ALLIGATOR BOY

THE LRGEND OF CHIEF BILLY THUNDERCLOUD

　

　

At the end of the second Seminole war of 1842, no peace treaty was signed. The

Seminole Indians existed for a hundred years, hidden in the everglades. By the 1950’s

some migrated to dryer lands in South Florida. Stories of Billy Thundercloud spread

through Florida. The Seminoles called him, ‘Ma-omof Fusua’ or Alligator Boy.

His family lived in the swamps when he was born. He went missing one day and

his mother panicked and ran to a deep water area in the Everglades. She found her son

sitting with three massive alligators, whispering to them. He was four at the time. His

legend grew as he got older and would gather his afternoon audience beside the deep

area.

Other Seminoles hesitated to join him when as many as a dozen alligators would

surround him in rapt interest, never touching him unless he said ‘Mofaus Kei’ which

means playtime. They would wrestle with him, their jaws closing in thunderous claps,

always missing him an inch or two. The tribe anointed him as Chief Billy Thundercloud.

As he grew in stature he never forget his fierce playmates and yearned for their

company. On weekends he would join them and once, he invited his natural history

professor from the University Of Miami, along for company.

She was half Seminole with half Irish thrown in, a beauty for the ages. Wearing a

sheer blouse, top buttons loose with a little jiggle as she walked, she oozed innocently.

Tight blue jeans walked down a tight derriere , they seemed to be spray painted on.

When they sat by the bank, Billy was so proud of her

She expressed little fear as she sat with him surrounded by massive jaws and eyes

that spoke evil. But she knew as long as Billy was with her, she was safe. She leaned over

to him,

“How about an A for this assignment. Are you old enough for me to kiss you?“

“If you won’t tell, my lips are sealed.” They shared a gentle kiss and held hands

within the circle of predators. Denise took many photos that day and showed then in her

lecture room. Somehow, several snap shots ended up at the Miami Herald.

A media frenzy started to build with Denise Ocala in the forefront. She asked

Billy for a favor,

“Anything you want,” he replied.

“Can we take the press so they can witness why they call you Ma-omof Fusua?

The publicity will fund the university’s research department on the danger of

development threatening the Everglades.”

“It may upset them to see so many. Will the reporters keep their distance?”

“Of course, I will be sure they follow your wishes.”

Billy sensed a feeling of foreboding the next Saturday when six reporters

followed Denise and Billy far into the glades to the deep part. As agreed, the reporters

stayed back fifty yards as the gators started their ritual with the whisperer. One of the

reporters broke ranks and crept forward for a better photo. An alligator noticed and

edged toward him.

The reporter panicked, drew a pistol and shot at the gator. All hell broke, a large

alligator clamped down on Denise’s leg and dragged her toward the water. Billy jumped

on his back, drew his knife and started to stab the gator but was violently thrown off. As

he rose to his feet, the alligator submerged into the depths with Denise still struggling and

then all was still. The other beasts slid into the water, circled as if waiting for something.

Billy walked up to the reporter who had fired the pistol, knocked him

unconscious, lifted him above his head and walked to the deep place. With a great heave

the reporter hit the water amidst the circling gators. Thrashing sounds drowned his

screams as the gators consumed him.

Billy, his head hung low in grief, walked slowly toward the deep and waded in the

murky, blood stained swamp water. In his native language, he began to chant ,

“Aweka nomateg wabte, aweka nomateg wabte.”

His like long friends consumed his body as commanded.

So a legend built around the alligator boy. When a half moon lights the glades,

some say he can be seen by the deep place encircled by his aquatic friends. Who knows

the mysteries of the Everglades? No one

Long may ‘Ma-omuf Fusua’ tarry. .