ON THE RIVER'S EDGE WITH
JAPHY J. BEANKOK & STORMY D. WEATHERS
BY SHEB SCHEBELLA
I was taking some time to find myself to see if I could remember me, when I came upon and old Oak tree stump. I decided to take a seat and rest for a spell, even though my body was not fatigued my mind was.
I removed my back pack and from it I took out a tin of Earth Worms. As I was bating my hook I heard foot falls approaching near me down the path just to the South of me as I faced the river.
I had not ventured this part of the South Fork Shenandoah River, and I did not know if I was on state or private land. What I did know however, the area I had stopped to rest had been well traveled. The river was running slow and at about three feet, so I had attached a claw sinker and then my hook, and bait so my line would not drift.
It was then I heard on older gentlemen’s voice call out good day to me. He told me I had found his favorite fishing spot. I stood and tipped the bill of my ball cap and told him I hope I did not take his favorite stump as well. With a half way grin he went on to show me that he had brought an empty five gallon bucket with a cushion lid. With his hands full he nodded and introduced himself as Japhy J. Beankok, and I introduced myself as Stormy D. Weathers.
Japhy took a seat on the bucket while letting out a light sigh of relief. I trailed out a little line and began to cast out into the water. A nice twenty yard cast I thought for an old Zebco reel. As I watched Japhy fashion his pole to his likening he asked me what I was fishing for. I told him I was only using four pound Tess and that some fair size Blue Gill would be nice. He pondered for a moment and replied that he was going for Catfish, said he liked the fight. I asked Japhy if he eats the Cats he catches, and he told me not much anymore, but he will keep the Blues though, because his wife loves them for supper on Friday nights after she gets back from Bingo down at the fire hall.
I asked if he played Bingo and with a smile he told me that he does not fancy the game however, drives his wife into town and waits for her across the street at the V.F.W. He went on to tell me that he was a welder on the U.S.S. Arizona, and was transferred to San Diego three days before the attack on Pearl Harbor. He said he always felt like one of the luckiest men in the world; but there was a time where he had felt like one of the saddest men alive, but he knew that he did not drift alone with those emotions. He then began to tell me of his first wife that was a nurse stationed at Pearl Harbor during the bombing raid and that the dirty rotten son of a bitchen Japs took her life. He then looked over at my bobber and said that eventually he moved on, because he became to realize that life was for the living. Japhy stayed out in San Diego after the war for six more years working in a ship yard. On his sixth year in San Diego he met who is now his second wife at a little diner on 34th Street down by the ship yard; where he would have dinner almost every night. Japhy told me that his wife’s name is Kathy but he calls her Kat. Kat worked as a waitress at the all night diner. When he asked Kat if she would like to wed and move to Virginia on the Shenandoah River just outside of a little town called Elkton and into an old farm house she couldn’t pack her bags any faster.
San Diego through the 1930’s and 40’s had warren her thin. Japhy inherited the farm, for his mother and father were both killed in a car accident in West Virginia in the fall of 1948. They were driving home from a weekend getaway when their vehicle was struck by a logging truck which was driving down the center of the road while coming around a bend. Japhy was an only child and did not have or know of any living relatives.
Japhy had stopped talking for a moment because he had hooked a fish; quickly he set the hook and began to reel in the line. As he was reeling in he told me he loved to the river fish because of the current. He said you think at first that you have a real whopper on the other end, but he could tell now days if it was a Channel Cat or a Blue. And he did have himself a nice pan size Blue when he landed it. He stood up and tossed the fish into the bucket and sat back down and baited his hook, and cast out about 25 yards. He opened up a small satchel and took out two sandwiches, without saying anything he handed me one. I thanked him and then I reached into my pack and handed him a bottle of spring water; he smiled and took the bottle. I removed the wax paper from the sandwich and took a large bight. I was hungry and did not know it. I’m not a big fan of Pickle Loaf, but it tasted great that day for a many reasons.
Japhy timed his lunch just right. He just swallowed the last of his Pickle Loaf when his pole nearly bent in half.
