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In this age, the mere example of nonconformity, the mere refusal to bend the knee to custom, is itself a service. Precisely because the tyranny of opinion is such as to make eccentricity a reproach, it is desirable, in order to break through that tyranny, that people should be eccentric. Eccentricity has always abounded when and where strength of character has abounded; and the amount of eccentricity in a society has generally been proportional to the amount of genius, mental vigour, and moral courage which it contained. That so few now dare to be eccentric, marks the chief danger of the time.   John Stuart Mill, On Liberty, Chapter III, paragraph 13, 1859

Sane girls are so easy, But a crazy girl’s hard to find   John Hiatt

You know that someone has made a great impression on you when sixty years later your memories are as vivid and visceral as on the day they were formed.  We need our “eccentrics,” our “characters” to teach us about ourselves.  I grew up in a small town in northern California where eccentrics were surprisingly well accepted.  Many of my teachers were probably eccentric or at least “different”.  I wrote about some of them HERE: What A Teacher Can Do.  The best teachers teach us to think “outside the box” and to do that they need to “dance to their own tune.”  They teach by example not just by the book.

I am especially grateful to one teacher in particular, Helen Young.  She taught me to type.  Even today as a septuagenarian with my arthritic shoulder and fingers I can type fifty words-per-minute and sometimes sprint to one hundred.  I still remember how she whacked us on our tender hands with a yardstick if she caught us pecking at the keys instead of typing properly.  I went on to Stanford University and with the skills she taught me earned my spending money in part by typing term papers for rich kids who never learned to type at the fancy prep schools they attended.  I had no idea that my typing teacher earned her Master’s Degree in education from Stanford.  Much later, she wrote a history of our small town (Arbuckle and College City, Helen D. Young, 1978).  It’s out of print now, but I copied and pasted her definitive comments on “Shy Red” at the bottom of this post.

William A. Evers was his real name but we all knew him as Shy Red.  My first memories are from when I was very young.  I remember my mother pulling me hard by the arm to the other side of the street when he walked by.  She didn’t say anything.  She didn’t have to.  Later at home that first vision of a strange looking man “in his very dirty pants and blue work shirt ornamented with safety pins and twenty-dollar bills” hounded me.

He never wore a coat.  He wore an eye shade and colored his hair with lampblack (some said shoe polish) purchased from Stinson’s Drugstore.  When it rained, out would come Shy Red’s umbrella, one with mostly ribs and a little cloth, and did the lampblack streak!  Helen D. Young

After that first encounter, I saw him around town as the years went by.  Everybody knew him, but no one paid him much attention except the kids.  My mother said he was the prodigal son of a rich family in the East who had paid him to leave them alone.  She said he was “a little off kilter” from the rest of the human race.  She was convinced he was harmless but thought it best to leave him alone.  I found that impossible to do.  I have a natural attraction to people considered different.  (The Book of Wonderful Characters, Henry Wilson and James Caulfield).

Most small towns have their characters.  I wrote about this in a previous post HERE (We Cracked Pots Have a Sense of Humor).  Shy Red was the first eccentric I knew.  He left a greater impression on me than many of the others.

There have probably been many “Shy Reds.”  In my research I found a reference to one “Harry SANDS, alias ANDERSON, known in criminal and hobo circles as ‘Shy Red,’” (Sacramento Daily Record-Union, February 11, 1895) who was arrested in a famous murder case.  This shocked and saddened me since it didn’t fit the character I knew at all.  Upon further investigation it became clear that Harry Sands (Anderson) was not MY Shy Red.  He was 14 years older.  Whew!  That was a relief although it might have made for an interesting story.

There was a drunk who walked the streets of our town.  He always had a can of beer in each back pocket and one in his hand.  Whenever he came across young children he gave them a stick of hard candy.  Everyone knew he was harmless and safe.  The cops let him alone.  He’d pass out on the grass whenever he’d had too much.  He’d wake up later and resume his journey.  I never found out his real name.  Everyone called him “Mag”.

Near the end of the Second World War there was a 250-man prisoner of war camp at Arbuckle.  After the prisoners were repatriated back to Germany, the camp was sold to Robert F. Alexander who converted the barracks into apartments and the mess hall into a bar and general store.  It was considered too lowlife for kids from “respectable” families to hang out there, but I had many friends who lived at the Alexander Camp.  I visited them whenever I felt like it.

Once I was old enough to run around with the other boys my age without constant parental supervision, I visited Shy Red at his one room shack.  He had newspapers stacked from floor to ceiling with little trails in between, a human version of Uncle Milton’s Ant Farm.  I was amazed that the whole place didn’t go up in flames given that a wood burning stove that was used for heat.

