The Paul Bunyan Clan and the Texas tales

The Paul Bunyan Clan

Down through the years, countless storytellers beside far-flung campfires have contributed to the classical picture of Paul Bunyan, the colossus who tossed the Aurora Borealis around the cold shoulders of our Northland as a token of appreciation for her frigid affection.

Before snow covers our lake-dappled north country, modern Bunyanites swarm to Michigan’s annual conclave at Traverse City. There under the golden oaks and crimson maples, stories of Bunyan’s deeds and doings are recited and embellished with yarns about Babe the Blue Ox, a fabulous critter he reared from its doggie days.

Occasionally Bunyanites adopt a fact but normally the truth is too confining. Only when the tang of early frost is wanned with hot buttered rum do the Bunyan yarns and loggers’ legends grow mellow and modern. Then they tie the wildnerness into our industrial world with dubious tales such as the one about Bunyan’s egg beater. Seems that it was so perfect and so durable that Chicago’s Henry Crown copied it in miniature and made millions using them for Material Service’s concrete mixers.

Texas Tales

Texans run a close second to Bunyanites (they’re growing accustomed to coming in second). By the campfire under the prairie stars, waddies have told tales taller than the shadows behind them. One was of a headless vaquero who rode the great mustang country setting off wild horse stampedes. Judge Roy Bean was the Law West of the Pecos; Sam Bass robbed stages, then tipped farm wives with gold pieces for hand-out meals. Big Bend Ben who boasted that his Mother killed a dozen Comanches with a broom handle, used to ride mountain lions bareback. Ollie the oil field roughneck from Burkburnett, drank a gallon of green corn at one sitting and used carbolic acid for a chaser. It isn’t that they exaggerate-they just remember big!

A food magazine recently reported a Texas-developed beehive in which the bees deposit honey in jars and large-jawed beetles follow close behind to tighten the lids.

Walt Disney had a long distance call from a Texan; he requested a twelve-room reservation at the Disneyland Motel for the following Tuesday and concluded, “We’re arriving by car.” When Walt wanted to know, “How can you bring twelve rooms full of people by car?” the Texan drawled, “Son, it’s a RAILroad car.”

Down there in their baseball parks, vendors holler “Peanuts, popcorn, oilstock!” . . . and natives boast about “punkins” so big they’re cut in half and used for cradles. They tell of a Texan who gave his small dog a boy to play with.

One young chap down there grew up disappointed because his father couldn’t get him a set of trains it seems the New York Central wouldn’t sell. There are Texas ranchers who park more Thunderbirds in front of the house than roans beside the barn. They don’t have depressions down there-only sometimes their boom is a little lower.

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