in an old…fashioned main？〃
The decision was up to me。 I was positive Omar wouldn't object to the challenge。 Burke fed almost twice as many cocks as we did； but I had a fierce hankering to beat him in a two…entry main。 I lowered my chin a fraction and spat between his feet。
〃Good！ I'll make the necessary arrangements to get the pit on the thirty…first； the day after the derby。 How does two hundred dollars a fight sound； with a thousand on the odd fight？〃
For the third time in as many minutes； I shook hands with Burke。
He started to say something else； changed his mind； and walked away through the deepening dusk toward the parking lot。 Burke was still a damned good man。 In time he would learn how to handle Dody。 But the memory of this humiliating episode would rankle him forever。 I knew this； and I knew just as well that he would eventually blame me instead of himself。 That's the way men are。
The next day we lost only one fight in the six…cock derby； but it was one fight too many。 Jack Burke didn't lose a single fight； and picked up the thousand…dollar purse。 Getting close only means something when it es to pitching horseshoes。 But despite the lost fight； Omar had placed enough judicious bets to add nine hundred dollars to our bankroll。
The money was wele； of course； but the Tifton loss was made even more depressing by the sad news that Martha Middleton； Ed Middleton's wife； had died of a heart attack。 Her obituary appeared in the same issue of The Southern Cockfighfer that carried the announcement of Ed Middleton's retirement from the sport。
I had liked the old lady； and I tried to write Ed a letter of condolence。 But after a futile attempt to write a decent letter that didn't sound banal or morbid； I gave up on the idea and sent him a mercial condolence card by special delivery。 Not much of a writer himself； Ed Middleton acknowledged receipt of my condolences by thanking me on the back of a picture postcard of Disney World。 His card was waiting for me when I returned to Ocala。
There was also a letter waiting for me in my mailbox from Frances； my fat sister…in…law。 Frances was the last person I ever expected to hear from。 After two stiff drinks and a wait of one hour； I made myself open the letter。
Dear Frank；
Only a few short weeks ago I hated you and would have been glad to shoot you。 But now I see your wisdom in getting Randall out of the terrible rut he was in。 He won't write you； because he's too proud。 But he loves you and he's your very own brother and I want you to write him soon。
It was an awful shock to move out of what I considered my home for life； especially knowing that wreckers were going to tear it down the next day。
But I forgive you； Frank； for what it did for Randy。
We could； have moved in with Daddy in Macon； but Randy wouldn't do it。 We rented a room in a boardinghouse in Macon instead…and Frank； Randy hasn't had a single drink since the morning we left the farm！
He found a position right away。 You remember how he used to dig through those law books day after day？ Well； he took some of his findings down to the White Citizen's Council and they were actually amazed at some of the loopholes he found in the new bussing laws。 Anyway； they hired him as a full…time WCC counselor with a retainer of eight thousand dollars a year！ And it's all been so wonderful for me； too。 Randy takes me to all the meetings and I've met ever so many nice new people！ His speeches are just wonderful； Frank； and he gets one hundred dollars and expenses every time he talks。 Next Monday； we're going to the WCC rally in Atlanta and Randy is going to talk about the blackpower movement。 i'm proud enough to bust and his picture will be in the paper！ Next Monday； in the Constitution； but I'll cut it out and send you a copy。
I can't tell you how happy I am about Randy's success。 Make up with your brother； Frank。 Please？
He loves you and so do I！
All my love； Frances。
I had no intention of writing Randall and making up with him。 But I appreciated the news from Frances。 I had feared that the two of them would appear at my Ocala farm some morning； begging to be taken in…and I would have been forced to shelter them。 Now that Randall was finally on his own； he could go his way and I would go mine。 I didn't answer Frances either； but I saved the envelope because it had their Macon address。
When Christmastime came； I would send them a card。 Peace on Earth。 Good Will toward Men！ Anytime Randall really wanted to make up with me； all he had to do was to send me the three hundred dollars he owed me。
It was my fault that we lost the Plant City derby； although no one can win them all； no matter how good his gamecocks are。 But I had concentrated on the selection and the conditioning of the cocks for the post…derby main with Jack Burke； and Omar had done most of the conditioning for the derby。 I can't blame Omar for the loss。 He did a good conscientious job。 I did feel； however； that if I had helped him more we would have e out better than third place。 There was some consolation in the fact that Jack Burke finished fourth。 Like me； Jack had undoubtedly concentrated his efforts on preparing for our main。
The Texas entry of Johnny McCoy and Colonel Bob Moore were the winners of the derby； and it was no disgrace to lose to them。 These partners are two of the biggest names in U。S。 cockfighting。
Like a bridge player； who can remember every important hand he held in a rubber of bridge five or ten years back； a cockfighter can remember the details of every pitting in an important cockfight。 The details of the two…entry main between Jack Burke and myself are still as vivid in my mind as if it were held ten minutes ago。 But I like the way Tex Higdon reported the event in The American Gamefowl Quarterly。
Tex had been reporting cockfights for game…fowl magazines for twenty years or more； and he's a topflight pit reporter。 And yet； hardly a season goes by when Tex doesn't get into one or two fistfights for his pains。 His way of writing rubs a lot of high…strung cockfighters the wrong way； especially when they are on the receiving end of his sarcasm。 But his reporting is conscientious when it es to accuracy。 It takes a damned good eye to catch fast action in the pit。 The following is a tear sheet of his article from The American Gamefowl Quarterly：
Red Heels At Plant City！
by Tex Higdon
Plant City Florida； November 31…If you're looking for the results of the Southern Conference Plant City Derby； held November 30th； you'd better look elsewhere in these pages。 This Texan is reporting the Main between the two master cockers； Jack Burke and silent Frank Mansfield。 By the way； folks； Frank has gone out and got himself a partner after all these years； a New York country boy with the worst looking black beard your reporter has seen in a month of Sundays。 It's a good thing Frank don't talk anymore。 His new sidekick； Omar Baradinsky； does enough talking for three cockfighters！
The Main was a real old…fashioned…type event； well worth staying over for in Plant City another day。 I wish we had more mains like this one； or at least more mains。 This is an old cockpit； but there's plenty of room for three hundred people。 The main pit is below ground； the way they ought to be； there are plenty of cockhouses； and clean latrines for visitors； plus a drag pit that's better than most regular pits I've seen at supposedly high…class game clubs。 Pit operator…referee Tom Doyle sells toasted cheese sandwiches for a dollar apiece； and that's an outrage； but as long as people buy them； he'll probably keep the same price。 Next time I visit Plant City； this Texas boy will bring his own lunch！
Referee Tom Doyle announced right off： 〃If you people violate our rules； have yourself a few too many drinks and get tough； you're just right for me to handle！〃 Tom Doyle is big enough for the crowd to believe him。 They were downright cowed； and hip pints were well hidden。
There were three checkweights； 5：00； 6：05； and shake； as set up by Jack Burke。 Frank won the toss and decided to fight from bottom weights up。 Twenty…six cocks were shown