Nothing Private

By Darren Shell

When I started sanding on that old dilapidated wooden boat I'd just purchased, I had no Idea how wrapped up I become with the words penciled into that old journal. I'd found the journal beneath the side seat. Every sanding of Mahogany and every turn of wrench that made me want to apply another layer of paint to that beautiful June heap in my barn had me wondering...

Who the heck is private Charles Henny?

Who is the girl with the Mahogany Eyes?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fideli Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781604146547

Darren Shell

Darren Shell started writing in the spring of 2005. His first effort was a simple story about Dale Hollow Lake for his daughter, who was then ten years old. “It was crude and simple, but heart-felt and tender,” Shell says. “It was a ghost tale about the making of Dale Hollow Lake and how they had to dig up old graveyards during the construction.” Several people ended up reading this first effort, and many more began asking for copies. Because this first story was so well received, Shell wrote a prequel to accompany it. The reception for this writing was as popular as the first. Building on that success, Shell wrote six additional short stories that all fit into the first. These were eventually combined into a comb-bound book he printed himself and then sold. This book was also published in perfect-bound form, but is now out of print. “To this day, I still get requests for that book,” Shell says. “I’ve sold more than 500 copies, and occasionally I still find the need to print one from my computer for a friend or family member.” After this success, Shell broadened his scope by writing a series of historical stories for local newspapers. This collection was then published in book form titled Stories From Dale Hollow, and sold close to one thousand copies. These stories prompted Shell to start his company, Gravedigger Tours. Each season, he gives guided “ghost” tours of the park in the center of Dale Hollow. “It’s a historical tour,” Shell says, “and my character, one of the lake’s old gravediggers from 1942 when the lake was made, tells all the tales. It’s a crowd favorite and has earned me the nickname ‘Gravedigger.’” In the fall, a full-fledged set of tours are set up and tourists and friends come from miles around to hear the Gravedigger’s storytelling. This is also a great time for Shell to sell copies of his books. Shell’s latest work, The Big Ones—The World Record Smallmouth Bass of Dale Hollow Lake, deals with a different type of lake history. The book tells of the controversy surrounding the number-one world record smallmouth bass, profiles the number two and three record holders, gives the reader a glimpse of the men behind the those catches and includes several fishing experts’ top 10 tips for catching smallmouth bass. Shell has also set aside 50 signed copies of the book for charity. Dubbed “Fishing For Charity,” Shell’s goal is to donate a total of $5,000 in charitable funds to charities chosen by the people buying the special books. Darren Shell lives and works at his family-run marina on Dale Hollow Lake in middle Tennessee.

Book preview

Nothing Private

by

Darren Shell

Smashwords ebook published by Fideli Publishing

Copyright 2012, Darren Shell

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ISBN: 978-1-60414-654-7

Chapter One

His picture was nothing more than a tattered and greasy photo lying deep beneath the filthy tools in the old wooden tool box. It was my only picture tie I had to the man inside that tool tote beneath the passenger seat of that boat. I sort of expected a lover’s photo, or a picture of Mom, etc., but I didn’t really expect a photo of him. It didn’t really jive with the history I’d someday learn about him, but that old photo was certainly right there amid tools, grease, and parts. It was Chuck.

It seemed like that box where I found the photo weighed more than most sumo-wrestlers. It was greasy. It was bulky. And without question, it SO fit beneath the seat of where it was intended to rest. That heavy tool-tote rested comfortably beneath the port passenger seat of a 1958 Lyman wooden lap-strake runabout. 18 feet of mahogany housed this simple time capsule—this tool box—this one-man’s-treasure—this private remnant of a man long-gone that I would never meet.

I never really thought that the boat … or that box … were ever truly mine. It’s almost like I took possession of the previous owner along with the items I purchased. I just didn’t realize it at the time.

This picture from the box was a simple photo of a young GI—just the common military one-opt you get on day-one, after your haircut. ... all black and white and bland. It reeked of military conformity.

G. I. Henny, he was.

His stare in that picture was intent. His glare was so full of emotion. I’m not really sure why I cared who Private Charles Henny was? Chuck Henny was just a name I slammed around in jest. When things went wrong with my boat, I just figured that is was Chuck’s fault.

Stupid Chuck Henny.

Damn it, Chuck. Why did you rebuild this antique boat, anyway?

I guess I should go ahead and describe my junk heap.

My boat was a piece of crap. Sure, at one time, it was a pretty piece of America’s past with all of its golden mahogany shining in the sun, but now it was a dump-heap of almost forgotten vintage. Parts of it were rotten. Some of it just sort of flaked apart as you looked at it. It was nasty after its years inside that old barn. Most of it was just plain yucky. If it wasn’t for its sheer waterline beauty, it’d probably have been discarded long ago.

Nobody wanted this junk old boat.

Well—‘cept me.

I guess I loved that old hunk of crap.

Damn, I must say, though, its lines were sleek. Where wood met water, it was dreamy. It was yesteryear boating with all the romance and fondness of the cool old movies. Though old and crappy, it was a beautiful piece of workmanship in its day, even if it didn’t run all that damn well now.

Call me a