Page 63 - South Mississippi Living - November, 2026

My father, Henry V. Felsher, Jr., would have turned 100
years old this year. A heavy smoker, he only made it to 68. My
grandfather’s family lived near Woolmarket, but he moved to
New Orleans after serving in the Navy during World War I.
To visit his relatives, Dad had to cross Pearl River. On
December 7, 1941, my 15-year-old father heard that the
Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. He thought Pearl Harbor
must be connected to Pearl River and grabbed his hunting
shotgun to fight the Japanese landing in Mississippi.
He eventually did fight the Japanese. He enlisted in the Navy
at 17 years old. The war ended on August 14, 1945, his 19th
birthday. He re-enlisted during the Korean War.
The last of four children, I came along much later than the
others. I had my father all to myself during my formative
years. He loved taking children fishing. Typically, he never
touched his fishing rod. He just let the youngsters catch the
fish and taught them how.
Dad always tried to turn everything into an adventure, even
if we just walked through a park. He always took time to point
out the wonders of nature. Even if fish were biting like crazy,
he paused to watch a mother otter swim with her babies or a
hawk dive for its breakfast.
Always a prankster, Dad loved telling tall tales about giant
alligators and swamp monsters. One cold, misty afternoon,
we hunted ducks on a Pearl River backwater. Recent rains
flooded the river. The current even carried entire uprooted
trees downstream.
After the hunt, we headed back to the landing well after
dark. With only the dim red and green glow from the bow
SOUTH MISSISSIPPI Living | www.smliving.net light guiding us through the light mist and fog, we slowly
motored downriver barely above idle speed. Of course, Dad
took that opportunity to spin a yarn about river monsters
waiting to erupt from the stream to eat us.
Fueled by our imaginations and compounded by the stygian
darkness, we chugged along in an 18-foot boat Dad built
by himself. In the darkness, every gnarled old cypress tree
draped with Spanish moss looked like a hairy giant. Branches
extending over the water resembled bony hands reaching out
to snatch us. Every fallen tree looked like a dinosaur climbing
up on the bank.
About the time Dad reached the part of his tale where the
monster leaps from the water, we hit an entire tree floating in
the swirling currents. Upon impact, the tree trunk twisted in
the water. A large curved root covered in dripping vegetation
suddenly burst through the surface right next to our boat. It
looked exactly like the famous alleged photo of the Loch Ness
Monster.
The sudden appearance of the “monster” got everyone’s
attention! I think it even spooked my dad. Fortunately, at that
slow speed, we didn’t damage anything, except our pride. No
one said another word until we arrived at home. Dad never
told another “swamp monster” tale again.
Time is the most precious, fragile and unforgiving of all
gifts. Make every moment count. Create rich adventures and
wonderful memories for the generations coming after us. A
parent will never meet a better partner than one created from
time, sweat and perhaps even a few drops of tears and blood.
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