Professor Hex: THE CHICKEN BOY OF ILLINOIS

On the Old Holland road near Calumet, ILL, lives a German family with a 12-year-old boy who is a remarkable phenomenon. He is a boy in every particular, as far as form and feature are concerned, but there the similarity ends. In every attribute of mind and matter he is exactly like a chicken. He moves like a chicken, eats like a chicken, scratches like a chicken, flaps his arms arid crows, and sleeps on his feet crouched in a corner. These strange traits were imparted to him by a surgical operation, wherein the blood of a live chicken was conveyed into his veins to sustain life during a protracted siege of fever in which his own blood turned almost to a colorless liquid. Mention of his case is made in two medical books of resent date, and the case attracted some considerable attention five years ago, when the operation was performed; but, singularly enough, nothing of it crept into the newspapers.

As the reporter drove up to the house the boy was seen standing by the gate. He could not be mistaken, for, while two or three other children, like him yellow-haired and blue-eyed, evidently his brothers and sisters, were playing around, he stood perfectly quiet, leaning against the fence with one foot drawn up, as a chicken sometimes stands, and with his head turned to one side and dropping on his shoulder. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, precisely as a chicken sleeps – its left foot drawn up and the head under its right wing. The noise of the buggy seemed to awaken him. He gave a somewhat startled look, put his foot down and shook himself as a chicken ruffles its feathers, and, starting off with a short, quickstep, ran into the garden, where, a moment afterward, apparently forgetful of what had alarmed him, he stopped and began scratching with one foot in some soft earth beside a pine box, on which stood a saucer of corn meal and a rusty tin pan half full of water. These, it was afterward learned, were placed there regularly every day for him to feed upon. The boy's mother, it was learned, is dead. She died about two years ago. The father was away from home, at work in the Pullman car wheel foundry. The boy, whose peculiar characteristics make him an object of so much interest, is named Charley Wolfson. The driver of the buggy who conducted the reporter to the house said that he had heard that up to the time of his affliction the boy was a more than commonly bright child. Since then he has insisted on laying out of doors, going under cover only when it rained, and seeking shelter only in some of the outhouses along with the chickens. He never wears any hat, not even in the coldest weather, and never talks or takes any notice of things more than a chicken. One of the children, the oldest girl, evidently about 10 years of age, at the reporter's request called the boy by making a clucking sound, but he would not consent to be caught, and immediately ran away as an effort was made to take him. The girl said that he often sat on the fence, and not in frequently was found at sundown perched on the limb of a tree.

- Mexico Weekly Ledger, March 06, 1884,

posted by Prof. Hex at 1:30 AM

Archives