Query and Comment to paulb AT paulbunyanfineart.com

Query and Comment to paulb AT paulbunyanfineart.com

One of the earliest written accounts of Paul Bunyan appeared in a Detroit newspaper in 1910. Before the automobile, lumber was one of the most prominent factors in making Michigan famous and Detroit prosperous. Paul Bunyan and Detroit both played pivotal roles in the development of the United States and how we view ourselves as Americans.

Paul Bunyan tales and white pine logs flowed down from forests upstate through Detroit and into the new homes of prospering cities in the Lake States and back east. They became foundations for the building of the American dream and its ideals. Even after our national recklessness depleted this old growth resource, Paul Bunyan and the spirit of Detroit lived on in the American character.

Unfortunately, this hero of a century ago has become a buffoon relegated to children's books and the spirit of Detroit is now demonized by contemptuous America. This Lumbercore performance portrayed the hardships of both Paul Bunyan and Detroit as they separately find their new mission for the next millennium and for an unsympathetic nation.

Query and Comment to paulb AT paulbunyanfineart.com

Excerpt from:
Chronicle of Life and Works of Mr. Paul Bunyan

Editor American Lumberman,

Dear Sir: A number of years ago while, as a graduate student, I was prosecuting researches in American history, with special attention to biographical details, a chance visit to a loggery led to a peculiar discovery. I discovered that a personage of marvelous interest, an American of the first order of magnitude, a citizen of incomparable usefulness, one famous from the Atlantic to the Pacific, was as yet unheralded, his biography as yet unwritten. I refer, of course, to Mr. Paul Bunyan. You, being an authority upon all matters pertaining to loggery and woods-ship, will recognize-as my somewhat provincial brother historians have failed to recognize-that there is today no timbering camp in America in which the name, adventures and accomplishments of Mr. Paul Bunyan are not a matter of daily reference and quotation. You will understand the peculiar situation in which such a condition can obtain with only the most casual and inadvertent published accounts being available where such a vast field of verbal references is so common. Such was my original impression-such is my profound conviction after carrying on my researches for, now, these many years.

Abandoning my earlier work, I have been devoting myself to the collection of material for the biography of Mr. Paul Bunyan. That I am unworthy to attempt such a task, I am well aware. But may I briefly list my qualifications that you may judge as to the quality of my intentions? Upon securing my doctor's degree I entered upon a period of field apprenticeship under my respected mentor, Mr. Helly Frost, of the Mid-West Lumber Company. By his advice and upon his suggestion I became an expert "swamper" and was later able to qualify as assistant to the chief in charge of the wood-preparing crew of yarder donkey No. 3. Later I was whistle-boy and still later was permitted to grease the skids in the same camp. In the meantime I was permitted to elect a correspondence course in logging engineering and forestry at the State agricultural college, and pursued at the same time advanced work in various lines which I hoped would still further prepare me for the great task at which I had set myself.

For years I have been searching out the details of the life of Mr. Bunyan and have now, I feel sure, completed the only reasonably accurate and dependable collection of Bunyanisms yet available.

But, Mr. Editor, the collection is far from complete. Although I have traveled from the St. Regis to the Humptulips and from the Little Quaquetchee to the Peace River camps; although I have accumulated a vast amount of material, the tale is yet incomplete and my health is failing. Only one thing more can I accomplish. With the assistance of your world-reaching columns I can hope to secure assistance from the host of timberites whom it has not been my fortune to interview. There must be great funds of detail concerning Mr. Bunyan which I have not yet been able to list.

So, Mr. Editor, I propose to offer to you for publication a synopsis of the chapters so far compiled, with the explicit understanding that your powerful pen will assist me in the further assembly of the necessary data. Precious remembrances and anecdotes which constitute the warp of the fabric of life of the incomparable Bunyan must be added to my present collection for the emulation of the world and the benefit of posterity.

With full appreciation of my lack of fitness for this monumental task and, be it said, humbly, and with fear that my incompetence may mar ever so slightly the luster of the narrative, I hereby submit to you the substance of my labor: in short, the tentative biography of Mr. Paul Bunyan. At its head, publish, I entreat, the request that all details that have escaped me, no matter how seemingly slight, be mailed to me in your care. They will receive the most faithful investigation and the most prompt attention and, if suitable, will be included, with appropriate acknowledgments, in the subsequent chapters now in process of compilation.
Charles Albert Albright, Ph.D., L.E., M.S.F.

