Sam Anderson

There was such a generosity from people and genuine curiosity and empathy for him that I found really touching. And I think I really related to this guy, as strange as it sounds. Like a lot of people, I think I feel sometimes alienated and strange or like I want to drop out of society. And here was someone who had done it in a totally fascinating way.

There was such a generosity from people and genuine curiosity and empathy for him that I found really touching. And I think I really related to this guy, as strange as it sounds. Like a lot of people, I think I feel sometimes alienated and strange or like I want to drop out of society. And here was someone who had done it in a totally fascinating way.

So I would always fantasize about following in his footsteps. Sometimes my wife asks me, what are you thinking about? And I hesitate to answer because it's just the old leather man. Years passed, and at one point an editor asked me, do you have any weird stories that you've never been allowed to write for the magazine?

So I would always fantasize about following in his footsteps. Sometimes my wife asks me, what are you thinking about? And I hesitate to answer because it's just the old leather man. Years passed, and at one point an editor asked me, do you have any weird stories that you've never been allowed to write for the magazine?

So for this week's Sunday read, I was able to fulfill my destiny and finally go walking in the footsteps of the old leather man on his loop. I loaded up my backpack and I just, for many, many, many days, just walked. And I wrote all about it. So here's my story. Our audio producer today is Adrian Hurst. The original music you'll hear was written and performed by Aaron Esposito.

So for this week's Sunday read, I was able to fulfill my destiny and finally go walking in the footsteps of the old leather man on his loop. I loaded up my backpack and I just, for many, many, many days, just walked. And I wrote all about it. So here's my story. Our audio producer today is Adrian Hurst. The original music you'll hear was written and performed by Aaron Esposito.

Sometime in the 1850s or 60s, at a terrible moment in U.S. history, a strange man seemed to sprout out of nowhere into the rocky landscape between New York City and Hartford. The word strange hardly captures his strangeness. He was rough and hairy, and he wandered around on back roads sleeping in caves. Above all, he refused to explain himself.

Sometime in the 1850s or 60s, at a terrible moment in U.S. history, a strange man seemed to sprout out of nowhere into the rocky landscape between New York City and Hartford. The word strange hardly captures his strangeness. He was rough and hairy, and he wandered around on back roads sleeping in caves. Above all, he refused to explain himself.

As one newspaper put it, he is a mystery and a very greasy and ill-odored one. Other papers referred to him as the animal or just throwing up their hands, this uncouth and unkempt, what is it? But the strangest thing about the stranger was his suit. In summer and in winter, in every possible kind of weather, the man wore from head to toe an outrageous outfit he seems to have made himself.

As one newspaper put it, he is a mystery and a very greasy and ill-odored one. Other papers referred to him as the animal or just throwing up their hands, this uncouth and unkempt, what is it? But the strangest thing about the stranger was his suit. In summer and in winter, in every possible kind of weather, the man wore from head to toe an outrageous outfit he seems to have made himself.

Rough leather patches stitched together with long leather strips, like a quilt. It was stiff, awkward, stinky, and brutally heavy. It looked like knight's armor made out of baseball gloves. To anyone encountering him on a quiet country lane, he must have seemed almost unreal, a huge slab of brown, twice as wide as a normal man, his suit creaking and squeaking with every step.

Rough leather patches stitched together with long leather strips, like a quilt. It was stiff, awkward, stinky, and brutally heavy. It looked like knight's armor made out of baseball gloves. To anyone encountering him on a quiet country lane, he must have seemed almost unreal, a huge slab of brown, twice as wide as a normal man, his suit creaking and squeaking with every step.

In the years following the Civil War, the wandering stranger became an object of curiosity, then a frequent subject of the newspapers. People gave him a name, the Old Leather Man. I suppose that many of the readers of your valuable paper have heard of the Old Leather Man, wrote someone from Rye, New York, in 1870.

In the years following the Civil War, the wandering stranger became an object of curiosity, then a frequent subject of the newspapers. People gave him a name, the Old Leather Man. I suppose that many of the readers of your valuable paper have heard of the Old Leather Man, wrote someone from Rye, New York, in 1870.

Hearing the reports about this singular recluse, I, in company with others, paid his haunts a visit. The Old Leather Man was a sort of real-life Northeastern Sasquatch. Curious citizens went plunging into the woods to investigate. What they found surprised them. The old Leatherman's caves were orderly, complete with primitive fireplaces, sleeping areas, and stores of food, meat, and hickory nuts.

Hearing the reports about this singular recluse, I, in company with others, paid his haunts a visit. The Old Leather Man was a sort of real-life Northeastern Sasquatch. Curious citizens went plunging into the woods to investigate. What they found surprised them. The old Leatherman's caves were orderly, complete with primitive fireplaces, sleeping areas, and stores of food, meat, and hickory nuts.

Under one slab of rock, he had dug out an apple cellar. In some forests, he kept well-tended gardens. Month after month, people watched the old Leatherman clomp past their farms and through their woods and right up the main streets of their tiny towns. At mealtimes, he would stop at sympathetic households, the same ones over and over, to ask with a grunt for food.

Under one slab of rock, he had dug out an apple cellar. In some forests, he kept well-tended gardens. Month after month, people watched the old Leatherman clomp past their farms and through their woods and right up the main streets of their tiny towns. At mealtimes, he would stop at sympathetic households, the same ones over and over, to ask with a grunt for food.

He rarely spoke, and when he did, his words were clipped, strange. In the silence, rumors grew. People speculated that the old Leatherman was French, or French-Canadian, or Portuguese. They said that he couldn't speak at all, or that he just couldn't speak English, or that he spoke English perfectly, but pretended not to. They said he came from a family in Hartford named Brown.

He rarely spoke, and when he did, his words were clipped, strange. In the silence, rumors grew. People speculated that the old Leatherman was French, or French-Canadian, or Portuguese. They said that he couldn't speak at all, or that he just couldn't speak English, or that he spoke English perfectly, but pretended not to. They said he came from a family in Hartford named Brown.