Documenting, studying, and celebrating the diverse food cultures of the changing American South.
Oral History Project Index
Florida’s Forgotten Coast – Home
WORKING THE BAY
Melanie
Cooper Covell
James Hicks
Monette
Hicks
Monica
Lemieux
Carl McCaplan
James & Betty
McNeill
Charles &
Rex Pennycuff
A. L. Quick
Henry Tindell
TOOLS OF THE TRADE
Wes Birdsong
Corky Richards
Bobby Shiver
Charles
Thompson
Genaro
“Jiggs” Zingarelli
PROCESSING THE CATCH
Terry Dean
Grady Leavins
Lynn Martina
Fred Millender
Janice
Richards
Anthony
Taranto
Tommy Ward
THE SWEET SIDE
Donald Smiley
George
Watkins
VINTAGE APALACH
Seafood
& Honey
WHERE TO EAT
Apalach
Eateries
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Interviews & photographs by Amy Evans Streeter.
This project sponsored by the St.
Joe Company.
James Hicks
Oyster Opener, Papa Joe’s Oyster Bar & Grill
Papa Joe's Oyster Bar & Grill
301-B Market Street
Apalachicola, FL 32320
(850) 653-1189
An old oysterman, he can take the tongs, and he can feel on the bottom, whether it's oysters or shells with it—the feel of the iron heads on the oyster tongs. He can feel on the bottom and tell, basically, if it's oysters or either shells [by] the difference in the feel of it. – James Hicks
In 1942, the year James Hicks was born, dozens of families lived and worked thirteen miles west of Apalachicola. Their lives revolved around Miller’s Fish & Oyster Company on the west end of the Apalachicola Bay, with a clear view of Indian Pass and St. Vincent Island. The Hicks family was one of those families. James’s father, Henry Harrison Hicks, worked for the Millers. James followed suit, working on the bay by the time he was twelve years old. He oystered for near thirty-five years before he decided to hang his hat and get a more reliable job. Today, 13 Mile is the name of the seafood house that was once Miller’s. James is still very much connected to the place and to oysters. His wife, Oddys, is a shucker out at 13 Mile. And James opens oysters from 13 Mile for his loyal customers at Papa Joe’s Oyster Bar & Grill in downtown Apalachicola.
Listen to this 4-minute audio clip of James Hicks talking about his wife, Oddys, who is a shucker at 13 Mile, and a shucker’s relationship with an oyster house. [Windows Media Player required. Go here to download the player for free.] What follows is a portion of the original interview that has been edited for length. To download the entire transcript in PDF form, please click here.
SUBJECT: James Hicks – opener, Papa Joe’s Oyster Bar & grill
DATE: December 4, 2005 & March 24, 2006
LOCATION: Papa Joe’s Oyster Bar & Grill – Apalachicola, FL
INTERVIEWER: Amy Evans
Amy Evans: All right, this is Amy Evans on Sunday, December 4th, 2005, and I'm in Apalachicola, Florida at Papa Joe's Oyster Bar with Mr. James Hicks. And sir, would you please say your name and your birthday for the record?
James Hicks: Uh-hmm, my name is James Hicks, born January 29th, 1942.
And are you a native of Apalachicola?
I'm a native of Apalachicola—born and raised here.
How many generations does your family go back in this area?
Three generations.
All working the bay?
All worked in the seafood industry.
Can you talk about the other people in your family when they got started, what they were doing and what that was like?
Well when they got started and they were commercial fishermen, and back in them old days it was hard times to make it, you know. Just—and as the time progressed got a little better and better and better.
And they were just working the bay getting oysters and shrimp?
They were working getting oysters, shrimp, crabs, flounders—the whole nine yards…My father [Henry Harrison Hicks] was a commercial fisherman; he fished for a company [Miller’s Fish & Oyster Company, which is now 13 Mile]. He was self-employed.
Okay, can you explain how that works a little bit?
Well when you're self-employed you go and you work—you catch oysters and you have to sell them to a certified dealer—to their house—which they're certified through the State. And then they pay you what the oysters is going for right at that time.
And then when you were coming up, how early were you out on the bay working?
