an ice rink at times.  

His father Rufus passed away before he graduated from high school from brown lung he got after working in the cotton mill for over twenty years. Heartbroken, he promised his mama that he would stay with her forever and he made good on his word. 

The thump at the door startled him awake as Johnny Carson began his nightly monologue.  

“Who’s there?” He called out in his dark living room where the television provided the only light.  

“Your worst nightmare.” Came the answer from just beyond the door. Coming to his feet, Natches walked to the door as someone began knocking on it. “I’m a-coming, be patient y’all.” 

As soon as he turned the knob three young men came rushing into his house as one of them grabbed his arm.

“What y’all doin’?” He demanded as he felt the rough rope being tied around his arms.  

“We gonna go coon hunting.” Jesse whispered into his ear.

“What on earth for?” His face was pressed against the wall.  

“On account of you making time with my cousin.” Jesse kept his elbow against the back of Natches’ head as they finished tying his hands behind his back.

“Ain’ no need for this.” He felt someone’s fingers intertwined in his hair, jerk his head back. With his hands tied tightly behind his back and a sack placed over his head, Natches was completely dependent on his captors. I knew the path in front of his house, but when he got to the metal of the truck, he stopped until one of the young men hoisted him unceremoniously into the bed of the truck as Billy Ray gunned the engine before pulling into the road. Although he was scared, he remained quiet as all of his training in Vietnam came back to him. In the jungle where you could not see your own hand in front of your face, you learned to rely on your buddies to navigate the blackness. He could hear his own breath beneath the burlap sack someone had put over his head.  

After about fifteen minutes, the truck stopped and he heard low voices. Suddenly the sack was removed from his head. 

“Time to run, old man.” Only Billy Ray did not use man.

“You tried to get into my cousin’s pants.” Jesse hit Natches with a stick that made him see stars.

“Ain’t no reason for this.” He squinted at the sudden presence of the light, dim though it was. He breathed in the cool night air. He could hear the frogs singing their nightly serenade and he knew he was at the shore of one of drainage ponds where the civil engineers had built a pump house in this low lying alluvial area prone to flooding.   

“In a few minutes we’s gonna count down from twenty to zero. When we get to zero, we gonna come after you boy.” Godfrey pulled out his Mossberg 500 that his father had given him for Christmas a few years ago with a warning, “Careful son, don’t shoot your eyes out.” And he laughed for the next twenty minutes since he had already drained a bottle of his finest moonshine, Merry Christmas to me. One shell could pretty much take Natches head clean off his shoulders. Billy Ray and his brother Joe both had Remington 857 that had a fair range and with the right ammo, could disembowel Natches with a fair amount of accuracy since both brothers had a lot of experience hunting with their father.

“Jesse, you got the truck.” Billy Ray pulled out a plug of chew and gave some to his brother. Both of them were wearing cammies. He looked at Natches who was trembling. “Now I’m gonna start...twenty…”

By the time Billy Ray got to eighteen, Natchez had vanished like a ghost into Belfry Woods with his hands still bound behind his back and this tickled Billy Ray because there were all sorts of hazards in the copse that would trip him and send him face first into the dark landscape since he did not have use of his arms to prevent his fall. Spitting tobacco juice on the ground, Billy Ray declared, “Alright you coon hunters, time to go find our coon.”

There were a few chuckles. Billy Ray continued, “You Jesse, keep on the road Careful got lots of potholes and such, but if you stay on it, my high beams will be able to pick up on him. If you see him, shoot.”

All of them nodded as they began to walk into the woods with Billy Ray holding a flashlight as they began their banter about what skilled woodsmen that had learned to be.  

As the sun cracked the sky, the odor of decay and mold and fungi reeked through the air, Sheriff Walton stood by a tree and called the deputies holding the leashes of bloodhounds to come over where he was standing. Lying face up, eyes staring at a baby blue sky he would never see was the body of Sanchez Campbell, hands still tied behind his back as the back part of his skull was no longer attached to the rest of him. Looks like a large gauge did him in.” Sheriff Walton stroked the stubble on his chin.  

“Oh Christ.” Moss groaned since he was easily grossed out.

“Looks like someone had a coon hunt.” Walton stood straight and took a deep breath of the stagnant air. “Doogan, call in Doc Mays and tell him we got a cold one.”

“Any idea who done this?” Moss heaved a bit, but was able to gain control.

“Nope. I have my suspicions.” Walton took out a stick of gum that he was using to quit smoking cigars. He would completely masticate the piece of spearmint until he had reduced it to the rubber sap it had originally come from. “We gotta tell them folks in Atlanta we need to put an end to this coon hunting.” He sighed looking into Natches’ blank eyes.

“Easier said than done stopping a southern tradition.” Moss sniffed.

Sheriff Walton would file his report, but like so many the investigation did not turn up any credible leads. Elie Wiesel was right, Adolph Hitler was not the enemy, it was the silence of acceptance that was.