Who Is Roy?

Roy McGraw ain’t the type to hurry. At seventy, he’s seen it all – and most of it through a windshield right before it hit water. Twice a month, give or take, Roy’s pickup drifts into the nearest pond. Locals don’t even panic anymore. They just grab a tow chain and some bait – ‘cause Roy’ll already be on the roof, barefoot, casting a line.

Reverend Diesel tried hard to drag him into the Church of the Carburetor. Roy laughed, called him a “chrome-plated Satanist,” and went back to whittling fish hooks out of spark plugs. He says he worships “The Freedom of Scrap” – where every car’s a sinner, every river a baptizer, and every tow truck a savior.

Roy’s not homeless. He just ain’t picky about where home is. A barn, a sandbar, or the bed of an F-150 works fine. He collects license plates, tells long stories nobody can verify, and swears every pond he’s sunk in has the best catfish in the county.

Granny Tuggwell sells him shine, Cousin Ray once handed him dynamite “for fishing purposes,” and Hank Wilmer lets him dry off by the kerosene stove – after making him hose down outside first.

Legacy

Roy’s a legend in slow motion – a man so laid back the law can’t even charge him with reckless driving. He ain’t part of the Church, ain’t part of the Gang – but somehow, he’s part of every story worth telling. And if you see a truck bobbing in the shallows? Don’t call 911. Just bring bait.