Chapter 1

Antecedents and Early Life of Mr. Paul Bunyan

[Author's Note: A most perplexing absence of detailed information on this phase of Mr. Bunyan's life seems to exist. This is probably due to a natural reluctance on the part of his intimates to inquire as to these matters, on the principle that glass may be damaged by too great a precipitation of stones upon it. Vague rumors as to the location of his birthplace and early youth are sometimes found but the most that can be certainly reported by his historian is that the birthplace of Mr. Bunyan is today unknown. As to his early youth it seems certain that it was spent at some point east of Lake Michigan, and quite probably in Michigan. There is some doubt as to whether or not the Adirondacks of New York State, especially the region neighboring to Tupper Lake, were not the scene of his youth. Information concerning Mr. Bunyan's youth will be gratefully received.

As to his parentage, even less can be said. It has been assumed that his parents were poor but honorable and of much more than average ability and stature, Paul deriving from them in high degree the superior attributes of each, so fortunately combined. While this is a natural assumption it should be suggested that the entire subsequent series of events discredits this theory. To his scribe there appears no doubt but that Mr. Paul Bunyan represents an extreme of the biological "sport"-a mutant or saltation of most extraordinary character and one which might, perhaps, have been derived from the most humble of origins. (The hypothesis that Mr. Bunyan was more than human, that he was derived spontaneously as the scrub oak of the jack pine plains of the Lake States, can be attributed wholly to ignorance and misinformation. The scrub oak comes from seed trees unnoticed amid the virgin forests. There can be no possible doubt to this. The report may be dismissed as preposterous. Paul had parents.)

Concerning his schooling even less can be reported. Absolutely nothing of dependable character has come to my attention. It seems probable that only the force of his native genius was required to raise him to the heights to which he attained. It is hard, truly, to assume that he was not fortunate in some of his early associations or that he had not the advantages of working with persons of extreme competence in various lines, but even this assumption, reasonable as respects the usual individual, is not required to explain the development of Mr. Bunyan's constructive ability. It can not be "explained" on any usual or normal grounds and all precedents may be considered as useless to an extreme. The only safe assumption is that Mr. Bunyan represented the American super-lumberman. Information leading to a more clear definition of the nature of his training in youth should by all means be secured and forwarded if it exists.

Period of His Activities

"Shrouded in mystery" is the only report which can certainly be made. Judging from the reported locations of his work, the early '80s or late '70s of the last century appear as the more likely dates for the beginning of his works. He is known to have performed work in the vicinity of Ambersant Brook and on the St. Regis. This was at its height about twenty years ago. His work certainly antedates this period, if indeed he labored in that exact vicinity at all. The richest field of anecdote appears to be in the Lake States and the regions supplied by Lake State lumberers in later years. From this it may be assumed that Mr. Bunyan was largely interested in this field. But again exact localities can not be with certainty reported, nor safely assumed. The Cass River and the Muskegon, the Au Sable and Tawas Bay, even Grand Rapids and Roscommon, are reputed sites for his camps, but faithful research has failed to substantiate the reports. Later reports indicate that he was certainly active about Puget Sound and this may be assumed without question. Coos Bay and the Mendicino region have also distinct traces of his influence. More can not now be said. The exact or even the approximate locations of his camps and works, together with their dates, even roughly, should be sent to me at once, if available. I am exceedingly anxious to substantiate certain suspicions I have formed about the main thread of my major hypothesis-(which can not now be properly disclosed).

Mr. Bunyan's Fate

In many respects this is the most mysterious of all the many strange features of the whole case. Nothing whatever can be definitely alleged as to this and the most painstaking efforts seem to derive not even vague intimations as to his fate or even his demise. Should by any chance any information, even vague, be available among the lumberists of the country, it should be at once transcribed, quoting carefully the authority, if any, and forwarded for my consideration.

Let me again urge that the most unselfish devotion to details and the freest possible assistance be rendered me in my task. If they are not so rendered I can only fear that a great mass of essential matter may escape me and escaping, be forever lost to the full record of American loggery, lumbery and history. End of author's note.] [We heartily endorse the author's request.-Editor.]

