Leaving Hedges

by Theresa Konwinski

Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4

part 2.1

On the 22nd of May 1943, my dad held my hand as we walked into the woods, where he got the surprise of his life, and I got the thrill of mine.

I showed Dad where to find the clearing, the cabin, the clothes, the cookpot. We weren’t especially quiet as we approached the giant’s location, and Dad showed no fear in walking around the area, just looking things over.

“Looks like a normal-sized cabin,” he said.

“It looked bigger the other day.”

Dad just smiled. “I admit that the clothes hanging up here look pretty large.”

“They were way up high in the trees the other day.”

Then we heard it. The booming voice. Dad froze in his spot. I strained my eyes to see where the singing was coming from.

I’ve got a mule and her name is Sal.
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.
She’s a good old worker and a good old pal,
Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.

Rustling in the bushes, a gust of wind through the trees, everything moving all at once and footsteps coming closer, closer...

Low Bridge, ev’rybody down,
For it’s Low Bridge,
We’re coming to a town!
You can always tell your neighbor,
You can always tell your pal,
If you’ve ever navigated
On the Erie Canal.

The trees bowed their leafy heads and the brush pulled itself aside for the grizzly bear of a man that proceeded from the depths of those woods. My dad and I stood in complete silence, both of our mouths wide open, Dad’s eyes as big as plates.

The man wasn’t the giant Billy Pettigrew described, but he was taller and bigger than any other human I had ever seen. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, particularly his feet. He had a pair of well-worn boots that couldn’t last much longer from the looks of them. I expected a giant toe to pop out at any moment. Dark hair, longer than my dad’s, fell across his forehead and into his eyes. With one bear-paw swipe, he pushed it back so that he could see us.

“Well, hello folks! Pardon the mess. Wasn’t planning on visitors.” The man smiled. His teeth were as big as Chiclets. His speaking voice was not dissimilar to his singing voice.

My dad seemed to unfreeze at the sound of the man’s voice, and now he approached him, his hand outstretched for a shake.

“How do you do, sir. Hope you’ll forgive my daughter and me invading your campsite. I’m Roy Simmons. This is my daughter, Helen. And you are... “

“My name is Phil. Big Phil, most folks have called me over the years. Guess you can see why.” Again, he smiled. The sun glinted off his Chiclet teeth.

“If it’s all right with you, I’ll just call you Phil,” Dad said. “How long have you been living out here?”

“Oh, say a month. No more than that. Been walking across the country and got tired of roaming. Thought I’d camp for a while. Was lucky enough to come upon this cabin. Homesteaded here, I guess. Think the property owner’ll be upset with me?”

“I doubt it, though by rights you really should’ve asked permission,” Dad said. I was surprised at his forthright reply to a man so much bigger than him. Big Phil’s shoulders were easily twice as wide as my dad’s.

“If you can direct me to the right person, I’ll do just that,” Big Phil said.

“You’ve not been into town.” Dad said it as more of a statement than a question.

“Correct.” Big Phil scrunched up his face, pulling his mouth to one side. “Most people don’t take much of a liking to me.”

“Because of your height? Your size?” Dad asked.

“Yessir, I believe that’s a problem. I never intend to, but I guess I scare people.”

“Well, it’s too bad people are so nervous. How tall are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Last time I was measured, I was nine feet, seven inches.”

Dad didn’t respond to Phil but turned to look at me. “Helen, you’ve never met anyone who was nine feet seven inches tall, have you?”

“No, sir.” Neither had he.

“The man who owns this property is Arnold Haskins. I’d be glad to introduce you to him so you can talk to him about staying here for a while.”

Big Phil scratched his head with fingers that looked like the sausages Mom occasionally bought at the butcher shop in Situate.

“Think he’ll want to charge me rent? I don’t have much money. Last time I made any money was in the side show in a traveling circus.”

“I don’t really know how Arnold might think about this, to be truthful. The people in Hedges keep to themselves,” Dad replied.

“Well, I’ll appreciate an introduction.”

“I’ll make those arrangements, and we’ll come back to tell you about them,” Dad said. “C’mon, Helen. We’ve taken enough of Phil’s time.” He shook Big Phil’s hand again. I put my hand out, and Big Phil shook it, too.

“Nice to meet you, little lady.”

“Glad to make your acquaintance.” I had heard my mom say that to people before, and I thought it sounded grown-up. “Little lady,” indeed!

