Caught in the Act of Doing Good...

A few days ago I got a call from the Regional Conservation Officer in Twin Falls, telling me about a project he's hoping to start in their Region called "Caught in the Act of Doing Good."  He explained that they wanted to have a coin made that the officers could carry and give out to individuals and groups who are doing good things for the wildlife of Idaho.

For the artwork on the coin, they wanted to use dad's print of the Cowboy and the Bird.  I called mom to ask her about it and we both agreed that we couldn't think of a better way to use dad's artwork.

Today, Gary sent me a copy of what the coin will look like.  My first thought was how proud dad would be to know his artwork was being used for such a positive program.  I hope the Department gives them the go-ahead to purchase the coins and that it eventually goes statewide as people aren't often enough recognized for the good they do.

So, here it is.  Pretty awesome isn't it!

The Final Post, 30 Years... Day 30/30

It's been difficult to decide what to do for this last post. I don't want it to be sad as this was such a wonderful project to take on.

I hope it has given family and friends a better idea of who Bill Pogue was, both in his professional and family lives. I hope in some small way, these stories have made an impact on you. I hope, as well, it has helped you understand the dangers that Game Wardens face each and every day while making very little pay, and better understand WHY they would face such dangers and do it with dedication seen in very few professions. Game Wardens are a unique breed and I'm so proud and happy that our family has been a part of such a wonderful group of people.

Dad had so many sides to him that we will never forget. He was probably no better or no worse than most people on this huge planet, but he provided us with many, many wonderful memories...



I hope that now our children and grandchildren will understand and know in some small way, the wonderful man they should have had the chance to love.



Thank you all for being a part of this wonderful opportunity we had to remember the good times, laugh about the funny things, and most of all share dad's life.

Today, January 5th, we will get together with Cheri Elms, as we do every year to remember dad and Conley. We miss you dad, but thanks for the wonderful memories...

Thanks for the Memories... Day 29/30

Posted by Jacob Whittaker on his Facebook page...

‎"Idaho is what other states would like to be." -Artist, conservationalist and a dearly missed grandfather, Bill Pogue

A Nice Letter About Dad... Day 26/30

Dad left little bits of himself in many places through his cartoons, artwork and his presence. If you click on the letter you can actually read it.

The Hobbitt... Day 25/30

I appologize that I have done sometimes up to 3 or 4 posts a day over the last week and a half. But, I'm almost caught up to date! The following is a post from my sister Linda...


I always loved the funny cartoons dad drew and his more realistic drawings simply fascinated me. So, when I graduated from High School, what I really wanted for my graduation present was for him to draw one of the characters from my favorite book, “The Hobbit,” by JRR Tolkien.



I found the description in the early pages of the book. It described the Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, sitting outside his Hobbit Hole smoking ‘pipeweed’. I asked dad to read it, and then draw his interpretation. I didn’t know if it would be one of his cartoons, or one of his more realistic drawings. To my utter delight, it was a combination of the two. Dad had it professionally framed at a frame shop, and wrote this sweet note on the back of it for me.




I’ve always felt very fortunate to have an ‘original’ from dad, just for me. This is truly one of my most prized possessions.




Thank you, dad. You always made me feel special.

I love you and miss you so much.

Your daughter,

Lala

Steve's Memories - Part 1... Day 19/30

The following are some memories from Steve. I love these stories - they're so typical of what we used to hear about dad's days at work.

It was some time in the late 60s when I went to work with dad and we ended up in Idaho City. As we were driving, we were flagged down near the gas station by a dirty old logger. His partner was in the back of his pickup; he had cut his leg wide open with a chain saw. In the 60s and 70s, there were not EMTs or ambulances in Idaho City, Garden Valley, or any of the small towns, so dad loaded the logger in his truck to transport him towards Boise. As we started toward town, dad got on his radio and called the main office, who called St. Lukes hospital, who sent an ambulance up highway 21 to meet us. The poor logger had 3 or 4 dirty t-shirts wrapped around his leg, holding them tight, and damn near bled to death, but thanks to dad, he survived.