I was on the bay by the time I was twelve years old.
You remember your first time out?
Oh God, no. [Laughs] It's been a long time. But I remember some hard times out there.
Can you share a little bit of what that was like?
It was cold, wet, and you have to work well—like go to school every day, and when I'd get out of school every day, I'd get on the boat with my father and we'd go you know—in the afternoon we'd oyster and kind of get things—help, meet it at home.
Did it take some time for you to get the hang of using the tongs?
Oh, no. No, it don't take long. It's just—it’s born in you, I guess. In this generation.
Can you describe when you're oystering what you're looking for and then how you bring it up?
Well an old oysterman he can take the tongs, and he can feel on the bottom whether it's oysters or shells with the feel of the iron heads on the oyster tongs. He can feel on the bottom and tell basically if it's oysters or either shells [from] the difference in the feel of it.
And then once you find a spot on the bay that you want to work, about how long does it take to work a spot?
Well it's according to if you find a spot that's got good oysters and it might be some more boats and they'll join you, you know. You might work two or three days in that one area.
And so when you find a place that you're working and you're bringing up oysters, how fast can that get going?
Well if the oysters is good, I mean it's—you can—it gets—it's pretty fast but it a lot of times, the area is just what they call scrapping oysters. You know, you'll pick up one here and one there, and it takes a while. But once in a while you'll hit a little spot, and it don't take near as long to get your quota.
And are there some stories about being out there—I mean, I guess the good ones don't drop their tongs, but I mean times where you hit a rough spot or lose your tongs overboard?
Yeah, I've lost my tongs overboard, and I've actually fell overboard. You'll be oystering and walking on what they call the walk board, you know where you tong, and just walk overboard behind them. It's cold. [You] just trip.
Can you talk about the boat and how it's laid out and the sitting area?
Well the boat that we had it—when I quit oystering I had a twenty-three-foot flat bottom boat, and it just had wall boards on the side and just open in the middle and [had] what they call a culling board. You'd catch your oysters in the tongs, and you throw them up, and then you have to cull them off and just throw them in the boat.
And then what about that little covered area in the back where the motor is?
That's called a doghouse. That come years later. Like when it's raining or something, you know, you can get in out of the rain and out of the cold wind while you're running.
Is there generally only one oysterman per boat?
No, right now—used to be, but right now, there's normally about two or three to the boat.
So when did you stop oystering?
I quit oystering about eighteen years ago.
And what brought that on?
Well, we were having a lot of storms, and then they shut our bays down, and then you're out of work two or three months, and you get behind on everything and losing everything. And thought then it might be best for me to try to find a steady job or steady pay. But I love oystering.
Are there times you still go out there just for old times to pick some up?
Yeah, I go out there occasionally. And if I want some to eat, I go out there and get them.
Now when you're talking about the bay is closing, I know that it's been closed a few months because of red tide. Has 
red tide always been around since you've been oystering, or is that a recent development?
No, it's—I'll say in the last five years the red tide has really created a problem.
How do you think that is?
I believe the storms—whenever them storms come in so heavy, I believe it brings it with them. And it just pollutes our bay.
How else do you think the bay has changed or is changing over the years with just the geography of it and what's coming out of it?
Well it's changing because there's so many oystermen now. Used to, it wasn't that many, and when you get so many oystermen it—you got a tendency to clean a place out, you know, and your bays get really wrecked when you get all the oystermen out.
So you think they're over-oystering now?
At times, yes.
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Can you describe the different parts of the bay that are the locations where people oyster?
Well, we have what they call the West End, the Miles, and then you come up and you got Dry Bar off the end of the bay, and then on the other side of the bridge you got Eastpoint, you got Cat Point and all that oystering over there. And it's split up. You got what you call a summertime oystering and wintertime oystering. And the wintertime is from the channel back west and during the summertime, they close that [on the west side] and then open up Cat Point and all that over there on that side. That gives the oysters a chance to grow.
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And now you're shucking oysters here at Papa Joe's [Oyster Bar & Grill].
I'm shucking oysters at Papa's Joes.
