Guest Posts on County 10 are provided by contributors and the opinions, thoughts, and comments within are their own and may not necessarily reflect those of County 10.
There was an influx of Rocky Mountain salamanders at the Shoshoni Water Treatment Plant one year. Being a science teacher, he collected a few, keeping them in large aquariums in his classroom. I was always fascinated by these creatures, amphibians who found a home on the high, arid desert of often frigid Wyoming.
One morning, he told me he’d lost one, and in the course of our pre-class conversation, we came up with a plan.
We took the expired salamander, propped its jaws open with a toothpick, arranged it with ice packs to get it on its hind legs like it was about to attack, and froze it in the teacher’s lounge freezer. The elementary staff had lunch 10 minutes before we did. I ran down to the lounge from my classroom, moved the salamander to the refrigerator section between the brown bags of a few elementary teacher,s and waited.
We heard the elementary bell, then waited by the doors of our respective classrooms. We saw three gals go in, and seconds later heard the screams. Jim grinned and gave me a thumbs-up from the far end of the hall.
Nick Bebout always called him “Big Jim.” When a retired NFL tackle calls you big, you’re a good-sized guy. Jim Yager was a big man, pushing 6-7, and an avid hunter, craftsman, and educator.
He passed Saturday night after a long battle with a bewildering variety of illnesses; he was 77.
Jim and I had dozens, perhaps hundreds of other stories where we set each other up, stumbled into problems, or just shared the experiences you get from working together for decades.
We had the best teaching staff I’ve ever had the privilege to work with in Shoshoni from 1985 to 1999.
Sadly, many of them are now gone. Bob Meredith, the friendly ag teacher. The irrepressible Harold Bailey, a coach and mentor to almost three generations. The delightful Cathleen Galitz, who could get the roughest, toughest cowboy to pay attention and learn to enjoy English. Rita Isabel, a lady born to be a cheerleader sponsor, business teacher, and yearbook advisor, and the cerebral Harold Mulholland, who made world history come alive for his students and brought the competitiveness of the athletic field to the speech and debate arena.
Mr. “G,” Steve Gresback, with his humor, musical ability, and wit, rounded out those who have left us too soon.
Jim taught environmental science and middle school science classes. Not the easiest assignment. His room was a classic mix of slimy, slippery reptiles, amphibians, fish, and rodents.
My favorite exhibit was the saltwater fish tank he maintained for a few years in the main hall of Shoshoni High School, filled with clown fish, anemones, and other exotic creatures.
One spring, the school board had some extra funds and offered to pay for summer classes in our respective academic fields.
In my early years in Shoshoni, I taught out of a briefcase, teaching science, math, history, geography and computer science in six different rooms throughout the building.
Jim came into my room with a catalog of classes from the Yellowstone Institute. They offered a three-credit class in canoeing, but we thought that it might be pushing it. Instead, we signed up for Large Mammals of Yellowstone, and we were off in my 1972 GMC two-wheel drive pickup and my 16-foot bumper pull camper trailer. We had a blast and found a new friend in Idaho State University professor Ernie Abels.
Jim had a habit of running into little guys with a chip on their shoulder and an attitude. I joked that it must be his personality. He looked down at me and said, “You’re six feet, these midgets don’t want to fight you.”
One night in Yellowstone we drove into Cook City, Montana for dinner and walked into a bar on their tiny main street. It was right out of the Old West. There was a band playing and they stopped when we entered.
Jim grabbed me by the arm and said, “One beer. You watch that side, I’ll watch this side.” Strange I thought, but then I noticed that all the guys in the place were 5-8 or less. Jim got a lot of sideways looks, then we split.
I left Shoshoni for Riverton, and then Wyoming Indian. Jim retired from Shoshoni.
We remained friends, but it’s hard to keep connections as strong as they once were when you don’t work together day after day as we had for 15 years.
Work and then the arrival of grandkids took more of my time. We didn’t see each other as often, but when we did, we caught up right away as if no time had passed. That’s the way it is with friends.
Some of our best times came in men’s city league basketball. Jim played Division I basketball for Michigan State, and I only play one year in high school. Neither one of us was trying to prove anything in men’s league play. Some guys do, but we just did it for fun.
One night, we were at Central Wyoming College. The other team was a bunch of 19- and 20-year-olds, dunking on the far end of the floor. A couple of guys on the team commented that we were “in trouble.”
We gave the kids a condescending look and told our teammates, “They won’t dunk on us.” I had six fouls and used all but one. They didn’t get inside.
Jim took a 6-3 high-flying kid all the way to his back on the floor with a clean block. It was memorable for a lot of reasons.
In 1988, we took another class, this one from the Teton Science School. We hiked 37 miles around the Grand Teton, coming out at Jenny Lake four days later.
The instructor was very impressed with himself, so we immediately began to chip away at him. The night our camp was taken by a horse packing group ended well. They felt so bad at taking our camp that we had steaks, beer and pineapple upside down cake high in the Tetons. We awoke in our tent the following morning to what sounded like an army of chainsaws. It wasn’t a gas-powered noise, but the sound of hundreds of hummingbirds working the flowers just outside our tent. It was amazing.
We took a final break on our way down the mountain to Jenny Lake, and as I slipped off my pack, five big rocks rolled out. Jim had placed them there on that final day to add a little weight to my pack. He was laughing his head off.
He stopped laughing when we loaded onto the boat, and four rocks fell from his pack. We’d done the same thing to each other. Yep, we each had a big laugh at the other’s expense.
Time slips away. Friends come and go, but memories remain.
I’ll always have good memories of the big man from Michigan.
Thanks for the ride, Jim.