Chapter 2

[Biographer's Note: Many more or less unrelated incidents are to be discovered in the chronology of Mr. Bunyan's works but the major opus was undoubtedly that to be here related. Without doubt other items in the affair are yet to be reported and it is urgently requested that they at once be reported to "The Biographer of Mr. Paul Bunyan, care American Lumberman." (We desire to add our request of that of the biographer.-Editor.)]

"This is exceedingly large operation, is it not?" I inquired of a gentleman attired in overalls and a red undergarment, as we sat upon the bench parallel to and in front of the sleeping accommodations, and locally known as the "deacon's seat." I referred of course to the timbering camp in which I happened to be prosecuting my investigations.

"Just middlin' to fair," he replied politely, as he inspected me with some show of interest. "They's bigger tho'-quite a lot."

"Your log put-out is about how much, would you estimate?" I asked, producing my notebook, without which I am unable to carry on a pertinent conversation, owing to worry that some item of value may, perchance, be lost.

"Mebbe some hundred an' fifty thousand a day," he answered me.

This I noted down and then inquired, "Logs by the piece, sui sibi, or otherwise: that is, by the measurement in scaling?" He seemed to look startled at my simple question but smiled kindly and involved a neighbor in our conversation.

"Wouldja guess we got out mebbe so much as a hundred an' fifty thousand logs each an' every day, Bud?" The gentleman addressed seemed also somewhat surprised at the query but, glancing in my direction, he pondered shortly, then shook his head and answered: "No, not hardly. Paulson to the Harbor he puts in about half a million a day they tell me. An' Smith, to Marshfield, he get out quite some too. Not hardly that much, I jedge. Only one feller ever got out more than hunnred an' fifty thousand logs a day, I reckon."

Bunyan's North Dakota Camp

My first acquaintance nodded his head confirmingly. Both spat. Each looked at the other. They nodded again and pondered. I encouraged them by voice and gesture. "Another camp of which you know was of even greater capacity, you say? May I inquire concerning it with more particularity?"

"You thinking of that there North Dakota camp of Paul's?" asked the gentleman with the red undergarment of him addressed as Bud.

"I were," answered Bud (I afterward learned that his last name was Smith and Jackson-peculiar-C.A.A.).

"Maybe this here gentleman"-indicating me-"would love to hear tell about that there camp," suggested my acquaintance.

"Nothing would give me such great pleasure," I replied, making certain that my supply of pencils was adequate, for I anticipated much valuable information, having previously heard rumors as to this identical camp of Mr. Bunyan's, but not having been able to secure specific details. My chance had come. Placing my stenographer's pad upon my knee and poising a pencil, "Pray continue, I am more than interested," I requested. Bud Smith-Jackson seemed unaccountably flattered by my attention, hemmed and hawed, then proceeded very carefully. As he began, others in the lodging house, drew near, from time to time adding some valuable suggestions to the narrative, which proceeded, according to my note as follows:

"'Twer' right after the Chicago fire, and the folks there was after buildin' materials, lumber an' such. They couldn't git enough, hardly. So they asked could the Government help 'em out some. The Senator he come up for election again pretty soon so he seen the Government about it and they told him this here State of North Dakota what was level and fine logging ground that they wanted to git cleared agin the time Minnesota would be filled up and they wouldn't be no more room for the fellers from Sweden and Norway what liked farmin' better nor regular Army work. So they tell the Senator he kin advertise for a contract to log off the whole works. He done it but they warn't many bidders, the time limit bein' so short. Paul he hern tell about the contract an' send out some lookers an' they cruise it and come back an'-"

"Pardon me," I interrupted, "but how could they cruise it if it was farming land and timbered forest?"

"Quite a lot of it were swamp timber," explained one of the members of the circle. Making a special symbol which I had adopted to indicate that further information should be secured when practicable, in order to clear up a point of interest, I permitted Bud to resume.

"He used to travel mostly with his light mule team, you know," continued Bud. "They was so fast an' frisky he couldn't make any regular wagon travel on account the brakes don't hold, so he has a special sort of stone-boat made, sort of flat-bottomed wagon with no wheels. When the mules was goin' good and hit a patch of water like, mebbe pond or somethin' like that, whole shebang acts just like a skipper-stone, an' naturally jest flips across, yunno."

"But, my dear sir, a stone boat? Of course the specific gravity of steel is greater than that of water and nevertheless steel vessels may be navigated, but stone seems most peculiar. I..."

