"Greetings From an Admirer of Your Grandfather"

This was pretty neat, so I wanted to share it with everyone.

On June 29, I received an email from a man named Dave at my public email address.  I don't check it very often so I actually read his email Saturday, July 1.  I'd like to share it with you.

Subject: Greetings from an admirer of your grandfather

Wayne:

This is the fist time I've found a satisfying use for on line "social networking."

On a whim today, I Googled "Lyford Dore" and up popped your album of hundreds of your grandfather's photos.

Here's my story about knowing your grandfather:

In the Summer of 1964 I was a 19 year old student from the University of New Hampshire between my freshman and sophomore years. My uncle had some "pull" in the Department of the Interior and landed a summer job for me at Yellowstone Park. I was a snot-nosed kid who was going to learn the value of "labor."

This was a time of innocence; I thought nothing of the risks of hitchhiking from New Hampshire to Montana. What an adventure! I was picked up by nice people, drunks, summer travelers, commuters... all sorts of folks. Most memorable was a newlywed couple who picked me up at Spearfish and stopped at Fishing Bridge campground. They fed me a trout dinner and invited me to camp with them that night. Next morning I checked in to work at Mammoth.

I was assigned to the plumbing shop and met a handful of REAL men. No suits or college degrees here! These men worked hard and had no pretenses. Some chewed tobacco and spit wherever they chose. Some were less rough edged than others. Don was the foreman... a slight, quiet man who knew his job and knew his men. Mr. Zumwalt (I don't remember his first name.. but I learned right quick he was not related to Admiral Elmo Zumwalt, Chief of Naval Operations) was a crusty curmudgeon who had been around the block more than a few times. He would not tolerate us young summer workers griping about shovel duty in the heat and mosquitoes of July. Then there was Lyford Dore; lean, quiet, competent and tolerant. Every day he drove to the remote locations of the chlorine stations and serviced them. He made sure the water supply to the various Park areas was potable, free from pollutants.

I had never worked a lick of REAL labor in my life. Oh, I played competitive lacrosse and soccer in high school and college; I knew how to sweat. But to put in 8 hours of grunt work with a shovel... nope, I hadn't been there - done that. As a summer-hire laborer I was expected to shut up and dig... or lift... or slog in the mud. Mosquitoes? Ah they're good for you! Sunburn? That's why they call 'em rednecks, boy!

Don tried to find a useful task for me. Drive the backhoe tractor? I ran it off the lowboy trailer. Level off the backhoe trenches? I was slow and griped up a storm. Work in the sheet metal shop? I sliced up my hand on the first day. Don couldn't get rid of me because my uncle was a close friend and law partner with Stewart Udall, the Interior Secretary. One day Don must have seen one of those idea light bulbs flash on in his head... let's pair Dave up with Lyford. They can be on the road all day and Dave will be out of my hair.

None of this was said openly to me. Only later did I come to understand Don's problem and his solution. These were kind men. They would never have said to me, "Kid, you're a lazy, spoiled brat and we're stuck with you for the summer. Go sit in a corner every day and don't get into trouble."

Instead they paired me with Lyford Dore every day for most of the summer. We spent hours traveling to and from the chlorinator sites. It was obvious how much he loved the Park and its natural beauty and wildness. He told me he came from Lake Winnipesaukee and I told him I was in school at Durham. It was a small connection but it sufficed. Lyford told me a million bear and moose stories. We serviced the water chlorinators. We avoided injury from the dangerous gas. I left for school in August. I never heard of or from Lyford again... until today.

Its hard to believe almost 50 years have passed. There are a special few people who have impacted my life by their example. In the most subtle, gentle, quiet ways Lyford Dore was one of them. I still think of him gratefully from time to time.

Wayne, thank you for sharing your grandfather's pictures. I would be pleased to hear from you if you like.

Sincerely,

Dave [Last name removed]

The photo album that Dave referred to is Lyford's Photo Album.

Yesterday, Dave wrote me again.  He wrote:

Wayne:

What a pleasure to read your response to my note.

I am reminded of those cliches about tossing a pebble in the pond and the how the small ripples spread out all the way across the pond.  We don't have to try to make an impact on others... we do so simply by living.   Makes me want to be kinder. Hmmmm.

In 1963-65 I studied forestry at UNH. The summer job at Yellowstone was a perfect fit. I had steadied my aim on a career in the Forest Service. Then I hit two major obstacles: Hard Work and Chemistry 101 . I don't think I ever truly learned to toil, but I did learn to work smart. If working that Freshman summer at Yellowstone didn't cure my Utopian regard for Labor, my Sophomore summer in the blast furnaces of a steel mill sure as heck did. High on my newly acquired list of priorities to avoid: heat, sweat, repetition, boredom. College Chem 101 was another path changer. I couldn't/didn't learn the periodic tables, valences, carbon rings, etc. So... I changed my major to English... Jeez, anyone can read stories and poems and write three page papers about 'em, right? So much for a career in Forestry.

Fast-forward 9 or 10 years. Through no cleverness on my part (long story) I found my calling and have been practicing Prosthetics and Orthotics for nearly 40 years.

[...]

Dave