The first full story in Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio is a story titled, “Hands.” It is one of my favorites. It is the story of an odd “fat little old man” in Winesburg named Wing Biddlebaum. He lived in a house just outside of town, next to a field that had been seeded for clover, but that has only produced mustard weeds. The story opens with Wing at his house as the sun is setting, looking out toward the road. We are told that just as his house is just outside of town, Wing himself never felt a part of Winesburg. He had lived there for 20 years, but because he was “forever frightened and beset by a ghostly band of doubts,” he always remained alone. The only person in Winesburg he would ever open up to was the young reporter of the town newspaper, George Willard. With him, Wing would venture out in public during the day, straighten up, and actively talk with George.
The unique, defining characteristic of Wing was his hands, slender expressive fingers, forever active, forever striving to conceal themselves.” His hands are likened to “the beating of the wings of an imprisoned bird,” and we are told that his hands alarmed Wing. Clearly, the key to understanding Wing Biddlebaum is to understand the story of his hands—they are his distinguishing feature, and as we will find out, the symbol of his being a “grotesque.” His hands were so active that once he came to Winesburg and became a berry-picker, he was so good at it that he became famous for it. Still, his hands “made more grotesque an already grotesque and elusive individuality.”
Whenever he would talk with George, Wing would always close his fists and beat his hands in some fashion on a table, or something nearby. He would also speak to George and encourage him to go out into the world and be his own person: “You are destroying yourself. You have the inclination to be alone and to dream and you are afraid of your dreams. You want to be like the others in town here. You hear them talk and you try to imitate them. …You must try to forget all you have learned. You must begin to dream. From this time on you must shut your ears to the roaring of the voices.”
Simply put, Wing Biddlebaum would encourage George to follow his dreams and not simply go through life trying to imitate other people. And that is certainly good advice. One time, though, when he was doing this, we are told his hands went on George’s shoulders as he was talking, and when he realized what he was doing, “a look of horror swept over his face,” and he abruptly left. George realized that Wing’s hands must have something to do “with his fear of me and of everyone.”
It is then that we are told of Wing’s backstory and what his life was like before he came to Winesburg. In short, Wing’s real name was Adolph Meyers, and he was a schoolteacher in Pennsylvania. He was not your typical “macho man,” if you will, but instead was a quiet, sensitive man who was meant to be a teacher of youth. And the way he expressed himself was by his hands: stroking shoulders, touching the hair, and things like that. Some people just are like that. As the story says, “Under the caress of his hands, doubt and disbelief went out of the minds of the boys and they began also to dream.”
The “tragedy” that happened, though, was that some “half-witted” boy got some strange things in his head about Adolph Meyers and (as is implied in the story) claimed that Meyers had molested him in some way. The rumors took off and when the parents heard that Meyers was “touching” the boys, the men of the town came to his house in the night, drag him outside and started to beat on him. One man in particular, Henry Bradford, kept shouting at Meyers, “I’ll teach you to put your hands on my boy, you beast!” Adolph was able to escape from that town, and he then came to Winesburg to live with his aunt. Once she died, he got the house.
With that backstory of his past, we now know why Wing always kept to himself, why he was always pounding his fists, and why he was so horrified when he touched George. The big question, though, of course, is this: Did Wing (as Adolph Meyers) really molest any of those boys? I do not think he did. I think that he was simply not your stereotypical “guy.” He was, we can say, more “feminine” in his manners. We see this in typical teachers. Most grade schoolteachers are women, and nobody thinks anything when a female teacher hugs her students—after all, that’s acceptable female behavior. But if a man hugs a student, that looks suspicious…even when it is totally innocent. And that, I believe, is what happened with Adolph Meyers. A rumor started, and because Meyers was different, and not your stereotypical “guy,” everybody assumed the worst.
In fact, we are explicitly told the following: “Although he did not understand what had happened, he felt that the hands must be to blame. Again and again the fathers of the boys had talked of the hands. ‘Keep your hands to yourself,’ the saloon keeper had roared….” So clearly, Meyers had no idea why he was being beaten up, and that tells you that he really hadn’t molested any boys. He was completely oblivious as to why he was being attacked, and that not knowing why something happened can often be more traumatic and scarring than the actual thing itself.
And that horrible experience did, in fact, scar Meyers, so much so that he changed his entire name and was afraid to interact much with anyone. His beating ruined his career, his very identity, and turned him into a misshapen “grotesque” who was afraid of everything.
The story ends with Wing back at his house outside of town, right after the sun has set. Just as the story had begun with Wing in his house at dusk, he is once again alone in his house in the dark. He misses talking to George, but his fear of his hands and his not understanding what had happened to him, keeps him in a constant state of loneliness—he is “in the dark” in more ways than one. The last we see of Wing is him picking up crumbs from his meal that had fallen to the floor and quickly eating them: “In the dense blotch of light beneath the table, the kneeling figure looked like a priest engaged in some service of his church. The nervous expressive fingers, flashing in and out of the light, might well have been mistaken for the fingers of the devotee going swiftly through decade after decade of his rosary.”
Hands: My Thoughts
As I’ve already said, “Hands” is a heartbreaking story of a man who had unjustly suffered because he was misunderstood, and that tragedy broke him. Wing Biddlebaum is a grotesque that deserves our pity and grace. What makes the story so beautiful, though, is the way Sherwood Anderson has constructed it.
First, it begins with Wing in his house, outside of town, in the dark, and it brings us full circle to that very place at the end—signifying and emphasizing his loneliness and his ignorance as to what had happened to him.
Secondly, his new name of “Wing” is also telling. Early in the story, his hands were equated with the wings of a caged bird. Indeed, that describes Wing himself. Because of his hands, he has been “caged” in his fear and ignorance of why he was beaten and chased out of town as a schoolteacher.
Finally, there are the multiple meanings of hands in the story. His hands were how he expressed his hopes and dreams. But then, due to the horrible rumors, his life was beaten out of him by hands. Consequently, his hands found a new life as a berry-picker, but they still terrified him when he tried to talk with George.
And finally, at the end, the picture of him in his house, in the dark, picking up crumbs is likened to a priest performing the Eucharist, or a person doing the rosary. That picture speaks volumes. It tells me that Wing misses and still longs for communion—not just with God, but with other members of society. It also tells me that the picture of him kneeling and performing the rosary indicates he is still seeking forgiveness and absolution for a supposed sin he never committed, but for which he had been punished for over 20 years.
We all know people like Wing—sincere, good people who are just a little different, and who thus are misunderstood, and oftentimes hurt and abused for it…and they never recover from it. It is sad, trying pitiful, but in a strange way, a beautiful picture of the vulnerability of the human condition.
