by Gyce Butler
Pretty much anytime I am asked my first name, my response is “Let me spell it to you. It’s four letters, but complicated.” Usually, the response after I spell G-y-c-e to them is, “Wow, that’s an unusual name.”
How do you pronounce it?” If you take the word “ice” and put a “G” at the beginning you are on your way to pronouncing a simple, yet complicated, name correctly. For 45 years, I have spelled, pronounced, and explained the origin of my first name to people.
On March 14, 1907, in Fordyce Arkansas, a boy was born to the parents of George T. and Ella Jones. Raised and educated in Fordyce, he moved to Pine Bluff, AR, in 1940 and was married to Lucille Clemmons. He was an Army veteran of World War II and worked as a painting contractor for 40 years, retiring in 1973. One of his noted projects was helping paint the old bridge that crossed the White River into the small town of Clarendon, AR. He was a member of Jacob Brump Masonic Lodge, the Sahara Shrine Temple and the Scottish Rite Consistory. Grifford Guyce Jones passed December 13, 1993 at the age of 86. He was survived by a son and 2 daughters, one being my grandmother, Virginia Butler of Pine Bluff, AR.
Grandaddy was a huge outdoorsman. He grew up on the dirty end of the White River where he perfected his craft doodle-socking for bass, crappie fishing with Yoyo’s in the oxbows, squirrel hunting in the hardwood bottoms, and of course chasing mallards in the timber. My dad spent a lot of time at Grandaddy and Mama Lou’s house growing up, and as an honor to the time that was invested in my dad, when I came along in 1979, my parents decided to name me after my great grandfather, Grifford Guyce Jones. They wanted to eliminate the “u” from the name so people wouldn’t call me “Guy” in short. They might have succeeded in running defense for that manner, but they will admit they opened up a whole other can by spelling my name “Gyce.” I’ve been called everything from Goose to Gracie.
I wasn’t able to spend any time with Grandaddy in the outdoors doing the things he loved. Most of our time was spent visiting in the living room of thier Pine Bluff home a few blocks from my grandparent’s house when we would go up to visit from East Texas. I have heard a lot of stories from him and my dad while we would sit in the living room drinking those short glass 7-up’s. It wasn’t until later that I learned the reason Mama Lou and Grandaddy kept a good supply of those squatty drinks wasn’t for when their great grandson would pay a visit. It was for their nightly hot toddy. Apparently, he could mix one up pretty good, and was also quite skilled at making egg nogg in the bathtub with a boat paddle. Whatever was in that nogg sure kept the ol’ tub shiny white. I have always wondered what it would have been like to spend some time with him in the Delta. Although, it may be good he was up in age by the time I was old enough to roll on my own. We might have ended up in trouble.
I accredit my love for the outdoors from him. Thankfully, I didn’t pick up the love for the “hooch”, and I have always steered clear knowing the “love” for it runs in my lineage. Even though Grandaddy wasn’t able to pour his love for the outdoors into me directly, my dad made up for it. He passed down to me what Grandaddy taught him. My dad and I have been on tons of fishing and hunting trips. From chasing trout on the pretty part of the White, stripers on Beaver Lake, geese in the Delta, or quail in the mesquite, he took what he had learned from Grandaddy and passed it along to me.
Each spring I think about Granddaddy when the crappie are spawning. I can’t help but think he would love to see what East Texas has to offer this time of year.
As we were hosting our 2nd annual kid’s fishing day at the farm a month ago, I looked around at the almost 100 people, and it was a variety of dynamics. There were complete family units, just moms with kids, just dads with kids, grandparents with kids, and stand-in grandparents with kids. It was great to see so many investing a little time with those kids not knowing that a multitude of memories were being made.
Our efforts managing the lake were not only obvious in our spring fish survey, but in the fish the kids caught. I think I am pretty safe to say that no kid got skunked. There were a lot of sun perch and blue gill caught. Some of them were so healthy they looked like a busted can of biscuits when you held them. A couple of our Northern bass showed out and gave the kid’s little Zebco’s a run for their money. No one got hooked, and all three large platters of Chick-fil-A nuggets were consumed. That was the recipe for a successful day, and the end of a short run of events that have happened at the farm since Easter kicked it off with a bang.
It’s time to buckle down, and get in the grind of our summer routine. For the next few months, we’ll be focused on hay production and keeping minerals out with the cattle in mind. The calves are growing and requiring a lot from their mamas. Minerals are one non-negotiable when looking for something to cut and save money on in a cattle operation. We will also be spraying herbicides both on pastures and on the lake. There isn’t much to do on the lake side of things except making sure the fish feeders stay full to feed the baitfish. We’ll be doing another round of tilapia this summer for vegetation control in the lake while they also provide another food source for our bass. By August, I will be dreaming of 55 degrees mornings and a chatterbait bite. Even though the next few months will be jammed with tasks on the farm, I assure you time will be made to do a “welfare check” on the bass on the home pond and the big lakes. It’s in my blood.
Isn’t it interesting that for most, our proper name is as much of us as our own skin. Not only can a name connect each of us to our own identity and individuality, but it can also carry pride, a story, and possibly a blessing. As complicated as my name can be, I am truly blessed to be named after Grandaddy. I am sure he never dreamed, while he was running the waters and timber of the Arkansas Delta that many years later, his stories and legacy would carry enough meaning to be in the words of this article and the heart of the author. The only relics I have of Grandaddy’s are some wooden lures in a shadow box, a couple of old fishing Yoyo’s, his old P.S. OLT D-2 duck call, some old hand carved cork duck decoys, and his duck club badge. What means more to me than anything is that I have his name. Grandaddy painted to make a living, but I am sure he also painted to afford his passion in the outdoors. That doesn’t seem like a lavish life, but it was a life that created a legacy. At the end of the day, each of us have the same opportunity that he did many years ago. We have a name, and we have the chance to leave a legacy. Truth is, we all will leave a legacy of some sorts. It’s up to me and it’s up to you to choose to leave an impactful one. Proverbs 13:22 says “A good person leaves an inheritance for their children’s children, but a sinner’s wealth is stored up for the righteous.” If we prioritize building a legacy beyond our lifetime, generations to come will be better for it.
