I've never been one to have heroes, outside of my dad and my ag teacher, Mr. Berry. Growing up, there were certainly people I admired and tried to emulate, but no one else I would consider a true personal hero. That is, until I took a position with the Wyoming Association of Conservation Districts in 2001 and began working with then WACD president, Olin Sims.
Immediately, I was drawn to him. Charisma just oozed from his big frame. Even while Olin was peppering me with questions on the Endangered Species Act and animal feeding operations in my interview, his natural presence was evident.
For the next four years, I worked for Olin as a program specialist for WACD. My initial awe at the man quickly turned to respect at the very deepest level for his passion and integrity. He became one of my heroes, and someone I missed greatly in my new position here at the Game and Fish.
My heart has been heavy the last few weeks, after learning that Olin was killed in an accident on his family ranch in mid-December. I still can't believe it รข€“ only days before the accident, I hung out with Olin at the Natural Resource Conference in Casper. There he was, on stage, working the crowd as an auctioneer, ice raising an obscene amount of money for natural resource organizations in Wyoming.
After the auction, we stayed to visit and dance. We talked farm bill, I told him about shooting an antelope and of course, we talked UW sports. He told me about his work as the president of the Natural Association of Conservation Districts and spending a week in Guam with his wife, Tammy. I hadn't seen Olin in almost two years, but it was as if I'd never left WACD.
"I'm so proud of you, T," he told me, using my WACD nickname. 'I'm so glad things are going well for you, but I have to tell you, we miss you."
"Well I miss you guys too, Governor," I replied, using my own nickname for him. I really did miss Olin, because his sheer love of all the things that are good about Wyoming was positively infectious. You couldn't have a conversation with Olin on something he cared about and not come out fired up and ready to take on the world. Heck, I might have even missed dealing with his numerous cell phone issues (What? You're breaking up. I hate when you call when you are moving cows, make those calves stop bawling, I can't hear you! Uh, no Olin, the Verizon warranty doesn't cover phones dropped in an irrigation ditch...)
Three days after we danced and talked and laughed, he was gone. His death was felt by the entire agriculture and conservation community in Wyoming, from folks in the conservation districts to Senator Barasso in Washington, D.C. We were all in a state of shock - Olin was larger than life, there was simply no way he could be gone.
I couldn't bring myself to go to his funeral. I was afraid it would just be too sad, that my grief at losing someone I so admired and respected would overwhelm me. And there were certainly many people mourning a loss much greater than mine for me to make such a spectacle of myself. The magnitude of what we had all lost would just be too much for me to bear, my emotions too raw and deep to come to terms with it so quickly. How could I process losing someone I'd considered a second father figure?
To quote his good friend, Johnny, here was a man who lived his whole life for others, giving his everything for his family, his land and his country. He not only talked the talk of integrity and values, he walked the walk, following through on promises and commitments. He was the kind of man you want your son to grow up to be and your daughter to grow up to marry. Olin wasn't content to just sit around and gripe about what he thought was wrong - he got involved and tried to change things. His desire to make things better took him all the way to the National Association of Conservation Districts presidency, where he was able to, among other things, weigh in and lend a voice to Wyoming farmers and ranchers on the conservation title of the upcoming farm bill.
He was also a man that lived by example. Olin and his family used their ranch to demonstrate best management practices, to show how wildlife, agriculture and environmental stewardship could work together for the benefit of all. He literally practiced what he preached, enrolling the family ranch as an animal feeding operation Clean Water Act demonstration project to get the cows out of the creek, or using his cattle to graze lands in conjunction with elk migration patterns to improve forage for resident elk herds. Awards for Olin and the Sims family ranch in Rock Creek Valley included the Excellence in Grazing Management Award, the National Endowment for Soil and Water Conservation, and the Land Manager of the Year. In 2004, they received the Wyoming Stock Growers Environmental Stewardship Award and were named the Wyoming Game and Fish Landowners of the Year. In 2005, they received the Environmental Stewardship Award from the National Cattlemens Beef Association, acknowledging their tremendous efforts to protect and conserve our nation's rural resources. Olin was also inducted into the Wyoming Agriculture Hall of Fame in 2006.
But perhaps the greatest thing about Olin was you could strip away the titles, the accolades and the cowboy hat and he was still just Olin. Just a Wyoming rancher and all around good guy. He was true to his roots, never too big or too important to recognize small contributions, do the little thing that needed to be done or laugh at himself. My favorite memories of Olin won't be standing up delivering a farm bill presentation or testifying on legislative issues, even though that was what he did best. It's the more candid moments that I'll hold near and dear to my heart. Olin in flaming yellow shorts and white legs playing volleyball in Thermopolis; Olin bent over a broken wagon axle, using that good Scandinavian engineering (and possibly duct tape) to get the wagon righted and our tour of Owl Creek back on track; Olin, leaning back in an office chair, Bud Light close at hand as his huge hands fumbled to put little sticky tabs on board packets; Olin, wrapping me up in a bear hug my last few days at WACD, telling me "You'll do good things for wildlife, T, just like you've done for ag. But we'll sure miss ya, so don't be gone too long, okay?"
To be honest, I was just plain angry. Where was the justice in his dying? The world needs more men, more leaders like Olin Sims, not fewer. We need the real deal to look up to. Whether they agreed with his politics or not, Olin's sincerity and desire to really do good things was recognized by those around him. We need Olin's brand of honesty, collaboration and kindness. Agriculture needs that, natural resource conservation needs that...I need that. He was my superhero...and superheroes don't just die, dang it.
But bitterness and anger are not my style, and soon I recognized that I needed to say goodbye, in my own way. So there, in the Wyoming open country with the Wind Rivers in the background and nothing but miles and miles of snow covered sage as far as the eye could see, I whispered my own heartfelt tribute to my friend. And just as soon as I said my thanks to him for his guidance and leadership, my words were gone, picked up by a soft Wyoming breeze somewhere along Sand Mesa, my grief carried on the wind to the earth and the sky and the very land and that we both loved so much.
My friend, my hero is gone. But his legacy will live on, through me, through all the folks at the local conservation districts, through the game wardens and habitat biologists and all his other friends across this state and country. Because his passion for the land, for doing right, for conserving what we believe to be special and sacred, is infectious. It's a passion I try to do right by every day I come to work, and one I'll instill in my own kids. Whether you are a wildlife advocate, a rancher, an environmentalist, a hunter or just someone who loves this great big state with all your heart, may that be the legacy we all leave behind - doing right for your family, doing right for others, doing right for Wyoming, simply because it's the right thing to do.
