The day that begins with a call from a granddad whose visiting grandson caught a white ‘coon in a trap can unleash unexpected memories.

Robert Dees on Avery Road was the caller. His grandson Alan Dees visits from Memphis and sets out a live trap to see what he might catch. Previously, it has been cats, ‘possums and coons. Regular coons. He’s been hoping for a bobcat, but Friday morning he found an all-white, furry creature scuttling between the cage’s trap doors.

The albino coon — all white fur with pink eyes and skin underneath — was no happier at having been trapped than any other coon.

Still, we managed the photo which appears on page one. Also sent a couple of photos to wildlife biologist Brad Holder with the Mississippi Department of Wildlife, Fisheries and Parks. Holder said that he had never seen an albino coon. Squirrels, yes, but not coons.

As soon as we finished photos Robert, Alan and Alan’s dad, Dennis Dees, released the coon near where they had trapped her. Robert was concerned that she had worked up quite a thirst in her anger.

Later, when I told my brother about the all-white fur, he recalled the “coonskin” caps that rode in on Walt Disney’s  Davy Crockett craze during our childhood.

“It was fake,” Rupert said, recalling the Davy Crockett hat’s construction.

“Fake fur or fur from something other than a coon?” I asked. He said he wasn’t sure.

Then he recalled other details of the cookskin caps of that vintage: flat, vinyl top and a tail that was very easily pulled off.

“The company that made them later made Beatles wigs,” he said, triggering his story of a life-defining moment in about 1964 when his friend Bubba Brame called on the phone with the urgent news that: “Shackeroff’s has Beatles wigs for $3 apiece; they’re lining up, you’d better get on down there.”

Whereupon Rupert, then not quite 12, asked our mother for $3 to buy a Beatles wig and received the reply that he claims has scarred him to this day: “We’ll think about it,” she said.

“Think about it!” He repeated with incredulous exclamation. “People are lined up; they’re going to sell out!”

The fit that accompanied his response to our mother’s caution was slung with enthusiasm of legendary proportions. At least in our family. Parental love was called into question, fraternal preference alleged. He pulled out all the stops.

Rupert never got his Beatles wig. The supply was not as limited as he had originally been led to believe. And while he could have gotten one later, the wigs were probably as shoddy as the coonskin cap with the tail so easily pulled off.

The day that started off with a white ‘coon led to unexpected places, fondly recalled.