It was a hell of a ride.

Dad used to walk into Sulpher Creek Ranch every year to try and catch salmon snaggers. It was a 4 mile hike just to get into the ranch. Fishermen (snaggers) would fly in, spend a weekend snagging fish, then fly back out. I often went with him on these trips to try to catch the snaggers. We would stop at the lodge and wait for fishermen to come in.

The cook at the lodge would always give us something to drink, then go outside to the clothes line and hang sheets, then come back in and visit with dad. For two years, and lots of trips in, dad never caught anyone snagging salmon. After the first two years, dad realized that every time he showed up, the cook would run out and hang sheets on the clothesline - a signal that the fisherman could see from half a mile away - that the Game Warden was there. The next year dad walked into Sulpher Creek and as usual, the cook went out to hang the sheets. Dad stopped him from doing so and just before dark, into the lodge came all the snaggers with their fish. Dad ended up writing 6 or 7 citations.

Jacks Creek... Day 17/30

There was some discussion about yesterday's post regarding where the picture was taken. Mom called one of dad's Fish and Game friends and found out it was taken on Jacks Creek near Bruneau.

I did a bit of research and discovered this site which has some great pictures in case you want to try this hike.

It describes the area as "A spectacular hike into a remote canyon. Extensive rhyolite and the opportunity to observe raptors, bighorn sheep, and pronghorn antelope."

It looks to me like the actual trail stays up on the top of the canyon, but from the picture, dad must have hiked down into the bottom. Looks like a wonderful day trip, but probably infested with rattlers! However, I can certainly see why dad loved it.

Doctoring Wildlife... Day 14/30

Today's post is written by my sister Linda. I have a wonderful picture of this fawn with our German Shepherd that I'll upload and share before the end of these 30 days.

Dad was always bringing home orphaned, wounded, or unwanted animals. When I was about 10 years old, he brought home an orphaned mule deer fawn. An older couple had been driving near Lowman and saw an eagle trying to pick up the fawn. They picked the baby up and brought it to us. He was only a few days old and was so young he could barely stand up. We fed him warm milk using a baby bottle. Our German Shepherd was very maternal, and took to the fawn like he was her own puppy.

The fawn grew quickly, and took to following me and my friends on our treks around the remote area where we lived. He followed us along little mountain trails and through creeks, and loved our adventures. He couldn’t stand the thought of missing out on some fun.

One day, he followed us to a neighbor’s house. The neighbor’s dog saw him and began barking and chasing him. The poor little deer turned and ran for his life, right through a barbed wire fence. The fence ripped a big gash in his front leg right at the armpit. (Do deer have armpits?)

When we got him back home, mom and dad doctored his wound the best they could. There was no keeping him off it, the little guy had no intention of taking this wound lying down! Because the barbwire was rusty, dad decided to give him a tetanus shot too. So I held the deer still, and stroked his neck while dad prepared the syringe.

As soon as dad sunk the needle in his butt, that deer went straight in the air like a rocket, and took off up the hill doing that bouncing-running (stotting) that deer do when they're afraid. As he bounced, that syringe bounced and bobbed right along with him, still stuck in his butt, the pain of it’s movement making him bounce and run even faster.

Dad squawked in disbelief (or disgust). I screamed and began to cry. Dad took off up the hill after the deer, running as fast as he could to try to catch him. Both were soon out of sight. Tactfully concealing her laughter at the humorous sight, mom began trying to comfort me, telling me that dad would find our family member.

Dad and the deer did eventually return home together. I have no idea how far the deer ran, or how long it took dad to catch up to him, but dad would have chased him to the next county if he’d needed to in order to bring my sweet deer home to me.

The deer’s wound healed fine and dad learned to hang on tight to the syringe the next time he had to give an animal a vaccine.

