Page from the Past: The Great Catfish Caper
From “Men of the Underworld: The Professional Criminals Own Story”
Edited by Charles Hamilton
I’ve heard some tall tales in my time, but few as amusing as this little episode from a bygone era. It comes straight from the book “Men of the Underworld: The Professional Criminals’ Own Story,” published in 1952. If you’ve ever wondered just how much mischief two sharp-minded gamblers can cook up over a catfish, well… settle in.
The story begins in New Orleans, where our storyteller and his partner, Bush, had spent the night playing faro. They’d done well for themselves, pocketing a few hundred dollars, and decided to cap off their winnings with a cup of coffee at the French Market before heading to bed. That’s when they spotted it—one enormous catfish, weighing in at a staggering 125 pounds.
Now, I’ve seen some big catfish in my time, but a 125-pounder? That’s the kind of fish that makes a man stop and stare. And sure enough, as the two men admired it, an old fellow ambled up and said exactly what anyone would:
“That is the largest catfish I ever saw.”
Bush, sensing an opportunity, wisely hung back while our storyteller decided to have a little fun. Without missing a beat, he turned to the old man and shook his head.
“You are the worst judge of a fish I ever saw. That is not a catfish—it’s a pike. The largest one ever brought to this market.”
Now, I don’t know about you, but if someone tried to tell me a 125-pound catfish was a pike, I’d start wondering if they’d lost their mind. The old man clearly thought the same because he looked the storyteller up and down and fired back:
“Look here, my boy, where in the devil were you raised?”
When the answer came—Indiana—the old man just nodded, satisfied.
“Well, I thought you were from some hoop-pole state.”
Now, at this point, the whole thing could have ended with a chuckle and a shake of the head. But where’s the fun in that? The storyteller dug in deeper, playing mad, arguing the point and then—because a good con always needs a wager—he threw down the ultimate challenge:
“I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that the fish is a pike.”
The old man hesitated. “Do you mean it?”
Out came the roll of bills. A crisp hundred hit the table. The old man matched it, and now all that was left was to find someone to settle the matter.
Enter Bush, still lurking nearby. He’d positioned himself just right—ledger in hand, pen behind his ear, looking every bit the part of an official market man. The storyteller pointed him out.
“Maybe that man with the book in his hand might know.”
The old man called Bush over. “Do you belong about here?”
Bush, ever the professional, put on his best serious face.
“Oh, yes. I have belonged about here for a good many years.”
Satisfied, the old man explained the bet. Bush sighed, made a show of considering, then finally delivered the verdict:
“I have been market-master here for 20 years, and that is the largest pike I ever saw in this market.”
And that, folks, was that.
The old man stood there, stunned, before finally shaking his head and muttering,
“Well, well, well. I have lived on the Tombigbee River for 45 years, and I never saw two bigger fools than you two.”
Now, you’d think that after losing a hundred dollars, he might be in need of a stiff drink, but when our storyteller offered to buy him a coffee, the old man refused.
“I do not drink with men who do not know a catfish from a pike.”
And with that, he walked away, a little poorer, but perhaps a little wiser. Meanwhile, Bush and his partner strolled home, knowing they’d had a most productive night—not just at the faro table, but in the fine art of storytelling as well.
Now, I’m not here to endorse swindling an old-timer out of his hard-earned cash, but you’ve got to admire the creativity. It just goes to show—whether you’re at the card table or the fish market, the biggest catch of the day isn’t always the one with fins.