So when you say you quit oystering eighteen years ago, what did you do right after that?
I worked with the State for a little while—toll bridge—and then I worked at an oyster house, running the oyster house for a man, and then I got out of that, and then I come and worked for the public…I shucked at one restaurant before they opened here—Boss Oyster. I worked there for seven years and Stanley [Stan Norred, the owner of Papa Joe’s] was a real good friend, and he wanted me down here, so the day he opened, I come and worked for him.
And how long have they been open here?
Five years.
Okay. And then is that all you do for him is shuck, or do you do other stuff too?
Well I run the errands for him, you know. If he needs somebody in there to cook, I'll go in there and cook.
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What about Apalachicola and the changes that are going on in town?
There's a lot of changes. I guess some for the good and some for the bad. I hate to see it because it's not the little seafood industry that I'm used to.
The old-timers who have been working the bay, what do you think their general feeling is?
Well they feel like—the same way I do about it. There's nothing we can do about it; we just have to live with it and deal with it.
And then there's a younger generation. Has anybody taken after the older guys?
The younger generation, most—a lot of the kids is falling right into their descendant’s footsteps there. They're working the bay.
And you think the bay will hold out and there [will be] people to work it?
I hope it does. I just hope they don't put too much here to where they close the bays down.
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So what is there about your life here and life on the bay that maybe is something that I wouldn't know to ask?
[Short pause] Well, you probably covered it all. You asked about on the bay—it is hard work. I don't think there's a job around much harder than it is working on the bay, because you've got to fight the weather and everything.
A hard life, but the people who do it seem to love it.
Love it. It's a hard life. It's an honest living.
And [people like] working out in Mother Nature and being independent.
Independent, that's right. That's the reason most of them does it because they're their own boss, you know. They go when they want to, and they stay as long as they want to, and when they get ready to come home, they come home.
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So James, tell me about these pictures that Tommy [Ward] let me copy [that are of the old days out at 13 Mile, when it was Miller’s Fish & Oyster Company] and that we're looking at. [Scroll down to last photograph on this webpage to view the image being discussed].
Well, this here is the one that I don't exactly know what—how old this picture here is. It's when oysters come in gallon buckets, and they was unloading them there. And I have some relatives in the picture, and this one standing there, the little short fellow 
[standing up in the back of the truck, wearing a hat and white shirt] is my brother, and that's my father there [on the far right], and I know a couple more is about all.
What are your brother's and your father's names?
[My brother’s] name [is] Grover Hicks, and everybody just called him Shorty because he was real short. And my dad, his name was Henry Harrison Hicks. And that's a long time ago. [Laughs]
And you were born out there right at the Thirteen Mile?
Yes, ma'am. I was born there at Thirteen Mile [which is thirteen miles west of Apalachicola].
How long had your dad been out there?
They had been there approximately five, six years there before I was born.
And where did he come to this area from?
He was from Pensacola.
Do you know if he just knew there was opportunity out here and he just got with the Millers or—?
No, what he had done, he used to have an old boat, and my mother and my oldest brother though they'd come down-river, and they'd oyster for two or three days on that boat and then run back up the river. And he'd have orders like people has milk orders, you know, door orders. He'd have orders at different houses, you know. He'd drop off oysters on the way back and he done that for a while and then decided to move down. So they just moved to Thirteen Mile.
So was he harvesting out here in this part of the bay—the Miller's part of the bay—before he was working for them, or how did that work?
He had oystered, you know, that end of the bay—part of the bay, but it wasn't Miller's—no leases or nothing. It was all State [owned] bottom, you know. Everybody could oyster it.
Do you know how far back the Miller's Fish and Oyster Company goes?
Oh, God. [Laughs] I don't even—it goes back to the late [nineteen] thirties, I know. I don't know exactly what—what year or—. I haven’t really caught up on it.
Do you have an idea of when it changed over to Buddy Ward and Sons?
Buddy Ward come to Thirteen Mile in 1956. And he took over. Because Miller's was his wife's uncle, I think, that had Thirteen Mile.
Martha Pearl Ward's uncle, okay…Yeah; so Buddy and Miss Martha Pearl got married [and they are Tommy Ward’s parents].
