He reminded me of my brother. Same basic features, dark curly hair, stocky build, over sized neck. His walk was even similar. I’d seen him on a couple job sites but we had never met. Hearing many tales from the crew I took note of the one’s involving him. The guys on my crew were young and tough, all living a constant test of their youth. He was older closer to my age. They had little respect for him except for his work ethic. On that they all agreed, the guy was in a class of his own. His name was Wills but everyone called him, Big Bag.
He was a legend for being able to work hard all day and still get to the gym to go a few rounds. His daily workout was fairly routine until he took on the heavy bag, then all eyes were on him. The heavy or big bag is exactly that. A heavy bag hanging from the ceiling representing a large and solid foe. Only the most driven big hearted fighters make an impact worth watching on the big bag. Stories were usually about his antics. Such as running over the top of slower workers while yelling, “Coming through you!” Or his obsession with his personal tools. Nobody dared touch his tools. They were cleaned every night and oiled for the next days work. The last story I heard from the young bucks was one that didn’t fit for me.
They said he just quit his job one day after a smart mouthed guy, that nobody really liked, got into his face and challenged him. Somehow this didn’t work for me. It just didn’t fit his personality profile, or at least not the one put inside my brain. Maybe I was just equating his life with what my brother would have done in the same position. They would have found “the mouth” inside one of the unfinished walls. After that the mouth would quit for his own safety. I guess he wasn’t much like my brother after all.
Time passed and one day while working in my office I glanced up from my desk and there he was, Big Bag looking for work. I had several guys working for me and actually didn’t need another but I wanted to know him. I took a chance. He started working and instantly liked my company. The employee incentive’s that I operated with left him with more money than he had made in years. He was a timber faller back before construction and was paid according to his production. It was lucrative for a guy with that much drive. He killed a lot of trees. Bag lived up to his total reputation. He was intense, to say the least, and set a new standard around the shop for discipline. The story of “the mouth” just didn’t fit with the man who now worked with me. I finally asked him, ” What was the deal with that guy? How come you backed down? ” “I had to,” he claimed. “I had to leave or I would have killed him. Not hurt him, killed him.” I looked in his eyes and there it was, that same look of some the guys I knew. Not just the guys that loved to fight, but a few that could go even further. I told the crew that Bag was not to be underestimated. In my opinion he was, “The real deal. Don’t get in his face.” They scoffed and paid little attention. But I knew and I waited.
It happened on the side of a steep street in Kalama WA.. We caught up with Bag to team together and finish the detail work on his job. We were way behind schedule and with another job waiting. Bag was moving full tilt giving it all he had. He was tired. On the drive to meet up, anticipating his fatigue I stopped and bought him a four shot espresso known as a “Quad”. As a rule Bag stayed away from caffeine but today he was a player. Wow, the Big Bag was back! He was everywhere at once. The instant jolt reminded him of his adrenaline filled fighting days and it was on! My right hand man was not impressed and told him to settle down. If you wanted me to settle down you should not have brought me that “Quad”! he exclaimed, jumping around and laughing. I figured this is it. This is where we see just what he’s got. The Bag would not disappoint. He danced around asking my foreman if he was tough enough to go a couple quick rounds. “Just a little slap boxin’, what the heck? Come on show me what you got,” he pleaded. I should have stopped it but I knew the boys needed to see this. It would be educational for them. Finally, to see what I always knew, the true Bag. Maybe I also needed to be around that verve again. My brother had been gone for 16 years.
He started in and he approached the unsuspecting combatant. He stepped up onto his toes, growing what seemed like 10 inches, right now! Instantly, the surprise in my Foreman eyes was unmistakable, he was in trouble! My foreman was a tough guy, his own reputation was very respectable. But now, he was contending with a rare fighter the kind that usually do not spend much time alive or in the free world. Bag was reducing him quickly to survivor. Knowing it was only a playful competition. He was bent over with his hands trying to cover as much vulnerable head as possible. Laughing, he yelled for a cease fire and Bag obliged. His jabs were so fast and so controlled it was no contest. Bag had come to the table, “all in” and ready to beat the house. From that day on the house was never the same. The guys immediately gave him the respect he deserved and I was happy for him. He didn’t deserve to be dissed for not wanting to fight, “the mouth”. He did not want to travel a well beaten path that had led him nowhere. He wanted to change. Warriors get old.
The full story on Bag was that at one time he had been arguably the toughest guy on the west side of this state. He was a well known brawler working as a bouncer for a local hot spot. Fighters came from all over the state to try him. Some came into the bar as much as 3 to 4 hours before he came on duty, telling the bartender exactly what they had traveled so far for. The barkeep would call Bag and inform him of the need for coming in early. “Get in here and do this guy” we’ve got work to do,” was the call he sometimes got. Bag always showed up and the fights were always short. He told me of this one big tree of a man coming in 3 times within a month. The first fight he lost, but felt he had drank too much waiting for Bag’s shift. The second fight he just plain lost and the third trip was to buy Bag a drink. “I tried him him drunk and I tried him sober, he’s a helluva fighter!” he crowed to the crowd.
