The nugget. (Sisters, Or.) 1994-current, November 15, 2017, Page 17, Image 17

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    Wednesday, November 15, 2017 The Nugget Newspaper, Sisters, Oregon        17
The Bunkhouse
Chronicle
Craig Rullman
Columnist
Santa Anna’s leg
I  do  realize,  of  course, 
and  sincerely  appreciate 
the profundity,  of our great 
national  obsession  with 
Russians,  Hollywood  per-
verts, Donna Brazille’s new 
book, bump stocks, the NFL 
kneeling/not-kneeling  she-
nanigans, and even Trump’s 
midnight bully-tweets meant 
for a Korean dictator. 
But  (and  here  is  an 
admission) I personally lost 
faith  in  travelling  carnivals 
somewhere around age 7— 
though I did once pay a dol-
lar, when I was 10, for a peek 
at  “The  Ugliest  Man  in  the 
World.” 
It went like this: You gave 
the  guy  a  dollar.  He  pulled 
out a wooden box and low-
ered  it  over  his  head.  One 
side  of  the  box  had  a  little 
window,  on  tiny  hinges, 
which  you  then  opened  — 
nervously,  for  who  knew 
what  one  might  see  —  and 
peered inside. 
So  that’s  what  I  did.  I 
gave him a buck and opened 
the window. All around me I 
could hear the shouts of car-
neys,  the  peals  of  laughter 
from  people  pretending  to 
enjoy  the  various  rides  and 
baloney-booths on the mid-
way. I looked in, cautiously, 
eagerly, and realized at once 
that I had been had. It was a 
very, well, Muelleresque sort 
of moment. 
See,  the  guy  had  no 
teeth. All he did was pull his 
lower lip over his nose and 
up to his eyeballs, a kind of 
gummy balaclava. He sat in 
there, under the box, needing 
a  shave  and  looking  at  you 
with sad eyeballs. I had been 
sucked into this farce by the 
shrieks of the girls who had 
gone before me, but mostly I 
felt cheated, and even a little 
angry at the old guy with the 
box on his head.
But the story of the guy in 
the box is not where I wanted 
to  go.  I  wanted  to  write 
about the historical trials of 
General Antonio  Lopez  de 
Santa Anna’s  legs.  General 
Santa Anna, you might recall, 
was the villain of the Alamo. 
Two  years  later,  in  what 
became known as The Pastry 
War — a kerfuffle between 
the  angry  French  and  the 
angrier Mexicans — he was 
hit in the left leg by cannon 
fire  while  retreating  from 
Veracruz. His ankle was bro-
ken, the lower leg mangled, 
and it was eventually ampu-
tated  just  below  the  knee.
But  Santa Anna  thought 
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very  highly  of  the  leg  that 
had served him so well. In a 
flourish of the kind reserved 
for  Mexican  Generals,  he 
ordered  that  his  left  leg  be 
buried with full military hon-
ors — it was actually a state 
funeral  —  and  managed  to 
become  the  President  of 
Mexico for the fourth, or was 
it the fifth, time.
Santa  Anna,  no  malin-
gerer,  had  a  prosthetic  leg 
made from cork, and ambled 
around with his medals and 
strategies  and  fancy  hats, 
just  in  time  for  the  1847 
Mexican-American  war, 
wherein  his  prosthetic  leg 
was captured — after being 
abandoned in the field dur-
ing a surprise ambush — by 
troops  from  the  much-her-
alded 4th Illinois Infantry. 
Santa  Anna  is  said  to 
have fled the field on horse-
back, under fire, which was 
undoubtedly  an  impressive 
feat  of  horsemanship.  A 
second  prosthetic,  more  of 
a peg-leg than a fancy cork 
prosthetic, was also captured 
by  our  boys  and  used  as  a 
baseball  bat  during  pickup 
games  in  the  big  Mexican 
sand lot. True story.
The  legend  of  the  origi-
nal,  living  leg,  did  not  end 
AUTO
ACCIDENT?
with  its  interment—it  was 
eventually dug up by protes-
tors and dragged through the 
streets  of  Mexico  City,  by 
people mad at Santa Anna.
The prosthetics, both the 
expensive cork version and 
the baseball bat, were hauled 
back to Illinois, much to the 
continuing  ire  of  Texans, 
who now want it back. The 
cork leg went to the Illinois 
State  Military  Museum, 
while  the  peg  leg  is  dis-
played in the home of former 
Illinois governor Richard J. 
Oglesby.
But  those  Texans,  never 
a  people  to  sit  idly  by  and 
allow the universe to merely 
happen  to  them,  are  peti-
tioning for the return of the 
cork prosthetic. A museum, 
built  around  the  battle  of 
San  Jacinto,  wants  the  leg 
so that it might enjoy a place 
beside  Santa  Anna’s  knee-
buckle,  and  an  historically 
important tent stake someone 
brought  in  from  the  desert. 
And  students  at  St.  Mary’s 
University  in  San Antonio, 
who are only trying to exor-
cise the demons of their on-
going undergraduate identity 
crises,  want  the  leg  back 
so  they  can  hand  it  over  to 
Mexico where, they think, it 
rightly belongs.
Naturally, all of this furor 
over  Santa  Anna’s  leg  has 
raised  the  dormant  martial 
ire  of  Illinoians,  and  even 
the  weighty  editorial  board 
of the Chicago Tribune has
leaped into the controversy:
“In  any  case,  we  can’t 
imagine  why  the  Texans 
imagine  they  have  a  claim. 
At San Jacinto, Santa Anna 
still had the legs he was born 
with.  Texans  didn’t  inflict 
the  injury  that  necessitated 
the replacement, and Texans 
didn’t capture it or preserve 
it  for  169  years. As  we  all 
know,  possession  is  nine 
parts of the law,” they wrote.
So  there  is  that.  In  the 
final  analysis  the  on-going 
trial  of  Santa Anna’s  leg  is 
much  more  interesting  — 
at  least  for  this  bemused 
independent  —  than  which 
comedian  was  caught  with 
his pants down, which politi-
cal  party  is  promising  the 
moon,  or  what  Pro  Bowl 
linebacker was arrested at 4 
a.m. for domestic violence. 
And it is far more — by 
orders of magnitude — grati-
fying than the buck I forked 
over, in a fit of childish curi-
osity,  to  see  “The  Ugliest 
Man in the World.” 
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