By Glen Sheppard, Editor, The North Woods Call
(Reprinted from the March 8, 2000 edition of The North Woods Call)
The little cabin on the bluff above Big Creek, just east of Kelloggs Bridge, was packed. People were sitting on stools, tables, the floor and armrests. Most stared, blankly, into the occasional flames sputtering in the fireplace.
Outside, the sky was clearing. Only small blotches of white remained under the thickest cedars. The temperature would hit a record for February 26, in the 60s.
Big Jay Gleason opened the door, letting the first robin’s "cheerup" of the season in with him. People turned, looked at Jay then back at nothing. He stood, sort of leaning on the edge of a bureau.
No one spoke.
It was too oppressive for Jay. He walked to the sink, grabbed a glass with a mayfly etched into it from the cupboard and picked a bottle of scotch from the dozen, or so, jugs of hooch on the counter.
His pal Pat Dwyer joined him at the sink, pouring a drink. Then a third joined them. The three walked outside, putting their drinks on the stubby chimney of a crumbling brick grill.
"Where’d you go?" Pat asked.
"To the Werewolf hole, below Mio," Jay answered.
"You missed him, then. You didn’t go far enough," Pat said. "He was around that next big bend downstream, tight into a big rainbow."
"Did he see you?"
"Nope. He had his hands full. He had that fish -- it looked at least 24 inches -- on his little 7/5 4-weight Summers cane rod."
"Did he land it?"
"Uh uh. I saw him lower the rod and pump slack the first two times it jumped. The third he reared back and let the fish throw the hook. Musta figured he’d kill it if he played it out until he landed it on that light rod."
Jay sorta beamed. "Yeah! That’s our George."
"At least he can fish year around now," the third guy muttered through a hoarse sob.
They picked up their glasses in unison, as though on command, and stared into them, lost suddenly in distant memories.
Au Sable fly fishing guide, judge, war hero, conservation-ist, chef George W. (Heap) Alexander III, 69, died February 23, in an Ann Arbor hospital where he’d been a patient for around five weeks. It was the first time he’d ever spent a night in a hospital.
Back in the cabin, Peggy Alexander sat upright on a small couch next to Rusty Gates, whom George helped mentor into making Gates AuSable Lodge one of the world’s premier fly fishing destinations.
Every so often her shoulders would quiver and she’d mumble, "It ... shouldn’t have happened."
Then: "But he always said every day since 1952 has been a gift."
Yeah, 1952 is as good a place to lift off as any.
That year Heap was a Marine Corps lieutenant leading a rifle platoon in Korea. He volunteered for a near-no-win mission behind enemy lines.
He pulled it off so daringly that he was awarded a Navy Cross, the nation’s second highest citation for valor.
"Yeah, George was the kind of guy you’d expect to rip open his body bag, grab a rifle and start pumping his fist for his grunts to follow him," an infantry veteran at the wake mumbled.
"And he came through the war without a scratch. Not a single Purple Heart," his brother Charles (Chuck) said, sitting on the sill of the fireplace.
"He was a wild man. We were sure we’d never see him alive again when he signed up for the Marine Corps and Korea in 1950," Chuck continued.
"In college where he was a star quarterback under Woody Hayes at Denison University in Ohio, his pals would get him to dress up in wimpy sissy stuff. They’d go to a bar and wait for some bully to start pushing Heap around. Then his buddies would sit back and hoot as Heap cleaned house with ‘em."
He was that way to the end: Never blinking. Charging ahead. Fierce and feisty, but never cruel or brutal.
Witty, too. Describing a pair of coyotes stalking a turkey flock on the frozen river in front of his home, he called the more cunning of the two a she. He concluded: "I can’t prove this is correct, but experience has shown that females of most species are the most adept at luring, convincing and subtly directing."
And his Peg, a school teacher and stunningly attractive woman, sure had him "lured." He fawned over her. The tough guy, with the Marine emblem on his baseball cap, became the wussy those college bullies mistakenly took him for.
He remained intrigued and fascinated with nature, calling a pal half way across the state instantly to report the first arrival of spring birds and other unusual sightings.
