"BALD BILLY'S LEG"

                          BALD BILLY’S LEG
                  Written and told by KEN FEELEY
                    Writing as PETER ALDEN YULE

                              Chapter One

         In our small town there were two men both known by the name of Billy. For as long as I can remember the only way that folks could refer to one or the other, was by their nicknames. One of the two was best known to all as Bald Billy, simply because he was as bald as any man could be. He had been that way since his childhood. The other Billy was not bald and was most often referred to as Little Billy. Now he was not little being about six feet tall, and of a full and sound body, but when compared to Bald Billy, he was small. Bald Billy was almost six foot and four inches tall, and easily weighed more than three hundred pounds.

         Bald Billy had lived just a short distance out from town on the old road, and had worked at the logging camp for most of his life. His Grand Parents had settled out on the old road after arriving in the area from Canada, before the end of the last century. They had not planned to settle here, but one winter, the snows arrived so quickly that leaving the woods was just not possible. They dug in and sheltered over, and when spring came they made a decision to stay on in Oxnard Bow. It was Bald Billy’s grandpa that started a full scale logging operation out on the old road about ten or twelve miles up to the north side of town. Over the years the operation grew and hired many men to work the tough life of loggers. A camp was built out on the old road, and a small community developed around it.

         During the depression years after the first world war, most of the logging fell on hard times and the operation was cut way back. Most of the hired men left the area, and only family remained to work in the woods. Bald Billy was young then, in his late teens or possibly twenty years old. Just like his father and grandfather before him, Billy was a logger, a no nonsense, tough and ready for anything, woodsman. Billy at times, would work alone in the deep woods. He preferred to do that as he felt there were no other men who could stand up to the pace of working alongside of him. This was the case as Billy worked the woods way out to the west of the camp, on a clear day in late March, just as the last snows were  melting. 

         Before lunch time Billy had cut and fallen several large trees, and trimmed out a very large maple tree that would clearly give him the afternoon’s work. At one o clock after he had eaten his lunch, he began the task of trimming out the old maple tree, and preparing to cut it down. He had cut thousands of trees and had experience far greater than most men would gain in a lifetime. He knew just the right way to apply his saw and axe and in his mind he had carefully planned every cut. Being alone he always planned each cut so that he would get the most out of the fallen tree with the least amount of dragging and hauling. Billy took his double edged axe, and swung massive blows repeatedly into the thick hard trunk. On his last swing he heard a loud strange crack, as the old tree split and fell sideways. Not as he had planned it at all. The tree kicked back from the base and twisted as it fell, trapping Billy against an outcropping of rock ledge as it did. His leg was pinned solid under the weight of the great hefty maple tree. He sat stunned for a few minutes just trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

         Lightning he thought. That old tree had a scar on it running down one side of the tree, and he was sure that at some earlier point that the tree had been touched and weakened by lightning. That was it, no doubt about it. He filed the fact away in his mind and had gained more knowledge. He had not seen the scar before he made his cut, but now with the full weight of the tree trunk pressing down on his leg, he could see it all plainly. Now he knew what had gone wrong.

         A numbing pain was now growing in the man’s huge fame as he tried to move and to free himself from the tree and rocks beneath him. It was no use. The more he twisted and turned, the more he pulled, the more firmly the tree settled upon him. Billy grabbed at his axe and started to chop away at the old tree, but still the weight fell more upon him. Straining to move Billy looked down and could see a large amount of blood now falling to the ground beneath his leg, and too he could see a piece of his crushed leg bone protruding through his heavy wool pants. Billy, using his axe as a hook, and stretched with greater pain to reach his tool bag just barely within reach. After several desperate attempts, he snared the bag and drew it close to himself. He cut the leather strap from the bag and tied it tightly around his leg, just above the knee. The pain grew stronger but after a few more minutes, he could see that the flow of blood had grown weaker. Billy leaned back and gave serious thought to the situation that he was in. He could wait until evening and when he did not return to camp, he thought, others would come looking for him. Would they find him in the darkness of the deep woods? Probably not! Could he hold on all night and hope to be found in the morning? He was tough and he might make it. Billy waited. As the sun began to set in the west the long shadows crept toward him. Soon he thought, they will start to look for me.