My most favorite story of his past fights was one he had in Denver. He was running on the wrong side of the law and ended up doing business with some bikers. After business was concluded they wanted to see what kind of fighter he truly was. They decided to provoke him and eventually they got his FULL attention. There were two of them and he was pretty quick to make it even but just as he was finishing up the second guy, the first came back to life and changed the momentum. “I thought I was done!, he recalled. “Then for the first time in my life I realized I had one tool in my box that I had never even know was available to me. Fear. I got so scared that they were going to kill me that I rallied and took them both out so quickly that they never saw it coming, Man, that was the best fight I ever won all because I got scared,” he laughed.
Bag was a true warrior. He didn’t use bully tactics but he was sometimes undisciplined in his confidence. I once held $850 out of his $1200 dollar check for support enforcement. It was a garnishee mandated by court order, and I definitely was concerned for my safety when he demanded I return it to him. I knew he wouldn’t appreciate me for backing down so I held my ground but money was very important to him so it got pretty dicey. But deep down inside he knew it wasn’t my fault. Still, he left the office almost relieving the front door of it’s hinges, on his way to directly confront the bureaucrat down at the Courthouse who mailed the order that almost got me killed.
Times calmed down and we once again had great talks. On a job site with the whole crew present we had broke for lunch. Bag always had a huge lunch, 3 to 4 sandwiches, several fruits and vegetables and his ever present cookies. Lots of cookies he usually shared with the crew. During the normal lunch chat he offered up a half bag of Oreos to me, with his outstretched arm he asked questioningly, “Cookie?” Quickly seizing an opportunity to make my crew laugh, I smoothly replied, “Bag don’t use the nickname in front of the crew!” Everyone roared! I looked over at him and he started to grin. Without missing a beat, he took his bandanna and tied it around his neck and said “So do I at least get dinner tonight? It was hysterical. The story is still told at reunions of the old crew. On a more serious talk I asked him one day, “Why? Why do you like fighting so much?” He thought for a second and then while peeling a banana he replied, “I like the feel of it.” “The feel of it?” I responded, What do you mean the feel of it?” Chewing a bite of banana he coldly stated, “I like the feel of a guys cheek bone giving way beneath my fist.” I was a little challenged for words at that point but I finally found an appropriate response. I said, “Your a sick man, Baggie. You know that don’t you?” Quietly, while finishing his last mouthful of banana he said, “Probably.”
Within a few months of this shared epiphany, he was leaving. He wanted no more to do with construction and had decided to pursue his dream job, prison guard. Big Bag attacked the process in the same manner as all other endeavors of his life, sold his tools, enrolled in the schools of training and within a short time was a valued corrections officer in one of the toughest prisons in the nation. It came back to the crew through a kid just released back into the trades from prison that Officer Wills was the most hated and feared man behind the walls. Somehow that didn’t surprise any of us.
One Christmas eve while out finishing my shopping, I saw Bag. He was bald and without his signature, impeccably trimmed beard. I approached him and started to tease him when he stopped me short with the the news of his having brain cancer. He figured he would beat it the same as every foe he’d ever fought, but he didn’t. Finally, something was bigger and meaner than he was. I got a call from his cousin that he had passed quickly without much warning. “He was doing great! The Doc’s said he was beatin’ it and then all of a sudden he went in for a check up and they told him to put his affairs in order. The cancer was back and the tumor too big to beat. 3 days later he was gone.”
Some people believe in Karma, some in destiny, some folks believe in things so wild that, respectfully I just can’t get my head around it. Me? I’m a follower of Jesus Christ and because of that I believe in truth. The kind of truth that may not be pretty but it’s simply the truth. The truth of sinner and saint both existing in the heart of a real person. A true believer lives with with all their flaws and strengths exposed. Bag was one of the most exposed people I ever knew. He wasn’t real smart, or even that talented. His knowledge of the arts was almost nil. He was a hard worker and plainly a twisted warrior but inside of it all he became my friend. I don’t ask much of truthful people. The fact that they live so exposed is enough for me. I don’t know exactly how death presents itself. I know, some folks, when close to death, have reported darkness and some light. Some have cried out for mercy, transitioning to death painfully and some have praised God for the comforting peace. I’d like to think that during Bag’s sickness he found the love of Jesus and saw light, escaping this world victoriously! But if it was darkness and upon it rode the demons of hell, I hope those bastards all had cheekbones.
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