inyati13
Well-known member
When I was finishing my master's research, I met one of the memorable people of my lifetime. It was the summer of 1973. My landlord, Elmer, was visiting. He looked at the field boxes that held snakes, lizards, turtles, etc. He said, "Ron, you should get the Snake Man to help you." I was writing my thesis on the herpetofauna of Upper Lick Fork. The area was soon to be flooded by a Corp of Engineers reservoir. The Reservoir today is known as Cave Run Reservoir, Morehead, KY.
I knocked on the door of the house trailer where the Snake Man lived. A tall thin old man opened the door. He must have been 50. He never spoke. He stared at me with cold blue eyes. I went first, "Elmer sent me." He said, "Elmer Gregory?" I said, "Yep." "Come in."
I stepped in. The place was stale and smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. The man's little fox terrier was sniffing my shoes. I looked down and the dog looked up. I said, "Elmer calls you the Snake Man." He said, "My name is Denzel." Denzel was the most devoted alcoholic I have ever known. He was never without a pint of whiskey. I assumed he paid his way on disability. He was a veteran. I noticed a deep depression on the left side of his head just above his forehead. He had taken a large rattlesnake to a local drive-up restaurant in a metal lard can, those old lard cans must have been 5 gallons. He dumped it in the parking area. It was alive. The owner called the Morehead Police. Denzel resisted arrest and was hit in the head with a baton. It crushed a large section of his cranium. He was hauled off to jail where he nearly bled to death before he was rushed to Lexington. They put a metal plate in his head. Denzel was proud of the metal plate. He would put his fingers on the spot and say, "I kin feel the blood beatin."
I paid Denzel $5 a day to help me find snakes. I picked him up each day. He had a funny way of lookin at ye. When he came to the door, I ask if he was ready. He would move his lips up and down twice like he was pantomiming the words he was about to speak. Then, he would quietly say "Yep." Denzel did not like early starts. The first place we went was the bootlegger. There was a trailer on Clack Mountain. You drive behind the trailer, a guy opened a window and slid you beer or whiskey. Rowan County was dry in those days. Denzel bought the cheapest whiskey, a pint for easy carry. He never took a drink that he did not first offer me one. Only rarely did I help him drink his whiskey. I can see his face in my head. Hair slicked back with grease. His partly closed cold blue eyes holding eye contact with mine. He never said anything, he just extended his arm with the bottle in his hand.
Denzel's dog was a snake hunter. We followed the little dog along the high sandstone cliffs of the deciduous woods along Upper Lick fork. The dog would engage every snake he found. The little dog would corner them against the back of the big overhanging rock ledges. I could walk in under the higher ledges. The huge timber rattlesnakes were a thrill. They struck at the dog but could not match his athleticism. I would move in with the pilstrom tongs, catch the snake and slip it in the sack. The dog's favorite snake was copperheads. The dog went into an old abandoned barn one time and before we were finished, I netted 13 copperheads. One of those was the biggest copperhead my major professor had ever seen. The snakes I caught were prepared for study. They were used in the herpetology classes. I took Denzel into Lappin Hall with me. I showed him how the specimens were prepared. He was never pressed for time and went to the lab with me at the end of the day. Sometimes it was dark when we got finished. On rare occasions, we stopped at Jerry's Restaurant and had dinner. His conversations were simple. He always started conversation with a pantomime.
I set jig lines along the river where Upper Lick Fork discharged into the Licking River. I caught a dozen different species of turtles but none interested Denzel until I caught a snapping turtle. He ask me if I had to turn it in. He wanted to cook it. He had a cast iron kettle that he put outside on a hot fire. I went home. The next day when I picked him up, I ate some of his turtle.
I often think about that old man. What was in his head? He had no ambitions other than hunting snakes, his dog and whiskey. He was a recluse. I never saw him associate with anyone. He never once said he had something else he needed to do!
I knocked on the door of the house trailer where the Snake Man lived. A tall thin old man opened the door. He must have been 50. He never spoke. He stared at me with cold blue eyes. I went first, "Elmer sent me." He said, "Elmer Gregory?" I said, "Yep." "Come in."
I stepped in. The place was stale and smelled of cigarettes and alcohol. The man's little fox terrier was sniffing my shoes. I looked down and the dog looked up. I said, "Elmer calls you the Snake Man." He said, "My name is Denzel." Denzel was the most devoted alcoholic I have ever known. He was never without a pint of whiskey. I assumed he paid his way on disability. He was a veteran. I noticed a deep depression on the left side of his head just above his forehead. He had taken a large rattlesnake to a local drive-up restaurant in a metal lard can, those old lard cans must have been 5 gallons. He dumped it in the parking area. It was alive. The owner called the Morehead Police. Denzel resisted arrest and was hit in the head with a baton. It crushed a large section of his cranium. He was hauled off to jail where he nearly bled to death before he was rushed to Lexington. They put a metal plate in his head. Denzel was proud of the metal plate. He would put his fingers on the spot and say, "I kin feel the blood beatin."
I paid Denzel $5 a day to help me find snakes. I picked him up each day. He had a funny way of lookin at ye. When he came to the door, I ask if he was ready. He would move his lips up and down twice like he was pantomiming the words he was about to speak. Then, he would quietly say "Yep." Denzel did not like early starts. The first place we went was the bootlegger. There was a trailer on Clack Mountain. You drive behind the trailer, a guy opened a window and slid you beer or whiskey. Rowan County was dry in those days. Denzel bought the cheapest whiskey, a pint for easy carry. He never took a drink that he did not first offer me one. Only rarely did I help him drink his whiskey. I can see his face in my head. Hair slicked back with grease. His partly closed cold blue eyes holding eye contact with mine. He never said anything, he just extended his arm with the bottle in his hand.
Denzel's dog was a snake hunter. We followed the little dog along the high sandstone cliffs of the deciduous woods along Upper Lick fork. The dog would engage every snake he found. The little dog would corner them against the back of the big overhanging rock ledges. I could walk in under the higher ledges. The huge timber rattlesnakes were a thrill. They struck at the dog but could not match his athleticism. I would move in with the pilstrom tongs, catch the snake and slip it in the sack. The dog's favorite snake was copperheads. The dog went into an old abandoned barn one time and before we were finished, I netted 13 copperheads. One of those was the biggest copperhead my major professor had ever seen. The snakes I caught were prepared for study. They were used in the herpetology classes. I took Denzel into Lappin Hall with me. I showed him how the specimens were prepared. He was never pressed for time and went to the lab with me at the end of the day. Sometimes it was dark when we got finished. On rare occasions, we stopped at Jerry's Restaurant and had dinner. His conversations were simple. He always started conversation with a pantomime.
I set jig lines along the river where Upper Lick Fork discharged into the Licking River. I caught a dozen different species of turtles but none interested Denzel until I caught a snapping turtle. He ask me if I had to turn it in. He wanted to cook it. He had a cast iron kettle that he put outside on a hot fire. I went home. The next day when I picked him up, I ate some of his turtle.
I often think about that old man. What was in his head? He had no ambitions other than hunting snakes, his dog and whiskey. He was a recluse. I never saw him associate with anyone. He never once said he had something else he needed to do!
