GRANDDAD’S BLOOD BAIT, by Gene GarrisonGranddad’s blood bait was downright revered in our hometown. It drew catfish like flies. No, more like magic. Unfortunately, it drew Cletus, too.
I’m old, too old. It’s hard to get around. My eyes and ears have let me down. Most worrisome, my short-term memory is shot to hell. But I can remember each and every detail of that long ago day and night. In the normal course of events, I would be writing this to your daddy, but we lost him—and your mom—way too soon. He never should have taken the job in Riyadh, and never should have taken you and your mother halfway around the world with him—hazard pay or not.
All oil fields are death traps…just like the one that killed my own father—your great-grandfather. Granddad always said the rig explosion in the pa
