“Everyone calls me Boogar. I had pneumonia when I was born and was in the hospital for two months. When my parents took me to church, Mr Wilber Harpole–who sat two rows in front of my parents every Sunday for my entire life–said I was a ‘tuff little Boogar.’ Everyone started saying, ‘Let me see that little Boogar.’ The name stuck. Now, few people know my real name. I was known in the Army as SSG Boogar. Even my name tags had Boogar on them.

I grew up in Yazoo County and went into the Army after high school. Was sent to Bosnia and Germany. When I got out, I was burned out and went from job to job. I did carpentry work, was a corrections officer at the prison, and went full-time at the National Guard. After 9-11 happened, we were sent to Guantanamo Bay prison camp for about a year. Wrote the operating procedures for that camp. I came home for thirty days and was sent from there to Ft. Hood, Texas. I was gone for almost two years straight. A few years later, I was deployed five times to Iraq.

In Iraq, I had a loaded gun everywhere I went. The next step could be my last. I was good under fire and the one that people called to help. Iraq wasn’t fun, but it was exciting. I excelled in that environment and was awarded the Bronze Star. Trying to transition home and searching for that same adrenaline rush was tough. I was supposed to turn that off and be a husband and a father. I was drinking heavily-we were just learning about PTSD and how to deal with it. All of this was hard on my marriage. I heard God’s voice telling me, “This is not who you are,’ and ‘Quit doing this,” but I thought drinking was having a good time. I was changing jobs in the military, about to graduate from the school and be promoted. But the night before my promotion, I had an accident driving a buddy home. 

I don’t remember much about the accident. It was confusing to wake up in the hospital after what seemed like a night of sleep, but it was six weeks later. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. It was like being tied down. I was in the hospital for almost nine months. I got home, and my wife, Cannon, had to go back to work. I was stuck in the house, not doing much for myself. 

After about six months of laying in bed, Cannon came home and asked if I had moved that day. I got up a couple times to let the dog out or get something to eat. She goes, ‘If you don’t get yourself in gear and get in motion, I’m gone. This is not who I married.’

The thought of losing Cannon motivated me to get going. I started doing gunsmith work, but it started disturbing my PTSD. I would look through a scope and see faces. I went to therapy to get rid of the faces: it worked good enough. Vietnam vets say the faces don’t go completely away. 

My boys were young when I got hurt. They still needed their daddy to take them hunting, fishing, and to teach ’em things. We went deer hunting or fishing every weekend. I coached Pee Wee football and baseball. We never let my injury define us. 

I grew up in the construction business. I can still do carpentry, plumbing, welding, and electrical work. I run excavators, bulldozers, and tractors. On the excavator, I feel like I’m a normal guy again. Same thing with riding horses. I used to train horses and do team roping in rodeos. Getting back into it makes me feel like that guy again. I learned to ride all with a special saddle with a high back, belts, and braces. It’s working on my balance, which is good for my core and legs. My circulation has improved in the past few months because of riding. 

Luckily, I have good friends that I rope and have a good time with. The lift on my truck picks up my wheelchair. My buddy leads my horse over and helps me pull up on it.  If I fall, I laugh it off, reset, and get back up. To get off, I ride my horse up to the truck, take off the belts and braces, and slide to the truck bed and into my wheelchair.  It kills me to need help getting on and off. If I didn’t, I would be on a horse every day.

I started working on saddles and making bags, gun slings, belts, and bracelets from leather. Cannon gives me ideas. I’m good with my hands and seeing how things can be. I spend eight to 10 hours a day in my shop. It’s therapy and keeps me sane.

I’m in pain almost every day–that’s life. But being active makes me feel better, mentally. If my mental state is good, I feel better, physically. The more I sit there and wallow in poor pitiful me and what I can’t do, the more I hurt. So if the lawnmower breaks, I get under it and fix it. If we’re painting at the house, I paint as high as I can reach. Height is my biggest limitation

Every morning, you have a choice: lay there and feel sorry for yourself or get up and do something to make your life and the world a better place. I choose to get up and do what I want to do and figure out ways around my limitations.”

Boogar

You can check out Boogar’s leather pieces on his Dewayne Williams Facebook page. He also has a booth at the Downtown Market in Yazoo City, MS.