Editor’s note: This is another column in Bill Boyd’s new series, “The Way It Was,” about growing up in Marysville. Bill continues to work with the Union County Historical Society to obtain information for his stories.
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In the fall of 1953, about a year before I left the Air Force and returned to Ohio, I met a young man named Dewey Tiller. We would spend the next 12 months or so working together, rewriting the training manuals for the radar school where we both taught.
Dewey and I worked together in the same small room, eight hours a day, for almost a year. So we got to know each other pretty well. He was a big guy, a bit over 6’6” tall, and he was built like a linebacker.
But Dewey was a kind and gentle soul. In fact, I always thought of him as a “Gentle Giant.” He was a devout Mormon. I knew nothing about the Mormon faith, but the two of us talked about it sometimes as we ate lunch together. In the process, he taught me a great deal, and we became friends.
Two evenings a week, Dewey volunteered at an animal shelter where he helped people adopt stray dogs. I guess that’s the kind of thing you might expect from a gentle giant.
On weekends, he often spent time on the Lowery Air Force Base archery range. I had two other archer friends who also spent time there on weekends. They told me that Dewey was the best archer on the base. Then I learned that before going into the Air Force, he had been Utah’s state archery champion. That’s how good he was.
In October, about two weeks before deer season opened, Colorado had a special deer season for bow and arrow hunters. None of those three had ever gone deer hunting, so they thought they would give it a try. They all lived in barracks on the base, so if they got a deer, they would donate the meat to a homeless shelter.
The day before the season opened, the three of them headed for the mountains to a spot near Granby Reservoir. They built three small, camouflaged hiding places about 100 yards apart. That would keep them concealed as they stalked the deer.
The next morning at daybreak, they took their positions in the small camouflaged areas. Maybe an hour or two later, a magnificent six point buck came walking through the woods about 50 yards from Dewey. He waited patiently until the deer came within range in an area where he would have a clear shot. He later told me that, for the first time ever, he noticed a bit of trembling in his hands, as he took aim. But when he released the arrow, it was a perfect shot.
When the arrow struck the deer, it leaped into the air and began to run. Dewey was in hot pursuit and he found the deer lying in the grass, maybe 50 yards from where it was hit. He stood there, out of breath, as he looked at the deer. He bent over and gently stroked it. Then he dropped to his knees and he began to cry. He didn’t just cry a few tears. He sobbed. You see, that deer was the first animal he had ever killed.
Dewey Tiller never again went hunting. He truly was a “Gentle Giant.”
Those wishing to contact Bill Boyd can e-mail him at bill@davidwboyd.com