I love the sounds of spring in the Rocky Mountains. It is nice to hear the flutter of a bird’s wings just before it freezes to death and plummets to the snow covered earth and the crunching of the snow just before an ermine catches the last surviving rabbit. It is a special moment when I hear the sound of an ice covered walk just as an old man slips and breaks a bone. I love when six feet of snow slides off of the roof and covers a young deer with a heavy blanket of death. These are the sounds of spring. They are only interrupted by the sound of an early visiting tourist’s car slipping into a ravine, never to be seen again. Ahh, Montana in Spring.
What do you do when a baby boy wants to go sailing? You take him to the British Virgin Islands. This time next week, Oly will have his butt in the sand on Jost Van Dyke. This is our boat and the place where we will frolic in the sun. Magic tricks with Seddy Callwood, Jerk Chicken with Chris and Ginny, and a little snorkeling with mom. I recently had a friend say that I was living the life of Riley, but we all know that I’m living the life of Oly’s Old Dad; I just hope I remember how to captain a 42 foot sail boat. Jibe Ho, Oly
Seddy’s One Love Beach bar-
Seddy at the Cirql H in Montana-
I’m ashamed that I was a member of the Boy Scouts of America. The recent vote to allow gays is all I needed to decide if my son Oly will ever be a member of the boy scouts. Don’t get me wrong, it is not the fact that they allowed gays to join, it is the fact that they had to vote on that. What a pitiful group of men.
I loved being a scout; in many ways, it was a driving factor in my becoming a park ranger in Yellowstone. But, when I was a scout, we didn’t worry about the other kids sexual orientation. How many 11 year olds do you know that are openly gay? Even if a young boy feels different at that age, do you think he is openly talking about his thoughts at 11 years old? I don’t think so. Are scout leaders saying they can’t help our kids learn about life if they are gay?
What really irks me is most of those people would say that being gay is against their religious beliefs. Well dude, I don’t want to know your god. The god I learned about was all accepting.
I was a member of Boy Scout Troop 40, which meets at Saint Paul United Methodist Church in Louisville, Kentucky. It has been thirty-five years and I still consider a few of the people I met there among my closest friends. We even had a gay assistant leader; some of us knew it and we still were safe and we excelled in scouting.
Of the 1400 people that were called on to vote, over 40% voted to not allow gay kids; really? That is nearly 500 men that voted to ban gays. I wonder how many of those 500 men are secretly gay? More than a couple dozen would be my guess; the others just play the fool so well. Can you say reach-around?
So, what have we learned about the Boy Scouts of America? We have learned that the leaders are bigots and fools. We have also learned that they love closets.
I helped Troop 4 from St Agnes in Louisville plan a trip to Yellowstone that they will take this summer; I will never help a scout troop again.
Some of the smartest, most beautiful and honest people I have met in my life are gay and who cares? Maybe I should go back to the scouts and earn my Bigot Merit Badge, because I just don’t get it.
The trouble started well before Jerry Butler was born. Mrs. Butler, Jerry’s mom, started having problems with her pregnancy in about her third month; by the forth month she was bedridden and miserable. The doctors, as well as family members, started to suggest she terminate the pregnancy, but Mrs. Butler was determined to have the baby. As she approached the third trimester, it became unrealistic to think the baby wouldn’t be born early. A quick look at Mrs. Butler in bed made people think of a bloated cow; how could a woman’s stomach stretch so much? Finally the doctors decided it was time to induce labor and deliver the child.
The cesarean section took hours, and the doctors were flabbergasted by what they saw. Jerry was healthy in every way, but his head was the largest one anyone could remember. Jerry’s body was normal in size, which made his head look even bigger. After the initial shock faded, Mrs. Butler was just happy to have a healthy child. During the first couple of years, there were not many problems that couldn’t be addressed. Normal baby clothes had to be altered to fit over Jerry’s head; Mrs. Butler became an expert at adding zippers and snaps to clothes that were made to be pulled on. The Butlers bought a baby carriage made for twins and took the divider out so Jerry and his head would fit.
The hardest and most frustrating period came as Jerry was learning to walk. His head was so heavy he couldn’t lift the weight into an upright position. While all babies have trouble with balance, that trouble was multiplied for Jerry. He learned to place his forehead on the ground and pull his feet under himself. This worked well on wood or tile floors; Jerry could slide himself from room to room without much trouble. It was strange to watch him slide around the house. Slowly, Jerry learned to pull his head off the floor just slightly, but he still couldn’t stand.
When he was about ten, Jerry’s back and neck were getting strong enough to pull his legs up and under himself, and with fast footwork he could stand. It was crazy to watch; Jerry would rush forward and then backward, much like a circus performer trying to balance objects in the air. Jerry wore holes in the carpet from swinging back and forth, while attempting to remain upright. Kids in the neighborhood would gather just to see Jerry stand.
When mere standing was no longer a problem for Jerry, Mr. Butler rigged a bicycle with a huge u-shaped brace that Jerry could rest his head in. As long as Jerry stayed on streets that were flat, things were not a problem, but once, when Jerry went down the hill by school, he gained so much speed, with his head bent forward, he couldn’t make the turn at the bottom, and he shot off the road and into the woods. The local kids were always trying to get Jerry to ride that hill again.
Instead of getting hurt by all this, Jerry decided he could use the weight of his head in a positive way. Jerry took skiing lessons. The lift operators were great to Jerry; they would let a few empty chairs go up and then help him on the chair. Crowds would gather to watch Jerry get off the chair, and once he turned downhill there was no stopping him. Other skiers would move off to the side of the runs as Jerry raced by, going faster than any skier had ever gone, while throwing a trail of snow into the air as if a semi had driven by. You could hear people whisper, “Look at the head on that one.”
Jerry had finally found something he was good at. Until his skiing days, Jerry had always thought he would end up as a mascot for some football team or something. Today, whenever people ask why skiers are so big-headed, I tell them they just want to be like Jerry Butler.