Norm will always stand tall in my memory

Ring ring, sounded the telphone. “Hello Tom, this is Norm McClure.”

An hour later — possibly two — and I would likely have several pages of notes in hand after another in-depth conversation with Norm about conservation and range management.

This phone call came every two to four weeks throughout the year I served as president of the Washington Association of District Employees. During that time, I learned a lot from, and about, Norman Robert McClure.

Norm leaves a legacy of good conservation practices on his land, and also a legacy of stewardship and caring among the many lives he touched while he was with us.

Who was Norm?

Obituary

His obituary will tell you:

• Norm was born June 28, 1929 and passed away on October 25, 2008.
• He was a “dedicated, devoted servant of man, family and the land.”
• He held a lifelong affection for Washington State University, where he graduated with honors in biology in 1951.
• He served in the Air Force, including two years on assigned in Japan.
• He once worked for the USDA Soil Conservation Service (now the Natural Resources Conservation Service), and at the same time, pursed an advanced degree in range management at the University of Idaho, graduating with a Master’s Degree in 1956.
• Norm was a deeply spiritual man, and pursued a doctoral degree at the School of Theology at Boston University.
• He returned to the family ranch in 1960 where he managed a cow-calf operation for more than 40 years, always respecting the need for economy, and treating people, animals, and land with respect.

But that’s not all

Norm and Dorothy

What Norm’s obituary won’t tell you is how this man of small physical stature used his unending passion and relentless drive to become a giant of a man.

He would phone me regularly for three purposes: to maintain an open relationship, to seek my help, and to constantly educate me about the conservation needs of rangeland. At regional and statewide meetings of conservation districts, Norm would be there, engaging anyone in talking about rangeland, range management, and the ideas behind coordinated resource management. As he talked with verve and depth about these passions of his, his face would light up, his eyes would sparkle, and he seemed to grow a foot taller. He seemed unstoppable.

Slowing but no less focused

These last four or five years, I started to see Norm slowing down. The conversations became a bit shorter, but no less passionate. He would still grow taller during the conversation, but he would tire more easily, and by the close of the conversation, Norm would have shrunk back to normal size and seem to be, at the end of the day, just another man.

Community Church, Coulee Dam, WA

Yet Norm remained sharp and focused on his goals. Even as he realized his light was growing dim, in his last days he helped plan his memorial service in the hope it would make it easier for his survivors.

A central fact of his life is he cared deeply about people, and he maintained that to his last day on this earth.

His legacy is enormous, far too lengthy to list here. From the impact on his own ranching operation, to his many friends (both professional and personal), to his family, and to the organizations he helped, my hope is it suffices to say that for all things he cared about, he left lasting change.

The service

Inside the church

Yesterday, I made the drive to Coulee Dam, Washington, to attend his memorial service. The community church was packed with people of all ages.

A son spoke of lessons learned from his father. A grandson shared similar lessons, derived from different stories. A lifelong friend talked of the deep affection and friendship they shared from college days to now.

Some good memories were shared, and again I learned more about Norm and his extended family.

Sharing memories

But it wasn’t the memorial service that made an impression with me. I was particularly struck by the potluck following the service. The fellowship hall was a beehive of activity, and there was enough food to feed twice the number of people present.

(I begin to wonder if perhaps a life is best measured not by the accolades and publications and awards achieved while living, but by how much good food is enjoyed by many people as they share memories after one passes.)

Norm gave tirelessly of himself to those organizations and causes he held close to his love of the land, such as seeking legislation to name Bluebunch Wheat Grass as the official Washington State grass, working with the Society for Range Management, and sitting on the Land Management Advisory Council. His work with the Okanogan Conservation District, Washington Association of Conservation Districts, and Coordinated Resource Management was extraordinary.

If you’d like to learn more about a few of the things Norm campaigned for, try these Google searches:

• Norm McClure and CRM
• Norm McClure and range management

In any lifetime, knowing a handful of people who are exceptional role models is a rare blessing. For me, Norm is one of those people. His caring and passion give me permission to believe more deeply in those things I care about.

Norm McClure leaves a tangible legacy. More importantly his legacy of caring and persistance and striving for goals lives on in many other people. I did not know him in all of his seasons, but I was blessed to know him well enough to know he will always stand tall in my memory.

And to Norm: I miss those phone calls. I look forward to talking to you again.