         Back at the camp the four or five other men who had been working that day did begin a search. No one knew however just where to look. The men set out to the north and to the south, planning to turn west and east as they went. Darkness moved swiftly through the woods and soon stars appeared overhead. Billy was starting to slip into shock, and he knew that the loss of blood was taking it’s toll on him. At one point he sat up quickly at hearing branches snapping behind him. He strained to see who was coming to help him, but in an instant he saw, not help but a large brown bear circling his area. He reached again for his axe. He knew that he must not sleep. The pain grew with greater intensity and before midnight Billy made a decision that he alone must take action to preserve his life.

         Driven now with unbearable pain, and growing weaker, Billy took from his bag an old hunting knife. He cut away the torn pant leg exposing his crushed leg to the light of the moon now rising high above. Billy had seen torn flesh on animals and as a hunter, and now he could plainly see that his own leg was no longer of use to him. He prayed for strength, and with as much care as was possible, he cut away at the flesh, all the way down to the bone just below his knee joint. He tightened the leather strap almost to the breaking point and then with all of his remaining strength he pulled his entire frame away from the tree, leaving the torn and crushed leg beneath it. Quickly he shredded his pant leg and wrapped the stump of his leg in the wool cloth. Again he tied it tightly and with his last strength, he hauled himself clear of the rock. He knew that he would survive, and he could wait now in God’s arms for rescue, not knowing when it would come. He found a clearing a few yards away and pulled himself to it knowing the bear may still be nearby. Here he would have a chance with his axe at his side. Billy had done what had to be done. Plain and simple, he mustered more strength and stamina than any other man could ever have done. He rested now fading in and out of fitful sleep.

         Time passed and when Billy awoke, it was to familiar voices calling out to him. He yelled back, and soon the men from the camp were at his side. They fashioned a stretcher for him and sharing the load of his great weight they carried him back to the camp. When they arrived at camp. The men put together a rack on the side of an old tractor, and hoisted the stretcher upon it. They tied it securely and headed into town with Billy being tied to the stretcher. When they arrived in  town they went straight to Mr. Adams’s drug store.

         Mr. Adams cleaned up the wounds and the remains of Billy’s leg, folding skin back over the crude cuts in the flesh. He fashioned a proper binding around the leg and set Billy to rest in his front parlor. For several days Billy stayed with Mr. Adams, feeling no need to go over to the next town to see a doctor. He had done his own dirty work, and did not see any need to trouble the doctor with the cleaning up. Billy was sure he would be just fine.  At the end of the week, Billy was taken back out to the logging camp. No one saw him again until the end of summer drew near.

         It was the first Saturday in September, and all of the town folks were gathering for a community outing and picnic lunch. It was late morning, when the town folks turned their attention to an old tractor coming into town from the old road. Behind the tractor was, a patched-up wagon carrying five men from the logging camp, coming to join the festivities. In the middle of the men sitting on an old wood seat was Bald Billy. He looked to be in good health and was waving to all of the folks as the wagon rolled past. It came to a stop by Mr. Adams’s store, and then each man jumped down from the wagon and waited for Billy to join them. Well, to everyone’s surprise, first Billy stood up, and turned around so all could see. He was standing firmly on two legs, one that he had been born with, and the other, made by hand of solid maple wood, taken from the heart of the old tree that had been the source of Billy’s distress. Billy had indeed healed, had gone into the woods and claimed victory over the maple tree, taking the core of the tree for his own. Over the months of recuperation, Billy had, by hand, fashioned a beautiful solid replacement for his severed limb. To show it’s usefulness Billy proceeded to jump down from the wagon and do an impromptu jig so that all could see that he was well. Applause and handshakes and cheers greeted Billy’s return to town. Billy was a new man,  wearing a pair of old pants cut down as shorts so everyone could see his handiwork. That old maple tree that would mark a turning point in Billy’s life, was now a part of him. The leg, held in place by hand cut leather bindings was as large as the original had been and matched it’s counterpart in size and width. It was polished to a furniture like glow and looked as though it would last forever. Billy was pleased with his work.