Our Love of Wildlife... Day 12/30

Today is a guest post from my sister Linda.


Dad noticed my interest in birds when I was about 6 years old while we were living up in Garden Valley. Dad would take me for walks along the creek and point out different birds to me. He would tell me if they were cavity nesters or ledge nesters and where they went for the winter, or where they came from in the summer. Every spring, he’d locate a nest and set up a spotting scope so that I could watch the eggs hatch and the babies fledge. We would sit out in our yard and mimic different bird calls but he was much better at it than I was!

Throughout the years, Dad brought home many injured and orphaned birds and animals to rehabilitate. Over the years we had a mule deer fawn, a blind raccoon, half a dozen Canadian geese, two or three kestrels, a great horned owl, - and a partridge in a pear tree! My mother drew the line when he brought home 2 black bear cubs, they went to live at the Boise Zoo. There were so many animals that they'll be their own stories!

Everywhere I went with dad, he’d show me cliff swallows, night hawks, waxwings and juncos. He would also point out deer and elk on the mountain sides. We’d sit beside the South Fork of the Payette and watch river otter play and slide. He showed me bobcats, coyotes, beavers, and muskrats. He taught me to watch for tracks and scat when I was out walking alone.

He taught me to tread lightly when in the woods, because everything was something else’s home or food. He helped me to identify plants, some that were edible, some that were dangerous, and many that were just beautiful to look at. In short, he taught me to respect and care for everything around me. To this day, every one of us have a deep love and respect for wildlife and their habitat.

Thanks dad, for sharing your love of everything wild with us. We have done our best to pass it on.

Notes and Doodles... Day 7/30

If dad was famous with the family for anything, it was his constant notes and doodles.

Dad doodled on everything. He doodled on napkins at restaurants and left them for the waitress. If he had a pen and there was a flat surface, he'd draw something. Here are just a few examples...






Dad always left mom notes telling her where he would be - I never realized how dangerous his job was, but evidently he wanted mom to know where he was "just in case." Quite often though, his notes were hilarious! Here are a few examples...

Evidently, "we all went to town (Boise) so I'm not sure who Steve left this note for, but I guess mom wouldn't let him take his "good" hat. After Steve wrote the note, dad gave mom the raspberry. I love this one!



One of dad's notes to mom telling her where he would be...


And this, the last note dad ever left - dated January 4, 1981...


This one is hard to see, but I'm glad we have it. It sure brings back a lot of memories...

Oh How He Loved Christmas... Day 6/30

I can't hardly think of Christmas and remember how it turned dad into a big kid. He loved Christmas!



Living in Garden Valley, we always had several feet of snow. There was a pasture just a few hundred feet up the road from our house, and dad and mom would take us kids up there and we would spend hours sledding down the hill. If there was enough snow, we would sometimes get on our sleds and ride the 4 miles down Alder Creek road to town. When we got home, mom always had hot chocolate waiting for us.

One year, he gave Linda a guitar for Christmas and had to play with it of course...



I never knew until I was an adult, how little money a Game Warden makes. At Christmas, there wouldn't be an empty space under the tree. There were dozens and dozens of presents. It seemed like it took an hour to open them all, and dad spent the morning taking pictures of us with our new toys.

One thing I look back on now, and I find myself really impressed with, is the fact that almost every year, dad was brave enough to actually buy mom clothes for Christmas. He actually had very good taste for a male and most of the time, mom loved what he picked out.

For many years, Christmas was really hard after dad died. His laughter, his excitement, and the look in his eyes as he spent the day with his family (unless he decided in the afternoon that there might be someone out poaching and he needed to go to work for an hour or two).



I wonder every year what he would be like at Christmas now. I think he'd be exactly the same, only enjoying his grandkids and great grandkids as well. Merry Christmas dad!

Bill Pogue's Artwork... Day 5/30

I will be gone tomorrow, so I will do days 6 and 7 on Saturday. Just sayin'...

