this piece originally appeared in the Summer 2008 edition of The Timber Creek Review, and was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2008 and also in 2010 when it was recognized as a Special Mention
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The Queen of Bass Fishing in America
Two million Minnesotans hold fishing licenses. You can’t ignore fish. Governor Jessie fished, but Arnie, the governor before him, only faked it. Arnie wouldn’t bait a hook without a photo op. Arnie always invited me to the Governor’s Opener because back then “Bass Fishing in America with Tiffany Anne Bullford” was the top-rated fishing show in syndication. I’m Tiffany Anne Bullford.
The Governor’s Opener inaugurates the walleye season. Walleye is the state fish. One year they scheduled the Opener at Bemidji, but the lake was frozen. The DNR boys chopped out a pool so we could throw in a line. The Lt. Governor shared my Bass Queen with me rather than use his ratty old Bass Tracker. We’d met years before when I was Miss Le Suer County. He kissed me when I caught the first walleye. When Sam saw that picture, he went ballistic.
Sam Delaney (of the bass boat Delaneys)–my sponsor and my husband at the time–told me, “From now on you shoot your show from the Twin Cities where I can watch you.” I told him I had programs scheduled for Casitas, Ocmulgee River, and Lake Winnipesaukee. He said, “No. Especially not Lake Winnipesaukee!”
I just laughed. “Bass Fishing in America With Tiffany Anne Bullford” was number one in nineteen major markets. I owned the show’s title and syndication rights. Plus, I’d been the exclusive spokeswoman for Delaney boats for almost a decade. I held the trademark for the Bass Queen, his best-selling line. I told him, “Screw the pre-nup; this marriage is over. I’m going to find a new sponsor.”
My timing was poor. Two days later, Dr. Harry Feeney, found tiny lumps in my neck. “Swollen glands,” I suggested. “Thyroid cancer,” he feared. Harry did a needle biopsy and within a week I had a radical neck dissection.
While I was hospitalized, Sam moved my things to a pathetic little condo in Lake Elmo. Only Miss Tennessee (Miss Congeniality) visited. She has weird hips. You wouldn’t believe the commotion she caused walking down the runway. I’ve got terrific hips. My fans say I walked my way to Atlantic City.
When I got out of the hospital, I couldn’t find a sponsor. Sam told everyone he’d canceled the program because of my health. “She’s too weak,” he said, “to cast a line.” Sam discovered a Miss Universe finalist fresh from Argentina to host a new show, “Delaney Boats Presents the Argentine Angler.” Catchy, huh? “She makes her own lures,” Sam told the press. I knew all about her lures.
Inside Edition did a sweet story–“Bass Queen Battles for Life”–but they said I was a Miss America Finalist, not First Runner Up. Don’t these people check their facts?
I got lonely. Only Dr. Frederick Levitt, the head of Nuclear Medicine, would talk to me, but Fred never made eye contact. He spoke to my shoes. Finally, I called up Channel Five and offered to do fishing updates for their News at Six.
That was five years ago. “Bass Fishing in America With Tiffany Anne Bullford” survives in syndication. Thank God for residuals. Even with reruns, I get more mail than the “Argentine Angler.” I still own the slogan “Queen of Bass Fishing in America,” but I don’t use the name Tiffany Anne Bullford any more. I’m Annie. I do fishing updates in fifteen states by satellite. Governor Jessie did guest spots on my show until he started getting invitations to appear on Leno and the like. At Channel Five I met Bob Bone.
That’s right, Dr. Bone, the Dodge Doctor. Bob is not an idiot. He’s got the largest truck dealership in St. Paul. His TV character is just a persona. He earned a B.A. from Carleton College and an M.A. in Early American Literature from the U of M. He’s a gourmet. For my birthday he gave me twenty-five-year-old balsamic vinegar.