                                               Chapter Two
     
         As the years went by, most folks in town forgot about or just overlooked Billy’s leg. It was just natural to see him walking about like everyone else, and with only a trace of a limp. The logging camp closed down for good, and Billy moved closer to town. He worked often as a carpenter, doing odd jobs all over the area. He would work to help out others, adding onto a house or barn or to build  a shed or shelter or anything else that needed doing. When summer came again he would hire out to city folks as a hunting or fishing guide. Billy knew the woods better than any man in town, having spent most of his life working in them. He knew every path and trail and pond for miles around.

         August was an especially good month for Billy as he would be hired out almost every day. He would come into town to meet his guests each Saturday just past noon. The city folks usually drove up and Billy would head them out the old road to the north and just where it ended at the former logging camp, he and his guests would unpack their gear and set camp for the night. In the morning they would load up backpacks and trudge into the woods on long forgotten paths. Eventually they would arrive at a pond or brook that was just loaded with fish, and there they would again make camp. Billy,  over the span of several years had left row boats and an old canoe or two at each of his favorite places for his guests to use. This day, this trip was to such a place, a pond known only to a few men, and there as planned was the battered and patched canoe.

         In August the temperature rises quite high and when conditions are just right thunderstorms form quickly in the area. That is just what happened and it would start a chain of events that folks in Oxnard Bow would talk about for years to come.

         After hiking about from stream to stream for several days, Billy took his guests to a remote pond, well in from the roads. The day started out crisp and clear but by noon the temperature climbed steadily upward. Billy had two guests with him on this day. Both men were from New York, and had fished with Billy before. The first man was of slight build and was always quite quiet. He loved nature and the stillness of the deep woods and lost ponds. The man was shy, almost timid in his demeanor. In another season this man might just be as comfortable enjoying the silence of a library reading room, or tucked away in a big old easy chair by a fireplace.

          The second man was very large, almost as big as Billy. He was boisterous and outgoing, and always talking. I believe the two men worked together, for the same firm in New York City.

          It was past noon when the three men reached the campsite, and after unloading their backpacks and setting their tents, they turned their attention to fishing. Fly fishing for trout was the order of the day. At first the men were contented to push among the brush along the shoreline but the fish were not biting. Billy had located one of his old canoes at the end of the pond and he hauled it out on the shore to clean it out. By mid-afternoon he re-floated the canoe and the three men jumped in. The larger man and Billy were at the ends and the smaller man in the middle. Slowly and carefully they paddled out toward the center of the pond. High above them large clouds gathered, the sure sign of a possible thunder shower. As the men reached the middle of the pond, the fishing was much improved, with each man now catching at least one or two big trout. Little attention was paid to the fast-moving storm clouds above.

          At about four in the afternoon, seemingly without a single warning a crash of thunder sounded its booming voice across the surface of the pond. The men were startled by the swiftness with which the storm had arrived. In minutes, heavy rain was falling and loud crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning arrived in rapid succession. The men paddled frantically toward shore, but an unexpected wind blew from the shore toward their small frail craft. The usual ripples of the small pond were pushing against the sides of their craft and water splashed in.  A  lightning bolt struck the pond only yards away from them, and at that point the heavier of Billy’s guests, sitting in the front of his canoe, dropped his paddle. Trying frantically to reach out for it, he tipped the canoe over. All three men were now in choppy water. Billy and the smaller man quickly swam to the overturned boat. The third man could not be seen. After what felt like a very long time, a shout was heard from the man, now just a few yards away. They saw him bobbing in the water, and apparently not doing to well at it. He bobbed like a fishing float and screamed that he could not swim and was drowning. Billy knew that he must reach his guest quickly to keep him afloat. Both Billy  and the smaller man, still holding on to the canoe tried vainly to reach the drowning man. Each man felt that the only way they could rescue and save their companion was to give him something to hold on to. Suddenly Billy let go of the overturned boat and just barely floating himself, he reached beneath the water. In  a matter of seconds, Billy’s arms reached skyward and tossed the only floating object around to the man. It was Billy’s leg. His polished huge wooden leg as big and solid as any log. Skyward it went and with a single toss it landed in the arms of the drowning man. The panic left his face as he clung to his salvation. He moved slowly now toward the canoe holding fast to Bald Billy’s leg.

