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Nice to Meet You

Mike the Headless Chicken, a rare bird and his party

By Ann Gates Weaver

Found in: | Inside | Beer | Music |

I was turning 30 and it was time for a change. I found a posting online for a position with the Bureau of Land Management near Fruita, Colo., and I was interested. Getting the position was a long shot, but I was optimistic enough to search online for information on Fruita, my possible new hometown. When "Vote Mike for President" popped up in a search result along with a chicken campaign logo, I was a little curious, or at least confused. I clicked (who wouldn't?) and discovered that a Fruita chicken was running for president. Yes, I said chicken. Even more odd was that the chicken was sans head. I'm not talking about a missing comb or beak - although that would be pretty creepy, too - this chicken simply had no head. As a presidential candidate, this one held promise: without a mouth it couldn't lie and it would reliably turn a blind eye to corruption.

The Web page, authored by the city of Fruita, advertised a festival held in the chicken's honor on May 15, the same day as my birthday. It seemed like fate. It was settled, I'd be making a visit to Fruita to attend the Mike the Headless Chicken Festival.

During the following weeks, I visited virtual Fruita many times and learned how truly remarkable Mike really was. Although he started out like any other Wyandotte rooster living on the Olsen farm in 1945, on Sept. 10 Mike's life took a drastic turn. As farmer Lloyd Olsen started chopping chickens for dinner, Mike ended up on the block. After his head was lopped, he ran around the yard - chickens do that, to no one's surprise - but when he resumed scratching in the dirt, Olsen upgraded Mike from entr�e to entertainment and decided to see how long he could keep the rooster going. When the bird gurgled at dawn, Olsen began feeding and watering him by dropping mush and water down his throat with the aid of an eye dropper. In a small town without much entertainment, when neighbors got wind of the curiosity they started dropping in to trade beers for a look at Olsen's amazing piece of poultry.

A week later, Mike went on his first road trip to Salt Lake City where scientists at the University of Utah examined him. An expert at preserving the tender and delectable neck for his mother-in-law, Olsen had chopped Mike just below the chin (well, if chickens had chins that is - use your imagination).

In doing so, most of Mike's brain stem and one ear remained. Because a chicken brain is barely larger than a thumbnail and that most reflex actions are controlled by the brain stem, being brainless was no big deal. The real miracle was that Olsen missed the jugular. This allowed blood clots to form in the neck, preventing the usual bleed out. Further scientific examinations concluded that Mike was not aware of his headless state and therefore could not be suffering. Six weeks later, Mike was featured in Life Magazine.

Suddenly, this chicken was a star. Officially dubbed "Miracle Mike," the celebrity chicken drew large crowds and traveled to various fairs and side shows from Seattle to Florida, taking to showbiz with a clear-headed calmness.

According to the Official Mike the Headless Chicken Book, at the height of his career Mike was bringing in around $4,500 a month, a veritable golden goose for the Olsens who hoped to pay off their farm with the earnings. But it was not to be. In addition to feeding Mike by hand, Olsen had to keep Mike's airway clear of mucus. One night in Arizona, Mike started choking. The baby bulb used to unclog Mike's throat had been left at the exhibition site, too far to be retrieved in time. After living for 18 months without a head, Mike died. Yes, the Olsens did try to create a Mike II (as did other envious farmers before and after Mike's passing), but none lived more than a few days. In time, Mike's fame faded.

Then, in 1999, almost 50 years later in response to a call by the Colorado Historical Society, many Colorado towns celebrated pioneer events to honor their individual histories. An old timer with a good memory remembered the unusual chicken, and Mike was plucked from his heavenly roost to preside over a festival in his honor. That first festival marked Mike's resurrection. About a hundred people showed up and Fruita deemed it a success. The next year on April Fool's Day, the Denver Post received a press release about it and thought it a great joke. When the story turned out to be true, it ran the story. Mike was again a pop star, and (another) media frenzy ensued. By the third year of the festival, Fruita was receiving calls about it from out of the country, including Great Britain, Canada, and even the Netherlands.

Now, Mike lives on in pop culture as evidenced by tributes in blog entries, songs, and "You Tube" videos. Mike's story has been featured on Fox, Nickelodeon, PBS, the Discovery Channel, and trivia game shows around the world. It goes without saying that Mike is a presence in Ripley's Believe It or Not and the Guiness World Book of Records. Japanese tour buses stop for pictures of Mike's statue on Fruita's main street, which is also a popular geocache site. It is also the site where the mayor of Marietta, Ga., declared Fruita its sister city (Marietta also has a chicken statue on its main street).

On Facebook, Mike had 4,564 fans at the time of this writing. Fans on a fan club page express heartfelt inspiration such as, "It's been a tough year, but when I think of you I know I can keep going." According to Ture Nycum, Fruita's recreational director, the Fruita's website gets 40 thousand hits a month and is currently valued at $100,000 (compared to $10,000, the amount Mike was worth while alive). All of this for a small-town chicken that died more than 50 years ago.

On May 14 ? 15, the two-day poultry party is back, with a chicken-clucking contest, a wing-eating contest, and a peep-eating contest. A Run Like A Chicken With Your Head Cut Off 5K kicks things off on Saturday morning. That afternoon, lawnmowers rev up for races and lawnmower hockey using a rubber chicken instead of a puck.

For small town Americana, it's here. This is where people anticipate the local cheer squad to perform an annual festival cheer, and where 80-year-old Fruita resident, Ellen Roberts, went undefeated in the chicken dance for four years in a row. And where you can choose between a hand-crotched headless chicken souvenir or a smaller crocheted chick (with a head in this case) that will poop Skittles. The event closes with live bluegrass under the stars and the smell of fried chicken and Navajo tacos in the air.

While the festival might be regarded a religious pilgrimage to some, the local community sees it as a good time to enjoy life, just the way Mike did. He never gave up. Who knew that decapitation could be so fun?

ANN GATES WEAVER writes from southern Arizona, where she dreams of regular visits to the Rocky Mountains and eats plenty of chicken.