Down through the years, every town and village in Perth County and the area just beyond us has had its share of eccentric characters – people who were strangely different from most of the people living around them but who were tolerated and even liked for their uniqueness. If we live long enough, I suppose each of us in our own time will become characters, of sorts, if only because our ways will become strange to the young people coming up behind us. But what I’m referring to are the truly odd, the ones who each day are given a totally different set of marching orders from the ones you and I step to.
There’s a man in one nearby town who never wears shoes or socks, summer or winter. A woman in another village keeps an unusual assortment of pets in her house including two small horses, chickens, dogs and a rooster. I would not like the job of changing the litter box at her place. Another town has a man who keeps an imaginary friend as his constant companion. I’ve seen him in restaurants, talking with great animation to the empty chair across the table from him. He and his friend go window shopping in the afternoons.
These people are mysterious and to our way of thinking about them, a little sad. Yet, they also seem relatively happy and have a habit of living far longer than we “normal” people around them who worry and work ourselves into early graves. I once knew a man who, by all standards, was very unusual. He walked with a bit of a stoop and talked to himself continuously, trying hard to “figure” out what was going on. He looked right through you if he looked at you at all and rarely stopped his chatter. He was always busy, making the rounds of the stores and shops in town that would accept him. He often carried a loaf of bread under one arm and showed up frequently in the barber shops, where he felt at home. He lived alone in a shack near the middle of town.
The people of Mitchell were good to Charlie. No one seemed afraid of him. And business people quietly took care of him. The food stores and restaurants helped feed him. The shoe stores kept him in shoes and the clothing stores gave him clothes. No one knew for sure why he was the way he was but there were theories. Some said he was part of a trapeze act in a circus and watched his wife fall to her death from a high wire. Others said his family perished in a house fire and the sound of their anguish drove him “crazy” from then on. Still others thought he was as normal as anyone, but feigned his strangeness to get an easy ride through life. The last view always seemed unlikely to me although he was more aware than he appeared to be. One night he approached me for a ride home from the hotel in Sebringville. Among all the people in the place that night, he recognized me as someone from his hometown. He chattered to me all the way home.
I’ve heard of a man known as Buffalo Bill who spent his days sitting on a bench in a billiards hall, head on his hand, cane under his bearded chin – asleep. The bench, unfortunately, was located at the end of a pool table and once in a while, a high flying snooker ball would leave the table and knock the sleepy spectator on the skull. Youch!
There have also been many odd couples, like the old man and woman who lived on a farm and who were given to fighting continuously. It was a toss up whether it was she or he who had the worse temper but I bet it was her. One day, while he was up fixing a hole in the barn roof, she took the ladder away for two days to teach him a lesson. That would teach me a lesson. I wouldn’t be able to wait to apologize.
Another couple of seniors used to ride into Mitchell several times a week on an old motorcycle and sidecar. People in town stopped on the sidewalks to watch the performance as they climbed off their vehicle and made their way into the hotel for a quick refreshment. He was “Klondike” and she was Annie. Another big show took place when the two of them mounted their bike and sidecar to take off again.
Another red-faced man with a happy smile named Vincent used to wander out of the hotel, train engineer’s cap askew across his head, and go out to the centre of the highway where he would direct the traffic.
Cities have their drifters and street people but it seems towns and village are kinder to those who are different, providing they are not malevolent or dangerous, though that is just my opinion. The ones in our area are part of the history of our county too and some day, their stories will need to be told.
There are people still around who could name five times the number of characters I have described above. I hope those tales get out.
©1986 Jim Hagarty
