HENRY MYERS THE CHEMO HERMIT
by Archer L. Grover
Chemo Pond is situated,
State of Maine, in Town of Bradley,
Length is somewhat more than two miles,
Width will average half that distance.
These are not exact dimensions,
But will serve our purpose nicely.
Chemo Pond has loaned its name to Chemo Stream, it’s a quiet outlet,
Five miles long and very winding. (It will serve our purpose better if we call it Chemo River.)
Chemo Bog, where it meanders,
Is a flat and open country,
Here and there, small clumps of bushes,
Most of it is grassy meadow.
All the “Chemos”, herein mentioned,
Join to loan their names, collective,
To the country round about them,
Vaguely known as CHEMO COUNTRY
Flat terrain, and mostly wooded;
This is in the Town of Bradley.
Chemo Pond has many fishes,
Mostly Bass and Perch and Pickerel,
Now and then a trout and salmon;
Trout are in its tributaries. ·
In the early Nineteen Hundreds, Orono was then my homesite.
Knowing I was ‘woodsy· minded’,
Some acquaintance kindly told me of the charms of Chemo Country.
So I went down to the Ferry,
Ferry o’er Penobscot River, which was run by “Ulia” Walker;
Asked of “Ulie”, way to Chemo,
Then I followed his directions.
When I came into the clearing
At the ancient Chemo mills1te,
There I saw across the river,
Someone working on a haystack.
All alone, the man was working
As I watched him most intently,
I was truly fascinated;
I had never seen one like him;
Rather tall, and dressed quite neatly,
On his head, a broad-brimmed felt hat,
Hat was large and black in color;
Coal-black hair was long, and hanging
To his slightly-sloping shoulders;
Face was cleanly shaven, save for
Moustache, long, and black, and drooping;
On his hip, a Colt’s revolver
Hung from black, wide belt of leather.
He looked lithe, and strong, and forty
As he worked upon the haystack
Unaware that I was watching.
Then I went across the river
And approached him at his labor.
When I reached a point quite near him,
Twenty feet, as I remember, accosted him by making
Some remark about the weather,
Whereupon he whirled so quickly,
Dropping right hand on revolver,
As he quickly turned to meet me; (Motion seemed involuntary,)
Eyes were keen, and black, and shifty.
When he saw that I looked harmless,
He recovered his composure,
Leaned upon his pitchfork handle
With the tines stuck in the haystack,
As he talked in casual manner.
Homeward bound across the Ferry,
Then I talked With “Ulie’ Walker,
Asked who it was I’d talked with.
Straightway, this was what he answered:
“HENRY MYERS, the Chemo Hermit,
That is what the people call him;
Where he came from, is a question
For which, no one has an answer.
Many are the wild conjectures.
Where he came from, what supports him.
All we know is, that he came here, went out there and built a cabin,
Traps and hunts in Fall and Winter ,
In the Summer, does some fishing.
This, I learned from “Ulle” Walker,
He, the man who ran the Ferry.
This was long ago, remember,
In the early Nineteen Hundreds.
In his early days at Chemo,
It was then the common gossip,
Henry had a modest income;
Thought it came by postal service.
This would seem a fair assumption
Since he had the things he needed,
With the least of manual labor.
From the time he built his cabin
Until Nineteen-four, in August,
Life with Henry seemed quite tranquil
Till, one day, he was arrested
By the Sheriff of the County,
Then was tried in Bangor Courthouse
After being, there, indicted
For the crime as herein stated:
“Breaking into store and stealing
Diverse goods from Charlie Nichols.”
Jury gave their verdict: “GUILTY”.
Then the Judge pronounced the sentence:
“FOUR LONG YEARS IN MAINE STATE PRISON.
This is.not a myth or legend,
It was taken from the records as were written in the
Courthouse, Bangor, Maine, Penobscot County.
During his incarceration Henry’s camp was burned to ashes;
No one thought that he would come back
To his former Chemo camp-site.
This, it seems, was wishful thinking.
He returned and built his cabin
Near its former situation.
Here in Maine, in river valleys,
Many hermits live, and have lived,
Some in far-back wildernesses.