They was living—Buddy and Martha Pearl was living in New Mexico, and they was already married. And that's when they come down and moved to Thirteen Mile.
What were they doing out in New Mexico?
You know, I think he was a truck driver or some kind. Again, I haven't questioned it, you know, nothing on it, you know, but I think he was truck driving out there.
So tell me what that area was like when you were growing up because I know they had a bunch of houses for the people who worked at the oyster houses.
Oh, yeah. There was about twenty-two families [that] lived down there and kids [would] run wild. And when I would go to school, we wanted to take the school bus, and a whole load—just picked the kids up to go to school. And it was an experience. Which I love it down there, but I wouldn't want to go back to them days again.
Hard living?
Hard living, yeah. But it brings back a lot of memories.
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What do you remember about the general operation of things down there with all these folks and families living and what kind of buzz was around the oyster house and all?
All they did was just, you know, work. All the kids—and they'd shrimp and oyster, and they'd come in and they'd have a bunch of shrimps on bay boats, and the kids would get down there and help them break heads on the shrimp and whatever—help unload oysters, you know, and just run wild and have a good time.
And so just coming up, you just stayed out there at Thirteen Mile? I mean, and you went to school and stuff, but you just grew up out there and worked out there?
Yeah, just grew up out there. And we had moved—when I was about fifteen or sixteen, we moved to Panama City for about two years, and then we moved back to Thirteen Mile. It was home down there.
About when did all those houses down there disappear? Or are some still standing back in there?
They just—well, like the one we first started living in was there—was a tarpaper house. It was from the mill, the paper they made at the mill that just—the walls and all was made out of that and it just eventually just rotted down.
And so those houses were something that the oyster house supplied for the families?
Yeah, Mr. Miller he, you know, had them put there, you know, and for the families to live in.
So how did you meet your wife [Oddys Hicks]?
[Laughs] Well my brothers—well we're living now right across, he—he had built a home there and she was going to school and I lived with him for a while and I met her and aggravated her. [Laughs] And—but we went—we went together about let's see—about seven, eight years. She graduated and we got married.
And so when you married her and you were working out at Thirteen Mile, then that business relationship starts where you're harvesting oysters and she's shucking them for you?
Right, I caught the oysters and she shucked them for me, you know, and we worked there for a while, and then we'd come to town. And then I moved to Georgia, and I was up there for about eight months, and I come back and started all over again with Tommy's daddy, Buddy [Ward]. And then when Tommy took over, we just kept the routine going.
What can you tell me about Mr. Buddy Ward? Since part of the reason we're meeting this morning is that he's not doing real well, and I didn't get a chance to talk to him.
He's a fine man. I mean, he's been a hard worker all of his life. And Buddy is like what they call like one of the old pelicans, you 
know. When he goes, he's going to be missed. He's a root—one of them of Apalachicola. He's one super guy. I don't think he has many enemies in Apalachicola. [*Note: Buddy Ward passed away in April of 2006]
Has he been proud of Tommy keeping things going?
Oh, yeah.
Well and I was hearing good things about [your wife, Oddys, who shucks at 13 Mile].
Oddys, she's a sweet woman…She is that. They don't make them like that anymore. She is one hard working gal.
And we were saying when I got here this morning that—well Janice [Richards, who works with Oddys at 13 Mile] was telling me that Oddys gets there an hour before Janice does every day and has a gallon [of oysters already] shucked at four in the morning.
Uh-hmm, she likes to get down there because it's quiet, and she's by herself. And then she knocks off early, too.
I was hearing, too, that some people request her oysters because she's such a good shucker.
Oh, yeah—yeah.
That's really impressive to me that shucking is that important.
It is because she'll shuck all day long—and I tried to do it myself. If you cut an oyster, he looks bad, you know. And she takes her time and leaves no shells in it and—and that oyster is just perfect.
Well she takes her time, but she's got to be fast, too.
Well she's pretty fast, too. And a lot of people goes down there and requests her oysters that she shucks.
That's amazing. And so now she's shucking somebody else's oysters out there now, since you're not [oystering anymore]?
