Normally, I wouldn’t think to have to travel to just outside a city like Hawkeye, Iowa. But I was beckoned there by a man who felt he had a problem, and needed to speak his mind.
“I don’t like ‘em one bit” Tad Johnson says, spitting out a seed from an applecore. “They come to my farm, always stirring up trouble. Some say they’re just looking for food, but I know better. I tell ya, they’re black through and through – it’s not just the color of their bodies, but their hearts, too.”
When Tad speaks of the invaders, you see the hate in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Even though admitting they’ll be gone soon enough, he won’t let this pass. His words suggest he treats this like a war, and won’t be happy until his enemy comes around nevermore. He came off as not necessarily an admirable figure, but a captivating individual nonetheless.
Wanting to learn more about such a figure, I drive into the center of town. Not surprisingly given the town might number 500 people, I quickly find several who know Tad. What they have to say, however, throw me for a loop.
“Oh yeah, I deal with Tad often,” says Jed Billings, owner of several grain silos. “He’s a bit off his rocker.”
“Yep,” agrees Buck James. “Especially when it comes to crows.”
Crows, I ask?
“Yeh, though he talks about ‘em like they were a plague.” Buck adds. “True, they claim a lot of corn, but they rid us of many bugs, too. That poor old coot can’t stand to lose a kernel, though.”
Confused, I drove back to the Johnson farm, to clarify my story.
“Oh, don’t pay attention to them.” Tad begins. For a second I felt relief, until he continues, “Oh, they’re crows alright, but no ordinary ones. Drat my luck that there’s only one way for me to show you what they did.”
Here he grabs a VCR tape, and plopped it in the machine. Captured on it where several cartoons featuring Heckle and Jeckle, who to be precise, were actually magpies. After one in particular where they humiliate a farmer and trick him out of some of his corn, Tad stops the tape.
“I got this from the Baltimore TV station.” he proclaims. “But the same thing happened to me. Right down to the name-calling.”
It’s at this point I decide to leave. I make an excuse about finding help for his cause, but instead leave town. Contrary to what Mr. Johnson might believe, no crows (or magpies) could be reached for comments.