"I says stone-boat, don't I," insisted Bud. There was a confirmatory murmur from the circle of listeners, so I subsided, inserting yet another query symbol.

"Well, Paul he liked the terms all right-they was to log her slick and clean and deliver the drive into Chicago inside a year. So he takes it and signs a bond and starts in an'..."

"Pardon me a moment-did I understand that the pieces of timber were to be driven by water driving, from Dakota to Chicago, Ill.?" I was forced to ask.

"That's what I was tellin'yu-wa'n't I? Missouri River runs near North Dakota, don't it? Missouri and Snake heads near together, don't they? Snake runs into Columbia don't it? Columbia she runs into the Pacific don't it?"

"Sure, and it's all free water from there clean around to the Atlantic and the St. Lawrence runs into the Atlantic and connects the Lakes with it and Chi' is located on Lake Michigan. Everybody knows about that. Go on, Bud," exclaimed Mr. Smith-Jackson with some rancor, as I thought, wonderingly. So Bud proceeded as follows: "Fust thing was to git his camps located and built up and his junk in an' ready and his railroad runnin', of course. She was some camp. He calculated to put in five million foot of timber each and every hour and that there means some camp-an' she was that."

"The cook house was first and the eatin' house was next, then the bunk-house was built-an' then the rest of it. Men was so thick around there for a while that Paul he had um make up a lot of little tables with legs about a foot long to carry on their backs while workin'. Bunch of fellers git to carryin' a big timber of suthin, foreman hollers 'bellies down,' then everybody in the way just flops down flat an' the tables makes a nice sort of sidewalk for the fellers with the timber on their shoulders. It was real handy. Never seen it did before." (To this the entire circle agreed.)

At this point the person who acted as lodging house footman began to turn out the lights and the conference disbanded to be resumed the next evening.

Query and Comment to paulb AT paulbunyanfineart.com

The Round River Drive

'Twas '64 or '65
We drove the great Round River Drive;
'Twas '65 or '64-
Yes, it was durin' of the war,
Or it was after or before.
Those were the days in Michigan,
The good old days, when any man
Could cut and skid and log and haul,
And there was pine enough for all.
Then all the logger had to do
Was find some timber that was new
Besides a stream-he knew it ran
To Huron or to Michigan,
That at the mouth a mill there was
To take the timber for the saws.
(In those old days the pioneer
He need not read his title clear
To mansions there or timber here.)
Paul Bunyan, (you have heard of Paul?
He was the king pin of 'em all,
The greatest logger in the land;
He had a punch in either hand
And licked more men and drove more miles
And got more drunk in more new styles
Than any other peavey prince
Before, or then, or ever since.)
Paul Bunyan bossed that famous crew:
A bunch of shoutin' bruisers, too-
Black Dan MacDonald, Tom McCann,
Dutch Jake, Red Murphy, Dirty Dan,
And other Dans from black to red,
With Curley Charley, yellow-head,
And Patsy Ward, from off the Clam-
The kind of gang to break a jam,
To clean a bar or rassle rum,
Or give a twenty to a bum.

Paul Bunyan and his fightin' crew,
In '64 or '5 or '2,
They started out to find the pines
Without much thought of section lines.
So west by north they made their way
One hundred miles until one day
They found good timber, level land,
And roarin' water close at hand.

They built a bunk and cookhouse there;
They didn't know exactly where
It was and, more, they didn't care.
Before the spring, I give my word,
Some mighty funny things occurred.

Now, near the camp there was a spring
That used to steam like everything.
One day a chap that brought supplies
Had on a load of mammoth size,
A load of peas. Just on the road
Beside the spring he ditched his load
And all those peas, the bloomin' mess,
Fell in the spring-a ton I guess.
He come to camp expectin' he
Would get from Bunyan the G.B.
But Joe the Cook, a French Canuck,
Said, "Paul, I teenk it is ze luck-
Them spring is hot; so, Paul, pardon,
And we will have ze grand bouillon!"

To prove the teamster not at fault,
He took some pepper, pork and salt,
A right proportion each of these,
And threw them in among the peas-
And got enough, and good soup, too,
To last the whole of winter through.
The rest of us were kind of glad
He split the peas, when soup we had-
Except the flunkeys; they were mad
Because each day they had to tramp
Three miles and tote the soup to camp.

