WWJD?

By sheer coincidence, on the same July day the Wall Street Journal published a report about a lewd birthday greeting and doodle allegedly sent by Donald Trump to now-deceased pedophile Jeffrey Epstein, I rediscovered a doodled message once written for me. 

The message I found was inside the cover of one of my favorite books, “The Last Beautiful Days of Autumn” (Holt Rinehart and Winston, 1982), a unique collection of prose and photographs by John Nichols, the longtime Taos resident best known as the author of “The Milagro Beanfield War.” I met him almost 17 years ago at the then-brand-new Durango Public Library. He was in town for a scheduled reading and had just finished an interview. I was in town for the reading and was taking my first tour of the building. I brought the book in hopes of getting it signed. 

I introduced myself and enjoyed an hour of eclectic conversation that ranged from the history of Durango, to national politics – then so recently energized by Obama’s election – to the art of writing, with all its challenges and rewards. We wandered as we talked, ending up on the top-floor balcony overlooking the Animas River, where the focus turned to fly fishing. Happily he expanded on his Rio Grande Gorge autumn adventures, several of which feature prominently in the book, and shared more about his deadly art of “skittering” fly combinations in fast water. And of course, before we parted, I got the book signed.

Dated Dec. 6, 2008, it reads: “To Greg, in hopes that this wonderful country will long endure for us all to love, protect and cherish! With love and abrazos (hugs), John Nichols.” The signature is embellished with a delightful doodle, the first letter of his name extended into a smiling figure, arms raised high with joy.

Today, the message seems uncannily prescient. I was struck still when I read it for the first time in years on that recent summer day. But even if Nichols, who died in 2023, had turned his considerable talents to writing a horror novel, I don’t believe he could have imagined the nightmarish state of our politics today. But I don’t believe he would succumb to despair, either. No, I believe that now, in the heart of his favorite season, he would get right to work:

“October is a hallelujah! reverberating in my body year-round. A thousand rattletrap pickup trucks are in action, gathering winter wood supplies … and I, too, am out in the hills … reveling in the sweaty work. My hands become callused and battered. The water I guzzle during breaks never tasted sweeter. The hot scent of dead piñon is an aphrodisiac …

And I have no fear of winter.”

Were he still with us, I have no doubt he would devote that same 

passion to working to preserve our democracy. That quote and his doodled message to me should serve as inspiration as we fight to keep our precious American flame burning in the cold, dark days ahead.

– Gregory Moore

After nearly 35 years of living and writing in Durango, Gregory Moore now enjoys the view of the La Platas from Mancos.