Story 8: Shame, shame on me?
Before you make any judgments about me on this story, make sure you read it all the way through, especially before you come to bury me alive.
Although my time with the Forest Service was a filled with great memories; and; what I truly needed at the time to mentally recover from the death of a student, it had some not so pleasant moments which included hauling packs of hose up the steep fire lines, cleaning the outhouses and painting them in the cold of winter, mucking out the corals at Horse Flats group campground, and, of course, running unarmed into the “bad guys”.
Still, there was an event connected here that I truly hesitate to write about; and, that is when I decided to leave the service in order to do a little traveling during the summers. However, my departure was marred by my replacement I was asked to “break-in”. They were filling my position with a gal. What???? With all the hard and even dangerous work, how could they? I was fraught beyond words and grumbled about it all the way up to Montana where I hoped to do some good fishing.
Yep, the great fishing, especially the 22 inch Dolly Varden Trout I caught and mounted as well as the scenery up around Kalispell had almost erased the disgust I’d been feeling over my replacement. But it all came roaring back when my young son convinced me to stop at the Custer Battlefield at the Little Bighorn on our round-about way home. Believe it or not, at 4 years old, he was already reading and fascinated with history.
Just outside the museum we were wandering about reading the various plaques of the specifics that happened at that particular spot. My son was captivated while, I have to confess, my mind was still on that monster trout. Unfortunately, my balloon began to deflate as I observed, out of the corner of my eye, what I called a “rangerette,” came wandering up to me, asking if she could be of assistance. Now into my poker face mode, I simply turned 180 degrees; my back now in her face.
Interestingly, that didn’t seem to detract her for she moved around to face me, saying something about being a “park interpreter” and could add a good deal of information to what I had been reading. I didn’t flinch one bit as I simply rotated again another 180 degrees. Although I may have rotated again, she finally said to me: “Sir, is there something I’ve done to offend you?” My eyes widened. Really? She was really asking such a question?
Despite my wife standing there livid; and, growing more so by the moment, I didn’t disappoint this rangerette and unloaded on her that she was in a man’s job; that it was not only rough and heavy work, but could even be dangerous. For sure, a lot more came out of my mouth as she stood there wordless. Finally, a moment or so after I finished, keeping eye contact, she said: “Sir, you might be right. Maybe I can’t do the job. But, this is America, and I have a right to try!”
Although we parted company shortly, I pondered on what she said all the way on the drive home: “This is America, so I have a right to try”. Yep, she certainly had a point; and, with Bonnie still disgusted and not talking with me over what I did, I got to ponder a bit longer as to how to bail of my burning plane. No sooner had we walked in our house, I sat down at my Underwood manual typewriter (which should date me) and wrote a letter to the Park Superintendent telling him that he should be proud of this employee. Had it been me, I probably would have done something to such a visitor as myself, which would have certainly disgraced the National Park Service. I praised her for hanging in there with my nastiness and helped me grow up a bit.
Lo and behold, I got a letter of thank you from the young lady a few months later. It seems that the letter resulted in a promotion which also saved her career, as shortly after the promotion, her original position succumbed to cut-backs. In other words, had I not been such a jerk, she would have been out of a job. Bottom line, I can’t help but wonder if our Maker wasn’t doing His thing by way of the two birds with one stone thing. Think on that a bit.
Wishing you well,
.
Good story you male prude