In the late 1950s and 1960s chainsaws didn't have brakes on them. We lived in the mountains in Idaho up by Montana. Anyway, my Dad and Mom was cutting trees and had me behind a tree up the mountain so that the trees wouldn't fall on me. He cut the last tree and set the chainsaw down, the blade turning slowly as they did. I fell down the mountain and the back of my head came to rest on the turning blade. All I had on was a little white t shirt, so they wrapped around my head and headed off to the hospital to try and save me. By the time they got the hospital about 10-15 miles, the t-shirt was a blood soaked rag.

I have lived my whole life with a scar on the back of my head, well at least they didn't buzz cut my hair! That was in 1957 by the way.