A
a_colo_native
Guest
I found the following article and thought that this describes more
than a few of us. I only hope I am remembered for something good I
did and not something stupid! D'oh!
It is slightly Amphi related. Does anyone know who the Amphi owner
mentioned was?
John "D'OH!" Bevins
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Little quirks give shape to our legacies
A boy does not grow up longing to invent a weird animal that looks
like a rabbit with horns. But life unfolds, and turning points happen
while you're not looking, and then you die, and folks remember you by
that one crazy thing.
When Douglas Herrick breathed his last earlier this month, newspapers
throughout America ran his obituary: ''Inventor of Jackalope Dead at
82.''
He grew up in Wyoming aiming to earn a decent living, raise a family
and enjoy some comfort.
But one day 64 years ago, home from hunting, he tossed a jackrabbit
onto the floor of his family's taxidermy shop. It slid right up under
the antlers of an antelope. He and his adolescent brothers hooted at
the sight. He stuffed the rabbit and glued on the antlers, creating
the first jackalope.
The beefy bunny with horns became a mascot of Wyoming and the West.
Herrick made a few hundred, for friends and admirers, but his
brother, Ralph, ran with it, making and selling thousands thereafter.
Ralph's son, Jim, now produces 2,000 every year from jackrabbit
carcasses shipped in from South Dakota and deer horns shed and
gathered off the ground near Jackson Hole.
You can buy an authentic jackalope for about $35 at any number of
Wild West gift shops. Pictures of the critter appear on postcards,
billboards and T-shirts.
When Herrick died, none of the obits described the little home he
built for his family from cinder blocks he made himself. They didn't
mention his struggle with the effects of polio, so that in the last
decade of his life he could work with only one arm. They didn't note
his 28 years as a pipefitter for the Amoco refinery.
He was the jackalope guy, because a rabbit slid a certain way on a
concrete floor and instead of ignoring it or forgetting it, he
said, ''Let's have some fun with this.''
You can aim all you want for a goal in the sky but chances are you'll
get pegged for life for one weird idea, or one dumb mistake or, if
you're lucky, one endearing trait. Like it or not, your legacy will
stalk you.
Take Harvey Ball. He ran an advertising and PR company in Worcester,
Mass., no big deal but a decent business. In 1963 he was asked to
help lift morale at an insurance company. He came up with a bright-
yellow smiling face.
He made $45 off the design, which he never trademarked. When he died
at 79 in 2001, nobody knew his name or his life story, but everybody
knew his smiley face, billions of which have papered the globe.
Here in the small town where I live, folks still talk about Ray, the
rose man. Every day in the warm seasons he cut roses from his garden
to fill vases on the old oak tables of the bakery. He had a much
bigger life, but his memory has narrowed to this: He loved roses and
shared them.
Another man who recently passed is known as the Amphicar guy. He
owned a small red vehicle, manufactured in Germany in the 1960s, that
could travel on land and on sea. In his will he bequeathed it to our
village.
None of us can know at 12 what will define us at 80. But it's fair to
conclude that if Douglas Herrick could acquire a legacy off one dead
jackrabbit, then opportunities abound each day for the rest of us.
than a few of us. I only hope I am remembered for something good I
did and not something stupid! D'oh!
It is slightly Amphi related. Does anyone know who the Amphi owner
mentioned was?
John "D'OH!" Bevins
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Little quirks give shape to our legacies
A boy does not grow up longing to invent a weird animal that looks
like a rabbit with horns. But life unfolds, and turning points happen
while you're not looking, and then you die, and folks remember you by
that one crazy thing.
When Douglas Herrick breathed his last earlier this month, newspapers
throughout America ran his obituary: ''Inventor of Jackalope Dead at
82.''
He grew up in Wyoming aiming to earn a decent living, raise a family
and enjoy some comfort.
But one day 64 years ago, home from hunting, he tossed a jackrabbit
onto the floor of his family's taxidermy shop. It slid right up under
the antlers of an antelope. He and his adolescent brothers hooted at
the sight. He stuffed the rabbit and glued on the antlers, creating
the first jackalope.
The beefy bunny with horns became a mascot of Wyoming and the West.
Herrick made a few hundred, for friends and admirers, but his
brother, Ralph, ran with it, making and selling thousands thereafter.
Ralph's son, Jim, now produces 2,000 every year from jackrabbit
carcasses shipped in from South Dakota and deer horns shed and
gathered off the ground near Jackson Hole.
You can buy an authentic jackalope for about $35 at any number of
Wild West gift shops. Pictures of the critter appear on postcards,
billboards and T-shirts.
When Herrick died, none of the obits described the little home he
built for his family from cinder blocks he made himself. They didn't
mention his struggle with the effects of polio, so that in the last
decade of his life he could work with only one arm. They didn't note
his 28 years as a pipefitter for the Amoco refinery.
He was the jackalope guy, because a rabbit slid a certain way on a
concrete floor and instead of ignoring it or forgetting it, he
said, ''Let's have some fun with this.''
You can aim all you want for a goal in the sky but chances are you'll
get pegged for life for one weird idea, or one dumb mistake or, if
you're lucky, one endearing trait. Like it or not, your legacy will
stalk you.
Take Harvey Ball. He ran an advertising and PR company in Worcester,
Mass., no big deal but a decent business. In 1963 he was asked to
help lift morale at an insurance company. He came up with a bright-
yellow smiling face.
He made $45 off the design, which he never trademarked. When he died
at 79 in 2001, nobody knew his name or his life story, but everybody
knew his smiley face, billions of which have papered the globe.
Here in the small town where I live, folks still talk about Ray, the
rose man. Every day in the warm seasons he cut roses from his garden
to fill vases on the old oak tables of the bakery. He had a much
bigger life, but his memory has narrowed to this: He loved roses and
shared them.
Another man who recently passed is known as the Amphicar guy. He
owned a small red vehicle, manufactured in Germany in the 1960s, that
could travel on land and on sea. In his will he bequeathed it to our
village.
None of us can know at 12 what will define us at 80. But it's fair to
conclude that if Douglas Herrick could acquire a legacy off one dead
jackrabbit, then opportunities abound each day for the rest of us.