Looking through the thousands of photos on my computer, I ran across one of my Dad, and that put me in the frame of mind to share just what a special man he was to me.
Thomas Ernest “Doc” Harris was born in the hamlet of Friendship, Louisiana, on March 5, 1909. His mom was Edna Strain; his dad William Austin Harris, older brother to well-known, long-time state Superintendent of Education, T.H. Harris.
My grandfather was a hill farmer who eventually moved the family to Goldonna, another community about the size of Friendship.
In his growing up years, dad was sometimes described as a “rounder,” getting involved in all the stuff kids did back in those days. He was a good athlete, especially in track and field where pole vaulting was an event to which he excelled.
After high school, Dad wanted to see the world so he joined the U.S. Navy and upon returning home, he was attracted to LeMee Meek, a young lady in the neighboring town of Readhimer. They married, built a house in Goldonna and were parents to three children. I was the first to come along followed by my brother Tom and eventually to a sister, Linda.
I remember tagging along with him when one of his first jobs was going around the country-side selling Watkins Products. Later, he worked for the highway department and eventually landed a job with the state Department of Wildlife and Fisheries as a state trapper and eventually being promoted to Supervisor of Predator Control for the Department. It was during his 30-year career that my memories are most special.
I was the envy of kids back in school when they learned that my dad made his living trapping wolves and bobcats, creatures that were creating havoc among folks who had cattle, hogs and chickens. Among my most special memories was when I got to go with him early summer mornings to run his traps. Watching how he carefully set his traps and returning the next day to find a wolf, bobcat or fox in a trap I watched him set was especially exciting for a 10-year-old boy.
There was a report of a cougar hanging around a portion of rural Natchitoches Parish with dad’s assignment to trap it. He didn’t catch it, but he came close as the cougar stepped in his trap on a day when rain the night before had allowed sand to filter beneath the pan of the trap and when the cat stepped on it, it failed to trip. I have in my office today a concrete print of the cougar track Dad poured of that cat he came close to trapping.
Over the course of his career, it became evident that the red wolves he had been trapping were starting to fade out. Coyotes had moved into the state from Texas and began interbreeding with the wolves, rendering offspring that were no longer pure red wolves. His efforts changed from trapping them to trying to help preserve their fading numbers.
Today except for a remnant of pure red wolves in a protected areas in the Carolinas, they no longer roam the hills of our state and that’s a shame. Getting to hear the mournful howl of these animals at night on a Winn Parish hillside is a memory I cherish.
Dad had been gone to his Heavenly reward for almost 50 years. I feel blessed to have been the son of a special man who taught me how to hunt squirrels, sneak up on wood ducks and catch a bass and do it all in an ethical way.
He would be thrilled to know that his son took so much of what he taught me and turned it into becoming an outdoors writer, how I to make my living today.
Contact Glynn at glynnharris37@gmail.com
