March 18, 2019
by Jenny Hohner
The Back of Beyond Bookstore in Moab, Utah was built to honor Edward Abbey, an author with ties to community. It’s a dog-friendly establishment, so all three of us popped in this morning to browse. Molly’s been in before, so she sat in front of the cash register wagging her tail and hoping for a treat. Her patience was rewarded with a cookie and a prolonged head scratching session, both provided by the employee working the counter. He had white blonde hair, a rugged air and like most people in Moab looked like he loved the out-of-doors.
Space in the van is limited, so I opted to ship the two Edward Abbey books I purchased back to Michigan. Joe and Molly walked outside to soak up the morning sunshine. When I stepped out, I found Joe seated in one of the three, sun-bleached chairs in front of the store. He was chatting with a silver-haired man wearing a faded ball cap and a fleece jacket. The man looked tall even though he was seated. I guessed he was around 70-years-old. To draw me into the conversation Joe said, “Jim worked for the National Parks for 34 years.”
Jim was sipping a mug of coffee. The cup dangled from his right hand as if it was too heavy to hold. As the coffee tried to slosh out he said, “I managed Canyonlands”. Then he leaned over and gestured to the hand-painted label on the middle chair reading ‘Jim’s’ and said, “This is my seat, but it’s cracked.” Pointing to a fracture in the metal, he added, “It needs to be spot welded.”
I couldn’t resist asking, “What’s your favorite park?”
With all the traffic on Main Street, I had to sit down — in the chair labeled Jim’s — and lean in to hear his answer. Jim spoke in slow, measured tones, pausing between each sentence. He said, “I started at Sequoia. I was young and unmarried. Things were different then. We didn’t have radios. We rode horses. The park had a lot of old timers but they didn’t mind training us. I still remember what they taught us. The old timers took us aside and said, ‘The people that come up from Los Angles or down from San Francisco, they’re grocery clerks, shoe clerks – people that save up all year for one trip. We should make sure they have a good time.’ Now rangers would just as soon write you a citation …. following you until you do something wrong.”
Watching a row of ATVs zoom down the street, Jim shook his head and said, “I hate those things.” Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Jim added, “In the Badlands we had 400 bison. We had to round them up each year and keep the herd at 400. My head ranger, he wouldn’t get on a horse, but he’d write you a citation.”
Over the next fifteen minutes Jim shared park memories and told us about his college experiences, four children and many of his grandchildren. He said, “I’m old. All of my children are retired.” To hint at his age he said, “I was in The War. I was lucky. When we walked across France, a little 12-year-old girl gave me a French flag she made. I still have it.”
As we listened to Jim, I found myself hoping that someone in his family was writing down all his stories. He’s lived long enough to be not only part of our country’s history but a walking historian for the National Parks. A man that lived in and loved the natural world. When we got up to leave, Jim tapped my knee and looked at me with his clear blue eyes and said, “I shouldn’t brag.” We both laughed when I said, “But you have so much to brag about.”
