On a gorgeous spring day in ‘58 during the term of Ike Eisenhower, Billy Ballou was born in east Mobile. It was never clear why it happened. Billy was raised by his mother Mabel in a small rundown house near the shipyards. She loved him without measure or reserve. To him she was his angel from heaven. She would gather him up in her big arms, press him to her warm body and twirl round and round and the house would shake on its blocks. He held the joy of those moments with him. With his curly black hair and soulful eyes and his smile to light up the rainy sky, he won the hearts of her small group of friends. He tried to follow their tease and chatter. Billy needed all the love he could get. He was born deaf and said to be simple. Deaf and dumb. He was called deaf and dumb. He would see those words form and be angry. His mother found a church school for the deaf where the main goal was to teach them to speak. Imagine speaking words you’ve never heard. He tried but knew he was no good at it. Billy was a happy kid all the same. He found a dinghy washed up on the shore. He taught himself to sail and would go out for hours on the bay and the great Tensaw. And he loved sitting in the small kitchen while his mother was busy with cooking. His mother told her friends that what Billy lacked in hearing he made up in smelling When his mother would stir the red onions with fresh ginger and garlic she could see his face glow and that big bright smile come out “Boy’s got a stubborn streak, too,” May said once. Soon after Billy turned 14 he found his mother dead in her bed one morning. May had died overnight of a bad heart. Billy fell across her bed and he wept. No real relatives could be found for Billy. He was soon put into a foster home that was far away from his neighborhood, far away from all that he knew and loved. Then, a few months later, hardly noticed, young Billy simply disappeared from sight. The authorities felt obligated to search land and water for our Billy. They did a reasonable job of it. A home neighbor said he stayed in mostly. They said: “if you hear a sweet but odd laugh, you will have found him.” “He could hardly talk.” “Something was wrong. Don’t know how he got by.” “I sure do hope you find him soon. Nice kid.” A dinghy was found washed up down the bay in the stretch between Daphne and Fairhope. Some of Billy’s things were tied tight in it; it was clearly identified as his. The story took hold that Billy Ballou had sailed way out into the bay and drowned. Some said it was probably for the best, with his simplicity and no mother. His mother’s friends thought rather different. He was a swimmer and smart as a whip. They dreamed the boy would show up before long. One of them would sing quietly to herself: Oh Billy Ballou Billy Ballou Where are you Billy Ballou We miss you so where did you go We pray for you Billy Ballou