He lived in a small one-room cabin on 7th Street without heat or electricity, and used a battered-up bicycle for transportation.  Although he had no pets, he bought cases of dog food.  He cooked his meal once a day in a can over an open fire in his front yard and often shared his concoction with the neighbor’s dog.  When “Shy Red’s” door was open, one could see things piled high on the sides of a small path beside a heavily laden bed with only room enough to recline in a sitting position.  Knives, pliers, rolls of tape, and letters from his tenants were hung with string or heavy thread and dangled down from the ceiling in masses of cobwebs.  Partly visible was Mr. Evers’ collection of automobile license plates, which lined the inside of his cabin.  Helen D. Young

Shy Red’s shack was only two blocks from my house.  The Arbuckle Grammar School was across the street.  There were blacktop basketball courts and in the spring the school set up high jump and broad jump pits for our annual track meet.  I remember practicing alone in the evenings just before dark.  Shy Red would sometimes walk over to watch.  He had a soft high-pitched voice.  He gave me some good advice regarding the high jump that significantly improved my skills.  After watching me struggle awhile, he suggested a technique later known as the Fosbury Flop.

I have no idea how he came up with that idea.  I tried it and it worked.  On one of those evenings Shy Red spoke very seriously about “little green men” from Mars with whom he had communications.  I don’t know if he was pulling my leg or if he was serious.  He insisted it was true.  He only mentioned it that one time.

While driving with my mother and later on my own I would often see Shy Red riding along on his bicycle.

Some people said Mr. Evers could have been a circus performer, but this is doubtful.  He would show off by riding his bicycle on the railing of Long Bridge backwards and forwards, feet on the handle bars and no hands.  He grinned as people gazed.  One time Charley Woods, highway patrolman, caught him riding the bridge rail, and he stopped and said, “Shy,’ keep your bike off that railing.  If I catch you up there again I’m going to put you in jail.” … He would ride his bicycle to and from Colusa to transact business (forty miles round trip), and it was said that sometimes he made trips of from fifty to sixty miles.  He would ride on the freeway, not along the side, but right down the middle, ignoring traffic officers who tried to stop him.  He delighted in riding down the incline that goes under the highway overpass near his shack.  He would get to the bottom, make a left turn and ride back up again.   Helen D. Young

Shy Red loved to eat garlic.  I don’t know if he wore a clove of garlic around his neck to fend off evil spirits or if he ate it every day for his health.  The distinctive odor accompanied him wherever he went.  The closest movie theater was in the neighboring town of Colusa, about 20 miles away.  Shy Red sometimes rode his bicycle to Colusa to see a movie.  Whenever he came in and sat down, everyone would move away to avoid the strong smell of garlic.

One of my jobs at the time was working as a box boy and shelf stocker at the Arbuckle Food Center.  I posted a short story about those times on this blog HERE: Bailey.  One day Shy Red was standing beside the vegetable counter with a puzzled look on his face.  He picked up an avocado and asked me what it was for.  I explained to him that it was a tasty fruit that people put in salads and sometimes ate plain.  He proceeded to buy every avocado in the store and carried them home in a large box.  This was his MO.

Sometimes he would go into Kraft’s store and buy out all the caps, or maybe it would be all the jackets they had o hand.  Just what he did with these is not known.  He also went into Arens’ hardware store and ordered guns.  The handles of these he sometimes had silverplated, and the barrels blued.  He usually had a carefully self-drawn copy of the firearm.   Helen D. Young

I was in the barbershop when I heard about Shy Red’s death.  I was so sad that I left without getting my hair cut.  I told my mother when I got back home.  She said:  “That’s too bad.  He was a nice man, a little out off kilter but a nice man.”

This was probably the first and last picture ever taken in Arbuckle of William A. “Shy Red” Evers, 86 [sic 81], and his bicycle. He posed for it in 1959 and got all shined up for the occasion, new clothes and all—in his own words “from my shorts on out.” His most trusted friend was Undersheriff Alvah Leverett who handled the correspondence connected with Evers’ gift to the City of Martinsburg, W. Va., of the General Adam Stephen stone house, a picture of which appeared in the Sun-Herald at the time.

I think many were surprised to find out about Shy Red’s secret life.  Most people thought he was poor, just a “hobo” living in a shack.  It turns out he lived the life he wanted to live.  Money meant nothing to him.  Maybe that’s why he wore it as a decoration on his shirt.  He had a large estate and gave it all to charity.  He “received deserved recognition when he donated the old Adam Stephen stone house which he owned in Martinsburg, W. Va., to that city as a memorial to its founder.”  (Colusa Herald, Tuesday, September 4, 1962).

General Adam Stephens House

His estate was estimated to be $22,000 in cash, 160 acres of range land on Salt Creek, property in Colusa and Yolo Counties, holdings in New Jersey, and fifteen or twenty properties in Martinsburg.  His will left everything to twelve Martinsburg churches to be divided equally among them, share and share alike.   Helen D. Young

Periodically he could be seen wheeling a wheelbarrow containing suitcases or a big box or trunk to the railroad office for shipping. These trunks and boxes were always padlocked, and it was noted that he always signed them with his thumb print, and they were addressed to the bank at Martinsburg, West Virginia. Mr. Thom Keller, cashier at Merchants and Farmers Bank of Martinsburg, which handled the settling of Mr. Evers’ estate, stated that there were some guns and knives, among other things in the locked suitcases. He also stated that many more things that were sent were stored in a garage until they were finally sold. Some of the boxes and trunks contained articles of clothing.  Helen D. Young

I’ve always wondered if somewhere in that garage they found a box of avocados.  I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Shy Red

transcribed from: Arbuckle and College City by Helen D. Young

Arbuckle is not without celebrities. One of these, William A. Evers, known as “Shy Red,” was most amazing. He was a native of Martinsburg, West Virginia, and a college graduate with gold seals on his diploma. He could recite long passages of Shakespeare and verses from the Bible.

