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Mid-Georgia Firewalker
My younger brother’s feet were an anomaly not normally found in
nature. The bottoms of his feet, where the rubber meets the road, were
more durable than hooves and provided much better traction. Andy
refused to wear shoes during the summer months, from late February until
mid-December, so the soles of his feet were like salt-cured pig iron.
Me: You should put on some shoes; we’re going to the store.
Andy: They sell shoes don’t they?
Me: Ugh…yeah.
Andy: Then I reckon they’ve seen people without’em.
We knew his feet were more resilient than other feet in our hometown, but
we were not well-traveled or worldly, so we weren’t privy to the nature of
feet-bottoms outside of about a fifty-mile radius. However, we did see
National Geographic pictures of a famed firewalker who claimed to have
the toughest feet in the world. The Great Huha: Firewalker with the world’
s toughest feet was what he called himself. My brother quickly pointed out
that Huha wasn’t walking on fire but hot coals. Andy felt that truth was
important in regards to feet. He was also upset about the world’s toughest
feet claim.
Andy believed himself superior to any of those firewalkers on T.V or in
magazines. They were quick stepping across coals, not flames, and there
was some suspicion of pre-foot preparation.
At my brother’s insistence, I wrote to the National Geographic issuing a
general challenge to The Great Huha: Firewalker with the world’s toughest
feet. My brother felt it unfair to put yourself up as having exceptional feet
without some sort of formal contest. After all, Baseball, Football and
Basketball all had competitions to see who was the best.
National Geographic, sensing the delicacy of the situation where the
relative toughness of feet bottoms was concerned, bowed out of the matter
by giving me the phone number of the hotel where The Great Huha was
staying. He was currently touring the Southeastern U.S.
I dialed the number of the hotel and after going through a secretary,
an assistant, and a podiatrist specializing in hot foot syndrome, I spoke to
the Firewalker himself. When I knew I had the right guy, I put my brother
on the line because it was his challenge to make.
Great Huha: To whom am I speaking? And exactly what does this
call concern.
Andy: I’m Andy; I got tougher feet than you. I’m challenging you to a
tough feet contest.
Great Huha: Son, fire walking is a deeply spiritual action. When I
walk on fire, I am one with the universe. I do not…compete!
Andy turned to me, though not away from the phone, and said, “I
think he’s chicken-sh--.” There was no harsher condemnation in our world.
He then returned to his phone conversation.
Andy: If you’re scared just say scared.
I know the firewalker heard the part about being chicken-sh--, so he
couldn’t very well turn down my brother’s challenge and hold his head up
in public.
Andy handed me the phone to make the arrangements; somehow I’d
become his unofficial manager and spokesperson.
Me: Andy, he agrees to let you pick the spot if he can pick the time.
Andy: Tell him I’m at 642 Phillips Lee Road anytime he wants to
pussyfoot out this way.
I didn’t relate the part about pussyfooting. I felt that the earlier jab at
his manhood was sufficient. After all, he hadn’t really done anything to us
personally; he was just putting on airs about his tough feet, and Andy wasn’
t one to let something like that slide—he’s sensitive about his feet.
Me: Andy, we’re going to have to get you in training. Have you ever
walked on fire before?
Andy: No, at least not on purpose.
Me: Well, that’s what this things gonna come down to. This guys a
firewalker. He ain’t gonna come out here and stomp beer bottles and run
barefoot across gravel. He’s gonna walk on fire.
Andy: Ain’t fire; it’s just coals. You ain’t trying to say I’m chicken-
sh-- are you?
No, I wasn’t saying that. I just knew we were going to have a real
match on our hands. Sure, Andy had tougher feet than anyone we knew,
but hell, who did we really know?
So, I became, not only his manager, but also his trainer. He started out
walking through small fires we’d start around the house and he progressed
quickly to feats I’d never seen done in any magazine, including Ripley’s
Believe It or Not.
The big day was August 16th 1977. The Great Huha: Firewalker
with the world’s toughest feet pulled up in a touring bus that his driver had
to park in the road because it was too long for our driveway. Luckily, my
father was at work, and since it was only 2 p.m., our mother was still
asleep.
The Great Huha stepped down from the bus with a flourish of a long
orange and yellow cape. He was followed by a troop of assistants. Me and
a pig were the only assistants my brother had. But then again, he had to
walk the fire alone anyway.
Huha’s Assistant’s Secretary: Are you Andy?
Andy: Yep.
Huha’s Assistant’s Secratary: Since you’re a minor, we’ll have to
insist that you sign a waiver, in case of injury.
While I explained to Andy what it was they wanted him to sign, the
rest of the crew, except the Great Huha, prepared a twenty-six foot by
three-foot bed of hot coals for the coming event.
The Great Huha: Firewalker with the world’s toughest feet seemed to
be praying. His eyes would roll back in his head and he’d make these
scary moaning sounds. Andy looked at me to see if I knew what was
wrong. I shrugged my shoulders and told him it must be something city
people do.
Finally, the hot coals were ready, the Great Huha was ready, and all
the paperwork was taken care of.
Great Huha’s Secretary: Andy, do you wish to go first or second.
Andy: Don’t make me no difference.
There was a coin toss and Huha went first. He skimmed across them
hot coals like he was late for an appointment. At the end, he turned back
and smiled at me and Andy like he’d just walked on water instead of
coals, then he motioned for Andy to go ahead.
I could tell he had got it up with his assistants beforehand to keep an
eye on Andy in case Andy was up to some trick. The Great Huha and all
his entourage got right down beside the bed of coals, so close it was nearly
singeing their eyebrows. They meant to keep a close watch on their
challenger.
They didn’t stay there long. My brother is not a pussyfooter; he’s a
stomper. You should have seen them folks stepping back when he stomped
across there, scattering coals six and eight feet to the side of that hot coal
bed.
Assistant: Ow sum-u-mu-b—
Secretary: Ouch, you little…
Huha: Help, he’s caught my cape on fire.
Andy stomped through the hot coals; stood at the end for a minute,
walked back to the middle—and stopped.
Andy: The ends have got a little heat to em’ but the middle is just as
cool as a cucumber. Think we oughtta stoke it up a little with some diesel
fuel and try her again?
Huha and Entourage: No!
The Firewalk contest didn’t make Andy famous, and the The Great
Huha kept performing, but from then on when he signed autographs, it was
always,
The Great Huha: Firewalker with the second toughest feet in the world.