“Be careful out here,” Dad said. “It’s not hunting season right now, but a lot of local folks do hunt these woods and, when they’re not hunting, they sometimes come out here for target practice.”

“I appreciate the warning. Goodbye now.” Big Phil turned away and went to the cabin door, where he had to bend at the waist to enter.

I held Dad’s hand on the way home, both of us singing, “Low bridge, everybody down...”

* * *

“Folks, we have it all wrong,” my dad was saying in a loud voice, trying to make himself heard above the talking of the townspeople. We stood at the front of the church to tell everyone about Big Phil.

“The man living in the woods is quite a bit taller and bigger than anyone living here in town, but he doesn’t qualify as a giant. He’s friendly and seems harmless,” Dad said. Some of the people were paying attention. Others were holding animated side conversations.

A loud voice from the back of the church. “Who gave him permission to stay on Arnold’s property? What does Arnold have to say about all this?”

Arnold Haskins stood up, wringing a straw hat in his hands. I could see a pale area on the top of his forehead where the hat protected him from the sun. The rest of his face was beet red.

“If Roy says he’s all right, I trust that the giant is all right. I ain’t never met a giant, and I don’t need to meet him. He can just stay in the woods.” Arnold gave his hat a final anxious squeeze and sat down.

“He’s not a giant, Arnold,” Dad said. “He’s just a big man, and he seems quite peaceable. He’d be happy to meet you and discuss living on your land.”

Arnold waved his hand in the air as if to dismiss the notion.

Floyd Buchanan stood up. Words tumbled out of him. “What does this man want from us? Why would he come here? We’re a small town. Didn’t you say he worked at a circus? We don’t need a circus here. Circuses are for big towns.”

Dad looked exasperated but tried again. “Now, Floyd, he’s not got the whole circus with him. He’s passing through but needs a place to stop for a rest from traveling. He probably won’t even stay that long.”

“Pshaw,” Floyd said, sitting down. “Can’t trust a stranger that easy.”

Simon Pettigrew had been silent, sitting near the church altar, drumming his fingers on the arm of the minister’s big throne chair. Now he stood, a Bible in his hand, and approached the edge of the platform. He held the Bible up. I don’t think he noticed it was upside down.

The mayor’s voice nearly shook the rafters of the old church. “Leviticus 19:19. ‘Ye shall keep my statutes. Thou shalt not let thy cattle gender with a diverse kind: thou shalt not sow thy field with mingled seed: neither shall a garment mingled of linen and woolen come upon thee.’ Constituents, we should not associate with this man. He is of a ‘diverse kind.’ I posit that we should direct him to leave our area and allow our town to be at peace again.”

I could see Dad fuming. He spun around to face the mayor and said, “And also in Leviticus, Simon, it says, ‘But the stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself.” He turned back to the men sitting in pews. “We shouldn’t forget that, gentlemen. One more thing...” Dad stepped onto the platform, took Simon Pettigrew’s Bible right out of his hand and turned it right-side up. He looked through the pages until he found the passage he wanted:

“In Samuel, it says ‘But the LORD said unto Samuel, look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature...for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart.’”

Dad snapped the Bible shut, and the sound it made was so loud that Simon Pettigrew jumped a little. Dad handed the Bible back to the surprised mayor.

“You’ve made your point, Roy, and I have made mine. Let’s put things to a vote.” He walked to the middle of the platform and faced the crowd. “Everyone in favor of directing this giant to leave the area, raise your hand.”

The men looked around uncomfortably, but not a single hand went up.

The mayor cleared his throat. “Everyone in favor of allowing the giant to stay, raise your hand.”

Hesitant at first, eventually every hand went up.

Whether people were too afraid to confront Big Phil or whether they actually had no concern about his presence, my dad had won the debate. Big Phil could stay.

Dad spoke to Arnold Haskins for several minutes after the other men had dispersed. On the way home, I asked him what he and Arnold talked about.

“Oh, I just reassured Arnold that Phil would like to offer some kind of compensation for staying in the cabin, but that it wouldn’t be much. Arnold said the cabin is in such bad shape he‘d be embarrassed to charge anything at all for it. I told Arnold I’d go with him to meet Phil. I believe a little meeting will make both men feel better about the whole arrangement.”

“When you go, can I go back out there with you?”

“We’ll see,” Dad said.

I stayed quiet, but Dad whistled the rest of the way home.

* * *

Proceed to part 2.2...

Copyright © 2023 by Theresa Konwinski