It started as innocently as most things of its kind do. The Biscuit and I were sighting in rifles behind his friend Brian’s house some 15 years ago. During the back-and-forth, 50- or 60-yard walks from our shooting perch to the target, The Biscuit kept telling me how fast he was as a youngster.
On his “go” we were off and running, two middle-aged grown men acting like preteens racing through a hayfield towards a makeshift finish line. He was actually a little quicker on his feet than I imagined, especially while toting a few extra pounds over his younger playing weight. I was beating him, though. And just past the midpoint of the race, he pulled up and chirped of a tight hamstring.
The story is fresh, mostly because just two weeks ago he said he was about ready for a rematch.
Unfortunately, it looks like the rematch will have to wait.
My buddy, Jeff Merry, affectionately known as The Biscuit, passed away as a result of a freak accident last Saturday. He was 51. I join a massive chorus of friends far and near who are saddened by the loss.
The Biscuit was among the most kind, fun-loving, good-natured friends you could possibly ask for. His friendship circle was massive, spanning across his many passions. To know Jeff was to want to be friends with him. He was one of “those” kind of friends.
Mutual friend Kenneth Shell introduced me to Jeff shortly after my wife and I moved to Rowan County, NC. Fast friends, Jeff shared a common interest in the outdoors. Before long, a group of us like-minded hunters (self-appointing ourselves the moniker Team Rowan) were traveling to 3-D archery tournaments. A short time later, we started a small hunt club.
On weekends I wasn’t traveling for work, The Biscuit would join my family for Saturday breakfast at a now-defunct restaurant called BeBop’s. There, Jeff became known as “Mister Biscuit” to my daughter Sara.
A proverbial sheep in a wolf’s clothing, Jeff’s genuine kindness is legendary. I’m talking Hall of Fame worthy kindheartedness – especially with kids. This is a trait that didn’t need him leaving this Earth to note. It’s been spoken amongst friends for a long time. He was just the kind of guy who would do anything for you. He moved me twice, catered a party we had, picked up a cooler of elk meat in another city, helped build a swing set for my daughter, hung deer stands and so much more.
Jeff’s day job as a trucker gave him the uncanny trait of knowing where all the good (and bad) restaurants were, especially Biscuitville! It was common for him to tell you we were going to stop “off the slab up here at 103” to “slide into Biscuitville.” More impressive were the small restaurants he’d know about in other states! The Biscuit could tell you the best burger off many exits from here to south Florida.
“Whatta ya know good, trucker?” is how I’d typically answer the phone when he’d call. I’ve never been one to enjoy long phone conversations. Not Jeff. Calls with him typically lasted longer than anticipated. He ended his calls often with the familiar “Well carry on. Bah.”
I’d give a lot to have a few more minutes with him on the other end of that phone – his famous headset in place while he pointed that truck down the road.
He was a helluva driver – safe and calculated. I’d put his backing skills against any. His driving is the only I’ve ever felt comfortable enough to be a passenger with to get a solid sleep while traveling.
Among my favorite memories with Jeff is the weeklong trip we made to Illinois to chase deer. He drove the whole way. It was among my favorite memory-making weeks ever.
While tracking a deer during that trip, I mentioned to Jeff that I wish we had a saw. The deer I shot had just finished a fresh rub on a tree near where I arrowed him. I really wanted to cut down the large sapling as a memory of his last rub.
“That ain’t no problem,” Jeff said.
Next thing I see was The Biscuit tackling the tree like a linebacker shooting the A-gap! The tree came out of the ground – root and all. It now rests in my basement alongside the mounted buck!
Jeff made friends wherever he was. Our trips out of state were no different. Simply put, everyone just loved being around The Biscuit, even when he served as de facto camp chef.
On the same trip to Illinois, several new friends were full of smiles and laughs when they awoke early in the morning to Jeff cooking a breakfast spread. To this day, I’m not sure if the giggles were because they’d never heard of livermush, or they’ve never seen livermush cooked by a bald guy with a headlamp on his noggin cooking it in his boxer briefs.
That was The Biscuit!
I reached out to friends in three states to share the sad news of Jeff’s passing. All were equally devastated. Our friend, Tyler, noted that The Biscuit was “always the life of camp.”
Truer words have never been uttered.
He was in Ohio when I was hunting in Iowa several years back when we texted each other about our success afield. I shared with him a rough score of a buck I’d taken. He thought I was pulling his leg and swore someone had told me what his deer scored. They hadn’t! It turns out that we ended up shooting deer one day apart, over 800 miles away from one another, that had near identical antler scores.
We carried them together to the taxidermist the following week and even had them photographed together after they were mounted. It might have been just us, but we thought it was a unique and cool story!
The memories over the years sure are aplenty. The recent ones will remain fresh.
I’m thankful for the few days we spent sharing camp and hunting together just two weeks ago. There, along with another great friend in Jason Shell, we shared plenty of stories and many familiar laughs.
We also shared some of the life stuff too.
Jeff spoke of the emotional rollercoaster he goes through around Christmas, thanks to its proximity to when his mother passed away. Her passing from cancer had a profound effect on Jeff. We broke bread together at all our normal places – Chick-Fil-A and, of course, Biscuitville. We even found a new place that had fantastic chicken wings. We were excited to make it a regular for hunting trips.
Just a few days later, my 12-year-old son shot his first deer. The Biscuit was among the first to get the grip-and-grin photo. His excited response included congratulations for Reid and noted how proud he knew I must be. It was the last text I got from Jeff.
Life is precious and the world carries with it so many reminders to reinforce that. Jeff knew that too. Sometimes in life, though, it’s the precious things that get gone too soon. Jeff “The Biscuit” Merry was one of them. And he will be missed.
We’ll get that rematch one day. You practice up, Trucker, before I get there.
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