Paul, Babe, and Me: A Tale of Imaginary Friends

THE GALVESTON ORPHAN’ S HOME

Texas Historical Commission, 1969

The Galveston Orphan’s Home, photographed in 1969. Courtesy of the Texas Historical Commission

It was 1960, I was taken from my parents and put in the Galveston Orphanage for almost two years when I was six; it was the beginning of my Imaginary Friends stage. They joined me at a time when I needed them most, when I was a stranger in a strange land they brought me sheer unadulterated joy. I missed my family desperately, so my imaginary friends became my family.

In my loneliness, I developed imaginary friends Paul Bunyan and Babe, his beloved Blue Ox. I had never thought of them before then, never saw them till I needed really big helpers; Paul Bunyan and his Blue Ox Babe recued me that day and hundreds of days when I was down, when I needed a friend, when I was brokenhearted, they became my everyday heroes.

Paul Bunyan was an American folktale, a real mountain of a man, who stood forty feet tall. As a working lumberjack, hauling logs, and singing while he worked, he made me happy and gave me hope for tomorrow. He carried an ax the size of New York, all while sporting suspenders and a red flannel shirt. Babe, his Blue Ox worked alongside him toting massive timber down the side of the mountain. 

In those first days in the orphanage, when we had playtime outside, I was painfully shy and unsure of myself. When other girls rushed off to play with Hola-hoops, or hopscotch, I took to running all along the west fence, and guess who showed up, none other than the amazing Paul Bunyan and Blue Babe the Ox! These two weren’t just big, they stole the show with their height and weight. Together they must have weighed more than ten thousand pounds. They were large and in charge, nobody messed with them, that was good enough for me.

Closing my eyes, I hopped into Paul’s hand, it was meaty, rough and scratchy. I held onto his massive fingers for dear life as he thrust me onto Babe’s blue back; he was none too careful either. I ended up grasping Babe’s horns, barely hanging on. I had to wrap my arms and legs all along them; the ride was bumpy and windy, as he breathed in and out, creating huge gusts of air with his nose. Once I got used to it, I was in heaven! Now four stories high, I could see all across the island, clean to the beach, as waves invited us to come play.

“Let’s go gather firewood for our s’mores tonight, want to Paul?”

“Great plan!” His voice was deep and booming, resonating round the massive playground. I told him to hold it down, unless he had room for more passengers. We snuck out the back fence and he and Babe clomped loudly down Galveston’s serene streets. Palm trees and houses looked like tinker toys; people were like ants. When we reached the beach, both Paul and Babe took off for the water. It was like a heard of buffalo. People scattered and pointed. We were quite a sight. I couldn’t see, my eyes stung as salt water sprayed from giant waves, making it slippery on Babe’s back. We must have gone out a mile. There were massive ships that were almost close enough to touch, as they came from around the world to unload their treasures to the Port of Galveston where they were transported by trains across the United States. Boats with International flags held fruit, sugar, tea, frozen meat, lumber, iron and steel goods for the next step on their dazzling journey across America. One friendly sea captain invited us to come aboard for a boat ride, but we waved him on his merry way. 

Paul caught fish with his bare hands and a couple sharks got wind of us, but skittered off, he must have scared the daylights out of them. We finally made it back to the sand, where we found immense logs to carry back to the orphanage. Paul plopped them across Babe’s back, forcing me to jump out of the way! A particularly nasty barnacle covered board headed straight for me like a torpedo. At the last second, I jumped, sliding down Babe’s slick back. I flew through the air, near hitting the ground, where Paul caught me just in the nick of time! He sat me down gently, patting my head. 

“Incoming,” he roared, throwing timber near me. I learned to jump out the way quickly. Before you knew it, all was unloaded, and the bell rang. Playtime was over. One of the ground workers saw the logs, scratching their head, wondering where they came from, as they examined the waterlogged timber.

In my fanciful tale, while Paul Bunyan and Babe were ginormous, when I had to go indoors, I shrunk them just for inside play, so instead of huge creatures, they were small so that I could pack them up and take them with me for safekeeping. Once outdoors, they grew into colossal giants again.

 I often craved the warmth of my mother’s lap, her kiss, her smell. Paul Bunyan, Babe and all his helpers were the next best thing, keeping me extraordinary company, making me feel like I was a giant, like I was powerful, like I could do anything with them at my side. They helped me with chores in the orphanage, taking the place of my missing parents. They comforted me at bedtime because mama wasn’t there.  They held my hand when I awoke in the dark night. They kept me sane and provided invaluable support, spanning from home-life to orphan life. They were friends that protected me, my guardians that I had until I was nine, long after I really needed them. One day I turned, and they were gone, never forgotten, captured in my heart for all time.

Just what I thought Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox might look like. This is in Bemidji, Minnesota, and has been listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It’s quite an enormous and enchanting roadside attraction.

Image credit: Kubber333 / Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 4.0)