And gentle and sensitive. When he lost a dog to old age last year, he called a buddy, barely able to talk, but having to spill it out. The Iron Man who signed those morning reports in Korea and led those grunts into hell turned to mush.
Returning from Korea, he transferred to the University of Michigan, where he got a degree in engineering. After a few years of engineering he returned to get a law degree from the university.
He returned to his hometown of Clarion, Penn. to practice law with his brother Chuck. In 1975 he moved back to Ann Arbor as Washtenaw County’s first public defender, being elected district judge in 1975 and retiring in 1991 to move, with his Peggy, to their home on Devil’s Elbow, just below McMaster’s Bridge. He fished the AuSable for 58 years.
But he wasn’t done behind the bench. The state court administrator kept him busy as a visiting judge.
Sgt. Mike Mol, Roscommon, who supervises conservation officers in a four county area, recalls that Alexander was called back to the bench every year during Houghton Lake’s Tip-Up Town to hear the dozens of cases COs made.
"He loved it," Mol says. "And we loved him; he’d really hammer ‘em."
Several years ago, Alexander was assigned to preside over a hearing in the high profile Jerry Tobias drug-murder case in Gaylord. He got the assignment the first week of September. He promptly called all the attorneys involved and told them to be in court the next Monday.
They protested. Already had other stuff scheduled. Besides, moving so fast on a case that had been around for ten years was unprecedented.
Alexander told them to give him their schedules. He called the other judges involved and got the attorneys excused.
That next Monday everyone but the Otsego County prosecutor showed up. He called in sick. Alexander called him, at home, and told him to get ready for a trip to Petoskey, where he was making him an appointment with a doctor, who darn well better confirm that he is sick.
He showed up in court. By mid week, Alexander had dismissed the case, concluding that the botched evidence did not justify a new trial.
Why did the hearing have to be over by the second week of September?
Bird season opened the next week!
As a part time river guide and judge, Alexander was also an AuSable Country conservation dynamo, working on any issue that could negatively impact natural resources. He was a founder and director of Anglers of the AuSable.
One of his passions was cooking. He’d keep a couple of grills going to prepare meals for a hundred, or more, people. On the negative side, Gleason recalls, "He’d dirty everything in the house, then walk away from it when he turned the grill off. Let the privates clean up."
Where’d he get that nickname Heap?
"He inherited it from our granddad and father," Chuck says. "Back in September 1904, a month before our dad was born, granddad (George W.) made a rousing speech over some issue at a rally in Clarion. When he was done, someone, admiringly, declared, ‘Him Heap Big Chief.’ It stuck.
"It was the only name our dad, George W. Jr., a forester, was known by. When he ran for office the first time, putting his real name on the ballot, no one knew who he was. The next time he put the name Heap Alexander on the ballot. He won by a runaway the next six terms.
"People started calling George ‘Little Heap’ and ‘Heap III’ as soon as he was born. When he was a little guy he had trouble pronouncing some words. When he met someone new he’d say, ‘me Heap turd’."
In addition to his wife Peggy, his brother Chuck and other relatives, he is survived by three bird dogs and a Lab.
He’s keeping his old Lab Moses with him. Moses died some weeks ago.
"He asked me to ..." Peg starts, then chokes, catches a deep breath and continues, " ... to..to mix his ashes with Moses’ ashes."
Jay and Pat, unobtrusively, head back out the door. Once outside their moans silenced the robin that chattered in the cedar beside the bunkhouse.
A full Marine Corps memorial service, with rifle salute, was held on Stephan Bridge Friday, March 3. Donations can be made to Anglers of the AuSable, 403 Black Bear Dr., Grayling 49738.
A plaque has hung in the dining room of Gates AuSable Lodge for several years. Across the top it reads, "Lt. George Alexander." Under that is a Navy Cross. Below that it reads:
"As we worship our rivers, we vow to nurture them in tribute to those who served."
None served more effectively, gallantly, selflessly or gracefully than Heap. --Shep
RWOL
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