The Man That Was
I
26
first met Forrest in 1975. Back
then, I was just a kid going to the
Ranger Boats factory to give him
feedback, quite honestly, on some
things I didn’t like about his 1776
SUPER-A, which was his brand-new
boat model. I thought the boats were
too heavy. I thought they had too
many features bass fishermen didn’t
really need, and I kind of expected
the owner of the company to dislike
me as soon as I told him, straight up,
how it was.
I thought all of those things
because I hadn’t met Forrest yet; I
didn’t know about the special effect
he had on people.
By the time I left Ranger that day, I
was convinced that Forrest had made
all the right calls on that build. I
couldn’t believe how nice, how hum-
ble and how willing he was to accept
recommendations from a kid. It was
amazing how cordial he was to me.
After meeting with Forrest and learn-
ing why they did what they did, he
totally changed my mind.
In a few years, he’d help totally
change my life.
The following season, I won
Angler of the Year on the National
Bass Association (NBA) trail. Back
then, B.A.S.S. had a 150-horsepower
limit on outboards, and I was run-
ning a 175, so I was fishing the NBA
and the American Bass Association
(ABA) instead. This was very early in
my career. I was borrowing money
on short-term bank notes to pay
entry fees and just starting to win a
few things. After I won that Angler of
the Year, I got a letter in the mail
from Forrest congratulating me on
winning the championship.
The letter basically said,
“Congratulations on winning Angler
of the Year. Everyone here at Ranger
Boats has been watching, and we are
so proud of you.”
I was amazed, because I had no
idea Forrest even remembered who
I was.
Then, in 1978, I won the NBA
Angler of the Year again, and I also
qualified for the Bassmaster Classic
for the first time on Ross Barnett
Reservoir down in Mississippi.
Forrest walked up to me at that
Classic and congratulated me on the
Forrest was a champion of youth fishing programs. Working alongside Hank Parker and others,
he helped to introduce thousands of kids to the outdoors.
NBA championship again. He asked
me what it was like.
“Forrest, it’s kind of bittersweet,” I
told him.
Startled, he looked at me.
“How could it be better?” he
asked.
So I explained that winning the
NBA championship meant my entry
fees for the next season would be
paid. That was a big deal to me,
because I was just sort of becoming
financially independent. But in order
to get my fees paid, I had to run a
boat also awarded to me for winning
that title. And that boat – well, it was-
n’t a Ranger. I relayed this to Forrest,
and he looked at me with a grin.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll
put you in a Ranger boat and make
sure those fees are paid on the
Ranger end,” he said. Then, he shook
my hand.
I about fainted.
That was the end of it. There was
no contract. There was a handshake,
and that was it. The next week, a lady
named Mildred Stewart called me
and asked what model boat I wanted
and what color I wanted it in. If that
wasn’t enough, I found out that
Forrest had not only paid my NBA
entry fees, but my fees for the ABA
and B.A.S.S. as well.
There are legends in the South
from the 1950s and ’60s. They date
back to the days when Elvis Presley —
who was always at his heart a poor
boy from Tupelo, Miss. — would ride
the streets of Memphis on his Harley
or walk through the avenues of what-
ever city he happened to be playing
that night. Inevitably, the stories start
with a chance encounter Presley
would have with someone less fortu-
nate and end with “the King” giving
someone a Cadillac.
I’m here to tell you that there may
be many stories like that about
Forrest Wood, too.
Forrest was not a braggadocios
man, but he did great things for other
people. Over the years, I came to learn
this not because he’d tell me about his
deeds, but because I’d start to carefully
put puzzle pieces together.
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