Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/496918
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 3 5 o r i z o n s H Roger Pinckney Those fish fed six families till Christmas. The story fed his heart for a lifetime. tight turns. So there was no way he was going to put a license on his seine net just so we boys could fool around with it. It was hand-knitted cotton twine, seven feet tall, three hundred long, corks along the top, lead weights along the bottom. Five hundred pounds dry and a thousand wet. We fretted over it and patched the rotten spots with crab line, on the sly of course. This was the last of the free and wild times when a boy could still be a boy and not be bound over to Juvenile Court. We snuck that net out once when the tide was right and the law and the old man weren't looking. We took our chances with J imbo's daddy was Baptist, the rock-ribbed variety and so close to a dollar he could stand on a dime and call it heads or tails. He drove a '62 Nash Rambler, an indifferent split-pea green, straight six, three speed, no chrome. He made the dealer take out the radio and deduct accordingly. He did not want the whitewalls either but the dealer baulked so the old man turned them around so the great vanity would only show during the law and reckoned the old man would forgive us if we loaded him up with fish. We did but he didn't. H ow bout them Nicholson boys?" Andy asked. Andy was Jimbo's cousin, six two, center on the Baptist Church League team. It took six men to handle that net and we were strong as most men, but still three boys short. "Tom and Rick? They ain't from around here," I pontificated. "They ain't got no sense." Jimbo was red-headed, freckled, E veryone turned out for this postcard photograph on the South Carolina coast.