ELMORE'S SONG Of
men that perish and of Summer morn, And
whence they came and wither they shall go
The
dew upon their feet shall manifest” Many
of us at some rare time in our lives have met a true man; one whose
footsteps have blazed a shimmering trail of meaning across the dark
forests of our lives. For me, such a man was Elmore Dally-- a robust,
brawny, self-educated, yarn spinning, bear of an Irish janitor as at
home in the outdoors as if he had personally invented it. “So
you're the over-educated ignoramus who's been working against me. I
suppose you've got a degree in home economics too.” “No,
I'm in English and Biology.” “Did
you say Biology? Any chance you're into fishing?” “As
a matter of fact, I was going to ask you if you knew any good fishing
spots here abouts.” “Well
I'll be a son of a - - -! Son, matter of fact I just might. Meet me
out at the beach on Pillager Lake two miles north of town around 5:30.” That
short confrontation revealed one of Elmore's most endearing traits--
the ability to hide a smile inside of a growl-- to chidingly chew you
out, and for some crazy reason make you like him for it. Well,
Elmore hinted we'd have fishing, and that evening we caught big bluegills,
a few crappies, and a couple of good two-pound large mouths for good
measure. I was over-joyed; I had a funny feeling I was going to enjoy
living in Al Lindner country, Pillager. Mn. What fishing! But
Elmore would prove to be even more interesting than the fishing. At
60 he had all the enthusiasm and energy of a young guy. I would soon
discover it would take all my endurance just to keep up with him as
he lead me to one hot spot after another. He showed me the best places
for grouse and deer and even where the rare morels might be found come
Spring. He also showed me Beauty Lake which the DNR had well-stocked
with beautiful rainbow trout. And only a mile south of our house was
Pillager Dam on the Crow Wing River with great walleye runs spring and
fall. We were blessed with an outdoor man's grand buffet, and I had
the best chef in the area to serve it up. See, none of the other faculty
fished or hunted, so Elmore was stuck with me. Just my jackpot winning
luck! Elmore
was the guide extraordinaire. He was a master conversationalist. Just
bring up a subject and he was game to dive into it, and brother could
he spin the yarns. He had a magically deep velvet voice ranging from
a growl to a purr which gave everything he said an air of mystery and
deep importance. He had tales of exploits as a deputy sheriff, searching
for a lost hunter, diving for drowned fishermen, even dealing with armed
clans of poachers hunting year around up in the hills. We
were fishing one Sunday morning, and I kiddingly asked if he shouldn't
maybe be in church. “Why you darned fool, look at the maples and
aspens--they're in their glory and that sky is a blue as blue can get.
This is holier than a whole lot of churches I been in.” Well I
couldn't argue that, because I had been feeling the same way, and we
had fish to catch besides. Elmore
ofter spoke of his early married years during the depression. “Anna
and I lived in a little cabin over on Rock Lake. We didn't have a dime,
but son, we lived like royalty. We had a garden and a cow, the woods
were alive with grouse and deer and the lake had tremendous fishing.
(Then he would always start on his dream menu. I'd come in from trapping
or cutting wood and Anna would have it all ready: Roast grouse or fried
sunfish, steaming vegetables, blueberry's, fresh bread and butter. Mister
that was gourmet food!” And
indeed it was, but what always amazed me about Elmore's depression dream
menu was that it never left out bread and butter. I think bread and
butter beautifully symbolized Elmore-- his love of robust life, his
reverence for the earth, and his respect for his fellow man. The man
who remembers bread and butter will seldom suffer from conceit. There's
much more I could say about Elmore: how he loved and honored his wife,
how he loved the students and helped so many of them out when they were
in trouble or short of funds. How the students loved him and had planned
to dedicate the annual to him as a retirement surprise-- and how his
broom suddenly stopped sweeping at the top of the stairs a month before
the annual came out, and how he never got to see it. Yes,
I could say much more about Elmore's endearing charms-- if this column
was a book. Suffice it to say a true man has gone, and we who knew him
still feel the pain. Who knows what woodland path he follows now, or
what young god he's teaching how to fish? (He's probably chewing him
out for casting across his line.) I only know the world he touched was
brighter for his passing. The woods we roamed seem barren since he's
gone. 2/2/20
- Gene Pinkney - For the Daily News
A republish from
9-2020
“You
shall know well the heavenly fellowship
(Wallace Stevens)
I met Elmore in 1963, the year when I taught high-school English at
Pillager high school in central Minnesota. I had just come into the
teacher's lounge my first day of work and there was Elmore growling
through his cold pipe about some dim witted guy who hadn't put away
his coffee cup. “I guess that's my cup.” I said.
html uploaded 09-03-2021