Caveman Charlie

The Helper, called Caveman Charlie

You develop an ear for such names as: Whiskey Bill, Quebo, Queho, Mouse, Seldom-Seen-Slim or Cavenga Charlie. And when you get a chlapce you have to take tipe to Hateri to a telier of tales.

Whiskey Bill was buried standing up in his shoes in a hole dug for a telephone pole because, "He was so full of booze when he died, it would have spilled out of him if we'd buried him lying down, and he wouldn't have liked that Quého? Queho, he was a renegade Indian who traveled up and down the Colorado River.

Mouse? Yeah, he was an Indian who hid out in the Valley of Fire. You've seen a mouse in a kitchen, haven't you? You get a glimpse of him and that's all. Weil, this Hadlan would be dodging aromed la the rocks in the Valley of Fire. All you'd hee would be a flash of him, so we atarted calling him. "Monse."

Mouse holed up in a deep rocky can you where he could get water. They call it "Mouse's Tank" now.

Seldom-Seen-Slim didn't come into town very often. He spent most of his time in the Mojave Desert and Death Valley. The only time Slim'd come to town was when he couldn't get somebody else to bring him his groopies.

And it was at Echo Bay Lodge on the Overton Arm of Lake Mead that someone said to my son, Faid, and me: "You might run into Caveman Charlie' at Rogers Spring"

The monicker "Caveman Charlie" was acquired by Charlie Schauker, originally from Kansas City. The story is that he went to sleep in a railroad gondola car of sand in Kansas. When he got off the train he was in Caliente, Nevada, and there he stayed. He got his nickname because he chose to forsake the abodes of civilized men to live in caves in the mountains of southern Nevada.

More than half a dozen trips along the North Shore Road, and driving in to check Rogers Spring, a haven for picnickers and visitors, never turned up the mysterious character.

Then, one day, there he was, a lone man occupying one of the ramadas.

Full-laden paper and cloth sacks were Hung by wire from the rafters of the ramada, to keep the contents out of reach of rodents. A bedroll was on the end of the table. A couple of boxes of canned vegetables and fruits were alongside.

Pani and I walked up to the men sitting on the berch. To my question, he answered, "Yes, I'm Caveman Charlic. That's what folks call me He pulled a sack of Bull Durham from his chirt pocket and rolled a ammoke. His lined faca contorted into photogenic expresakoins and he measured out the shards of tobacco, rolled the apoke and licked the pager.

Yes, he lived in caves. "I lived in 27 of them until the big storm here: There's culy 19 left now.

"Then a helper," he replied to my questión as to how he managed to live. "Somebody needs some betp slong the river sad I help them. They give is a little food and some things I need, and that helps me." He looked thoughtful fse a moment and said, "I guean everybody's a helper sometimes."

Asked how he survived back in the ald hills, he replied, "I've got blankets and canned and dried stuff stashed away in my caves. Them and a couple of jugs of water and I can get by.

"Lately, the kids they find my water and break the jugs," he lamented.

They're not mean," he explained, "it ary just don't know how important it is to have a little water stashed away in this country, especially in the summer." Не paused a moment, then said, "So, now I go back a little farther into the hills."

While we shared a roadrunner came out of the brush a short distance away. I suggested quieting our conversation so maybe the bird would come close.

"Oh you don't need to quiet down around him," said Caveman Charlie. "He's my friend. He's a kind of tamed-up Bird, maybe a cross between a pheasant and a quail. He Likes to be talked to."

And sure enough, the roadrunner moved in close and we will always remem ber Caveman Charlie and his friend, a tamed-up bird.