It always fascinated me as a child, to watch dad draw. He would sketch something with a pencil then get out a jar of black ink and a his nib dip pens.



He would draw the most wonderful pictures - but the next day I would almost always find them torn in half in the wastebasket. We finally told him how wonderful his work was and how much other people would enjoy it as well. Not too long after, he started getting more serious about his work and the pieces ending up in the trash became fewer and fewer.

He bought a big magnifying glass on an arm with a light attached that he could screw onto his drawing table. He used the magnifying glass because it was very difficult for him to draw only having the use of one eye. But he would spend hours and hours placing tiny dots of ink in such a way that it turned into magnificent work.

Dad's art told such wonderful stories. He loved old cowboys, anything from the old west, trappers, hunters, and wildlife. I think, however, what impressed me the most was the fact that he used the faces of people he worked with in his drawings and each picture portrays his own hands. It wasn't just art - it was his soul.

A few years before he died, he started selling his work at Brown's Art Gallery downtown. People from all over the country bought it and in fact, most of his original works are gone. But fortunately, we do have prints.

Lady Friends Commin' was one of his last works. I love the idea of two old cowboys giving eachother haircuts before seeing their girls. Where did he get the idea for such a thing?



First Grade Reader is my personal favorite. The face used in this print was dad's good friend from Fish and Game, John Beecham. I love the idea of an old cowboy trying to teach himself to read.



The Cowboy and the Bird was by far, the most popular of dad's work. After he died, it was the first to sell out. We went for many years with only a few copies we had saved for family, but last spring we had some prints made.

The face dad used in this was another friend from Fish and Game, Phil Swanstrom.



While dad loved drawing the rough, tough cowboys of the old west, each of them had a soft side that he loved to tell through his work. Each one said so much about him and how he looked at life.

It was, in fact, his artwork that helped to catch his killer. His print, Mountain Man was used to raise the reward money that helped catch Claude Dallas. We sold them again in order to raised the $25,000 it took to reacapture him after his escape.

I'm so greatful to have this wonderful legacy that dad left for us. Someday, if any of the kids or grandkids want any of his work, it's here for them. At their ages right now it's not their style but as they get older, I hope they will appreciate it for what it is. The heart and soul of a very important man.

On Being the Game Warden's Daughter... Day 4/30

Dad had this "radar" that none of us kids were ever able to explain. It must have come from his many years of detective work on poaching cases, but when we became teenagers and he started using it on us, it was really scary - and not-so-much appreciated.

As my sister Kate mentioned in her post yesterday, dad was the only law enforcement in town. The Boise County Sheriff lived in Horseshoe Bend but never ventured the 30 miles to Garden Valley.

This fact made it hard to be a typical teenager of the late 60s and early 70s. There wasn't much to do in the tiny town except drink and smoke pot. When my friends and I learned to drive at the age of 14, one of our first trips was to Horseshoe Bend. It was a Saturday night and we met a bunch of kids at the park to listen to some loud music and naturally, someone brought out the pot.

Even though our rock and roll music was blaring after 8pm (way past bedtime in Horseshoe Bend) and the fact that the park was 50 feet from the only highway through town, I didn't have the common sense to understand that this could be trouble. I had never smoked before but hey, I was game to try. A short time later the Sheriff stopped by.

He started asking everyone for their names and when he got to me, I told him.

"You Bill Pogue's daughter?"
"Yes."
"OK, I want you kids to get out of here and go home. You (pointing to me), go home and tell your dad what you did. I'll be calling him to make sure you've told him."

That was a long 30 minute drive home. I walked in the door and into mom and dad's bedroom and woke them up. I explained what I'd been caught doing. Mom broke into tears and I remember both of them telling me how "disappointed" they were. I would rather have been beaten by a 2x4 with long nails protruding from it than to have my parents tell me they were disappointed in me. Mom and I cried and cried while dad gave me the "lecture." Oh how we hated those lectures.