Joe had a stove, some furnace, too,
The size for such a hungry crew.
Say what you will, it is the meat,
The pie and sinkers, choppers eat
That git results. It is the beans
And spuds that are the best machines
For fallin' Norway, skiddin' pine,
And keepin' hemlock drives in line.
This stove of Joe's it was a rig
For cookin' grub that was so big
It took a solid cord of wood
To git a fire to goin' good.
The flunkeys cleaned three forties bare
Each week to keep a fire in there.
That stove's dimensions south to north,
From east to westward, and so forth,
I don't remember just exact,
And do not like to state a fact
Unless I know that fact is true,
For I would hate deceiving you.
Put in a mammoth batch of dough;
And then he thought (at least he tried)
To take it out the other side.
But when he went to walk around
The stove (it was so far) he found
That long before the bend he turned
The bread not only baked but burned.

We had two coons for flunkeys, Sam
And Tom. Joe used to strap a ham
Upon each foot of each of them
When we had pancakes each A.M.
They'd skate around the stove lids for
An hour or so, or maybe more,
And grease 'em for him. But one day
Old Pink-eye Martin (anyway
He couldn't see so very good),
Old Pink-eye he misunderstood
Which was the bakin'-powder can
And in the dough eight fingers ran
Of powder, blastin'-powder black-
Those niggers never did come back.
They touched a cake, a flash, and poof!
Went Sam and Tommie through the roof.
We hunted for a month or so
But never found 'em-that, you know,
It was the year of the black snow.

We put one hundred million feet
On skids that winter. Hard to beat,
You say it was? It was some crew.
We took it off one forty, too.
A hundred million feet we skid-
That forty was a pyramid;
It runs up skyward to a peak-
To see the top would take a week.
The top of it, it seems to me,
Was far as twenty men could see.
But down below the stuff we slides,
For there was trees on all four sides.

And, by the way, a funny thing
Occurred along in early Spring.
One day we seen some deer tracks there,
As big as any of a bear.
Old Forty Jones (he's straw-boss on
The side where those there deer had gone)
He doesn't say a thing but he
Thinks out a scheme, and him and me
We set a key-log in a pile,
And watched that night for quite a while.
And when the deer come down to drink
We tripped the key-log in a wink.
We killed two hundred in the herd-
For Forty's scheme was sure a bird.
Enough of venison we got
To last all Winter, with one shot.

Paul Bunyan had the biggest steer
That ever was, in camp that year.
Nine horses he'd out-pull and skid-
He weighed five thousand pounds, he did.
The barn boss (handy man besides)
Made him a harness from the hides
Of all the deer (it took 'em all)
And Pink-eye Martin used to haul
His stove wood in. Remember yet
How buckskin stretches when it's wet?
One day when he was haulin' wood,
(A dead log that was dry and good)
One cloudy day, it started in
To rainin' like the very sin.
Well, Pink-eye pounded on the ox
And beat it over roads and rocks
To camp. He landed there all right
And turned around-no log in sight!
But down the road, around the bend,
Those tugs were stretchin' without end.
Well, Pink-eye he goes in to eat.
The sun comes out with lots of heat.
It dries the buckskin that was damp
And hauls the log right into camp!

That was a pretty lucky crew
And yet we had some hard luck, too.
You've heard of Phalen, double-jawed?
He had two sets of teeth that sawed
Through almost anything. One night
He sure did use his molars right.
While walkin' in his sleep he hit
The filer's rack and, after it,
Then with the stone-trough he collides-
Which makes him sore, and mad besides.
Before he wakes, so mad he is,
He works those double teeth of his,
And long before he gits his wits
He chews that grindstone into bits.

But still we didn't miss it so;
For to the top we used to go
And from the forty's highest crown
We'd start the stones a-rollin' down.
We'd lay an ax on every one
And follow it upon the run;
And, when we reached the lowest ledge,
Each ax it had a razor edge.

So passed the Winter day by day,
Not always work, not always play.
We fought a little, worked a lot,
And played whatever chance we got.

Jim Liverpool, for instance, bet
Across the river he could get
By jumpin', and he won it, too.
He got the laugh on half the crew:
For twice in air he stops and humps
And makes the river in three jumps.

