"I Am Nothing"

For nearly 40 years, wispy, stooped Billy "Smith" was just another of the wandering fruit tramps who drift through California's central valley, following the crop seasons. Three years ago, Billy settled down at Dingville, a little grocery-&-bar crossroads on Alfred ("Dutch") Montna's ranch outside Marysville. He did odd jobs around the ranch and store.

Last week the hands and ranchers crowded about the pay phone in the back of Dutch's grocery store. Dutch put in a call for General Patrick J. Hurley, in Santa Fe. Old' Billy spoke into the phone. "Hello? Is this Pat Hurley? Well, this is Bill." Bill was talking to his brother for the first time since 1903.

From the Dead. The sons of an Irish miner, Patrick and William Hurley were born in the bedraggled mining town of Lehigh, Okla., then part of the Choctaw nation. Pat had got himself a college education, launched a career that made him a millionaire, Secretary of War under Herbert Hoover, roving ambassador extraordinary for Franklin Roosevelt. Bill, two years younger, left home in 1903 at 18. In 1911, some papers bearing Bill's name were found in the raincoat of a man killed near Mexico City. They decided Bill was dead.

On the phone, Pat was cautious at first. He asked Bill to name the members of the family; living and dead. Billy did not miss one. Pat began to recognize the "Choctaw drawl." Why had he hidden out all these years? "Just a quirk," said Billy. What about the man in Mexico? "I left that raincoat in an El Paso restaurant in 1908," Billy explained.

Of Famous Men. A rancher insisted on speaking to the general, to tell him Billy was a great guy. Billy explained that he decided to get in touch with his brother only because he would soon be 65, and it would look bad "if Pat Hurley's brother turned up on the old age pension." Why hadn't he written before? Said Billy: "My brother is a famous man, and I am nothing."

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