Latsha

MY FIRST MEMORY OF GREG LATSHA was the year we moved to Arkadelphia. My son Corey was the eighth grade quarterback. At split end was a small, scrawny kid, who looked way too small to be out there with those bigger boys. But he knew how to catch a football, and he was Corey’s favorite go-to guy when a passing situation came up. But when he was tackled, and Greg wound up on the bottom of a big pile of really large guys, we all kept our fingers crossed that Greg would soon emerge unhurt from that pile of meaty boys. Or, be able to emerge at all. But, when all the big kids had been peeled off, Greg always jumped up with a smile. That was Greg’s last year of football. He was just too small.

     Greg showed up in my tenth grade biology class a couple of years later. He was somewhat of a cutup, and could be a class disturbance on a regular basis. But he really loved biology class, and worked at it harder than anyone else. In spite of his disturbances, not counting the fact that he was sometimes a major headache, I began to like Greg Latsha.

     One of the first projects we did that year was a fall wildflower collection. This was right down Greg’s alley, and his collection was much superior to anyone else’s. The same was true of his insect collection. He just put everybody else in the shade. Identifying all the local trees was a snap. He already knew them all, for the most part. I could tell he spent most all his time in the wilds, whether there was a project going on or not.

     I thought organizing a school wildlife club would be a great idea. Naturally, Greg was my star. ( I knew he would be. ) On club camping trips, I was amazed to learn that he could perfectly imitate the call of any bird out there, or any wild animal.

     Camped far back in the Ouachita Mountains one night with ten youngsters, we had a good campfire going. Greg gave a long wolf howl. He was immediately answered, right across the creek from our fire. I looked at the ten kids around that fire. Many very big eyes. Everybody was perfectly quiet, and I could tell the smarter ones were busy counting heads around that fire, suspecting one of our campers was out in the woods, playing a trick. When they reached ten, they bolted for the van, nearly pulling the door off, followed by all those not smart enough to count that high.

     The next morning, I cooked up dozens of eggs for breakfast.

     “Dig in guys, these eggs will be great! I only found one baby chick when I cracked these eggs, and I was able to get a good part of it out, so that won’t be much of a problem. Dig in!”

      They would not touch these eggs. I confessed to them that I was just kiddin’ around. But no luck. They still would not. I ate a lotta eggs that morning.

     It was a good day. No other incidents of note, except one of those guys who couldn’t count to ten walked up to and kicked a skunk, just to see what it would do. He found out, and pretty much became a loner for the rest of the trip.

     All day long, Greg was finding and showing us strange wild plants and animals. Though I considered myself a good woodsman, having spent much of my life in the wild, and after all, I am a biologist, I began to realize, Greg was already a really good woodsman.

     As we cooked supper, a snowstorm moved in. Lee Lester finally said, “Uh, Mr. Gillum, I think I am getting a case of the sniffles. Maybe we should go home.”  Everybody laughed at that, but I was beginning to agree with Lee. At the rate snow was falling, we might have a hard time getting out of here soon, and we might be snowed in for days by morning. So, we headed home. We got out of the mountains ok, but we did have a little trouble getting over Amity Mountain. One of the major problems in going home was finding somebody who was willing to sit next to the skunk kicker.

     We did other camp outs deep in the mountains that year. Most of the guys were at least just a little bit nervous at just being out there, and didn’t react well when Greg would bring in a giant snake or a tarantula or some such animal, then “give” it off to somebody else, but we had fun. I finally found about the only way I could keep Greg under control was by threatening to kick him out of the club, not let him come along any more. But he soon learned just how far to push me. Actually, I could never have done that. He was the star, the one normal humans looked up to out in the woods, and he just made the club. And besides that, I just loved Greg Latsha.

     Greg, of course, also took advanced biology. During those two years, Greg often brought me gifts he had found out in the woods. Something he wanted me to see.  I began to get a little nervous about this, because they usually showed up in five gallon buckets, top on, with air holes cut in it – meaning, there’s something alive, wild, and very angry inside. The first one held the largest black snake I have ever seen, as large as my forearm. I became very careful about opening one of Greg’s little gifts – just pull the top off, and run. Greg once brought me a photo he had taken in the woods of Arkansas, a black panther, even though they officially do not live in Arkansas. I asked Greg just a few days ago to show me that photo again. He said, “Ah, I don’t know where that picture is anymore.” Just par for the course for Greg Latsha, but it would have been the picture of a lifetime for me. I would still be showing it off to anybody who would look.

     Toward the end of high school, Greg was still a small, skinny kid. His mother took him to the doctor, asked him why he was just not growing. After the doctor examined him thoroughly, the doc came in smiling. “Just sit back and watch. Something BIG is about to happen here!”

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