Please Don't Wake Me Until It's Time To Go

By Gerald Darnell

A collection of stories, events and humorous observations from the life of author Gerald Darnell.
A Florida native, Gerald grew up in the small town of Humboldt, Tennessee. He attended high school and was a graduate of HHS class of 64. Following graduation from the University of Tennessee, he spent time in Hopkinsville, KY, Memphis, TN and Newport, AR before moving back to Florida - where he now lives.
The stories and events included in the book span times from pre-high school to his now retirement in Longwood, FL - near Orlando. As an avid hunter and fisherman, many of the events involve activities and stories from his personal outdoor adventures. As a business executive, and extensive traveler, he gives us some playful observations accumulated from the millions of miles he traveled across the US. As someone who loves animals and adventure, he offers thoughts and observations that are probably outside most reader's imagination.
Not a 'tell all' narrative, real names and real people are included. If you know the author, you might find yourself - or one of your adventures - included. If not, I'm certain you will find a real familiarity with the stories and the times chronicled in the book. A must read if you enjoy hunting, enjoy humor and can laugh at yourself - while others are laughing at you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gerald Darnell
• Release date: Aug 1, 2010
• ISBN: 9781536581126

Book preview

DON’T WAKE ME UNTIL IT’S TIME TO   GO

A collection of stories, events and humorous observations from my life

Written

by

Gerald W. Darnell

DON’T WAKE ME UNTIL IT’S TIME TO GO

Copyright © 2010

Author, Gerald W. Darnell

All rights reserved

ISBN 978-0-557-64643-2

––––––––

FORWARD

Truth and reality are always more humorous than fiction.  What follows is, for the most part, both true and real – I hope you will find some of it funny.  I may have borrowed a tale or two from some of my friends (you will know who you are), but most is true and accurate – at least as I remember.

About me?  Well I have always wanted to be James Bond – why not?  Not Superman, Batman or some other cartoon man, but a REAL man. Forget all the women; this guy could do it all.  Fly planes, fly helicopters, fly space shuttles, operate all types of underwater craft, drive big boats, small boats, submarines, classic cars, and even lunar landing vehicles.  He could ski better than any Olympic athlete, dive underwater without the aid of oxygen and sky dive (sometimes without a parachute).  He could disassemble, assemble and shoot every type of weapon known to man.  I assume he spoke over 35 native languages because he never needed an interpreter. Knife throwing, sword fighting and all oriental-fighting methods were second nature.  He knew every wine, every entrée, every desert and he played all musical instruments – along with card games that I can’t pronounce.  Hell, he knew EVERYTHING.  What a guy!

Several years ago I wrote a story about a duck – from the duck’s point of view. Outdoor Life published my story and sent me... $300, I think.  I also sent the same story to Ducks Unlimited.  Not only did they not publish; they wrote me a crusty letter along with their No Thanks. Obviously they didn’t appreciate ‘real life’ mixed with some humor.

I started this book by just writing down adventures - it quickly got out of hand. As I started writing the narrative I realized that it was impossible to tell everything – at least tell everything so readers would understand.  I have omitted a lot – so those not named should be aware.

I write like I talk, as you read the narrative remember it is story telling – from a storyteller’s voice.

In my quest to do everything, I have probably done very little.  But, I have had some fun trying.  Perhaps in writing my exploits to share with others, I can both relive those adventures and pass some small humor along to the readers.

Some names were changed to protect the innocent – but there are few innocents in the pages that follow.

DEDICATION

(In no particular order)

Wiley, Glen, Dennis, Don, Kenneth, Gerald, Joby, Chip, Billy Joe, Jimmy, Steve

And LR (my father)

CONTENTS

Cunningham Deer Camp

Signs

No Beer Sold to Minors

Bump in the Road

100% Waterproof

Deer Crossing

You didn’t do it.com

Signs of Wisdom

Advertising and Creative

Grave Markers

Black Hurricanes

More Stupid Signs

Short Stories

Garden hoses, Extension Cords and Jumper Cables

Tennis Shoes

Mr. Television

Annual Physical

Coors Beer

Jukebox

Drinking Makes You Smarter

Things You Learn from Living in the South

Napkins

Human Resources

- Problems determining sex

- Can you send me a Xerox copy?

Strip Clubs

- It isn’t mine!

