Time Marches On - Campfire Tales

Guns Magazine, July, 2003 by John Taffin

Ron Elerick was my friend, all 6 feet 10 inches and 390 pounds of him. He was a friend in the deepest and truest sense of the word and the only friend I ever had who made me look small when I was with him. Ron had been a state trooper in Alaska and served as John Wayne's bodyguard when he traveled the state. He was one of the few men the Duke ever had to look up to. You are stopped for a traffic violation and plan to argue the point until you look up, and up, and up at Trooper Elerick. I can't imagine anyone giving any lip to Ron.

When Ron Elerick left Alaska he totally changed cultures and climate and went to Africa as a missionary spending eight years living among the natives, learning their language, sleeping on the ground, and burying his first wife in the process. Ron was also a biker -- he dearly loved traveling the country on his Harley Davidson racking up somewhere around one-third of a million miles in the past 15 years.

Ron traveled as an itinerant preacher spending much of his time among hard-core outlaw bikers who knew him only as Preacher. The bikers thought so highly of him that when his daughter was killed 10 years ago, two bikers volunteered to administer justice to her killer. Ron told them his Boss wouldn't like that.

He was also a shooter and hunter. That's how I got to know him as he had read my articles for many years before moving into my area. We spent too little time shooting together. We were planning to rectify that and I had given him some Swiss powder in preparation for shooting his flintlock pistol and rifle this spring. We were also going to get together and shoot up a case of .308 ammunition through a Springfield Armory M1A. We had great plans. It was just a matter of waiting for better weather.

Ron really liked leverguns and single action sixguns, so it was only natural he would be a Cowboy Action Shooter known as "The Kilted Preacher." Yes, this mountain of a man who was deeply appreciative of his Scottish heritage often wore a kilt.

A unique and very strange sight was Ron riding his Harley Davidson wearing a black leather jacket, the Harley T-shirt, sunglasses, a bandana tied around his head, and a kilt. You can bet that no one who was not very close to him ever made a remark about his "skirt."

Also part of his Scottish heritage was a deeply rooted desire to play the bagpipes. My wife told him if he really want to play, and would diligently practice, and would seriously learn some songs, she would buy him a set of bagpipes. If you have ever heard bagpipes you know they are quite different from other musical instruments both in the sounds they make and the emotions they stir. He definitely needed a secluded place to practice.

He was not a natural musician and playing the bagpipes did not come easy for him. However, he really did practice diligently and every time he learned a new song he came to the house to play it for us. I don't know if my dogs really appreciated bagpipe music or simply howled in protest, but it was quite a sight to the eyes and an experience of the ears to see and hear Ron playing the pipes to the accompaniment of two Malamutes. I really think Ron loved those dogs as much as I do. It is unfortunate that we did not tape some of those "musical" sessions.

This gentle giant of a man was as strong as the proverbial ox and normally gentle as a dove. When you are that big you can afford to be gentle. Ron and his wife Cindi lived in a trailer house next to the ranch house of a young lady in her 80s. Most of the ranch had been sold off to make a golf course, however she kept the house and a 16-acre portion to live out her life and leave as her legacy.

No Trespassing signs faced the golf course, however some golfers would choose to ignore the sign when their golf balls sailed over the fence. One morning Ron heard three golfers cursing at the lady as she was asking them to leave her property. All three of them were ready to take on the lady and her cane. Ron heard the commotion and stepped out of a trailer house. Three men started back peddling and fence jumping as quickly as they could.

"Come back and talk to me. You are willing to yell and curse at a little old lady, how about me?"

When Ron stepped over the fence to go after them they were in their cart heading out just as quickly as they could. Somehow 6 feet, 10 inches and 390 pounds did not seem as vulnerable to them as one eighty-year-old woman.

"We're calling the Sheriff to have you arrested for threatening us!"

"That's fine," replied Ron, "I've been in jail before."

I said I looked small compared to Ron and yet he always made me feel very tall. He held me in much higher esteem than I deserved, always appreciated my articles, reading them all and letting me know about it. I was just ready to present him with a copy of my newest book when it happened.

He was sitting in church when the chest pains started. He never made it to the hospital. We celebrated his life today. His casket was surrounded by his Harley, a pair of size-18 custom cowboy boots and his bagpipes. After the service his son started up the Harley and rode it out of the sanctuary. We cried a little, we laughed a lot.