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UNR President Milton Glick was having dinner at a restaurant with his wife Peggy when he suffered a massive stroke, later dying at a Reno-area hospital. Glick, a one-time chemistry professor and former executive vice-president and provost at the University of Arizona, became UNR’s 15th president.

The news article was typical, run-of-the-mill stuff. It’s what I couldn’t report — that I believe was the real story concerning Milt Glick.

I was looking around trying to figure out “who this Glick character was,” expecting to see folks fawning over a particular person — while next to me stood a slight man, who was also wearing a nice felt topper.

“Nice hat,” he said to me.

I responded, “Thanks, you’re wearing a nice cover yourself — though I think it’s a bit warm for felt today.”

He smiled, “I was jus’ thinking — it’s nice, cool day.”

The comment gave me pause, “So where are you from that it might be warmer than this?”

“Arizona,” he answered.

“You’ve come a long way jus’ to attend an installation ceremony at a university,” I responded.

“Yeah,” he replied, “But I sort of felt I had to.”

Wrinkling my forehead slightly, I asked, “Why?”

“Well, because I’m the guy they’re installing,” he answered, perfectly straight-faced.

I almost swallowed my tongue as he held out his hand and said, “I’m Milt Glick,” with a chuckle.

This is how I’ll always remember Milt:  a quiet demeanor, a sense of humor, and a solid handshake.

The photograph I have was taken sometime prior to 1922. I know that because the woman in it, my Great-grandmother Jennie Mae Babcock, died that year.

The man with her is my Great-father George Washington Hufford. He died in 1950 and  is considered a pioneer having been one of the first white-men to settle in Humboldt County.

His story — much of the early Hufford family story can be found in the book: The History of Humboldt County. I’ve only seen this tome once and that was a Humboldt County Fair held in Ferndale back in 1980.

And while much covers Great-grandpa’s history — very little is known about Great-grandma Jennie Mae. What is known is that she was born in the Redding area and that her folks came from Missouri and Arkansas.

She died “officially” from a brain-tumor as it is stated on her death certificate. However there is another version of her death that still circulates through the family.

Great-grandma Jennie was murdered. Family members — including my Grandma Leola told me that it is believed she was struck in the head with a bed-stead by one of her own children — and later found unconscious at the bottom of the stairs inside their home.

George Hufford, Jr. was around 13-years old at the time and is supposed to be the one who bashed her in the head. He is also reported to have turned up with a gold coin or two that his mother wore in a small purse around her neck.

Grandma Leola told how he ended up going to prison in Ohio later in life. And that is where he is supposed to have died — Great-grandpa George having paid to have his body shipped home for burial in the family plot.

I’ve only seen a picture of my Great-uncle George and that was in class photo that currently resides at the Fortuna Depot Museum in Rohner Park.

However, when I was 14-years-old, I was outside with some kids who lived in Great-grandpa’s old home — one of the girls invited inside to have a look at the blood stain that was hidden under a throw-rug at the base of the steps. She was pretty proud to announce — in the way kid’s will sometimes do — that “an old woman died on the spot.”

I told her I already knew, but said nothing about the spirit I had seen five years earlier in her home.

Rancho San Rafael Park is located to the northwest of the university in Reno. Kyle and I used to go there every once in a while and visit the water and animal park.

One of the highlights for Kyle, I do believe, was going to the playground — where he’d play for hours.  He especially liked the dinosaurs and the sand-covered fossils that are available to play on.

At the time, he wore his black cowboy hat and boots everywhere he went. And when he climbed up on the back of ol’ T-Rex — I knew that big lizard was gonna to be plum’ gentled to the touch — once Kyle was done with him.

The rodeo had come to town and I was working for KIIQ radio — pronounced KICK. We were the new country music station in town and had landed much of the coverage rights to the big show.

For my part, I played station co-host to the VIP party and then the meet-and-greet held with the rodeo’s Grand Marshall’s Mel Tillis and Roy Clark. Prior to the meet-and-greet, my co-host Cody Travis and I posed for our official photograph of the event.

The flash from the camera startled the horse Mr. Clark was seated on and it jumped sideways. When it landed — its left hind hoof came down on my right foot.

Not a happy moment in my life.

There is a 19-story Cross located next to Interstate 40 (formerly U.S. Route 66.)  This free-standing Cross can be seen from about twenty miles away on the Texas plain and surrounding its base are life-sized statues of the Stations of the Cross.

Kyle and I were driving across Texas, en route to Tulsa to drop off his step-brother Tim, when it appeared in the distance. The three of us — knowing it might be a long while before we had a chance to see this road-side attraction again — decided to stop.

As I recall, there are 13 bronze castings of Christ as He makes His way to His crucifixion — including one when he’s removed. It is a remarkable visual story being told — all without words.

But for me — the most powerful — and perhaps the most frightening statue is of the Roman guard driving home a nail through the palm and wrist of  Jesus. While the sculpture as a whole caught my eye at first glance– it was the shadow on the ground which drew my attention.

It —  for me — underscores John 3:16 : “For God so loved the world, that gave his only begotten Son.”

It was breezy and a bit chilly when we started down the path to the second, and larger of the two lighthouses along the Mendocino Coastline. I was feeling somewhat disappointed that the weather was not cooperating with the three of us and our little weekend vacation.

