The Werewolf of West Prairie
The children run away in fear when the werewolf enters the playground. Who is this werewolf and what is he doing in this small midwestern farming community?
Philip White
"Everybody run...here he comes!"
"He's on the playground now!"
"He's getting closer....oooh gross, just look at him!"
The schoolchildren scattered back into the safety of the middle school while the tattered old man limped across the playground. Even the bravest children remaining outside still kept a safe distance from the unwelcome intruder who had entered their domain.
Some children made an effort to impress their friends by approaching the man at a safe distance. They hurled insults and taunts, causing the old man to get aggressive and lunge, grab and growl at the sarcastic children. That was all it took to make the once-brave taunters scream and try to get away from this strange figure.
Within minutes he crossed to the other side of the football field-size playground.
Then he quickly disappeared down one of the side streets and was soon out of site.
I stood under a tree with my friends and joined into their fearful excitement of having had a close encounter with the old man known as the "Werewolf of West Prairie". Our talk soon became an exagerated parody of our eyewitness accounts.
For the next few days most conversations on the school playground were about the Werewolf. Some kids stayed inside the school while others kept a constant vigil so they could be the first to spot him if he should return.
I heard stories prior to that afternoon about a werewolf living in our small farming community. The stories didn't focus on his terrible actions or deeds but instead related how a witness actually had seen him. Or they might tell how he chased a friend or relative down a dark street.
The horror behind most Werewolf stories was the fact he even existed in the first place. A creature like him was supposed to exist only in movies or folklore, not in the safe domain of one's hometown! This Werewolf even had a first and last name which I learned was "Jay Hopper."
My brother had seen the Werewolf a couple years before on the middle school playground. Now I had experienced the Werewolf and he was exactly as Paul described him!
He was an old man dressed in filthy ill-fitting clothes. He wore tattered jeans and too many shirts for a warm day like this. His posture was poor causing him to walk bent-over with a limp in his stride. His hands were gnarly, calloused and hairy. His sharp finger nails were long, chipped and filled with dirt.
His horrible face was weathered, dirty and scarred. He had a wild, crazed look in those dark haunting eyes. The mad, snarling mouth was filled with horrible crooked teeth that looked more like animal fangs instead of something a human should have in their mouth! His chin was covered with an unkept beard. The strands of hair on his head was matted and hung all the way to his shoulders which made his appearance all the more frightening!
This physical smorgasbord of terror worked together to mimic the image of the Wolfman as portrayed in the movies of old. It was this wild, crazed appearance that gained him the title "Werewolf of West Prairie".
Months later while visiting my grandparents, I mentioned to my granddad about the Werewolf of West Prairie. He told me it was just a bunch of foolishness... the wild imagination of overactive schoolkids. He laughed and let me know how silly I was to believe in a childish tale like that.
My granddad went back to reading his newspaper. He dismissed the werewolf as "not worth discussing" when I finally mentioned the monster's name. "Jay Hopper," he repeated with a bit of shock and bewilderment. Granddad put his newspaper down since this new piece of information now made the whole discussion worth his attention.
"Old Jay Hopper once was a good friend of mine." he reminessed. "Jay owned a big farm right next to mine. We had gone to school together when we were kids. It's been such a long time and I had no idea what happened to him after he sold his farm about fifteen years ago."
Granddad shook his head in disbelief and stammered: "Poor old Jay. Poor old foolish man moved off the farm and became a crazy person." He went back to reading his newspaper and murmered to himself, "that poor, dumb old bastard."
Many times in life, events leave a strange footnote to a person's life and so it was with Jay Hopper, the werewolf of West Prairie. I had been out of school a couple years and was working on the family farm. It was a hot August day and I was taking a break under a big oak tree with some of the workers. We were drinking Cokes and engaging in some "country gossip" when one of the men said, "have you heard what happened to old Jay Hopper?"
My attention became alert as I remembered siting the werewolf many years before. The man continued, "It seems a policeman over in Kennett was givin' parkin' tickets when he approached a truck parked in front of the liquor store. It was just sittin' there with this terrible rotten stench comin' out of it. He looked in and saw this old woman sittin' in the truck like she was sleepin' or somethin'. When he looked closer, he knew for sure she was dead! She was stinkin' somethin' terrible and the policeman got kinda sick when he got close to her."
"You know who that old woman was?" He continued, "well, she's Jay Hopper's mama and she was dead for weeks and weeks... maybe months. Jay had been drivin' his truck all over the place... goin' to the store, buyin' groceries, gettin' beer...doin' all kinds of things with that old dead woman justa sittin' in his truck. Just sittin' there stinkin'....everywhere he went."
I asked "what happened? How did she die? Did Jay kill her?"
"I don't know fer sure," he mused, "but I do know the authorities buried that old woman and put Jay into one of them homes... you know, the homes for crazy people. He probably did kill her I think. Then again, maybe she just died of old age."
That was the last time I heard anything about the Werewolf of West Prairie. I have absolutely no idea what happened to that crazy old man who had gone to school with my granddad and later allowed his appearance to take on that of a monster.
Perhaps he died in an insane asylum. Maybe he's still alive. I wouldn't even be surprised if he's out there walking across a schoolground, scaring the daylights out of the children.
Top two photos were of me wearing wolfman makeup I created while in high school. This makeup was actually glued to my face and was a one-shot deal since it had to be destroyed to remove it. Bottom picture is of wolfman artwork I drew when I was ten years old and living on the farm.
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