For People Who Love Up North
Sheppard’s Call
Glen Sheppard likes trees, animals, clean water and fresh air, and he doesn’t care for people who diminish them. Oh, and he’s not shy about sharing.
(page 2 of 4)
With regularity, Sheppard ferrets out some bit of environmental news, and then, after it shows up in The Call, other papers follow suit. You could say this hard-digging editor-reporter has become the North’s de facto (and unpaid) stringer for the Detroit Free Press, the Detroit News, the Grand Rapids Press, the Traverse City Record Eagle and others.
For decades Sheppard had so many good sources in the agency that The Call was virtually “the DNR newsletter,” says DNR Director Rebecca Humphries. When an edition of The Call arrived in the mail, everyone stopped to read it in DNR offices from Lansing to the western U.P.
Some people see environmental issues in black, white and grays, but Sheppard sees only pro-green or anti-green. Of course, Sheppard makes his own definition of what pro-green means. And it may not be in sync with traditional environmental organizations, such as the Sierra Club and the Humane Society.
Some years ago, Sheppard derided Sierra Club members as “well-meaning but pitifully ignorant kids.” On dove hunting, the Humane Society says no, and Sheppard blasted them for it. Recently, however, Sheppard and the Sierra Club have marched shoulder-to-shoulder trying to block oil drilling near the Mason Tract of the Au Sable River.
Sheppard’s editorial bluster has earned him a hard core of undying fans, but also more than a few enemies. He receives profanity-laced phone calls, threats of lawsuits and messages from guys who want to knock his block off. Sheppard has been known to counter. “If you don’t like what I write, buy your own damned newspaper.”
Of late Sheppard has been staying close to his home-office. His three-bedroom house hides back on 11 acres of woodlands, down a dirt road and turn left at the pole barn. The home has a broad deck with bird feeders and windows that look into the woods, a comfortable kitchen with a .22 pistol on the windowsill. A collection of critters roams about—two aging black labs named Boomie and Duskie, a cat named Torte and a 31⁄4 pound Pomeranian-Schnauzer mix named Bitzy.
Sheppard’s wife, Mary Lou, is an angular woman with gentle eyes. A quiet island of calm sensibility, Mary Lou is Sheppard’s guardian angel and the person who keeps their house functioning—and The North Woods Call, as well. She keeps track of the books, the circulation, advertising, phone calls from subscribers and everything that Sheppard does not want to bother with—apparently including whether or not they will make enough money each month to pay themselves. Some months they don’t. That’s when Mary Lou drives a spade into their savings account.
In the past, Sheppard traveled around the state gathering news. Those days are largely over. The years have slowed him. So have ever more limitations from a body that has suffered abuse. His eyesight is marginal. He no longer can tie flies, a lifelong passion. An old leg injury from his Army days has worsened, and he can no longer fly-fish. If his leg collapsed, he could drown.
His office takes up one large corner of the basement, marked off by the cupboards outfitted with cubbies sized to hold sheets of paper. This is Sheppard’s filing system. Each cubby labeled, but in no discernable order—Rivers, Granholm, Land Trust, Kirtland, Law, Dams, Fish Records, National Forests, Swans and more.
Email
Print
del.icio.us
digg
yahoo!
Comments
Feed
