Another adventure with an American Originalist

20/10 vision

Hank

Another adventure with an American Originalist

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

             Richard E. (Hank) Hays looks more like his maternal grandfather every day. In fact, I remember the day Hank and I rode across the flat with Mr. Chapel to where my dad was building our house. We left Hank’s house, and, rather than driving down the dirt road to hit the black top to drive south to the turn into the home site, Mr. Chapel drove cross country pushing through the weeds and grass to arrive at the construction site.

            Hank and I were in the backseat sitting high so we could see out.

            The problem with the approach wasn’t the fact we were blazing a trail that didn’t exist. It was the fact we were on course to plunge into the cesspool. I knew exactly where it was because I had been digging in it. In the mosaic of daily activities, Hank had been down there in the depths of it, too. Like most things we did, it was being dug to accommodate a hefty usage. That uncovered excavation would surely accommodate an object the size of a car!

            Hank and I were exchanging faces as the hole was approaching. My conscience was getting heavier and heavier.

 “Uh, Mr. Chapel … Mr Chapel,” I was beginning to say as Hank elbowed me hard in the ribs, and shook his head and mouthed a silent but definite “NO!”

            “Uh, Mr. Chapel,” the words again formed. “This sure is an interesting route we are taking.”

            The preface

            I probably knew Hank before I knew Hank, but a first lasting memory of him was at his then house at Little Walnut just under the hill from Carl and Elsie Starrett’s.

Carl, an old time Heart Bar cowboy, was one of Hank’s many cunyás.  It didn’t matter that he was old enough to be Hank’s grandfather. He’d sit up there with him drinking coffee and talking about world affairs. It wasn’t Mr. Starrett. It was Carl. That is the way Hank greeted most folks … even his parents. It wasn’t mom and dad. It was Dick and Marie.

Hank was never a kid.

He was an adult even when he was a little kid. The day of that memory Hank was out at the shop. After we greeted, I couldn’t stop staring at his boots. They were lace up boots that some pole climber might wear. They certainly weren’t something I’d seen at Pennington’s, the place we shopped on credit.

That morning Hank was busy with his newest project. He had taken a motor out of a record player and engineered it into a miniature winch. Immediately, we started testing its limits by attaching larger and larger rocks. Before we quit to start catching grasshoppers to tie to black cats or something of similar importance, Hank had concluded he could increase the lift capacity by adding spool counts to his block and tackle.

That is just how his mind operated!

As for the boots, they were standard fare for years. I finally talked him in to giving me a pair he had worn out. They killed my feet with blisters as big as quarters, but I wore them in splendid aggrandizement.

Nobody else ever had anything like them!

Form over function

Thinking back, most of the things we did followed a twist that can only be described as form over function. Most of the time, it was self prescribed ventures of importance. We spent hours preparing for those momentous tasks. Fence building was often part of the plan. Hank would have all the paraphernalia laid out for inspection.

 We would then saddle Dandy, the half Shetland stud, and commence loading him. Shovels, post hole digger, bar, a double bitted axe, a pole axe, rope, ‘steeples’, bailing wire for ‘stays’, hammers, ‘dikes’, lunch, .22 rifle, a box of shells, mountain cheaters, measuring tape, a roll of wire, duct tape, the David Bradley chain saw with mixed fuel and a quart of chain oil, and sling shots were all on the extensive packing list. We then tarped the load, threw an uneducated ‘diamond’, and stuck a saddle axe into the web of rope. We were off only to return five minutes later to retrieve the come-along we had forgotten.

The five ton version was selected over the three ton. Only the big caliber stuff was adequate for our operations, and, after all, we didn’t have to pack it.

Again, we started for the job with Dandy looking at us out of the corner of his eye since he couldn’t move his head due to the placement of the longer handle tools. The rigid load kept his alignment fixed like a straight jacket.

We arrived later at the fence line where we finally caught Dandy after he jerked loose and ran off. All he could do was run straight since he couldn’t turn his head left or right! We filed that bit of knowledge for future tactical planning.

After unloading enough of the ‘truck’ to get to the double bitted axe, Hank waded into a prickly pear cactus and started flailing away knocking pads off to expose the fence line. It was in that process that disaster occurred. As I was leaning in marveling at the efficiency of Hank’s axe work, several low flying pads hit me square in the right cheek.

It felt like a swarm of bees had hit me in mid flight!

Immediately down on the ground writhing around with what felt like a hot skillet attached to my cheek, Hank arrived in my line of sight. He was grinning.

“Looks like you gotta’ problem there, Hoss,” he announced and commenced assessing the situation. He finally concluded we didn’t have the right pair of pliers to do the job properly so we would have to rely on the ‘dikes’.

“I don’t care,” I was trying to say out of the side of my mouth that worked. “Just get the d***ed thing off me!”

“Things” was the proper assessment of he who still had his full vision. Mine was starting to fade on the right side since my cheek was swelling like a balloon being filled with water. I was also seeing the world turning in a big circle above me. There was no way I was going to stand without passing out.

Hank was working on me and all those needles that were holding tight in all angles of entry when he was struck by the humor in it all. He started laughing. He’d work a while and then have to lean back to laugh. He was even on the ground beside me howling at the humor he found in my predicament.

I could no longer see out of my right eye since it was swollen shut.

After what seemed like hours, he completed the task. Some time later, I was able to sit up without getting sick. By that time, Hank had decided I was going to be “of no account” so the fence building had to be rescheduled for another day. He repacked Dandy as I recovered.

When I could get to my feet, we started off the hill only to pause on the slope to retrieve the sling shots out of the load. Hank was interested to see if we could hit the black top with its passing cars from that distance. So, we slung rocks for awhile …him with his two eyes and me with my one.

We successfully ranged and hit the road.

Now

We are now … continuing our lives. Hank went on to become Chief of Flight Operations, United States Border Patrol and I started what became the fourth largest fruit company in America during the ‘90s.

We are no different except Hank looks older.

In those differing pursuits, we went years without communicating until one day I needed assistance selling a Hughes 500. I knew who could help me and I started inquiring about his phone number. I finally reached his secretary who ran him down. He called me back.

“What’s going on, Hoss?” was the first thing out of his mouth.

I told him what I needed and he said, “Give me a couple of hours.”

“Well, why would it take that long?” was my unstated thought. But, sure enough and true to character, he called back shortly to announce the helicopter had been sold to the city of San Jose.

With that … we were on to the next prescribed venture.

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Hank Hays is retired and flies a helicopter for a large border cow outfit. I told him the other day I was developing a cataract in that same right eye. He told me he had just undergone another annual flight physical. His doctor was amazed that he is still has 20/10 vision which places him in the 99.9 percentile. It doesn’t surprise me … he ranks there in friendship.”