         Just as quickly as it had come, the storm swept by. The rain stopped, the wind subsided and in minutes the party of three reached the nearest shoreline. Wet exhausted and glad to be standing on solid ground. The large man still clinging to Billy’s leg swore that he would never forget the day that another man would actually give up a leg to save his own life. He was indebted to Billy for his rescue

         At the end of the week, the three men were back in town and the story of Billy’s heroic efforts, and the details of his now infamous maple wood leg spread far beyond Oxnard Bow  On returning to New York the story was repeated and soon it became a newspaper item in New York City. Billy’s heroic efforts were talked about for many years.



                                                    Chapter Three


         The years passed by, and in time Bald Billy’s leg faded from small town conversation. Billy continued on and in time he gave up on his treks into the woods. His skill as a carpenter improved and he remained constantly busy. In the winter months he set up his shop and took to the task of building fine furniture. His shop was over behind the garage, and was well equipped for his craft. With age Billy’s weight dropped and he found that his solid maple leg was no longer as comfortable as he would like it to be.  No longer as functional as when he had been a younger man.
         Billy had just finished creating a large white oak banister and new railing for our church, When he had finished the chore, he had on hand a very large piece of aged white oak left over from the job. Now, just as he had done before, Billy went to work on creating yet another new leg, adjusted to his new weight and activities. This leg would last him forever, and so he took extra care on turning the wood stock on his lathe, and sanding and shaping it to his exact proportions. He finished the job in one weeks time, and he fitted to the new leg a more comfortable padded top, and put at the bottom a solid metal plate. Yes, this leg was better than anything he could have hoped for. It was a perfect fit and could be worn throughout the long workdays with ease. Billy was very pleased with it.

         The old maple leg, now showing some wear after twenty years, was put aside under a workbench in his shop. To anyone that visited the shop the leg was a constant reminder of the years gone by. To newcomers the old leg would stir the old tales to life. I think that Billy had mixed feelings about the old leg. Something that he had grown attached to, and he could not depart with.

         Billy took on bigger and better jobs. He built by hand new desks for the schoolhouse just as it was about to open. He fashioned new shelving and a showcase for Mr. Adams store. When the new church was built, Billy did all of the work inside and out. New pews, new benches, and an altar at the front. As the town grew, it became, after much debate, necessary to build a Town Hall.  It would be a gathering place with a meeting room where everyone could go to participate in town meetings. Billy got the job of building the whole thing. He hired several local men to help with framing and roofing, and in time, the Town Hall was ready for business. The dedication and Grand Opening were to be held on the Fourth of July, and the whole town would turn out for the occasion, to parade through the building and examine the fine work done by Bald Billy. It was  without doubt, well done. The office areas were bright and clean with varnished oak furnishings all crafted by hand. The floors were level and straight and the twenty rows of seats were well designed for long meetings. The speakers platform could seat five council members, and off to one side over on the right, stood a proud American flag. The flag stood tall, mounted on a large single solid wood base, turned and shaped from a solid aged piece of hard maple stock. The wood had an unusual glow, as if it had been hand rubbed for many years, and a slight natural polish applied. Well Billy made no mention of this pedestal base for the flag. To those of us who knew Billy, and had seen his shop, and had secretly noticed the disappearance of his old wood leg from beneath the workbench, a new chapter had been written in the legend of Bald Billy’s leg. Yes! There it was, cleaned polished and taking on a new life of it’s own. It would hold the American flag until this very day. When folks in town see the flag and stop to salute it, they can only think of the man who created it, and to pause to salute him, his courage, and his stamina as well. Billy set a fine example for others who faced problems of insurmountable proportion.  Well done Billy, Well done.