We didn't have no booze around,
For every fellow that we found
And sent to town for applejack
Would drink it all up comin' back.

One day the bull cook parin' spuds
He hears a sizzlin' in the suds
And finds the peelin's, strange to say,
Are all fermentin' where they lay.
Now Sour-face Murphy in the door
Was standin'. And the face he wore
Convinced the first assistant cook
That Murphy soured 'em with his look.
And when he had the parin's drained
A quart of Irish booze remained.
The bull cook tells the tale to Paul
And Paul takes Murphy off the haul
And gives him, very willingly,
A job as camp distillery.

At last, a hundred million in,
'Twas time for drivin' to begin.
We broke our rollways in a rush
And started through the rain and slush
To drive the hundred million down
Until we reached some sawmill town.
We didn't know the river's name,
Nor where to someone's mill it came,
But figured that, without a doubt,
To some good town 'twould fetch us out
If we observed the usual plan
And drove the way the current ran.

Well, after we had driven for
At least two weeks, and maybe more,
We come upon a pyramid
That looked just like our forty did.

Some two weeks more and then we passed
A camp that looked just like the last.
Two weeks again another, too,
That looked like our camp, come in view.

Then Bunyan called us all ashore
And held a council-like of war.
He said, with all this lumbering,
Our logs would never fetch a thing.
The next day after, Sliver Jim
He has the wits scared out of him;
For while he's breakin' of a jam
He comes upon remains of Sam,
The coon who made the great ascent
And through the cookhouse ceilin' went
When Pink-eye grabbed the fatal tin
And put the blastin' powder in.

And then we realized at last
That ev'ry camp that we had passed
Was ours. Yes, it was then we found
The river we was on was round.
And, though we'd driven many a mile,
We drove a circle all the while!
And that's the truth, as I'm alive,
About the great Round River drive.

What's that? Did ever anyone
Come on that camp of '61,
Or '63, or '65,
The year we drove Round River drive?
Yes, Harry Gustin, Pete and me
Tee Hanson and some two or three
Of good and truthful lumbermen
Came on that famous camp again.
In west of Graylin' 50 miles,
Where all the face of Nature smiles,
We found the place in '84-
But it had changed some since the war.
The fire had run some Summer through
And spoiled the logs and timber, too.
The sun had dried the river clean
But still its bed was plainly seen.
And so we knew it was the place
For of the past we found a trace-
A peavey loggers know so well,
A peavey with a circle L,
Which, as you know, was Bunyan's mark.
The hour was late, 'twas gittin' dark;
We had to move. But there's no doubt
It was the camp I've told about.
We eastward went, a corner found,
And took another look around.
Round River so we learned that day,
On Section 37 lay.

Query and Comment to paulb AT paulbunyanfineart.com

Editor American Lumberman: I notice in the Lumberman that you have been writing up a little description of Paul Bunyon's oxen, and would say that the writer in his early days used to work for Paul Bunyon and for that reason I know more of Paul's methods of doing business than perhaps any other man this side of South Africa. Now we have a yoke oxen that is larger than the one that is mentioned in your issue of April 25 that we use for nothing else than to haul pepper for putting on the Irish potatoes that Big Swede Charley eats. He drives the oxen, Baugh and Brinny.

I will send you a copy of a letter that I wrote last week to Mr. Walter Henderson, of Springfield, Mass., which speaks for itself.

Yours very truly,
Scotch Lumber Company, by W.D. Harrigan.

Paul Bunyan's Oxen.

Mr. Walter Henderson,

Your favor of the 4th received and note that you would like to have me send you the description of Paul Bunyon's oxen that I explained to you when you were at Fulton. Would say that the oxen that I showed you the picture of were raised by Paul Bunyon and were born on the 33d day of February, 1904. The oxen are half brothers. When they were first put to work they were 6 years old, and Paul Bunyon had a sawmill one story high. He logged this mill with these two oxen and hauled the logs from a quarter of a mile to a mile and a half to his sawmill. Each year as the oxen grew older he put an additional story on his mill, and now that the oxen are ten years old he has four stories on his mill, with a band saw running from the top story to the bottom story and a band saw 311 feet long, with a carriage on each floor sawing off lumber from the same saw; and these same two oxen, old Baugh and old Brinny, were logging this 4-story mill up until the 37th day of July, 1913.

