The Loss of a Legend...
30 years ago I begged my dad for a bow. I had hunted with my father since I was old enough to walk. Quail, squirrels, rabbits and deer. We deer hunted in a family club, mostly dog hunted, but no one in my family bowhunted. I was obsessed with reading about it and wanted a bow so bad I couldn't stand it. I worked, saved my money and dad took me to buy what I could afford, a used Bear Whitetail Hunter. Round wheel, no cams. I got that bow, a glove and a half dozen arrows with field points and some Zwicky broad heads. I can't remember how much it all cost. I laid every dollar I had on the counter and the guy said "That'll cover it" but I'm certain it didn't.
For a target I bummed a used burlap sac from a feed store and drove up to the cotton warehouse and stuffed it full with floor cotton that they threw away and sewed it up with hay string. It was a great field point target and I must have shot it a thousand and one times.
I shot all summer. Every day, twice a day. My dad helped me build a stand in a "bowhuntin'" type area and I counted the days till bow season opened. When October came I was in my back yard shooting the evening before the season opened. My plan was to be in the tree at daylight. My third shot that evening sounded like a .22 going off when my string broke. The archery shop way across town was closed and I was dead in the water. I carried my bow in the house and the look on my face said it all. My dad felt helpless I'm sure and assured me we'd try to get it fixed the next day. But it didn't matter. I was going to miss the first morning of bow season and I was devastated. I remember sitting in my room feeling awful damn sorry for myself when I remembered a girl I was friends with at school had mentioned her dad being a "big bowhunter". Little did I know at the time how big. I called Lu and asked her if her dad knew how to fix a bow string because mine had broke. She screamed to her dad "Glenn's string on his bow broke! Can you help him?" I heard him yell back to bring it over and he'd see what he could do.
I drove to their house, knocked on the door and stood there holding my limbs, wheels and broken string when this hulk of a man opened the door and stuck his plate sized paw out and said "Glenn, I'm George. C'mon in and let's get you fixed up." I walked in the house and my jaw hit the floor. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling critters. Deer, elk, bear, caribou, plains game, the Big 5, dik dik, turkeys, etc, etc etc. It was heaven. The first words I could manage were "you kill all these?" He said, "yeah, most of 'em. We'll talk about those later." I followed him into his bow room and it was wall to wall, floor to ceiling bows. Recurve, longbows, compounds. They were everywhere. I sat there awestruck as he took my rooty pooty old Bear, put it in his vise and built me a new string. From scratch. I was, again, amazed. In less than an hour he had built me a new string, tuned my bow and after a few quick shooting lessons in his indoor range, had it dialed in.
The next morning I was in my stand when daylight cracked. That afternoon I went and hunted with Big George at his insistence. Over the next few years I got to hunt with him and his family countless times and met some really great people at his camp, including Jerry Simmons, the original maker of Simmons Broadheads. I had my first bowkill at his place. He had a wall in his hunting cabin that was filled with pictures, one on top of another, of kids and grown ups alike with their first deer.
Over the years I've kept in touch with him and his family off and on but life takes you in strange directions and it has been years since we've hunted together.
Today I was informed that Big George Mann lost his battle with diabetes due to stroke complications. He would drop whatever he was doing to help anyone and he has left a lasting impression on me and hundreds of others. He will be missed and I am so thankful he took the time he did to help a gangly 16 year old kid.
Rest in peace, Big George. Thanks for everything.
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Originally Posted by Mars Bluff
Helluva eulogy, 2-n-Glenn.
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