Harry Lawrence was a unique person. I doubt that I will ever meet another person like Harry. Harry was a father, grandfather, friend, and teacher. I moved to Salem, Oregon in late 1969 and didn't know anyone there. It was the end of the road from a move from Rochester, N.Y. I found a job with a builder in Albany, OR and my wife found a job at Salem Memorial Hospital. At the hospital my wife met a woman named Velma who was Harry's wife. I met Harry as a result of their conversations about my love for hunting. The friendship that developed impacted my life in many ways.

Harry had moved to Kaiser, Oregon, a rural area north of Salem from a homestead in Wyoming. He built a small house on a couple acres and raised his family there. When I met Harry the city had moved north and surrounded his acreage. It was like a backwoods homestead in the middle of the city. There were old cars covered with moss and surrounded by berry bushes. Piles of old auto parts mixed with deer and elk antlers. A bulldozer was almost buried in the berry bushes but still ran. Some would have labeled the house a shack rather than a house. It had a wood burning range in the kitchen; a bear hide and royal elk head hung on the livingroom wall. The entire property was studded with old growth Douglas Fir trees, some 30-40 inches in diameter. Velma worked but Harry didn't. Harry claimed he had broken almost every bone in his body at one time or another over the years while logging. He had raised his family from the income he generated from logging timber and milling into lumber on his own saw. He used the bulldozer in that operation. He was a highly skilled and knowledgeable person who had little formal education. He was a man that could do anything with his hands. He could visualize something and build it. We call people like that today, engineers, contractors etc. He had built a hunting truck from the ground up. He built a camper for his truck that raised on pulleys long before the company named Alaskan did the same. Probably the most important virtue Harry had was he cared about people. After we met, I started spending more and more of my free time at Harry's, drinking coffee and listening to his life stories. I met Harry's daughter and husband Ed, who lived nearby and worked at the Chemawa Indian School. They were fine folks. This friendship led to me eventually going to work at Chemawa Indian School as a GS-3, about $6,000 a year at that time. That was the beginning of my federal civil service career.

I had a tragedy in my life and I had to sell most of my possessions to pay the bills. My brother gave me a old 1955 International pickup that didn't run very well. The radiator leaked and the engine made a lot of noise. After letting Harry listen to it he said that it had cracked pistons from overheating. I didn't have much money so I didn't know how I would get it repaired. Harry said no sweat I'll tell you how to repair it. So for a month I was back and forth to Harry's house getting instructions, parts and tools to totally overhaul the engine. When I was done, Harry was there when I turned the key, and the engine purred. I couldn't have done without him. One thing Harry taught me about hunting was to slow down and enjoy myself. Harry was pretty laid back even though the venison was very important to him. During the depression Harry was given an old 22 rifle and one bullet more than once and told to go get the family meat.

When Harry moved from Wyoming he moved in an old pickup with his possesions in the back and mattress piled on top with his royal Rocky Mountain elk head tied to the grill. The elk head was quite a site, and brought laughter every time it was remembered. Harry had a twinkle in his eye that was hard to miss, he had lived a hard life but also a good life. Sometimes I think most of us miss the entire meaning of life and never really live it. The only time I ever saw Harry cry was when I lost my first wife. He and Velma had befriended her and had become her parents in this country. Harry and Velma arranged for me to meet my current wife, they didn't do to bad as I've been married to that Montana girl for 28 yrs. After Maggie and I got married we moved to Curlew, WA shortly there after. About the same time Harry had enough of the hunting in Oregon and decided to go back to Wyoming. When he put his property up for sale he was astonished to find out that it was commercial property now and worth a considerable amount of money. Go figure. Harry's favorite saying before leaving Oregon was "I'm catching bigger fish than the deer that I am shooting" time to go back home. The picture at the top of the page was the last picture I got from Harry in a Christmas card. He was right, they still have deer in Wyoming. Harry's old bones now lay at rest where he was born amongst some of the most beautiful country in the Western United States, but the good times live on in my heart and memories. GRIZZ