Richard Morenus - Crazy-White-Man (Sha-ga-na-she Wa-du-kee)
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Crazy-White-Man (Sha-ga-na-she Wa-du-kee): summary, description and annotation
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The author was a businessman from New York who got tired of the Big City life and was unhappy for some time. He decided to move as far away from that environment. Taking only his dog, some gear, and an open heart he travelled to Canada. During this trip, he found an island of epic beauty and decided to purchase it. His story tells of his difficulty trying to adapt to such the harsh environment. The local population were Native Americans who gave him the name Crazy White Man for making the changes that he did.
Dick Morenus, New York radio and magazine writer, took to the Ontario bush country to shed his ulcers. After writing this hilarious account of his six-year transition from tenderfoot to woodsman-guide, he returned to city life to teach, write, and lecture,
CHICAGO TRIBUNE As a story of the indomitable spirit of men and women pitted against the overwhelming forces of nature, Crazy-White-Man is an inspiring one; as a tale of pure adventure, it will be hard to put down ... a book that is a little classic of the rugged life.
CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR ... one of the best tales of escape from city pressures ... It is a vivid close-up of the Ontario bushwritten down with the vividness and gaiety of a man who knew he was free.
NEW YORK TIMES Respect for Mr. Morenus courage and hardihood grows with every page we read . . . it emerges as a valuable addition to the small number of books about the Canadian bush.
COLORADO SPRINGS FREE PRESS Anyone from young to old who has wanted to toss the soft life of today into the discard and live as our ancestors did will enjoy this book. To those who have lived under frontier conditions it will be equally refreshingand that cannot be said for many of this type.
Dick Morenus, New York radio and magazine writer, took to the Ontario bush country to shed his ulcers. After writing this hilarious account of his six-year transition from tenderfoot to woodsman-guide, he returned to city life to teach, write, and lecture,
CHICAGO TRIBUNE As a story of the indomitable spirit of men and women pitted against the overwhelming forces of nature, Crazy-White-Man is an inspiring one; as a tale of pure adventure, it will be hard to put down ... a book that is a little classic of the rugged life.
CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR ... one of the best tales of escape from city pressures ... It is a vivid close-up of the Ontario bushwritten down with the vividness and gaiety of a man who knew he was free.
NEW YORK TIMES Respect for Mr. Morenus courage and hardihood grows with every page we read . . . it emerges as a valuable addition to the small number of books about the Canadian bush.
COLORADO SPRINGS FREE PRESS Anyone from young to old who has wanted to toss the soft life of today into the discard and live as our ancestors did will enjoy this book. To those who have lived under frontier conditions it will be equally refreshingand that cannot be said for many of this type.
Richard Morenus: author's other books
Who wrote Crazy-White-Man (Sha-ga-na-she Wa-du-kee)? Find out the surname, the name of the author of the book and a list of all author's works by series.
Richard Morenus
Richard Morenus
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This edition is published by PICKLE PARTNERS PUBLISHINGwww.picklepartnerspublishing.com
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Text originally published in 1952 under the same title.
Pickle Partners Publishing 2015, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Publishers Note
Although in most cases we have retained the Authors original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern readers benefit.
We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.
CRAZY-WHITE-MAN
( Sha-ga-na-she Wa-du-kee )
BY
RICHARD MORENUS
Illustrated by
WILLIAM LACKEY
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Contents
TABLE OF CONTENTS
REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER
DEDICATION
To N.S.M.
FROM BROADWAY TO THE BUSH
THEY ALL SAID I was crazy. That is, everyone who knew of my plans for the future said so. Theyd look at me, and shake their heads, and mutter, The guys just plain nuts.
When I finally began to agree with them, it was then too late for me to do anything about it. I was seated in a canoe, well past the last outpost of civilization, headed northward toward the bit of insular real estate I had bought, sight unseen, deep in the Canadian bush country. For the first time in months I had the opportunity to relax and do a bit of meditating, and I was in a perfect spot for it.
For a while I lolled back and enjoyed the ride tourist-fashion. The outboard motor on the big freight canoe putted contentedly, and mothering it was Bill, the young Canadian who had agreed to pilot me and practically everything I owned in the world including Nik, my cocker spaniel, to my future home. Bill stared at nothing about three feet above my head. One huge hand caressed the motor as if he loved it, and he steered the course as if from sheer instinct. I recognized the soul of a true bushman.