At 12 o'clock at night old Baugh broke down the barn and both oxen got loose and went out and drank all the water up in the pond, and as it was a dry season they had to close down the mill for four days until the pond filled up again, and when it was filled up and they were ready to start the mill again they found that Big Swede Charley, who was the only man in the world that could drive the oxen, had been taken sick. As you have heard before, they had to bake pancakes for him on a griddle that was made of pieces of boiler iron 23 feet 6 1/2 inches long and 9 feet 4 inches wide, and had two niggers with hams strapped on their feet skating around the griddle to grease it in order to keep the cakes from sticking to the pan, while three Chinamen on roller skates were carrying the cakes from the griddle to the table, and it took two Dagos on bicycles running around the griddle to put the batter on, while big Oscar the Turk, the greatest wrestler the world has ever known, and who drowned on his way home after throwing everybody in America in catch-as-catch-can, had an automobile hauling flour to bake the cakes; and as Big Charley the Swede has been laid up with the gout from eating so much there was nobody to drive the oxen the rest of the summer so they have been using them up on the Penobscot River in Maine 2 1/2 miles below where the Big Moose crossed on Jerry Dun's little farm of 10,000 acres.

But now that Big Swede Charley has recovered from the gout we have bought the oxen and had the Government send down a couple of warships to bring them to Mobile, and from there we made a road on which they walked up here 5 rods wide and 90 miles north to our mill on the Southern railroad, and we now have them in our woods doing our logging, and it was only this forenoon that I was out there and saw a 60-ton Shay engine stalled on a hill with thirty cars of rift flooring logs, and Big Charley the Swede told them to unhitch the Shay engine so he could put on the oxen, and he then hauled all these cars over the hill with old Baugh and Brinny. I would like to say that old Baugh, better known as Brinny, had his tongue out mighty bad when he reached the top of the hill, as he is a little short-winded from the long rest. I would further like to say to you that we will now be able to furnish you comb grain flooring for your eastern customers, who are so particular in their wants, as we will use the oxen every Sunday to run their tongue over each piece of the flooring to polish it so that there will be no machine made by hand that can possibly compare with the finish that will be put on this flooring that we will ship you-all of it being finished in this manner by old Baugh and the Pink ox.

If you will remember, the three links of chain that I showed you hanging below the picture on our wall where the description of the oxen is given by Paul Bunyon himself, the weight of which you will remember is 40,000 pounds each, wearing a 16-foot ox yoke and pulling on a 1 1/8 chain, which they broke on a straight forward pull. The chain was made from Swedish iron and was tested to 162,000 pounds of strength to the square inch.

I am merely giving you this as an illustration of some of the loads that have been drawn by these unique oxen. When the father of the Pink ox was killed they made the main driving belt for the Great Southern Lumber Company, at Bogaloosa, out of his hide. You have, of course, read about this great mill. This belt was made from this ox, and the Great Southern Lumber Company is now negotiating with us in hopes of buying one or two of these oxen in order that they can kill one of them to make another belt in case their main driving belt breaks, because if this one breaks without these people having some option on these oxen, known as Paul Bunyon's oxen throughout the United States and South Africa, they would not be able to run their sawmill for the reason that they could never get another belt large enough without the Pink ox or old Baugh. If we should decide to sell these oxen we would be glad to let you know in time so that you could withdraw all of your quotations on the beautifully manufactured comb grain flooring that we have been selling you and that you saw while you were at our place and which you claimed was the best manufactured flooring in the world.

With kind personal regards from all the boys in our office, including myself, I remain
Yours very respectfully,
W.D. Harrigan.

P.S.-I suppose some of your trade in the East will be somewhat skeptical as to the history of these oxen, but if they are the first time that I go east I will bring the ten steel rings that were made by our blacksmith, 6 inches in diameter by 1/4 inch, welded together and inspected by a professional blacksmith, and as you remember, I strung them together and made a chain right before your very eyes that would make Harriman lift his hat to me with grace, and if some of the large mills don't curtail their output and stop flooding the market I am going to close down our mill and take those rings and go to the country fairs and string them together and take them apart and pass them around among the audience to show them that they are solid, without any springs whatsoever, and after they see that I have performed this wonderful feat I will have no trouble in selling the wise people the Kickapoo Indian oil or the Indian Sagwau, which will cure neuralgia, gout, earache, toothache, headache, grow hair on the baldest head providing they buy enough, cure consumption in the fourth stage, and give ease to a man with the hookworm. It was only yesterday that a couple of lumbermen from New York were here and I put the rings together for them, and when I left the office last night at 8:45 they were still trying to get them apart, and had I not done this for them they would not have believed the story of Paul Bunyon's oxen. - W.D.H.

