THE GENTLE GIANT
By: Dave Tuttle
I never saw it coming. The signs pointed in a completely different direction. Skip was so young and so talented. He had so much left to offer this world
and to the people who stumble through it. He was one of the most kind, tender hearted souls one could ever hope to cross paths with. When life finished
beating you down, Skip was the first one there to pick you up and brush you off. When the world said you were going to fail, Skip would not hear of it. That
kind of talk was nonsense to Skip. He would tell you the many ways in which you were going to win and claim victory. No mountain was too high, no hill too steep for
my friend Skip to conquer. He was my mentor, my duck hunting companion, my best friend. Many were intimidated by him, little did they know he was not
the monster they all made him out to be. He was a gentle giant. I grew up with this giant. It's hard for me to recall a duck hunt without him. Just last year we
took to the North Dakota fields determined to bring home baskets of birds, our venture proved to be a success. We had a blast, no pun intended,
and Skip would go on to say it was the best bird hunt we had ever been on. Little did I know a legion of demons were knocking on Skip's door at the
time and inviting him to battle. A war was about to be waged and there was going to be casualties.
Skip grew up on the outskirts of a small farming community in southwestern Minnesota. He was bound and determined to follow in the footsteps of his
father and be a prosperous farmer. When I would brag about someday owning my very own Corvette or Mustang, Skip would quickly intervene and tell
me about the John Deere tractor he was going to own and the fields he was going to dominate with it. His mother was a well respected elementary school teacher
and was a stickler for arithmetic and proper grammar. Her form of relaxation took place in the kitchen baking. Many still say she makes the best apple pies
in the upper midwest, it's hard for me to disagree with that. On a sunny May morning back in 1980 Skip and his dad were busy in the barn working on
tractors and his mom was busy in the kitchen baking a dish for a retirement party they were going to attend that evening, Skip would be staying at his Aunt
and Uncles that night. After lunch they tended to the animals, took a nap, then played catch in the front yard while mom reclined in a lawnchair and read her
Better Homes & Gardens magazine while sipping lemonade. A perfect family living in perfect harmony. When his parents dropped him off at his Aunt
Patty and Uncle Greg's late that afternoon they told him they would be picking him up early for church that following morning, then they would drive into
the city to buy groceries and farming supplies. Skip loved his monthly escapades into the big city with his family, it was something he always looked forward
to with great anticipation. Skip gave his mom and dad a big hug and kiss and waved goodbye to them as he watched them drive away in a cloud of
dust down the dirt road. That would be the last time Skip would see his mom and dad alive.
As his parents were driving home late that Saturday night from the retirement party, another party full of college kids was coming to a close not too far
off in the distance. The dirt roads became clouds of thick dust as jacked up trucks and fast cars left that party in search of another. Skip's dad was
notorious for driving slow, it drove Skip and his mom insane at times. Driving 30 mph on a 50 mph road was not uncommon at all for his dad. As they
putted along that dusty dirt road that night they were broadsided by a truck packed with drunk college kids going 80 mph. Mom and dad stood no chance.
They lost their lives instantly as did the intoxicated college kids. The vehicles involved looked like they had just finished performing in a demolition derby.
As other drunk party goers passed the scene they called it in and law enforcement officials and paramedics were on the scene within minutes. No attempt
at reviving anybody was made, they were all long gone. Instantaneous death is what we were told, no suffering was involved for any of the victims of this
pointless tragedy. As Aunt Patty and Uncle Greg sat down to tell Skip what had happened that morning, life seemed to drain right out of the poor kid.
His spirit and reason for being seemed to vanish. He was broken beyond repair. Many of Skip's closest friends will tell you he was never the same after
that, I can't help but agree with that. He became a walking zombie despondent from the world in which he was living in. Try as I may, I was never
able to get all of my buddy Skip back after that.
After the crash Skip moved in with his aunt and uncle and would remain there well after high school graduation. He would spend the majority of
his childhood and youth sitting at the scene of the crash. Years later he would tell me that sitting on that dirt road gave him a sense of peace, he always felt closer to his mom and dad there. He fought through his grief and depression as best he could, there were times he considered suicide.
He was young and did the best he could under the circumstaces. Through the years I knew if I couldn't find Skip, all I would have to do
is drive north two and a half miles out of town, there he would be sitting next to the collage of flowers and crosses that he himself put up. I knew I
could always find him there. I remember the first birthday Skip celebrated after losing his parents, it was brutal and filled with overwhelming sadness.
Uncle Greg decided to buy Skip a brand new fishing boat hoping to lessen his pain and ease him in the grieving process. He told me that time on
the lake with a fishing pole would surely take his mind off things. I commended him on his effort and his setback in his finances but agreed to disagree.
Skip was a complete mess and a boat wasn't going to bring his mom and dad back. The tent and lantern I bought Skip for his birthday that year
didn't quite measure up to the brand new boat, oars, anchor, and fishing pole that he got from his aunt and uncle, he didn't care for any of the presents
that day anyway. I remember not feeling so bad.
Weeks later I asked Skip if he wanted to head down to the lake in his new boat to catch some crappies, he declined as I knew he would. Skip told
me he really liked his new boat but had no intention of using it for fishing. He told me he had something completely different in mind for that boat and it had nothing to do with fishing poles or buckets of bait. That was the first time I had seen Skip smile since he lost his parents.
To be continued.....
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