Lift Up Your Voices and HOWL!

“Are you the Wolfman?” came the inquiry over my cell phone. I paused, somewhat stunned by this question. Thoughts raced through my mind.

The term “wolfman” has several connotations. First, of course, is the somewhat antiquated one that was once used to classify a man as an incurable woman chaser. I always recall the cartoon character that, upon seeing a good looking pair of legs on a passing female, began salivating and had eyes that bugged out.

The next thought was that I was suspected of being supernatural and able to change, on the dark of the moon, into a half-man half-wild beast and run around killing folks until the sun came up and he had to go to his regular nine-to-five job.

Then the caller identified herself. “This is Mary Wester at Golson Elementary. Someone told us that you know a lot about wolves and Mary Dungan needs someone to talk to her second grade class”. Mrs. Wester’s husband was once my banker, and you don’t turn down anyone that has that kind of connection. I quickly accepted.

My knowledge of wolves is that of an enthusiastic amateur. It began some time ago when I, trying to kill time surfing television, landed on Royce Reagan’s “Chipola Speaks”. Royce had gone down to a place unknown to me, the Seacrest Wolf Preserve near Wausau, and had interviewed Sylvia Watkins and had actually filmed a wad of wolves inside a large enclosure. I knew that they were live and active, since Royce’s voice was getting higher and higher as the animals got closer and closer. He could have easily sung the soprano’s part in Verdi’s Aida. This impressed me, and the Seacrest preserve impressed me even more.

Seacrest is privately owned, and is part of a 400 acre farm operated by Cynthia Watkins and her husband. In large enclosures they house individual wolf packs, composed of the traditional alpha male and alpha female and all of the other alphabetic designees. It is one of only four such preserves in the lower forty eight states, and the only one where a human can enter and see these fine fellows up close and personal. Cynthia or one of the other guides takes you through and you find out a lot of wolf knowledge, after she purges your mind of all of the scare folklore about werewolves, Little Red Riding Hood and her grandma and Dracula (real name: Vlad the Impaler).

You come away filled with admiration for the animals and even more for Cynthia and her ideals. I left and then returned, volunteering whenever I could, to work there. She has a lot of volunteer workers, many from nearby Hurlburt Air Force Base. I went there once on a cold, blustery wet day, and tried to keep up with these young service men and women. About one o’clock, cold, wet and miserable, I got them together and asked if any outranked me. None did, so I declared that the Navy’s part was accomplished for the day, and I left.

But I have gone back, sometimes to do shovel work, on some occasions to help erect new fences, and on once just to sit on the front porch at the store and rock. I have carried all of my grandsons, each of my children and even some casual acquaintances to take the tour, and each person has left impressed.

So perhaps I was qualified, but I had reservations. After all, Golson is a “government” school, as the shouting heads on television and radio refer to our public schools. Would I be subjected to a gaggle of undisciplined offspring, under little control by a teacher that was working only for retirement, and counting the days until that great “gittin’ up” day? Then I recalled Mary Dungan, and what my wife Theresa always told me about her, so I went.

I was met at the office by a young fellow who escorted me to the classroom, and actually engaged me in conversation. Mary met me at the door with a hug. Any time a man my age gets hugged by a woman the trip is worthwhile. There were fifteen second graders seated in two semi circles at their desks, with name tags printed big enough so that even a seventy nine year old man could read them. The front wall had been made ready to study wolves, with a pull down map of the United States so that I could show off places that were important, and a chart of what they knew about the animals, and what they wanted to know.

I began by telling about Seacrest and Cynthia and what I had done there. I talked. They listened. Then I was seated in the “Visitor’s Chair” and the students sat down on the floor and held up their hands to ask questions of me, the expert of the hour. They were cautioned to “ask questions, not make statements” and they did. Afterwards they stood, approached me and shook my hand, looked me in the eye and thanked me.

I left Golson Elementary School, one of our “government schools”, feeling good about myself and its teachers, for I knew that there were others like Mary Dungan there. I recalled that John S. McCain, when asked what he would do about public education, replied that we should pay our good teachers a lot more money, and should find the poor and mediocre ones different jobs that are not so critical to the wellbeing of our children and thus to our country.

And I say Amen to that!



(Note: The Wolf Preserve is less than 50 miles from Jackson County. Go on line to “Seacrest Wolf Preserve”. Tours are on Saturdays only.)