I remember Gale Carter.

I was come-lately in Gale’s life. I was at Mullis Center perhaps a couple years ago when this bear of a man out of the blue seized my hand, pumped it several times and asked who I was, what I was doing there and what I had done with my life.

At that point, Gale did not know me or I him, but from the vise-grip he had on my paw I was convinced he did not intend that state of affairs to continue.

I made the mistake of telling him I had been a farmer at one time. He never forgot. Ever thereafter he saw me, he wanted to know how things were on the farm. I could never impress him with the fact I hadn’t been on the farm for a decade.

Gale was truly gregarious. I remember him moving among the tables at senior lunch, a word here, a chuckle there, a new friend to make over there. There is no doubt in my mind that he has St. Peter cornered even as I write this.

He was truly one of God’s affable creatures, and I suppose if you can say that about someone you have said a good deal.

Glenn Kaufman
Friday Harbor