I didn't find out until years later, that the Sheriff never did call my dad and had no intentions of calling him. Somehow, he knew he'd scared me bad enough that I would go home and spill the beans.

Not more than a few months later, mom and dad took the two younger girls to Boise to spend the weekend at my grandmother's house. Having a new driver's license, dad told me not to drive his new truck more than just down to the valley and back.

Dad and I had this unique relationship. He would tell me to do something or not do something and I would nod and smile and give him a hug and agree to whatever it was, knowing full well that I would do what my little teenage pea brain wanted to do. But it saved a lot of arguments of "But whyyyyyyyyyy???"

So, as soon as the family left me home alone for the weekend with my brother, I jumped in his brand new truck, gathered as many friends as I could fit in it, and off we went to Horseshoe Bend, then on the Emmett to see what was happening in the big city. We drove around Emmett, then back to Horseshoe Bend then home - several times.

When dad got back from Boise, he walked in the door and asked me where I'd been with his truck. "Only down to the valley to see my friends!"

He asked again, and this time he wanted the truth. He KNEW I'd been a whole lot further than that (about 700 miles worth) and in fact said, "You didn't get out of that truck the whole time I was gone. Where the hell did you go?"

I had no idea how he knew I was lying. Did he have a spy? Did my brother snitch? A few months later, my brother told me how stupid I was. "He wrote down the mileage before he left and checked it when he got back."

Who would have thought a parent was smart enough to do something like that? As we grew up, dad would continue using his skills on my sister Linda...

Pretty Pink Barretts... Day 3/30

This guest post was written by my sister, Kate. Thanks sis, for sharing this story!

From the time I was born to the age of 9, my family lived in the tiny town of Garden Valley, 50 miles north of Boise. Dad was the local Game Warden and "the only law in town." To us kids, he was God. He was big, strong and could be very imposing when the situation called for it. He was, in the best of ways, bad-ass. He also had a wild and wicked sense of humor, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to help a friend or neighbor in need. Bill Pogue had the respect of everyone in the valley. Until one day….

See, when I was younger (and apparently not very fast) mom would put my long hair in pig-tails using rubber bands and/or barrettes. This woman invented several never-before-used torture methods that, I’m pretty sure, have since been adopted by the military. But that’s another story. Suffice it to say that the Pogue girls had the TIGHTEST damn pony tails you’ve ever seen. Because of (or maybe in spite of) this, I developed an interest in beauty-parlor play, and after nearly scalping all my dolls, I turned to family.

There was, at that time, a place in town called The Joint; part restaurant, part tavern. It was where the cowboys started their day with coffee and ended it with several Budweisers and a game of pool. It was a place heavy with Marlboro smoke, bullshitting, Tammy Wynette on the juke box, and the occasional bar brawl.

One day dad stopped by The Joint for a cup of coffee before heading off to work. He probably pulled up a stool at the bar, asked for coffee, lit a cigarette and greeted the local men, including one of his best friends, and local really tough cowboy, Sterling Alley. It wasn’t long before the guys started whispering and snickering in dad’s general direction. Finally, Sterling managed to ask “Are you going to work with that pretty thing in your hair?”

Turns out that while getting ready that morning, he’d overlooked one of the pretty pink barrettes I’d beautified him with earlier. Poor man never lived that down.

On the Injured List. Day 2/30...

I'm sorry, I know I should feel bad, but some of the memories of dad which are the absolute funniest to me are his injuries. Laughing at other's "accidents" is a very bad Pogue family trait. Mom doesn't do it though, she's got too much class so I'm blaming this bad gene on dad's side of the family.

I just don't get how one person can hurt himself so many times - and I mean lasting, physical, "damn-what-happened-to-you!" injuries. In order to really know dad and especially his poor driving habits and too-numerous-to-mention truck accidents, you must understand his history of "being on the injured list."

