Archive for April, 2015

325. Uncle Bert

The stalwart son of AGM/Shot at a cat and killed a hen

Thus was Uncle Bert immortalized by one of his many brothers when, in an attempt to save a chicken from a ravenous alley cat, a young Bert accidentally shot the chicken instead of its pursuer.

“AGM” was Bert’s father, Augustus George Mansfield, the man for whom the many Mansfield’s Additions to Albion are named. A tinsmith and farmer, my great-great-grandfather, Augustus, sailed to the New World from England in 1842 when he only 14 years old. Accompanied by an uncle, he was met by an older brother in New York and together they set out to find their fortunes, emigrating from New York City through Canada to the little town of Marengo, Illinois (AG named many of Albion’s streets, including Marengo Street). There, in the 1850s, AGM married Mary Moore, an anglicized Iroquois Indian, and together they had more children than I can remember the names of anymore.

In 1880 AG, as the family called him, moved the family from Marengo to what is now the southeast part of town. The family first lived above the tin shop located where Schalk Auto now stands but later built the house at the corner of 3rd and Ruby streets. AG had so many kids he’d buy shoes by the barrel and they could dig through it to find a pair that fit. AG’s wife, Mary, was the town midwife, but because she was Native American, she was only allowed in people’s homes when a baby was due. This despite the fact that her husband was a town father and Baptist minister. Among other things, AG donated the land for the library and the Baptist church.

All of AG’s sons seem to have been remarkable, but most remarkable was the tallest and strongest, Adalbert, or “Bert” for short. Bert excelled at many sports, including foot racing. Finally a group of Albionites, tired of Bert always winning, hired a sprinter from someplace else. He was the first and only person to outrun Bert. He kept on going past the finish line, jumping into a waiting Model T to escape Bert’s angry fans.

AG used to baptize people in the Beaver Creek. Bert, an excellent swimmer, was always stationed around the bend just in case something went wrong and the new convert needed saving physically as well as spiritually.

My aunt Ruby (Wright) used to tell stories about her Uncle Bert, including how a bull once chased him through the pasture. Bert accidentally stepped in a badger hole, bringing him to an immediate stop. Fortunately, the bull was so surprised to see one of Bert’s legs disappear that it stopped too.

Bert, like his brothers, was an avid hunter (Bert’s oldest brother, Uncle Will, once loaded AG’s muzzle loader with gravel and nails and tried to shoot down the Moon). Bert, like many others, hunted passenger pigeons, and helped drive the species to extinction. Many years after the passenger pigeons disappeared from the wild one miraculously appeared in Frank Mansfield’s farmyard. Ever the gentleman, Frank invited Bert over and allowed him to shoot this very last bird.

Bert had two daughters, Margery and Helen, and Helen’s son, Bob Harder, lived and taught here for many years. Judy, if you’re reading this, I’m sure you have many other stories about Bob’s grandfather, and someday I’d love to hear them…

324. 127 Seconds

I don’t know how many of you have seen the movie 127 Hours, but in case you haven’t, it’s about hiker Aron Ralston whose right arm became pinned beneath a bolder in a narrow crevice deep in the Utah wilderness. No one knew where he was and few people hiked in that area. Finally, out of desperation, Ralston cut off his own arm.

127 Hours is a stark reminder of the lengths people sometimes have to go to in order to survive. Fortunately, though, most people never find themselves in such a situation.

Just as Ralston didn’t expect to become trapped hiking the day his ordeal started, I hadn’t expected to become trapped when cutting down volunteer cedar trees in a hard-to-reach corner of our land Saturday. After felling scores of trees of various sizes, I took on the largest of the bunch, a venerable cedar with a trunk about a foot in diameter. I cut a wedge on the side where I wanted it to fall but an unexpected wind gust pushed it right down on top of me instead. It was a heavy tree and it was now resting firmly on my legs.

I was completely buried in branches – even if someone saw the tree they’d never notice I was under it. The chainsaw was still idling – should I shut it off to avoid accidentally cutting myself as I struggle to get free? Or should I keep it running in case worse came to worse and the only way I could free myself would be to emulate Aron Ralston and cut off my own legs. Eventually someone would come by to plant the adjacent field but that could be a week or more and again, I was sure I couldn’t be seen under the cedar boughs.

I thought maybe going days without food would cause me to lose enough weight that I could wriggle out. But could I survive the cold nights? And sooner or later the chain saw would run out of gas, depriving me of my last chance to escape. My heart raced — my situation was desperate.

And then, just as I was about to lose all hope, a voice came to me from nowhere. “Dad, are you okay?” my son William asked. William and my wife Lori had been helping me and had by some miracle noticed my life-or-death predicament.

“I told you not to cut that one,” Lori said. William suggested they hook a chain to the back of the pickup and pull me out – Lori thought they should attach it around my neck (okay – I got it – she had been right and I had been less-right).

Listening to them plan my rescue, I wondered if I was really any better off having them help. Finally Lori suggested I pass the chainsaw out to her and try wriggling out. I did so, and with the threat of cutting myself with the saw no longer an issue, I managed to claw my way to freedom.

“You’d better cut those branches off – they’re sticking out into the field,” was all Lori said, handing me the saw. I had returned from the brink of death only to be put back to work. But just as Aron Ralston’s 127 hour ordeal had changed him forever, my 127 second ordeal had changed me as well. A little while later when Lori told me it was time to go home, for the first time in our 30-year marriage, I did what she said without arguing.