"Under the spreading chestnut tree, The village smithy stands: The smith a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms, are strong as iron bands."

Sheridan Lemay doesn't do his smithing, under a chestnut tree, but in every other respect he is a counterpart of the village blacksmith described in the first verse of Longfellow's poem, and his backsmith shop stands on the same spot at Broughton, Ill., where his father, John T. LeMay, a veteran of the Civil War, first set up his force 75 years ago.

At the age of 52, Sheridan LeMay is indeed a mighty man, weighing a mere 292 pounds, most of which is brawn and muscle.

Awakened from his Sunday afternoon nap, the big blacksmith laughing consented to pose for a picture, dressed in his Sunday best, at the same time protesting: "I aint done nothin' to deserve all this attention."

Nevertheless, he is a man with a reputation of almost national repute as master of the art of shoeing horses, having shod many famous race horses on the grand circuit in years gone by, and following his enlistment in the U.S. Army during the World War served for a time as an instructor in horse shoeing. Then too, he had the unique experience of being transferred overseas by going A. W. O. L.

Tiring of the rountine life as an instructor at Fort Riley, LeMay calmly boarded a train with a contingent bound for France, where he served nineteen months with the Third Division Signal Corps, part of the time in the Army of the Occupation.

There are few tricks of the blacksmith trade that Sheridan LeMay cannot perform at his anvil. Taking a small piece of unheated iron, he proceeded by rapid pounding to bring it to a red hot glow and lighted a cigarette. The feat he takes most pride in, however, is his ability to punch holes on both sides of a horse shoe without missing a hammer stroke. As the last hole on one side is punched, the shoe is quickly flipped into the air and caught on the anvil in a continuous motion as the punch and hammer drives the first hole on the other side. It's a good trick if you can do it, and LeMay's friends say they've never seen anyone else that could do it.

Admitting that he was "real stout," the big man rolled up his sleeves and displayed arms of almost tree-trunk proportions, the right arm being considerably larger than the left. A piece of string and a yardstick revealed the following measurments: Forearm, 15 inches; biceps, unflexed, 16 1/2 inches; biceps flexed, 19 inches.

"You should have taken a picture of me in my nightshirt," grinned the juvial giant, "if you wanted somethin' for everybody to have a good laugh at. I like 'em big and loose."

From The Times Leader 12/25/1941

Copied by Rick Moore - 12/27/2004 Submitted by Silvetta Parsons: Transcribed by James Gholson 06/09/2005