He was fishing with two hooks set about a foot and a half apart, earlier he told me it would better his odds. He could go for the top feeders and bottom feeders at the same time. Japhy was right. He asked me to grab his net for him and lean out over the river’s edge to help land the fish. He said the movement of his pole feels odd. He said he was not sure what he had on the other end. I leant over the bank and netted the largest Blue Gill I had ever seen, and as I pulled it up towards land there on the other was another Blue of equal size. We both began to laugh and say things such as “Holy Smokes!” and “I can’t believe it!” Japhy was on his feet unhooking the fish with a pair of pliers and I lifted the lid from the bucket.
He was looking at me as he tossed the last fish into the bucket, and he had a smile as bright as a crescent moon on a cool, crisp night. He told me he has been fishing all his life and never seen that happen. He slapped me on the back followed by a wink and said “Ok stormy now it’s your turn!” We sat and joked for a good piece of time and he told me how his wife would never believe him, and that he had a witness. I didn’t say anything when he said that, I just smiled softly and turned back toward the Shenandoah.
I asked Japhy what he did for a living when he returned back to Virginia. He told me he opened up his own welding shop, and ran the business out of his hay barn. He and Kat took a month to clear out the old barn and turn it into a real nice professional looking operation. He said Kat had a real knack for business and took care of all the books and scheduling; and that she had a real nice phone voice. He told me she didn’t sound like a redneck like him in a self-mocking tone. Japhy said he landed a contract with the county to do repair jobs on their utility vehicles and trailers, and that kept Kat and him in bread and butter until retirement found them.
Japhy had landed two more nice size Blues. When he caught one he would lean over and say “Come on Stormy keep up.” At that time I had caught six fish to his twelve. Later that day I asked Japhy if he had any children. After I asked him if he had any children his eyes took on a very long distance stare far into the past, and was silent for several minutes, and then he began to speak. He only had one child. Kat wanted more children but, he said it just didn’t take, he thought because she had complications with her first childbirth. And in those days he told me if you couldn’t have a kid, then you couldn’t have a kid.
Japhy’s voice grew soft and flowed smoothly much like the river did on that day as he began to tell me more about his son.
His son’s name was James Japhy Beankok, born April 22. 1950. James was the name of Japhy’s father. James was a bright, happy, and kind little boy. He had lots of friends and pretty girl friends while growing up. Japhy was proud that James was a very artistic welder, and made very unique, and beautiful small sculptures; which Kat showed off proudly throughout their home. James was plenty intelligent enough for collage, but had no intentions of going to college. He was proud to work alongside his father in the family business. And his mother was glad to keep James at home. But one a few years later a nasty conflict broke out in a place most people Americans never heard of called Vietnam. James was drafted by the United States Army and took his basic training at Fort Benning Georgia. James was very patriotic Japhy told me, and was very proud to serve his country as he was to have had served in World War II.
James arrived in Vietnam on April 12, 1969. James was in Vietnam for less than twenty-four hours and was killed instantly by random sniper fire. His body was returned home on April 20, 1969. James was buried on the highest hill on the family farm. Kat chose a five foot tall winged angel as a head stone marker; which James sculpted for her birthday three years prior. The sculptor is visible from the front porch of the farm house. James was put to rest on April 22, 1969 on his 19th birthday.
My fishing pole began jerking wildly. Whatever was on the other end could not be very big I thought, because I was only using 4lb line. Japhy came out of his trance and said “Bring it in Stormy D. Weathers, bring it in.” Japhy grabbed his net and went to one knee. I told him to hunker down, and give the net a good scoop upward, because if I had tried to take the fish out of the water the line was sure to break. Japhy scooped, and netted the Blue Gill, and made some almighty reply. He began to say again that no one is ever going to believe us. Japhy told me he had a hand scale in his tackle box and we had to weigh that fish. The Blue Gill was the fattest of its kind I had ever seen. That Blue gill weighed 2lbs and 2oz. Japhy once again looking up at me on one knee with a smile that could blind a man if he stared at it long enough. He asked me if he could keep it and get it mounted on a nice plaque, giving me credit with my name below the fish. I told him to keep it. He said the nonbelievers will have to believe once He got Old Blue mounted. I just told him Amen, and laughed.
