The Green Man

Last night's walk felt like a race against time.  A 100 percent chance of rain later that night, as well as tornado warnings for all the surrounding counties.  The wind had already picked up when Banks and I left the house at 6:45, and I felt like a hard walk this time.  We headed north on South Congress, walked the trail for about a mile, and took the uphill return trip via South 1st. 

It was dark by the time we completed our trek up South 1st, and as that is a well-traveled and kind of "hip" street, I felt a little self-conscious in my glasses as the headlights from the oncoming cars fell on me.  And I flashed back to a haunting childhood experience.

Near the small western Pensylvania town I grew up in, there was a man who I guess was around my father's age, who had been horribly injured in an electrical accident as a teenager.  Most of his face had been burned off, and he lived in seclusion.  The only time he left his house was to take a nightly walk on the country roads around him. In this sleepy, rather backward town, where not a whole lot went on, it was common for teenagers and other thrill-seekers to drive through that area at night in hopes of catching a glimpse of the Green Man.  The damage to his face, when lit up by bright headlights, apparently cast a greenish tint -- hence, the Green Man. 

I saw him once.  My blurry memory of the occasion is that our teenage babysitter, Donna, and her boyfriend Chuck, took us out for a frozen custard, followed by a trip to see the Green Man.  It was a popular decision that night -- traffic was bumper to bumper.  And there he was.  He was wearing a hat, and I really couldn't see his face very well.  But my heart stopped.  After all these years of hearing about him, here was the Green Man.  In the darkness of the back seat of that locked car, I felt safe and terrified, thrilled and repulsed at the same time. 

Although he was obviously used to the nightly attention, apparently that night it all became too much for him.  He began pounding his cane (the accident had diminished his eyesight) on the pavement in a wordless fury, turned around and stormed back to what I assume was home.

Did I feel an ounce of compassion for this man?  No.  Did I feel even the slightest shame for participating in this show?  No.  I was seven or eight.  All I could think about was telling my friends that I'd seen the Green Man.

As I wrote this blog, I felt a twinge of guilt every time I typed those words -- the Green Man.  I googled him, and to my astonishment, got several hits, including a Wikipedia page. I had googled him years ago and found nothing. I learned a few factual things, but decided not to change anything I'd written, to let memory and legend stand as they were.  But the Green Man had a name.  It was Ray Robinson.  He died in 1985.