Mr. Evers travelled around the world three times, and he worked on farms and sailing vessels. He came to California when he was sixteen, and with distant relatives came to Arbuckle where he lived off and on for over thirty years. On the Hine ranch in Grimes he was a mule skinner, and for Fred Schutz, near Belin, he bucked sacks with Cecil Brookins for a dollar a day and lunch; however, for fear of being poisoned, he’d bring his own “eats.”

He deprived himself of many comforts, saving and investing his money. He lived in a small one-room cabin on 7^th Street without heat or electricity, and used a battered-up bicycle for transportation. Although he had no pets, he bought cases of dog food. He cooked his meal once a day in a can over an open fire in his front yard and often shared his concoction with the neighbor’s dog. When “Shy Red’s” door was open, one could see things piled high on the sides of a small path beside a heavily laden bed with only room enough to recline in a sitting position. Knives, pliers, rolls of tape, and letters from his tenants were hung with string or heavy thread and dangled down from the ceiling in masses of cobwebs. Partly visible was Mr. Evers’ collection of automobile license plates, which lined the inside of his cabin.

My Most Unforgettable Character written by Mrs. Lillian Fisher of Arbuckle, describes Mr. Evers in his very dirty pants and blue work shirt ornamented with safety pins and, often twenty-dollar bills. He never wore a coat. He wore an eye shade and colored his hair with lampblack (some said shoe polish) purchased from Stinson’s Drugstore. When it rained, out would come Shy Red’s umbrella, one with mostly ribs and a little cloth, and did the lampblack streak!

Some people said Mr. Evers could have been a circus performer, but this is doubtful. He would show off by riding his bicycle on the railing of Long Bridge backwards and forwards, feet on the handle bars and no hands. He grinned as people gazed. One time Charley Woods, highway patrolman, caught him riding the bridge rail, and he stopped and said, “Shy,’ keep your bike off that railing. If I catch you up there again I’m going to put you in jail.”

He would ride his bicycle to and from Colusa to transact business (forty miles round trip), and it was said that sometimes he made trips of from fifty to sixty miles. He would ride on the freeway, not along the side, but right down the middle, ignoring traffic officers who tried to stop him. He delighted in riding down the incline that goes under the highway overpass near his shack. He would get to the bottom, make a left turn and ride back up again. (L. Fisher, My Most Unforgettable Character.)

He did gardening work for some of the families in Arbuckle, and from one person only was always pleased to receive a piece of pie or cake. He liked figs and, in season, would bike out to College City where figs grew by the roadside. He would help himself to what he wanted, and then he would mail five dollars to the owner for what he had taken.

Sometimes he would go into Kraft’s store and buy out all the caps, or maybe it would be all the jackets they had o hand. Just what he did with these is not known. He also went into Arens’ hardware store and ordered guns. The handles of these he sometimes had silverplated, and the barrels blued. He usually had a carefully self-drawn copy of the firearm.

Periodically he could be seen wheeling a wheelbarrow containing suitcases or a big box or trunk to the railroad office for shipping. These trunks and boxes were always padlocked, and it was noted that he always signed them with his thumb print, and they were addressed to the bank at Martinsburg, West Virginia. Mr. Thom Keller, cashier at Merchants and Farmers Bank of Martinsburg, which handled the settling of Mr. Evers’ estate, stated that there were some guns and knives, among other things in the locked suitcases. He also stated that many more things that were sent were stored in a garage until they were finally sold. Some of the boxes and trunks contained articles of clothing. (Letter from Mr. Francis silver, Oct. 18, 1976. Gen. Adam Stephen Memorial Association, Inc.)

Mr. Evers ran his bicycle into the side of a car driven by Leonard Jose of Esparto on Labor Day of 1962. He was rushed to the Colusa Memorial Hospital where he died twelve hours later, presumably from shock. Many of the Arbuckle children cried when they heard of his death. He was eighty-one years of age (Arbuckle and Colusa papers said eighty-five) and graveside rites were held for him in Martinsburg, West Virginia, at Greenhill Cemetery, September 9, 1962. His two brothers Paul Evers and John Upton Evers, and a sister, Florence Evers, M.D., preceded him in death. He was survived by a nephew, Paul B. Evers, from Pennsylvania (MARTINSBURG JOURNAL, September 5, 1962, p. 1), and several distant relations in Arbuckle.

His estate was estimated to be $22,000 in cash, 160 acres of range land on Salt Creek, property in Colusa and Yolo Counties, holdings in New Jersey, and fifteen or twenty properties in Martinsburg. His will left everything to twelve Martinsburg churches to be divided equally among them, share and share alike.