(It has been my observation,)
You will find two classes, only,
As regards their living quarters;
Very neat, or very sloppy,
Henry Myers was in the latter.
One day, someone stopped at Henry’s,
Saw that all his table dishes,
Plate, and cup, and spoon, and saucer
Bore a week’s accumulation,
Smeared, and dried, and somewhat crusted.
Said the Visitor to Henry:
“Why in God’s-name don’t you wash-em”?
“What in hell’ a the use”, said Henry
“Nothin’ on ’em, only v1tuals”
In those days, I had a camp-site
Three miles up the stream from Henry’s
Pitched my tent there soon as “ice-out”,
Left it there till late October,
Used canoe to go and come with.
Many happy days I spent there,
Sometimes with my two young daughters,
Daughter, “Peggy” ; daughter, “Polly”.
On my homeward journey, always
Left canoe at Henry’s Landing,
And the paddles in his cabin;
This insured me always finding
Them, whene’re· I wished to use them.
Henry had a pride, in being
Guardian of canoe and paddles.
This was how I really came to
Know his thoughts, and life, and habits.
When he went and got his bank-book,
Showed me figures that were in it,
Asked me if the bank was “solid”,
Then I surely felt quite honored.
I was always very careful
Not to ask him leading questions
As to former occupation.
It was thought by many people,
Henry, once, had been a soldier.
That he, later, had deserted.
This, I know. was true about him:
Many times in conversation,
Did he show an inside knowledge
Of all military matters.
Henry was profane and vulgar,
Keen of mind and somewhat witty,
But he showed consideration
When in presence of my children;
He was quite a constant reader,
Had a more than passing knowledge
Of the Bible and its contents;
Surely, not an ignoramus.
Maybe Henry had an income,
Source, of which, became exhausted;
Anyway, he built a hen-house, when he came back from state Prison,
Then he started raising chickens.
Sold his eggs, and ate his roosters,
Walked to town
With eggs in basket,
Brought back bacon, corn., and canned goods;
Cannot say how long this lasted,
But erelong he quit his poultry,
Raising chickens, hens, and roosters,
Then he started making home brew, !his in days of prohibition.
Did he drink it?
Yes, and sold it.
Henry’s brew was poor, but potent,
Always had the kick that counted.
So the pathway to his portal
Came to be well worn and grass-less.
Times were “looking up’ for
Henry, and his clientele continued,
Yes, increased in zest and numbers.
This did not disturb his neighbors,
For his neighbors were nocturnal-
Raccoons, bobcats, owls, and weasels.
But there came a day of reconing.
“Just because some good wife’s husband came home well inebriated
In the small hours of the morning,
This same “wifey” learned how “hubby”·
Came to be intoxicated,
So she called the County Sheriff,
No doubt Sheriff knew about it,
But had only blinked” evasion.
When complaint was made in person,
That demanded speedy action.
So he went and searched the cabin,
Found the home-brew, also Henry,
Took them both along to Bangor.
What became of Henry’s home-brew?
That’s an item not recorded,
But with Henry, it was different:
And was fined One Hundred Dollars, .
Plus the cost of his conviction,
Twenty-eighth day of October, Nineteen Hundred Twenty Seven.
This, the Clerk of Courts has told me.
It is my own recollection
There were, also other charges
For the same offence, committed;
But Man’s memory is fleeting,
So we rest the case as quoted.
Seventeenth day of January, Nineteen Thirty Three, the year was,
Winter’s day was
Clear and frosty
When no smoke was seen ascending
From the smoke-pipe of his cabin;
This attracted the attention
Of a person who was passing,
So he stopped, and looked, and listened,
Knocked on door, but got no answer,
Pondered what to do about it;
This is what he then decided:
“Maybe LIFE is in the balance”,
So he straightway forced an entrance.
Man is trancient, Man is mortal,
Therefore, it is true with hermits.
On the bed, there laid the body
Frozen in the Winter weather. Henry’s spirit had departed
To the Land of the Hereafter,
HENRY MYERS the CHEMO HERMIT.
Hallowell, Maine July 12, 1951