His first job out of college was in Las Vegas - and that's where his accidents began...

Brush with death #1 - While getting ready for a few days' stay in the desert, he got out his sleeping bag and a few other necessities including the air mattress he would use under his bag. Giving the air mattress a mighty shake (not sure if he was checking for spiders or trying to get the wrinkles out), the plug flew out of the hole, through air like a bullet, and hit him in the eye. Where most of us have color in our eyes, dad's eye was black. Really, how does a tiny plug from an air mattress, through all the airspace in our universe, find a person's eye? And to make matters worse, had he minded the doctors, he probably wouldn't have had permanent damage. He was told to stay in bed and not get up. He got up in the middle of the night and ran into the wall, bashing his head so hard that it was the straw that broke that camel's back and he was blinded for good. Then the pain was so bad that he took too many pains pills and mom had to rush him to the hospital for an overdose. I can't watch A Christmas Story and hear Ralphie's mom say "You'll put your eye out!" without thinking (fondly of course) about dad.

Brush with death #2. Dad had stopped to check an unattended vehicle parked out in the boonies. Waiting to see if the owners would come back to the vehicle, he started getting hungry and noticed he had a bag of grain in the back of his truck. He helped himself to some of the grain - but after eating a few mouths full, he noticed the word POISON on the bag. According to mom, he was a sick boy!

He also contracted "Valley Fever" while living in Bakersfield. He had heard of a place where people were discovering sharks teeth and sometime later, found out that the soil was infected with the disease. Someone in the family still has those sharks teeth - proudly displayed on cotton in a frame.

He was thrown off a horse, hitting his head on a rock and received a concussion. Another time, he was on his horse and one of them (we'll blame the horse) made the mistake of cutting too close to an old building and he ran head first into a swarm of bees. Not only was it painful but it caused a lifelong allergy to bees. That was Brush with death #3.

Brush with death #4 happened when dad realized that keeping canned food in a metal container, for months in the Vegas summer heat in the back of your patrol truck, is not a good idea. One bite from a "puffy" can of pineapple caused severe food poisoning and he nearly died. Again, who eats food from a can that practically explodes from all the toxins in it when you open it? All I can say is that he must have been darned hungry.

While living in Winnemucca, and again, out on patrol miles and miles away from help, dad drove over a rattlesnake. Wanting to bring the rattles home to show us kids, he stopped to pick it up. He raked his hand across the snakes teeth and that was all it took. He had to drive himself several hours back to town for treatment. After receiving the treatment at the tiny hospital in Battle Mountain, he broke out in hives and then had to stay overnight in the hospital. That was Brush with death #5.

After the loss of vision in one eye, depth perception was hampered so there were too many pickup accidents to mention. His patrol vehicle always had numerous dents and dings from sideswiping or backing into something.

In all reality, only a few of these were actual brushes with death. But dad was always out of radio contact and miles and miles from the nearest help. He truly was lucky to have survived as long as he did. While talking to mom about this post, I said, "He was just an accident waiting to happen, wasn't he mom."

Her reply, "Every day. Every day. I never knew what kind of shape he'd come home in." Fortunately, his major injuries seemed to end when we moved to Garden Valley...

30 Years, 30 Days, 30 Memories. Day 1...

Many women keep journals. My mom keeps a journal and has for years. I know it's full of her memories, her dreams - her history. My blog is my journal.

On January 5th, 2011 - thirty days from now, it will be the 30th anniversary of dad's death. So, for the next 30 days, I'm going to share some stories that involve my dad that I want my kids and grandkids to know and remember. It's sad when I think that in all reality, my kids know very little about their grandfather. They don't really know his sense of humor, the real danger of his job, yet his deep love for it, his quirks and oddities, and his injuries - I look back on his life and wonder how he survived as long as he did. I'll talk about his premonition of his death, his artwork, his favorite places and other stories that I think are important. With some help from my mom, I hope I can do this justice and that mom and my sisters will jump in here along the way to add their comments and memories.