The water under a sky of spotless cerulean was as calm and peaceful as a babys first thoughts. There was nothing particularly unusual about the surroundings, for each summer for many years past I had spent vacations paddling along similar rock-rugged shore lines in various parts of Canada, and one part of the bush might well be the pattern for any other of its hundreds of thousands of square milestrees, more trees, rocks, and water. But it was beautiful, and I loved it. As a tourist, that is. Each yearly two-week vacation had left me wanting more. Those two weeks that I used to look forward to each year! Those two wonderful weeks of vacation! Vacation? I snapped out of my dreaming with a start that rocked the canoe.
Those two weeks each year had been spent under the watchful eye and care of a most thoroughly efficient guide. Personally Id had little else to do but catch fish and get a tan and plenty of rest. But the jolt that jarred me was the thought that now I was going into the bush to live! Thered be no guide this time. I was on my own. This was no vacation.
It had all started one day in a doctors office in New York.
Theres your answer, Dick. The doctor picked up a pencil, tapped the charted results of my examinations lying on the desk, and looked at me. This is the end of the line. Its where you get off.
That sounds like a bit of very corny dialogue from one of my radio scripts, I saidand continued with something equally inane, so Ill pick up the cue and take the next line. Lets see.... after a suitable pause for dramatic effect Id say, My God, doctoryou mean?
He shook his head and sighed. You radio people are all alike, he said. You dont take life seriously until you come to a point where we have to step in and do something about it for you. I dont know whether you realize it or not, but radio has given us doctors a new field of occupational disorders to over-come. You people dont eat right, you dont sleep right, you dontand please, he said patiently, please stop looking at your watch! He looked at me with concern. Thats the thing thats mainly responsible for the condition youre in right now!
The glance at my watch, the badge of my profession that I constantly wore on my wrist, had been thoroughly unconscious. It was a stop watch, a cruelly clever instrument of inexorable time. I had been a slave to it in New York for more than ten years as a writer-director of network radio programs. The watch, like its oversized prototype on the studio wall, had a second hand, and I was accountable to it for every one of its measured minutes. The resultant cost was great in ruined digestion, a tired body, and nerves as taut as piano wires. Something had to stop. And a watchs insides are made of steel.
The doctor looked at me steadily. Yes, he said, youre through with radio and the tempo of metropolitan living. Youll have to slow down. Oh, youre apparently well enough physically, he added quickly, but Im afraid your nerves wont take any more. My advice is that you get out into the country for a while. How about a farm?
Oh, no, doc, please. Not a farm. I visited a farm once. For about a week. When I think of a farm, all I can see are bent backs, gnarled hands, and pictures by Grant Wood. Not that I have any objections to work, I hastened to add. Ive worked pretty hard, but my living has been bound up in advertising and radio sponsors and set in concrete. If it depended on me to till the soil and wrest a living from the good earth, Id die of slow starvation and be buried in mortgages. No, doc, the farm is out. I guess its physical hard work Im allergic to.
I thought you liked the outdoors.
The outdoors? Thats different, I said. Ill buy that. In fact, why not buy myself a chunk of the outdoors and live off the land? Romantic and practical, thatll be it. How would it be if Id hie myself to the utter serenity of some primitively peaceful surroundings? After a couple of years Ill come back and lay before you the huskiest bunch of ganglia you ever analyzed.
The doctor stared at me, sighed, and slowly shook his head.
Well, whats wrong with that? I took the defensive. Ive done pretty well in pounding what the income-tax people call a living out of a typewriter for quite some years, so whats so screwy about living off the land.... or the water? You suggested a farm yourself. What if I could find a log cabin along the shore of some lake in the wilderness? Im not tied down. I can go anywhere I like. All Ive got dependent on me is a pooch. It would be a cinch. Id catch fish, shoot all the game Id want, Id have my typewriter and could turn out words of deathless prose. You see, doc, Ill get very rich and therell be no work to do at all.
I was talking like a very bad piece of dialogue and I knew it. Besides, the doctor was quite obviously bored. So I left the office to con and pro the future on my own time, which was considerably less expensive than his.
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