A few minutes after one o’clock on the afternoon of Thursday April 8th, 1935, Oklahoma Bailiwick marched into the small town of Beaverlick.
She was a huge man of a girl: 5’4”, 375 lbs. of pure, rolling fat. The whole of the woman, including her four chins, her back and neck fat, and even her forehead shook in rhythm to her every footstep and swing of her gigantic, ham-like arms.
She was wearing overalls and a straw hat. That’s it.
That’s all that she was wearing.
She came from a family of indeterminate size that lived in the hills just outside of the city limits. The parents of the brood, Slam and Bertie Bailiwick, came to town every other week for supplies. Oklahoma’s believed-to-be older brother, Rheingold Bushmo Bailiwick, was seen once in 1967 with a backpack on his back walking out of town never to be seen again, and, of course, there has been the multi-decade rumor about “Armhead”, a being that occasionally shuffles through town in dark of night looking for roadkill to eat and, every now and again, a garden gnome to sexually assault. People who have seen the creature have claimed that it has a humpback, a limp, and a fully-grown human arm growing out of its skull. One person, Town Councilwoman Mary Ellen Landseal, claims to have tried to talk to the beast on two occasions and once heard the creature reply with a plaintive call that sounded like a cross between a chainsaw and a cow mooing.
On the other hand, Mr. Toledo Plop, Science Teacher at Beaverlick High School, argues that the creature is most likely a cow, perhaps a drunken cow or a cow whose mother smoked during her pregnancy. “Who am I to judge?” shrugged Mr. Plop. “There is absolutely no real conclusive corroborating evidence that the creature even exists, so there is no way to determine if it is, in fact, human.”
Whether or not Armhead was a brother or sister or a pet that Oklahoma Bailiwick had forgotten to tie up made no difference on that rather warm and sunny day in April of 1935 as she marched forcefully forward through town, perhaps still under the effects of the physics of momentum i.e:
Momentum = Mass x Velocity.
She was a huge mass, going down the hill from her home into Beaverlick, picking up momentum that kept her marching through town until she came to the intersection of Zing Barrimore Lick Memorial Blvd. and Richard Berenstain Beaver Memorial Pkwy, right in the middle of town. She stopped in the middle of the intersection, put her pork chop hands with their sausage-y little fingers on hips that were wider than the woman was tall, and screamed at the top of her lungs:
It took a few seconds for the sight of Oklahoma Bailiwick, a young woman that up to that point had been nothing more than a rumor, but was now standing in the middle of town screaming for a mate, to register with the men strolling through the downtown. However, the other shoe quickly dropped, so to speak, and there was a mad and hysterical dash for a storefront, ANY storefront, that the men of the town could get to before all of the shops on the main streets locked their doors.
Unfortunately for Stanley Erica Bluetooth, a small, mild-mannered man who had just moved to Beaverlick one week before and was on his way to his first day at the 1st 3rd 5th bank, he did not realize the imminent danger he was now facing. He just stood in the cross walk, frozen at the sight of the behemoth that smiled at him, revealing four view-able teeth. Her bare feet were caked in mud, and there was a small twig stuck in between the 4th and 5th metatarsal on her right foot.
“YOU!” she bellowed, grinning as she marched over to Mr. Bluetooth, grabbed him by the front of his starched white shirt, knocked him out with a quick jab to the side of his head, and dragged his unconscious form back through town and up through the hills to the family home…whatever the word ‘home’ meant to them.
This story has become known in this town as the only sighting of “The Hulking Ham Beast Of Beaverlick” and the last sighting of Stanley Erica Bluetooth.
This story in one of many other wonderful stories that were shared between the 47 now grown up children of Oklahoma and Stanley when they gathered together their parent’s anniversary at the Houston Beulah Memorial Gazebo at the Eustis Pirkle Park by the Crick.
Admittedly, it was an interesting group. There were seven people there that had an arm coming out of their heads. There were also five garden gnomes, and three of those had feet for ears.
The gathered family planted two saplings, one for each of their parents, let out a collective, plaintive, family call, the call that sounds like a cross between a chain-saw and the “moo” of a cow, and then they marched back up into the hills outside of our fair city.
Thank Goodness that there are still some people in this town that respect tradition.
~ Dirk Stoneman contributed to this article