HERE RESTS WATHEL R. BENDER[1]
HE RODE TO GLORY ON A FENDER
Peaceful Rest
Name: Wathel Rogers Bender[2]
Died: July 1867
Wathel Bender was the local daredevil. If people thought something was too hard, too dangerous or too stupid to do, Wathel was there to prove them right.
Wrasslin’ alligators and jumpin’ off high buildings were his favorite tricks but he was known to eat an odd-smelling piece of meat on occasion. Once he even walked across live coals ‘cause he’d heard of some Swami doing it.
One day he and his friend Bill were skipping stones on the river not too far from the Gracey place. Suddenly Wathel said he reckoned he could jump a horse and carriage across the river there where it narrowed. Bill called him a liar.
Wathel thought for just a moment and replied, “Well, maybe not a carriage but if’n I got going fast enough, I bet I could skid over on a fender.”
“Where’re you gonna get a fender Wathel? Them things is hooked on tight for shovin’ cows an’ such.”
“Not a train fender Bill. One o’ them things what sits in front of a fireplace an keeps the coals from poppin’ out.”
“Oh. Well Wathel, I still think yo’ crazy and caint do it. I bet ya a whole dollar.”
Wathel got real excited at the prospect of a new thrill. He spat in his hand, clapped hard and cried, “You got yo’self a bet Bill!”
There was no time wasted as the young men got to work. Wathel “borrowed” the fender from his Mama’s house and brought it back out to a pair of white ash saplings they had chosen. He tied ropes to the tops of the trees and bent them as far back as he dared. Then he hooked-up a gunny sack to form a giant sling-shot aimed right at the low river bank in front of the Graceys. He tied it down to a nearby stump, laid in the stolen fender and was ready to fly when Bill spoke-up.
“Wathel, maybe ya shouldn’t do it. That seems real dangerous and I’d hate to lose my best friend.”
“Ah Bill ya fraidy cat. I’s gonna be fine. You just want to squirm outta payin’ me that dollar.”
“Fine Wathel, you just git into that sling and let’s see ya do it.”
Without a moment’s hesitation Wathel Bender climbed in; pulled his hunting knife; declared, “I’m riding to glory!” and cut the anchor rope.
Bill had never seen a human move as fast as his friend Wathel that day. The trees sprung forward with a roar and that fender took off into the sky. Wathel’s war whoop could be heard a clean mile down river. He sailed over the water and never slowed down as he crashed into the Graceys cemetery. When the authorities came looking for his body it was buried four feet into the soft ground. Master Gracey kindly allowed him to stay out of a kindred sense of adventure.
Before they covered Wathel’s grave, poor but honest Bill kept his bet and dropped a silver dollar into the hole with a prayer that his friend might find peace in the hereafter.
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