JB: Sometimes initials are enough

By Poor William

My Uncle “JB” Barnett passed away two weeks ago at the age of 88. I had the good fortune as a child to have a father named Roundman–an iconic Ole Miss Rebel, “fan” would not do his relationship with Oxford justice–who took me to all the Ole Miss football games and an Uncle JB who took me trout fishing and camping in the Ozark Mountains.

Photo by The Delta Bohemian

I was blessed: I learned to love the outdoors while camping and fishing in the Arkansas Ozarks with my crusty Ole Uncle JB.

He might have acted gruff, but he had enough patience to teach a snotty-nose kid how to fish, and he didn’t get too upset when I constantly tangled up my line with his line, the cooler, my clothes, and sometimes my tender body parts. He would just take his thin, long cigarette out of his mouth and say, “Son, hand me that rod tip!” Then he would fix it and get my wet fly–a Royal Coachmen with the wings snipped off–back in the water before he would resume his fishing.

JB was always cool as a cucumber. The only thing that would ruffle him on the water was when some “joker” would go full speed past us in a johnboat and create a trout-scaring wake that would piss him off.

This disturbance usually occurred early in the morning, prior to daylight, with a cold mist hovering over the even colder trout stream, and the only sounds heard were an occasional trout leaping out of the water and Poor William’s not-so-occasional dropping of some noisy item in the bottom of the metal boat.

Payback came later in the morning when good Ole Uncle JB would find the offenders while they were fishing the bottom and anchored. He would wind up the outboard Evinrude motor and we would skip across the water creating a shore-seeking wake reminiscent of a tiny tsunami. He would rarely say a word prior to the “reckoning,” but I seem to remember there always being a wry grin, a “let’s head to the shoals,” and then the boat-rocking wake.

Being a scary child, I always was worried that somebody might hunt us down and beat the hell out of us, but deep down I think they knew Uncle JB was not to be trifled with. Perhaps, they instinctually knew that he had been on an often-under-fire Navy ship in the Pacific during the height and heyday of World War II, and some yahoo not abiding by the unwritten rules of river manners did not concern him. But, there would be payback.

My Uncle JB and I would sit in the boat–all day–speaking very little, and that was okay. He did his thinking; I did my thinking, and we both enjoyed the hell out of catching an elusive trout on a wet fly. I would often scream, “I got one,” usually a nano-second prior to not setting the hook, thereby giving the “biggest-fish-ever” a chance to swim, feed, and breed another day.

I remember as a very young child–maybe 5 years old–being at Muscle Shoals Alabama when my Uncle was racing speedboats. I was on the bank sitting in a lawn chair with my Aunt and cousins when he had a bad crash. He was thrown out of the boat and as I recall, it ran back over him and damaged his arm. I saw them bring him out of the water and put him in an ambulance. I remember the blood and the look on his face. It was traumatic, but I do remember thinking, “Uncle JB is tough!”

I miss my Uncle JB, and though we did not stay in touch much over the years, he had a profound impact on my life and my love of the outdoors. God Bless JB

I plan on going next month to the place we used to fish–a place I have only been once in the last 30 years. Maybe fishing his “spots” will remove or add to the lump in my throat I have as I write this remembrance.

An excerpt from Uncle JB’s obituary

John B. “JB” Barnett, 88, of Bartlett, TN has joined his savior after a brief illness. JB, as he was known, is the former owner of J.B. Barnett Realty, and later, after closing his office, joined Statewide Appraisal Service where he worked until his retirement at the young age of 85.

JB loved his time with all his friends at Statewide Appraisal. JB is a former Hydroplane boat racer, having won the World Outboard Championship in C-1 Hydro in 1962. He is also the former Scoutmaster of Troop 30 from Whitehaven Methodist Church where his leadership built Troop 30 into one of the largest and best equipped in the South.

JB also loved volunteering his time for the mid-south junior fishing rodeo with his good friend, Henry Reynolds. JB always wore his U.S.S. Langley hat, as he loved to tell stories about his time aboard the Langley during WWII.

JB was preceded in death by his son, Dr. John B. Barnett, Jr. He is survived by his son, Buzzy Barnett and his wife, Karen, and three grandchildren, Ryan, Kristin and Melissa.

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