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Excerpt from:
Tales about Paul Bunyan. Vol. II.

It has not always been smooth sailing for Paul Bunyan. He has had setbacks and losses the same as every logger. All successful loggers are men who are never licked, never quit, who will face and overcome all odds and whose iron will and resourceful brain can turn many a catastrophe into victory.

Such a man is Paul Bunyan; many a time the mistakes of an ignorant foreman or straw boss would have ruined a less powerful man. The winter of the blue snow Shot Gunderson was foreman on the Big Tadpole River. He landed all of his logs in a lake and in the spring, when ready to drive, he boomed the logs three times around the lake before he found there was no outlet to it. The lake was surrounded by high banks, the nearest drivable stream was ten miles away, and apparently the logs were a total loss.

Now here's where the brains come in. Paul had a cook named Sourdough Sam who made everything but coffee out of sour dough. He had only one arm and one leg, the other members having been lost when his sour dough barrel blew up. Paul had Sam mix enough sour dough to fill the big water tank and hitching Babe to the load, hauled it over and dumped it into the lake. When the mass "riz," as Sam said, a mighty lava-like stream poured forth and carried the logs over the hills to the river. To this day you will find a land locked lake named Sourdough in north of Akeley.

Another time a foreman named Chris Crosshaul took a big drive of Paul's down the Mississippi to New Orleans and it was discovered when the logs were in the New Orleans boom that he had driven the wrong logs. It was up to Paul to drive them back upstream.

Can't be done? Watch Paul. He feeds Babe so much salt that he drinks the upper Mississippi dry every day and sucks the rest of the water up stream. On this swift northbound current the logs were carried back to Minnesota.

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Excerpt from:
The Wonderful Life and Deeds of Paul Bunyon

One evening I was sitting with a crew of lumberjacks about the stove of their camp in western Oregon. It was a huge heater, nearly always kept red-hot, because it had to serve the double purpose of heating the bunk-house and drying the clothes of the crew. It was a voracious affair as well; one of the men kept feeding it great chunks of fir from a near-by pile.

"That stove is nothing at all alongside of the heaters we used to have at Paul Bunyon's," remarked a lumberjack in a casual way. "Those were the boys. They were fed by an endless chain, right from the woods, day and night. Paul's camps sure were never cold."

Although the remark was not directly addressed to me, it was intended that I should hear it. Interested, I listened. Nobody seemed to be relating Paul Bunyon's exploits in narrative form; statements about him were dropped in an offhand way, as if in reference to actual events of common knowledge. Some of the men acted and talked as if they had met one another and worked together in the legendary Bunyon camp. With painstaking accuracy they compared dates and data, establishing the exact time and place. It was "on the Big Onion, the winter of the blue snow," or, "at Shot Gunderson's camp on the Big Tadpole, the year of the sourdough drive." Later I learned that this was the usual method employed to overawe the greenhorn in the bunk-house or the paper-collar "stiffs" and homeguards in the saloons. For many years the lumbermen and loggers have enjoyed elaborating the old themes, and new stories have been born in lying contests in which the pinnacle of extemporaneous invention was often reached.

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Paul Bunyan Straightening Out the Round River carved by Milton Horn. Commissioned for the
Iron River Post Office in Michigan, this wood relief was carved in 1940-1941.
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The Mighty Bunyan comic strip was created by Clyde Yeadon and was syndicated in newspapers from 1948 to 1950.
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Trail of the Two-Headed Stag, map, twine, map tack, ink, varnish and shellac on MDF, 7x5".

"Besides being the epic hero of the tall timber, Paul Bunyan's tracking abilities were legendary. No trail was too old or too dim for him to follow. He once came across the skeleton of a two headed stag that had died of old age and, just for curiosity, picked up the tracks of the animal and spent the whole afternoon following its trail back to the place where it was born."

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This stone relief carving of Paul Bunyan (circa 1949) by an unknown artist
is on the Elizabeth Waters Elementary School in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.

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