My Mentor, My Friend


by John L. Mustain

(originally on Tucker's site, moved here by kind permission)


I met him for the first time in September of 1977. I was in the Army and was temporarily stationed at the White Sands Missile Range just outside Los Cruses, New Mexico. We were introduced through a mutual friend named Jeff Evans. Since that day I have learned so much from him, and have grown to love him more and more. I esteem him greatly as my mentor, my friend!

He was sixty-nine years old when we met. His hair was thinning in places and turning white, but it still gave the appearance of being healthy and full. He always kept it neat and well groomed. It always looked natural. He could just run his fingers through it and would have that "fixed" look.

Age was loosening his flesh from his skeleton. His once thick, tough skin was becoming increasingly fragile and seemingly mobile. The pigmentation of his skin was changing and leaving in its wake "age spots." I don't know if these age spots ever troubled him, though I doubt that they did.

Despite his sixty-nine year old frame, his eyes clearly shined with the radiance of youth. He loved life and saw each moment of each day as an adventure. He refused to allow life to passively slip by, so he attacked life with his full arsenal of strength. I believe, even in his death he was on the attack.

We shared some very special moments. Five months after we met I got married. This time was very trying, but our friendship endured. I was glad that he attended our wedding. I wasn't sure what my marriage would do to our relationship. I thought that my marriage might bring our friendship to a close, or at least drive a wedge in it. But, it didn't. In fact, my wife was very understanding and even encouraging of our relationship. One time she invited him into our home without my knowing it. That was a great surprise.

There were other times that we shared together as well. When my children were born he was there. During the birth of my first son, he patiently waited in the car. When Shane, my youngest, was born he sat with me in the labor room and even went into the delivery room with us.

Together we traveled the world. After our meeting in New Mexico, he traveled back to North Carolina with me. From then on we went everywhere together: coast to coast, border to border and beyond. Once we sailed north on the pacific to Sitka, Alaska. Two years later, we went to Alaska again, this time to Fairbanks. On another occasion we transversed the frozen Siberian wastelands. We've encountered the mystical, magical wonderland of Europe and frolicked in the golden, rich lands of the Americas. We've rafted the mighty rivers, crashed in an airplane, and we've been stranded on the mountaintops. Our lives were bonded together by adversity and high adventure. I guess that's why he was such a good friend, and always will be.

He was much more than just a friend, he was my mentor. From him I learned, and am still learning many things. I learned what it meant to be a man. My concept of manhood had always been one of hard unfeeling toughness. But, he taught me that a man, though he is as tough as a six penny nail, can also be as tender as the velvet petal of a rose.

Though my concept of manhood was strong, I was weak. He taught me to endure the seemingly unbearable because the reward is almost always worth the pain.

I was a conformist. I was willing to go along with the crowd as long as I remained unseen and unnoticed. He taught me the value of thinking for myself, of arriving at my own conclusions. He helped me to break the chains of conformity and taught me that independent thinking is the trademark of mankind.

He was a good friend and mentor. We were a generation apart, and I loved him dearly.

In June of 1988 I went to Australia without him. As I traveled I wondered, "Had he ever been to Australia?" I knew that we had never been to Australia together, but I had no doubts that he had been there before. While I was there he died.

I lay in my motel room silent. A single tear escaped and ran down my cheek, a kind of "first fruit" of the tears that were to follow. While I mourned my loss, millions mourned with me. He was loved by all who met him. In fact, his names means, "Louis, the love affair!" The worlds knows him as Louis L'Amour. And, though we never met face to face, I, most assuredly, met him through his writings.

As I read his books in the future, I shall feel the emptiness of his passing. But I will rejoice and smile as we retrace our footsteps down the pathways that we traveled so many years before, because we can still be together. My hope is that one day, perhaps soon, I can introduce my children to him, so that they can love and learn from my mentor, my friend.


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