When I started doing his commercials, his sales went up thirty percent. “Hi, I’m Annie Bullford, former First Runner-up in the Miss America pageant, and still the Queen of Bass Fishing in America. I drive a Dodge. You should too. ‘Drive the truck royalty drives.’” Bob sold me at cost a royal blue Dodge 1500 Ram Sport with a 5.2 Magnum V8. It’s got a five-speed with overdrive, four-wheel ABS, air, cruise, and heavy-duty gas-charged shocks. He threw in a six-way driver seat because he wanted a date.
Along with the ad campaign Bob made full-sized cardboard cutouts of me standing by the truck wearing a pair of red Toni Lamas, tiny cut-off jeans and powder blue tank top that revealed a tasteful bit of cleavage. I didn’t look like a cancer “victim.” Those cutouts moved as fast as the trucks. When a customer upgraded the sound system on any Dodge Ram, Bob gave them the cutout free of charge. He stopped doing that when we got engaged. He felt the cutouts were undignified.
I know Miss America is not in vogue any more, but none of the good things in my life would have happened without the Pageant. Bob agrees I was robbed. I won the swimsuit competition by the widest margin in history. Miss Texas had skinny legs and lopsided implants, but she won the talent competition. “That wasn’t opera,” Bob told me on our first date, “that was a cat in heat.” Still, my flaming baton routine looked rather juvenile next to Carmen. I don’t dwell on it.
After the Pageant, Miss America got the major endorsements. As First Runner Up I got the trade expositions and sports shows. That’s where I met the guys from Delaney Boats. At a photo shoot in White Bear Lake, they got me drunk on Moosehead, took me fishing, and helped me land a five-pound smallmouth. A month later I was complaining about the leech shortage and exchanging batter recipes with their wives.
Somebody in marketing introduced me to Samuel Delaney, the CEO. In July, Sam offered me a fishing show sponsored by his company. In August, I won a statewide contest, hooking an eight-pound, twelve-ounce largemouth. In October, Sam offered me a wedding ring. Next May I was the number one fishing show in ten of the top twenty markets, and two years later, I was the Queen of Bass Fishing in America. I rode that pony for eight more years. The marriage never worked as well as the show. Sam wanted Miss America, and I wanted my father in a flannel shirt.
I’ve got a confession. My checkup three years ago wasn’t routine. I found the lumps six months before the appointment. I pretended they’d go away. Instead, the cancer spread to the lymph nodes and lungs. They removed my thyroids and parathyroids. I had radioactive iodine treatment. I was in isolation. I peed radioactivity for two days.
Before the cancer, and before Sam Delaney divorced me, I was a brat. I hated autographing bass boats. At public appearances I’d see these guys in fishing hats, wearing T-shirts with my picture on them and I’d think, “Idiots.” Well, those ‘idiots’ sent me 1,397 get-well cards, 105 stuffed animals, and thirteen mounted fish. I still fish with the guys from the old show. And I kept my Delaney Bass Queen. I wear a Lund hat just to annoy Sam.
One day out at Lake Harriett my old truck broke down. So when I saw Bob at Channel Five getting ready to do a live spot, I popped over and gave him my best First Runner Up smile. “Dr. Bone, I need truck.” The rest was Kismet. In the pageant days, I always caught a particular kind of man. Once I tore up the eight by ten glossies and packed away the evening gowns, then I could catch a guy like Bob.
I remember lying motionless on a cold table, after the second treatment of radioactive iodine, as they scanned my body for traces of the cancer. I watched the monitor as the lines tracked across it. Little bright dots began appearing, cancer markers, outlining my lungs. Each new dot reminded me of all I’ve left undone.
I don’t know how much time I have. Cure rates are good in my demographic. But I hear the American Cancer Society is looking for a new spokesperson. And I feel like a teenager preparing for her first pageant. I need to convince the Cancer people my smile is as real as my disease. Maybe, I could have T-shirts made?
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Paul Lewellan lives and gardens in Davenport, Iowa, on the banks of the Mississippi River. He’s sheltering in place with his wife Pamela, his Shi Tzu Mannie, and their ginger tabby Sunny. He keeps a safe social distance from everyone else. He’s recently had work published in Passengers Journal, The Athena Review, October Hill, Kalopsia Literary Journal, and White Wall Review.