- Indian Princess

Bowling Balls

Locomotive

Topless

Cars

Continental Kit

Red, Yellow, Green

Gio Grass

Thief

Cheap Air Conditioning

Bowling

Bicycle

Daytona Beach

Fuck You – I Quit

Beer

Jose`

Ride 8 – Sleep 4

I Must be dreaming

Animals

Cows and Bulls

Gators

Harvest

Let’s Talk Bears

Pigeon Shoot

Bees

Coons

Moose and Elk

Your Dog is Smarter than You

Animal Facts

Kelly Roberts. THP

Story Begins – A Bad Start

Round Two – Good Citizens

Round Three – Dumb luck

Round Four – We escape....I think

Round Five – The Party

Travel

High heels on a tile floor

Oops

No ID

Miami Airport

9/11

Rental Cars

- Little Rock

- Baton Rouge

- Left over items

Hotels

When you do it enough, things happen

My room or yours?

Peabody Hotel

King of the Road

Express Checkout

Hunting and the things I have learned not to do

A Duck has a lot of feathers

Never wear your new goose down jacket to the bathroom

Always bring bubble gum when you duck hunt.

Dead ducks can fly

Throw the Zippo Lighter away

You can actually get hurt doing this

- How thick is the ice?

- Boats do not float on ice

- Hey, remember me?

- OK, but it’s my wood

- Hand me the crutches

- Frozen Crown Royal

Has anyone seen my underwear?

CUNNINGHAM DEER CAMP

CUNNINGHAM DEER CAMP

From about 1975 through 1987 I belonged to a deer hunting club in Arkansas. That was back during the times when massive leases weren’t necessary – we in fact just leased 1 acre that contained our club house – and had access to thousands of acres of timber land. The land bordered the Quachita River in South Arkansas, close to El Dorado.  The clubhouse was a solid 15 miles from any paved road and absolutely no private residences, of any kind. I think my dues were $200/year, with some extra charges during open camp and hunting season. We had two cooks that served 3 squares a day –full sit down meals, and we said a prayer before every serving.  We had to do our drinking outside and gambling wasn’t permitted during open camp – which may not sound like your typical deer camp, but take my word for it – it was great.  Times change. The club is still there, but now the dues are in the thousands because they must now lease the ground, protect their boundaries and constantly are concerned about vandalism.  The cooks are gone, replaced by booze and all night poker games – they also don’t have or harvest the quality or quantity of deer we did.

However my memories of the experience, activities and individuals at CUNNINGHAM DEER CAMP would be enough to fill a book by themselves.  I’m not talking about the ‘deer kills’ – hell, those stories seem to always start and end the same way.  I’m talking about the ‘other stories’ – the ones you really remember.

The two most ‘infamous’ characters in our camp were Billy Bob Stone and Tommy Brazier. These two can best be described as simply Arkansas Redneck Outlaws – nothing was too difficult and nothing was out of bounds – in other words, everything goes with these two.  Billy Bob was a...well, he was a Billy Bob – use your imagination.  Tommy was a former University of Arkansas lineman that had not been successful in the NFL.  But he was the size of a horse and I never felt uncomfortable when he was around, however odd that might seem.  Billy Bob was the leader of this duet and always barking instructions and directions to Tommy.  The ideas always were Billy Bob’s, but the ultimate act usually belonged to Tommy. 

Dogs were allowed in this area, but none of our members had any ‘deer dogs’ and really didn’t want to fool with them. Some neighboring camps did run dogs, so I had several nice kills in front of dogs – they were sure handy when the deer got shy and stopped moving – usually after the rut.

Early one hunting season Billy Bob decided that we needed dogs to have a successful hunt and put out notice that dogs would be available for the camp’s use.  He called me, another close friend of mine and Tommy with his plan.  On our way to camp we would detour through several small south Arkansas towns and ‘collect all the stray dogs we could find. He reasoned that we would not only be doing the towns a favor, but we would greatly improve our hunt. Our plan was to get into camp a couple of days early – turn the dogs loose in our hunting areas and they would keep the deer moving throughout the hunt.

It had all the making of a great plan and I really didn’t see any problems until we finally arrived at camp – 22 dogs strong! When I looked at what we had collected, it looked like a PET STORE! Not a hunting dog (that I could identify) in the bunch. Some had collars (which we quickly removed and destroyed), some were hungry, some were thirsty and all were VERY FRIENDLY...somebody’s pet!  We had big ones, small ones, white ones, black ones – some I could identify the breed – 3 labs, a couple of wannabe birddogs, what looked to be a Rottweiler and what was definitely a POODLE!

We got them penned, fed and watered – then off to the woods the next day – the day before season opening.

What a mess!  As you can expect, they didn’t want to be in the woods. They wanted to stay in the truck – a couple of them chased the truck all the way back to camp, and I got to tell you – we drove fast!  We finally got them