A Tribute To Alvin Richardson

By Dan Cisson

Alvin Richardson. Where did I first meet him? Most likely it was at a barn-burner basketball game in Morgan County back in the mid 1980s. After that it was likely at a family dove shoot. If you were invited to one of these bird-busting shoots, you were definitely privileged. I found out very quickly there was more to these gatherings than popping lead into the sky. We gathered about 10 a.m. and built blinds, then Alvin, his dad, brothers and kids would treat you to a feast in the field like no other. Some fantastic eating, and followed by snacks that Alvin always brought. The talk of the gathering was of the previous night’s football scores and stories of past fishing trips. Alvin stuck me up in the upper right corner of the field where I baked to 105 degrees before the shade eventually fell over me. Those doves would sneak up on me real quick. If one got by me (usually it did), that poor bird had better have his prayers said before he reached the Richardson Army!

I met Alvin at Sugar Creek ramp about 20 years ago and we headed out hybrid fishing. And boy oh boy, did we pig out. We were catching them (no joke) every single throw. It was one of those days you dream of! Alvin had a minor mishap. He was frantically trying to get a set of treble hooks out of a hybrid’s mouth. Then when he got it loose, he kicked his rod and reel in the lake. Without any hesitation, I dove in after it before it sank to the 15-foot bottom. I failed. We started jigging and dragging a spoon on the bottom to hook the line or rod. And even then while trying to rescue his favorite rod and reel, we still caught fish. Alvin dubbed me “his reliable retriever.” And a week or two passed, and I was told that he had plastered that story in the sports section of an Athens newspaper.

Alvin Richardson (right) and the author.

A final story, (there are many more) 25 years ago or so, I invited Alvin to come up with my brother Steve and I to my favorite and secret striper honeyhole. I interrogated Steve to see if he had blindfolded Alvin so he would have no idea where he was. Alvin boarded my boat, and the very first thing he saw was a fluke with a 5/0 hook through it. He inquired to “what could possibly hit that.” Steve said to him, “Coach, you just don’t understand yet.” 

As you may know, stripers can  run in groups. I hooked a striper about 20 pounds, and at the same time, Alvin hooked one that ended up being his personal best, a 25-pounder. My fish chose to go south at Mach 1 in the shallow water, so I reached down and dialed up the trolling motor to high and followed the fish before he spooled me. Meanwhile, Alvin’s fish chose to go north at the same speed. We eventually got both fish netted, but I was heavily grilled on my boat control. And every trip he came back on, he would warn me to keep the boat control tuned for the guest.

I later found Alvin’s article in a Statesboro newspaper, entitled “The Largest Freshwater Fish I Ever Caught.”

It is rumored that upon the last few seconds of life, you see your life flash by. If this is true, I am confident the fellowship and fun with Alvin will re-play on that day for me. Alvin was an incredible guy. If you didn’t know Alvin, you still lost a friend, just one you’d never met. He was that kind of guy. Rest in Peace Alvin. We will see you again, it is written…