Later that day, Japhy began to tell me that this was the first time he had been fishing in just a little over a year. He was diagnosed with stomach cancer and had surgery. He said that the surgery was of little concern to him but, the Chemotherapy treatments he thought for sure were going to do him in. He told me that he was five foot ten inches, and when he was in chemo treatment his weight got down to 120 pounds. Japhy told me he was lucky that his wife Kat nagged him about going in for annual checkups or he would not be fishing on this day. Japhy had his last chemo treatment five months ago, and said he feels good, but on that particular day he was feeling great.
I began to think that day about Japhy’s life, about all that he has witnessed, all that he has survived, all that he has lost, and yet he still manages to smile. He lived by his own words when he said “Life is for the living.”
Japhy began to unwind another yarn as we fished. He told me about a time when he volunteered as a fire fighter for the county; it was his way of saying thank you for getting many years of government contracts.
Japhy was driving through front Royal, Virginia when he got a call on the radio that there was a large fire at a factory near the damn on the Shenandoah. He said he had all his firefighting gear in the back of the truck, and when he pulled up to the factory he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a true to god three alarm blaze. He suited up, and was ordered by another fire fighter to go inside the burning factory and help evacuate everyone. He said all hell was breaking loose. People were screaming, crying, and panicking. Japhy would find people huddled together, and he would tell them to lock arms and he would lead them to safe exits. He told me that he had entered the building twenty seven times. The last two trips Japhy made back in to the building he found one person each time lying unconscious. He carried each of them out of the burning factory and each victim was resuscitated. It was amazing he said no one died that day. He was glad he said that he had found the courage to do what he had done. All I could think was could Japhy possibly think he would have lacked courage.
The Sun was drawing low into the horizon, and the South Fork of the Shenandoah took on a beautiful golden glow. I told Japhy I needed to be heading out because my truck was a little over a mile to the North parked by a camp ground, and I did not have a torch with me. He asked me if he could give me a ride to my truck but, I declined. I told him I needed the walk after sitting for such a long wonderful time. He asked if I would be back next Sunday, I told him if that’s an invitation then I sure will be. He told me to drive next Sunday right to the farm house so that after we were done fishing I could join him and his wife for supper. He said Kat would like to meet me, and that he knew that for a fact. We gathered up are gear, shook hands, and thanked each other for a great day. Japhy headed south and I headed north.
Just before I rounded the bend I yelled back to Japhy and he turned and faced me. I then asked him how many people did he save that day the factory burnt down. He yelled back “I don’t know how many people I saved that day Stormy! I don’t think a man ever really knows how many lives he has saved in a life time! Maybe that’s what Heaven is for, to answer questions like that!” we waved once more and began trekking to our destinations.
I was about a quarter of a mile from my truck when I stopped and took a good long look at the South Fork of the Shenandoah; it never looked so beautiful and serene. The river that day was absolutely majestic, rushing wildly, yet at complete peace. I took off my pack and opened the flap, and took out a nine millimeter Browning Pistol. And with God almighty strength I heaved the pistol forward and watched it soar through the air, and into the abyss of the golden Shenandoah. I then reached into my breast pocket and took out one silver bullet that was meant to serve one purpose and one purpose only. I held the bullet in the palm of my hand, and said out loud. “You are right Japhy; a man will never know how many lives he has saved.” I tossed the bullet in to the river, harnessed my pack and began hiking back to my truck, all the while thinking that next Sunday I’m going fishing with a friend.
Many Moons have passed sense the telling of this tale, and my dear friend Japhy passed away only to old age. Kat, Japhy’s beloved wife joined him eleven months later. Japhy and Kat were buried next to their son under the wings of an Angel. I have never set foot back on the Beankok Farm after attending Kat’s funeral. I have no knowledge of what became of the land or the house or whose hands it fell into. I did however kayak passed the old farm not so long ago. I tide off an old boat line to the bank and floated there on the river’s edge. I fashioned my fishing pole that day with some bait and cast downstream, on the hopes of catching nothing more than old wonderful memories, and reeling them in slowly.