Yeah, she shucks for Janice's husband [Johnny Richards] and Hoyt Thompson. They work together, and she shucks for him.
Can you help explain that relationship to me a little bit more because I think I keep confusing myself. But—and especially for Oddys’ situation, since she's not shucking for you. But the oysterman brings in the bags of oysters and gets paid for the bags, and then the oysterman pays the shucker?
No, like them two [Johnny and Hoyt] oyster together, and they'll come in and they'll just put the oysters in the house for them [Janice and Oddys]. They don't get paid for nothing until they shuck the oysters out. They get paid per yield of the gallons out of the oysters…And Tommy and them pays Oddys. And so Hoyt and them gets—say—I'm going to throw a figure in there. Say they get twenty-five dollars a gallon for the oysters. See, Oddys and them gets eight dollars, so that leaves a difference of twenty-two dollars, you know—something like that. So that's what the oysterman gets for the gallon of oysters. So they don't get paid by the bag and then turn around and get paid—.
Okay, so the relationship with the house is that they get paid by the gallon shucked?
Right, the yield.
And the shucker gets paid by the gallon.
Yeah, they get paid by the gallon they shuck.
And the shucker is paid by the house?
Uh-hmm.
So if you're an oysterman—if—you're a husband and wife team coming in, you would want to marry a good shucker, wouldn't you?
Oh, yeah. [Laughs] Well that's like when I married Oddys, she couldn't even shuck oysters.
Really?
My sisters was shucking oysters at Thirteen Mile, and she wanted to learn how to shuck oysters. And my sisters—that's where Oddys learned how to shuck oysters was from them. They would like Oddys shucking oysters. They were very tactile with it. And Oddys’ first day, she shucked one gallon of oysters all day long. And then she just kept on at it…But I wouldn't—them bunch of women, they're tough. But I wouldn't stand there all day long shucking oysters. I mean, which I do here, but you know I get—but like they do, no.
Uh-hmm, well here you have people around you and—.
Yeah.
So how have you seen [shucking] change? And especially with Oddys working and that personal experience of her—did she use the mallet and all for it or has she always used the machine?
No, she used to use the hammer and block, and everybody started going to machines, and so she wanted one. And I told her, I said, “Well, I'll get you one but,” I said, “you have to be very careful.” I said, “Because they'll give you a manicure fast.” So I buy her a machine, and I put it in her stall, and I come in from oystering that day [and] the machine was out and she—I said, “What's the matter?” She said, “I'm scared. I don't want—.” I said, “Well I'm going to sell it then.” “No, you ain't selling it!” I said, “Well I'm going to sell it, or you're going to put it in the stall and you're going to learn to use it.” I said, “That's the onliest way you're going to learn how to use it.” So she went and used it.
And those things are expensive from what I understand, too. That's an investment.
Yeah, they are. They're about—I imagine the time you get the blades and everything on it, it costs you about 300 dollars for one of them machines.
She likes it now, though, huh?
Oh, yeah. Yeah, she wouldn't—if she had to shuck with a hammer—no, she wouldn't do it. She'd quit.
So are y’all both going to work you think until you just can't work anymore?
You know, I've been wanting to retire. But not completely retire because you know, I don't feel like I can just sit down. I wish she would, but she won't. She'll just—she'll continue working. I told her, I said, “Well, ain't nobody home but me and you now, let's enjoy life a little bit. Let's travel a little bit.” She thinks she's dedicated to Tommy and them down there, so I let her go.
Well what do you think is going to happen in the next ten, twenty years? Because like this picture of all these women out at Thirteen Mile, you know, you had twenty shuckers, and now they're—every time I've been out there, there have been about four or five and that generation of—?
Ah, I think in another twenty years oystering will be obsolete here. And it's sad, too.
Yeah, it's such a network of folks that have to be involved in the process that—I mean, I haven't seen a young shucker.
No, you don't see many of them. But the younger generation just—they don't want to get into it. And I think eventually it will be nothing but condos and everything here. It will be all over. I hope I'm not around to see it. I mean because it will be sad. The little old seafood industry will be gone.
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