JIM “PAPPY” MOORE: The Irrepressible Ronnie McMullen

There used to be a column I read called “My Most Unforgettable Character” in the Reader’s Digest. We got the Reader’s Digest when I was growing up and I was a voracious young reader, gathering useful and useless knowledge along the way. It sure paid to increase my Word Power, among other things.

I have had a number of Unforgettable Characters in my life, but today I want to talk about a big man with a big heart, Ronnie McMullen.

We called him “Ronnie Mac” in our circle of friends, which included Mike Capps and Phil Huber. All those guys are older than me. Mike and Phil are still going strong, in their late 70s in Lufkin, Texas. We stay in touch. Ronnie Mac checked out early, passing away in the late 20th century.

Ronnie Mac was larger than life, literally and figuratively. Whether it was driving up and down Timberland Drive in Lufkin on a Saturday night, or racing fast cars, or going hunting in the river bottom of the Neches River near his Uncle Virgil’s farm, or playing Spades, or cruising the lake in his little speed boat with the big engine, life with Ronnie was always exciting.

Ronnie had to have a new car every year, and he favored Chrysler products. The Dodge Charger, The Dodge Coronet R/T. He loved his big new cars.

We played cards at Ronnie Mac’s house often. Ronnie, Mike, Phil and me. We loved to play Spades. Ronnie was famous for saying “two at time, fellas” as he threw out the Ace and King of a suit other than Spades. Often someone would have only one of the suit, or sometimes even none of the suit, and that meant trumping his King and Ace right off the bat. Didn’t matter. He would do it again the next game. The other one was his bidding. You always knew Ronnie Mac would overbid. He would say “well I’m gonna bid 6 (out of 13 tricks for 4 people) … no guts, no glory!” If we were playing partners and you were Ronnie’s partner, you had to underbid to allow for his overbidding. No guts, No glory!!

Ronnie Mac had a really, really hairy back. Disgustingly hairy. He’d sit there playing cards with no shirt on, drinking whiskey and smoking a cigarette. Then he’d look over and say “Jim, we’ve been friends a long time, haven’t we?” I’d say YES knowing what came next. He’d tilt his head and beg “would you scratch my back?” I hated doing it, but I would. Yikes.

Ronnie would share his food, his drinks, his stuff. He was generous that way. But he could also get out and not have any money on him. One Sunday afternoon Ronnie, Gary Teer and I went deer hunting. We didn’t see a deer, mainly because it was the middle of the day. When we decided to go home Ronnie and Gary said they wanted something to eat. There was a fish place nearby, and I did not want to go there, and didn’t want to eat fish. But they wanted to go there so we did. They eat fish. I watch them. Then the check comes. Ronnie Mac says “I ain’t got any money.” Gary adds “me, neither.” So I had to pick up the check on the meal they ate and I didn’t. Still, it’s funny to me.

 The week before I went to boot camp, I went with Ronnie Mac out to Sam Rayburn Lake, having never before skied behind a boat. He handed me two skis, told me to jump out and put them on, and threw me the rope. He told me how to scrunch down and come up, and that is what I did. I got UP with ease and he proceeded to pull me for an hour straight, from one end of the lake to the other. That was classic Ronnie Mac. He knew at his size he could never have done that, but he knew I could do that.

He left us early, in his fifties. But we still remember him fondly. He was a real character. I’m including a photo of the four of us from the 1970s: Me, Mike Capps, Phil Huber, and Ronnie McMullen.