August 8 2007, City Pier, Southport, NC
They shut the plant down for the day when Johnny Harris retired. 450 workers. “You could party all day long,” says Johnny, his eyes shifting briefly away from his fishing rod.
It’s another hot and humid and eye-squinting bright day, and I am surprised to find midday anglers on this fishing pier. Among them are Johnny and Shirley Harris and their almost-17 grandson, Ricky Rhodes. They sit together on a pier-bench watching their three fishing rods that have been bitten only once this morning.
“We’ve had some pretty good days on this pier,” says Johnny. “Spots, flounder . . .”
Johnny, Shirley and Ricky live in Fletcher (all three grew up there) – near Asheville – and are here for a week on vacation. All three love to fish. Fishing’s at the top of the list for Johnny and Ricky; Shirley’s list begins with something else.
“I like working in flowers,” she says as she moves her eyes away from her fishing line.
“You ought to see her house,” adds Ricky with a smile.
“Dahlias, four-o’clock blooms, roses,” Shirley begins listing them,” her eyes back on the line.
“You ain’t got enough paper to write it on,” Johnny nods to me as I make notes.
“Irises, tulips, sunflowers,” Ricky helps.
“Black-eyed Susans,” Shirley corrects. The secret to roses? “Lot of water on the roots and not on the leaves.”
A bait bucket with live minnows and shrimp sits in front of them. The three rods lean against the rail, their lines stretching tight at ninety degrees. Johnny, Shirley and Ricky watch the rod tips for a twitch that doesn’t come.
Johnny and Shirley grew up in Fletcher, started going together in the ninth grade, and have now been married 47 years – 48 come February 14.
“Love,” they both reply to my question regarding a successful marriage. “Love, forget, and forgive,” adds Shirley. “It takes two,” she continues, “it takes two . . .”
There a dozen other anglers on this little pier and nobody catches anything while I’m here. This pier stretches perhaps 100 feet off Southport towards Bald Head Island in the distance. Wilmington is a half-hour north and Myrtle Beach an hour south.
Johnny’s dad taught him to fish when he was little; Shirley was taught by her dad and grandmother. Shirley and Johnny taught Ricky.
Their favorite thing about fishing? “Catching fish, I guess,” answers Ricky. Best fishing day ever? “Probably a couple of years ago,” he continues, “on Yaupon Pier. Probably caught 150 blues in one day.”
“Hitting a Gotcha plug,” says Johnny as his eyes catch mine. “And they were good size.” He moves his hands apart to two-pound distance.
Shirley wears a pink cap with “Las Vegas” stitched on the brim. “Down there at that thrift store,” she motions with her head, “one of them 25-cent caps.”
It takes some doing to get Johnny to respond to my “claim to fame” question. He finally says it was his retirement from Buss Fuse, a division of Cooper Industries. “They throwed me a party all day long.” But he doesn’t elaborate.
Ricky, an 11th-grader, is on the other end of retirement. He busses tables at Carrabba’s Restaurant. “The money,” is his answer to what he likes best. “Touching everybody’s dirty plates” is worst. The worst mess he’s encountered? “A part of 25 people who had 10 little babies throwing food.”
Shirley’s a retired textile worker. “No, they can’t shut down the textile plant,” she says about her own retirement day. “But they about closed and moved to Mexico.”
Why did they decide not to move? Shirley thinks for a long time before answering. “They sold it to another company . . . I don’t really know.” “Probably because of the quality of the work,” Johnny adds.
All three test their fishing lines for bites and then respond to my request for fishing tips for this pier.
“Be patient,” Shirley says first.
“Try not to get hung,” grins Ricky. (He’s fresh off a major hangup.)
Johnny doesn’t have any tips. “Naw, not really. Fishing’s luck anyway . . . most of it.”
Any words to live by?
Johnny: “Just live a good, clean, life.”
Ricky is hesitant, then offers, “Live life to the fullest . . . I don’t know.”
Shirley: “You got to love your family.” She looks over at Ricky with a smile and pats his knee. “Have a lot of faith.”
