Chapter 24: A Fish Story

Of all the book's stories, one of the most unblemished (or completely true) is the story of the Sunday afternoon Tim and I (Jack and Frank) were allowed to go fishing by ourselves. My grandfather's old lake had long been ignored by fishermen, and the catfish therein were apparently starving. Of all my childhood tales, when I think of what brotherhood means, I think of me and Tim on an independent mission together . . . enjoying success and celebrating proudly with one another. On many levels, it was a great Sunday afternoon. Somewhere there is a photograph of me and Tim with all the fish we caught. I hope to find it this summer.

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The old lake was built in 1955, and opened to the public for fishing on Saturday, June 15, 1957. (Daddy was 18, almost 19; I was born in 1959). The opening was chronicled by Bill Allen a staff writer for The Atlanta Journal and Constitution. Mr. Allen wrote a regular column titled, "Outdoor Georgia." (Above is a photograph of an original copy of the story that I have. Papa R.C. is pictured holding his own catch). On Saturday, June 1, Mr. Allen visited the lake and went fishing with my Papa R.C. and my daddy, Doug. In the newspaper story, Mr. Allen claims their fishing party caught 200 fish in five hours. He also applauds my Papa R.C. this way:

"R.C. Vaughan and his son, Doug, both enthusiastic fishermen, for a long time wanted a pond. This one is about eight acres large, and now it is in such powerfully wonderful health that they must open it to the public to (ensure) its future and continued productivity.

"After two years of watchful management and invaluable aid from state fisheries' biologists, the water now produces pound-plus bass and 1 1/2 pound bream wherever you pitch a book."

Of course, throughout the story, he spelled our last name incorrectly. You spell it Vaughan - not Vaughn. Darn newspaper people.

Papa R.C. opened a pier and a bait shack / concession stand at the lake. I barely remember it. In collaborating with daddy for the book, he said they got tired of the traffic and watching out for the safety of people. But, I do remember - later as a boy - going with Papa R.C. to visit fishing hatcheries in northwest Georgia and Alabama. He took me, Tim and our cousin Jeff on some of those trips, and I'm sure that's how the catfish came to be in the lake during our childhood.

Today, the old lake (pictured top in 1981 during my senior year at the University of Georgia) is the last landmark remaining from our life on the farm. All of the farm's buildings and roads were destroyed in recent years, giving way to a monstrous subdivision as Atlanta's sprawl continues its northward march. Today, the lake is located at the end of Raskarity Lane, which is the formal name given to what we called the unpaved lake road. The road was formally named after my Papa R.C. sold the property. Homes now surround the lake's shores. Here's a screen shot, right, from Google Maps that shows the lake today as Vaughan Lake. That's Google's formal name for it - not ours, necessarily. I am pleased with the extended courtesy, however. I put a star on the map where our home used to be.

In next week's post I will tell you about Stozier's Woods, which lined the lake road and was one of our favorite places to play.