Legend of The Leatherman

During the 19th century, there were some well-known vagrants and rural eccentrics whose presence was not only tolerated by society but even celebrated by it. The generation of the Civil War produced a remarkable homeless person who also made use of caves in western Connecticut and eastern New York, and whose regular wanderings inspired great interest and a trove of regional folklore. His legend persists even today, and as recently as 1998 was the inspiration for a song by the band Pearl Jam.He was known as The Leatherman for the heavy suit of hand-stitched leather that was his only clothing. His one known photograph was taken by 19-year-old James Frances Rodgers of Branford, Conn., and while clearly “posed,” it is a remarkably candid and disturbing portrait. The Leatherman looks furtive and uncomfortable before the camera, his hand before his mouth and his body bulky and misshapen within his 60 pounds of patchwork leather. He looks like the subject of a sideshow display, and indeed there was at least one attempt to entice him to join a freak show. The Leatherman was not an ordinary tramp. He supposedly first appeared in 1862 in Harwinton, Conn., and was a fixture in the communities he visited until in 1889 he finally succumbed in a cave in Ossining, N.Y. Very little is known for certain of his background, for he spoke little but was thought to understand French. The historic marker on his grave identifies him as Joules Bourglay although subsequent efforts to confirm his origins have failed and the grave itself has recently been shown to be empty. His past was greatly embellished in his own day and in New England folklore and remains largely an enigma today. By all accounts, The Leatherman was a benign and restless spirit and, though a creature of habit, he did not remain more than one night in any of the communities he visited. He did return, however; for the other exceptional thing about this irregular person was the exceptional regularity of his peregrinations from town to town. Every 34 days, he completed a clockwise circuit of 365 miles between the Hudson and Connecticut rivers, passing along the way through the southern towns of the Litchfield Hills. He slept in caves, and cut and stored firewood before leaving so it would be dry and ready for his next visit. Some of these “Leatherman caves” are known by that name today, and more than a few were the den sites of rattlesnakes that did not appear to phase him. He was nonverbal — never known to speak a word of English ­— but made his wants known with gestures. He had a strong appetite and was known to consume at one sitting “two cans of sardines, a loaf of bread, a pound of milk crackers, a quarter-pie, two quarts and two cups of coffee, a gill of brandy and a bottle of beer,” and sometimes he purchased supplies along his route. This gave rise to the legend that he had a small fortune secreted away in his caves, but fruitless treasure hunting failed to produce any evidence of this following his death.In fact, there were numerous stories in the press after he died of ghostly sightings of The Leatherman, and even some copycat imitators wandering the roads of rural New England clad in leather suits.Such an unusual person attracted great interest, especially from children, who often escorted him in and out of the towns where he appeared. People got so that they could pinpoint the day of his arrival and marked it in their day books and ledgers. With a few recorded exceptions, The Leatherman was not harassed and was generally treated with respect and fondness by the curious townsfolk whose lives he touched. He became part of the fabric of the communities through which he passed, as regular as the seasons and as accepted as the other patterns of village life. When he was found with frozen hands and feet near Hartford during the brutal Blizzard of 1888, The Leatherman was taken to hospital, where it was learned that he was also suffering from cancer of the lip. He left the institution as soon as he was able, but time and age were catching up with him and he died a year later. His eccentricities may have been madness, but of a comfortable sort to those who marveled at his endurance despite his afflictions and who looked forward to his next visits. No wonder his restless spirit shuffles through our modern imaginations. Tim Abbott is program director of Housatonic Valley Association’s Litchfield Hills Greenprint. His blog is at greensleeves.typepad.com.