Revisiting Memories of Big Harris by Kate Emery General

It was July when we got the call that my grandfather, Big Harris, had died, he had been diagnosed with colon cancer months before. It was 1960, my grandmother, in an effort to keep his spirits up had decided to tell him that it was dysentery from his travels to South America earlier in the year. The cancer metastasized to his liver a few months before his death but doctors had strict orders not to tell him. Apparently there was a stigma attached to discussion of a cancer diagnosis then. My grandmother was afraid that Big Harris would lose hope, then give up and die. He was sixty one years old. He was born in Texas, a decorated Navy pilot in WWl, who earned his Geology degree from Rice University, where he lettered in basketball. At the time of his death he was Senior Vice President of Texaco Oil.

The night my grandfather died, I watched my Mom walk across the house like a zombie. In her hands was her bedroom phone held protectively like an injured animal with a really long tail (cord), she quietly crawled under the grand piano in the living room. I remember the emptiness of her tearful kiss goodnight. Dad quietly put us to bed, I was four, my siblings were eight, six, and almost one. Dad answered our questions about Mom being so sad, Big Harris (my grandfather) was now in heaven and Mom was going to miss him. My Uncle Hutch was a psychiatrist and was the family member elected to call my mom with the news.

Years later, my Mom told the story of Big Harris’ illness and death. She had visited him after his diagnosis and in one of their lengthy conversations, he had said that he knew that he was dying. My grandmother was in denial. My Mom stayed under the piano all night, paralyzed, on the phone with my uncle. She flew to New York City early the next day, alone (my Dad would take a flight a couple of days later). Hutch had ordered some tranquilizers for Mom for the flight.

Life and Mom were back to normal upon her return home, we celebrated birthdays and bought school supplies.

Several times a year, my family would travel to the Star Plunge Hot Springs swimming pool in Thermopolis, Wyoming. My Dad would honk the car’s horn as we drove through three tunnels between Shoshone and Thermopolis, the sound echoing from the first tunnel to the third. Those tunnels signaled that our happy destination was in sight. We’d swim all day, enjoying a lunch of footlong hotdogs and ice cream. Before heading to dinner and then the motel, we’d walk over to the Hot Springs State Park.

The Big Horn Hot Springs State Reserve became Wyoming’s first park in 1897 and quickly became a popular tourist destination for those seeking healing in the therapeutic mineral hot springs. The springs are open to the public for free as part of an 1896 treaty signed with the Shoshone and Arapaho tribes when they sold the land to the federal government.

Hot Springs State Park is home to a herd of Bison. The Bison are featured at a respectful distance in our “home movies,” quietly (no stampedes) watching us watch them. This herd is cared for by the Wyoming State Parks.

Dad was an avid photographer, I have boxes of movie reels, slides, Polaroids, and photos taken during his life. My memories of that trip the summer my grandfather died are all on Super 8 home movies. The bison, the playground, the colorful terrace where the hot springs flow, four small children running and playing, and my mom walking towards the Wind River Canyon, alone.

Only a crazy, daredevil would choose to navigate the swinging footbridge over the Bighorn river that connected both sides of the Wind River Canyon. The bridge literally was made of wood planks and cables from an oil field. Every step caused the entire bridge to swing. The eight-foot-wide bridge was originally built by a rancher (not an engineer), who used a postcard of The Golden Gate Bridge as a guide.

My dad and his movie camera followed my mom as she approached the bridge. He then filmed her as she walked to the other side of the canyon and back. At one point, on her return trip, my mom stopped, took a deep breath, put her hand to her forehead to better see the foothills in the distance and the water flowing beneath. A train traveling in the background, the big, blue Wyoming sky, and the river at The Wedding of the Waters, the point where the Wind River becomes the Bighorn River are part of the movie memory that day.

My mom lived all over the world as a child but Wyoming was in her heart from the moment she moved there at age twenty two until the day she died. It’s so obvious watching the movie of my mom on that bridge that day that she was breathing in the beauty of her surroundings and it was healing her broken heart.

Everything about Thermopolis is still magical, the tunnels, the Star Plunge, the bison and the swinging bridge. I wish I could visit more often.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling.