Likes of Me

They called her Babe. But not because she was beautiful. Far from it. And it wasn't because she was sweet or innocent or childlike. They called her Babe because she was as strong as an oxPaul Bunyan's blue ox, to be exact. Since she could beat any man to a pulp in the small lumber camp of Centner's Mill, folks smiled respectful-like when they called her Babe. They gave her a wide berth, too, not because her gigantic frame required it, but because no one wanted to risk crossing Babe. And Lord help the soul who said she was hardy breeding stock. There's a kind of self-confidence, maybe even arrogance, that comes when you're big. You can hide all sorts of thingseven your age. Babe was the kind of woman who hid her age well. She could have been twenty-five. She could have been forty-five. No one had the courage to ask. And it hardly mattered. Nearly six-feet-ten and over three hundred fifty pounds, she could be as old or as young as she wanted to be. She had arms like forged steel and a face of serene strength that comes when you know no one is going to bother youever. Babe could have told the men of the camp she was the Queen of Egypt and not one man would have broken a smile. More likely they'd bow, ask after Marc Anthony and get out of her way. Her real name was Fern Killingsworth. She arrived one fall day in 1911 at the West Coast Lumber Company, Western Washington Division, Centner's Mill office, to apply for a job. My father was superintendent of all operations. I was seven years old and playing in my father's office. Since my mother had died that summer, my father had to drag me to work every day. Even at seven, I knew I was a bother to him. Even at seven, I knew my life was about to change when the door flew open, bringing in a chilly breeze and a rustling of dead leaves. I looked up from the floor under my father's huge desk, where I'd fashioned a small neighborhood for my dolls. My father didn't look up. He couldn't have or else he wouldn't have barked, "Close the door, damn it! There goes all the heat!" I'd never seen such a large person. The entire doorjamb was filled with this stranger, wrapped in a huge overcoat, with a muffler that must have been a mile long going from around the shoulders, up and around the head to anchor a large felt hat, back around the neck and then down to the knees, where it swayed in the breeze. The door closed and my father finally looked up. I inched back closer to his chair and clutched my favorite doll to my chest, as though we were going to need each other's protection. The gloved hands unwrapped the muffler, and slowly we watched the giant before us emerge. The gloves came off nextthe hands were large, white and even sort of elegant. Then the hatthe hair was thick and plaited into neat, organized spirals. Then the coat. The giant's body was thick and sturdy like a cedar. Not fat, not unfit, but strong and reliable. I inched even farther back. The giant spoke. She offered her hand to my father. "I come about the job. Name's Fern Killingsworth. Folks call me Babe and I come about the job." Her voice was deep, growly, mannish. I couldn't see my father's face, but I could tell by his voice that he was awestruckjust like me and my dolls. "Which job?" he asked. That still makes me laugh. My father was hardly ever confused, or if he was, no one knew it but him. There were no other women in the camp and only two jobs posted: Cook team and mule skinner. I guess my father thought he'd found his mule skinner. Instead of answering, the giant put the ad from the Aberdeen Daily World down on his desk and pointed to the words "cook team." "Miss Killingsworth, come spring we sign on a hundred men, maybe more. That's why we're looking for a cook team. Too much work for just one woman. The ad asks for a couple. You know, a manPlatt, Randall is the author of 'Likes of Me' with ISBN 9780440228806 and ISBN 0440228808.