They shut the plant down for the day when Johnny Harris retired. 450 workers. “You could party all day long,” says Johnny, his eyes shifting briefly away from his fishing rod.
It’s another hot and humid and eye-squinting bright day, and I am surprised to find midday anglers on this fishing pier. Among them are Johnny and Shirley Harris and their almost-17 grandson, Ricky Rhodes. They sit together on a pier-bench watching their three fishing rods that have been bitten only once this morning.
“We’ve had some pretty good days on this pier,” says Johnny. “Spots, flounder . . .”
Johnny, Shirley and Ricky live in Fletcher (all three grew up there) – near Asheville – and are here for a week on vacation. All three love to fish. Fishing’s at the top of the list for Johnny and Ricky; Shirley’s list begins with something else.
“I like working in flowers,” she says as she moves her eyes away from her fishing line.
“You ought to see her house,” adds Ricky with a smile.
“Dahlias, four-o’clock blooms, roses,” Shirley begins listing them,” her eyes back on the line.
“You ain’t got enough paper to write it on,” Johnny nods to me as I make notes.
“Irises, tulips, sunflowers,” Ricky helps.
“Black-eyed Susans,” Shirley corrects. The secret to roses? “Lot of water on the roots and not on the leaves.”
A bait bucket with live minnows and shrimp sits in front of them. The three rods lean against the rail, their lines stretching tight at ninety degrees. Johnny, Shirley and Ricky watch the rod tips for a twitch that doesn’t come.Johnny and Shirley grew up in Fletcher, started going together in the ninth grade, and have now been married 47 years – 48 come February 14.
“Love,” they both reply to my question regarding a successful marriage. “Love, forget, and forgive,” adds Shirley. “It takes two,” she continues, “it takes two . . .”
There a dozen other anglers on this little pier and nobody catches anything while I’m here. This pier stretches perhaps 100 feet off Southport towards Bald Head Island in the distance. Wilmington is a half-hour north and Myrtle Beach an hour south.
Johnny’s dad taught him to fish when he was little; Shirley was taught by her dad and grandmother. Shirley and Johnny taught Ricky.
Their favorite thing about fishing? “Catching fish, I guess,” answers Ricky. Best fishing day ever? “Probably a couple of years ago,” he continues, “on Yaupon Pier. Probably caught 150 blues in one day.”
“Hitting a Gotcha plug,” says Johnny as his eyes catch mine. “And they were good size.” He moves his hands apart to two-pound distance.
Shirley wears a pink cap with “Las Vegas” stitched on the brim. “Down there at that thrift store,” she motions with her head, “one of them 25-cent caps.”
It takes some doing to get Johnny to respond to my “claim to fame” question. He finally says it was his retirement from Buss Fuse, a division of Cooper Industries. “They throwed me a party all day long.” But he doesn’t elaborate.
Ricky, an 11th-grader, is on the other end of retirement. He busses tables at Carrabba’s Restaurant. “The money,” is his answer to what he likes best. “Touching everybody’s dirty plates” is worst. The worst mess he’s encountered? “A part of 25 people who had 10 little babies throwing food.”
Shirley’s a retired textile worker. “No, they can’t shut down the textile plant,” she says about her own retirement day. “But they about closed and moved to Mexico.”
Why did they decide not to move? Shirley thinks for a long time before answering. “They sold it to another company . . . I don’t really know.” “Probably because of the quality of the work,” Johnny adds.
All three test their fishing lines for bites and then respond to my request for fishing tips for this pier.
“Be patient,” Shirley says first.
“Try not to get hung,” grins Ricky. (He’s fresh off a major hangup.)
Johnny doesn’t have any tips. “Naw, not really. Fishing’s luck anyway . . . most of it.”
Any words to live by?
Johnny: “Just live a good, clean, life.”
Ricky is hesitant, then offers, “Live life to the fullest . . . I don’t know.”
Shirley: “You got to love your family.” She looks over at Ricky with a smile and pats his knee. “Have a lot of faith.”
Photo: Johnny and Shirley Harris and grandson Ricky Rhodes on Southport's City Pier.