We trooped on anyway — making it out to the Point Arena Lighthouse. At 115 feet, it’s the tallest lighthouse on the West coast. It’s also the closest location on the mainland to Honolulu, Hawaii.

The first European mention Point Arena was Spaniard Bartolomé Ferrelo in 1543. He named it Cabo de Fortunas, which is Spanish for “cape of fortunes.”

The cape was renamed to Punta Delgado or narrow point in 1775 by lieutenant Juan Francisco de la Bodega y Quadra, commander of the schooner Sonora. He and his ship were  part of a royal expedition chartered by the government of Mexico to map the north coast of Alta California. 

Later the point was called Barra de Arena (i.e. sandbar) and finally Point Arena, which literally translates to “sand point.”  The first post office opened in 1858, originally called Punta Arenas — it was renamed Point Arena in 1889 and by 1908, a town by the same name had incorporated itself.

Even Kyle — who generally doesn’t like heights — climbed up and enjoyed the view from the “gallery.”

They are jus’ a mile or so north of DeMartins Beach, along Highway 101. They are known locally as “The Devil’s Footsteps.”

I have no idea where the name came from or why, unfortunately — but vaguely suspect it is from the area’s Native Americans — who used to reside along the rocky coastline — and somehow screwed up by later settlers.

As a kid, I used to climb all over these rocks. There are several areas in and around them in which natural caves occur and that’s what drew me to them when I was younger.

Kyle and I stopped to walk up and down that section of the beach and so I could talk some pictures and tell him about some of my childhood experience. Little did I know — we were about to have an experience of our own.

I was walking ahead of Kyle — leading the way — when he says, “You simply disappeared.”

Kyle was right — I had jus’ taken a photo of the group of rocks when I lost my balance, then my footing and dropped over six feet to the jagged rocks below. While I managed to protect my camera — I failed to protect myself — breaking several ribs on the left side of my chest wall.

Unable to pick myself up — and had Kyle not been there — I’m pretty sure I would have washed out to sea with the next high tide.  Thanks, Kyle!

It was a “boy’s weekend,” meaning Kyle and I were on the road enjoying ourselves. We decided to stop so I could talk a few pictures of a herd of elk resting in a pasture area jus’ of Highway 101.

That’s where Kyle made friends with a juvenile horse. I had jus’ snapped their picture and turned my attention to the pasture, when I heard Kyle say, “Dad.”

I continued focusing on the elk, when I heard him — a little more insistent this time say, “Dad!” 

Looking over at him and I saw the horse had a hold of his pants in the front area. Poor Kyle had one hand on the fence post and the other on the barbed wire fence — bracing himself from being pulled onto the barbs.

Quickly, I rushed over a slapped the animal across his snout –whereupon he let go of Kyle. It was perhaps the first time I had ever really heard Kyle drop the “f-bomb” as he took off around a nearby out-building to see if the beast had grabbed him by “the brush or his handle.”

He came back less than a minute later, “Damn horse…now I have a bald spot!”

The Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens are located on 47 acres and offers everything from colorful floral displays to crashing waves. The weather makes it a garden worth visiting year-round. It includes formal gardens, a coastal pine forest, native flora and habitats, fern-covered canyons, camellias, rhododendrons, magnolias and conifers, heaths and heathers, and coastal bluffs overlooking the ocean.

In fact one travel brochure I read called the gardens “a jewel on the Pacific Coast.”

The gardens were created in 1961 by retired nurseryman named Ernest Schoefer.  The Grand Opening of the Gardens was in 1966. By 1992, the Gardens had been purchased with grants from the California Coastal Conservancy and transferred to the Mendocino Coast Recreation and Park District.

Inside the gardens are trails and vistas, unlike any I had hiked on or to, and well worth the cost of admission. They also come with convient places to sit and rest a spell if you need to do so — which is how I happened upon this seat in the middle of a conifer forest and surrounded by ferns.

First off, I’m not a ghost-hunter, a paranormal investigator, a medium or a sensitive — but I have seen a few unusual things from time-to-time. Call it imagination or call it supernatural — I’m not in the business of explaining these thing — I’m jus’ telling of what I observed and how I responded.

To preface what I’m about to impart — after working a particularly long weekend shift and being exhausted — I walked by the men’s room in the radio station and saw a what I thought was somebody going inside. I knew where my on-air relief was at the time and also knew no one was supposed to be in the building, but us two.

So I poked my head in the restroom and found there was nobody there. I continued on my way out the door and never thought about it again — chalking it up to fatigue.

Then…

It was jus’ after three on Sunday morning and I had jus’ completed my newscast, when I started for the restroom. I got as far as the sales area — a place lovingly call the “pit” — when I observed a shadow pass along the far wall of the office.

This shadow shouldn’t have been there as no one was walking along the wall. Besides the shadow seemed to be cast in the wrong direction — straight up — instead of slightly backwards as it moved closer to the light that is positioned above the exit.

Quickly, I returned to my work area and grabbed my digital camera — switching it from normal setting to infrared and returning to the pit.

As I walked towards the area where I had seen the shadow — I popped off three photos. That when my camera died, even though I had jus’ replaced the batteries in it the evening before.

So went to the restroom — hoping that whatever it was didn’t follow me in there — as being frightened and peeing on oneself  is unpleasant. And once finished, I retreated to the news desk where all the lights were on.

I remained there for the duration of my shift.