Mom and dad and the early years...

Mom moved to California from Boise after attending college. That March, she was set up on a blind date with a handsome Marine. His buddy Marines were so surprised and happy that he actually had a date that they all loaned him clothes - slacks, dress shirt, corduroy jacket, shoes, and socks. The ONLY thing he wore that night that actually belonged to him were his undershorts. After they were married, mom asked him where all his nice clothes were and he had to fess up that they had all been borrowed.

Dad on the far left - was he skipping?????



Two and a half months after meeting, they were married. Surely it wouldn't last! That August, just 3 months after they married, dad was sent to Camp Pendleton to train for the Korean War. Just before leaving for the war by ship, he decided he needed to see mom one last time. The Marines, not taking kindly to the AWOL, demoted him to Private once he was back on board. However, I don't think it was something he ever regretted doing.

Several years ago, I was going through some of dad's things and found the letter he had written to my mom's parents requesting their permission to marry mom. It was so cute. I'm so grateful that I have these letters and things tucked away and hope that someday one of my kids will be the "keeper" of this important family history.

After dad returned from Korea, he went to college at Humboldt State University. Their life was tough. Not the kind of tough for young married kids these days - I mean tough. They lived in a tiny village in a tiny, moldy house. They often had very little to eat and no money to do anything. I think the only thing that got them through so much of their early years was the fact that most every other couple in the village was in the same boat. They all had each other.

At one point during dad's college years, they lived in a tent on the northern California coast while he was doing research on fish. My brother Steve had been born and raising a new baby while living in a tent was very difficult. They ate mostly what dad could catch because it was free, and to this day, mom won't eat salmon or crab.

Once dad got a job as a Game Warden they spent much of their lives moving as many Game Wardens do. His first job was in Las Vegas then Winnemucca, Garden Valley, and finally Boise. I know mom hated Winnemucca. Dust and wind, sagebrush and scorpions. But dad loved the desert. Up to the day he died, the desert was one of his favorite places.

In 1964, dad received word that he had been accepted as a Game Warden in Garden Valley. I know mom was excited to be leaving the contanstly blowing wind to live in a small beautiful town with pine trees and water. It was such a change from the years of dust that they couldn't wait to get there. However, they would have to wait another year before they would leave Winnemucca.

There were some internal problems at the Winnemucca Police Department and the City Council asked dad if he would consider taking the job of Chief of Police to help them through. Dad agreed to take the job under the condition that he would be leaving in a year. He took on this new role with determination and was an HONEST Police Chief which made some of the town councilmen, a few police officers, attorneys, and some others, very unhappy. Evidently, some of the officers were getting "Christmas bonuses" from some of the local Madams at the Ho Houses to not interrupt things (especially during the winter when a lot of the locals were using their services). I guess doing away with the "Christmas bonuses" didn't make dad real popular, but, according to mom, "I was so proud of the job he'd done when we left!"

I'm sure that was the year from hell for mom. She was on the verge of moving back to Idaho where her family lived and yet it was going to have to wait...

28 Years Ago...

"If there is a future for wild things, then it is the burden of those who have reached farther than me, to save them for the rest of us. It will be done by those whose convictions were forged in campfires,

Bill"

Dad wrote this on the picture above which he gave to his good friend Jerry Thiessen a few years before he died. I've often wondered what it really means. It's so profound and I just wonder what dad was thinking when he wrote it. Maybe someday it will come to me. Maybe I'm trying to hard to decipher it.

I know dad had some premonitions. As it turned out, I think dad had a much bigger impact on the wildlife and our nation's natural resources than he ever dreamed he would.

Tomorrow we will get together as we always do on January 5th and remember dad and Conley. We'll take a minute to give them both a toast. I know he'll be there with us.

You were a great Game Warden...