Another Retirement, Who Has the Time?

Some people are legends in their own time, others must wait awhile. Gary Rudy is one of those legends. Ask virtually anyone in Cape May County if they know him and the answer is likely, “Sure do!” Well, did you know he’s retiring, again?
This time it will be from his post as executive director of the Independent Free Papers of America (IFPA). That international association of free newspaper publishers has Rudy’s smiling face on its September 2014 cover. Not many ever become “cover men” but he did. Come to think, it’s not at all amazing when I consider about the things I know that he did, and that doesn’t even scratch the real surface.
In the unlikely event some Herald readers might not recall, Rudy was “general manager” at the newspaper for a good spell, maybe 20 years, before the web came along. It was an apt title, because he was manager of just about everything. It was a time when the Herald had its own delivery truck. When it came time for maintenance, he’d be the one to set up the appointment, or go to the driver’s aid when it died, as it often did, somewhere along a county back road. He ordered the coffee, toilet paper and knew how to get the copy machine to work when no one else did.
My first meeting with the gentleman who would later become my “boss” was at the start of Middle Township Crime Stoppers. For those born or who moved here lately, it’s known as Cape May County Crime Stoppers. The idea was to give rewards to anonymous tipsters to crack old crimes.
I was there as a reporter for another publication. There was a need for directors of the new crime-fighting group, and just about everybody in the room, Rudy and myself included, was enlisted. He was manager of Murphy Mart in Court House, having assumed the job from his former post as manager of Murphy’s 5 & 10 in Wildwood. He had a knack for managing things and people. He probably would have been great running General Motors or AT&T, but my gut tells me, had he been given a choice, he would probably have wanted to run Cabela’s.
Rudy, you see, is a consummate outdoorsman. In fact, he is guilty of giving me my first Cabela’s catalog. They are, as most guys know, a cross between the adult male equivalent of Victoria’s Secret and a Toys R Us catalog. Another fact no one else would care about, in those thrilling bygone days, earlier in my Herald employ which marked its 26th year Sept. 1, Rudy would host Herald guys (whoever wanted to go) on a Labor Day Weekend camping trip to the Poconos.
Those were memorable trips canoeing down the Delaware Water Gap, from Dingmans Ferry, fishing along the way down river, then eating a Rudy-made feast around the campfire, steak or fish, fresh corn on the cob, you name it. It’s fortunate the government hasn’t figured a way to tax great memories, because I’d be in hock to a century or two. I still recall paddling down the river with Tom Pohlig, composing room supervisor, when a small flock of geese honked directly over our heads as they flew in the misty morning. Wow! No fast camera could begin to capture the moment.
To this day, he remembers asking the young bucks what they wanted to do after supper. When one uttered, “Go to the mall,” Rudy was flabbergasted, and remains so at the very thought.
Rudy is one of those folks who seem to have learned to spit in the face of time. He’s done more fishing and hunting than anyone I know; crammed more living into a suitcase that he lived out of in hotels around the nation being IFPA exec; and conducted more business meetings than anyone could shake a stick at.
When an errant snake had the effrontery to divest itself of its skin on my daughter’s bed (she thought it was a joke pulled by her brother, it wasn’t) I got a panic call from home. “We have a snake in the house,” were the words. I almost went into cardiac arrest, and I was in Rio Grande at the time. No problem, cool-handed, level-headed Rudy, who has a rattlesnake head on his rear view mirror, jumped in my car, rode home with me, found the critter and “dispatched” it in the woods behind the dwelling. No one else I know would have handled that catastrophe as calmly as did he.
For a number of years, he was the voice of Middle Township’s Christmas parade. He was also chair of the municipal planning board, volunteered with the Rio Grande Fire Company, and is also a Master Mason. On top of all that, in his spare time, whenever that is, he makes the most ornate fly rods decorated with feathers from birds of the world.
You’d expect someone of Rudy’s stature to live in a mansion by the sea. No, he resides with Bea, his bride, in a snug log cabin in Rio Grande. What else could someone call home who dreams of catching that “big one” in an Alaskan fly-in lodge at just the right time of year, or who wasn’t far away from a grizzly in a creek? But he quit hunting for good when, on a trip to the Yukon, he shot and wounded a bear. For several days he tracked it, hearing it cry in agony, but could not find it to end its pain. He hung up his rifle for good after that trip.
Some folks work just long enough to retire, grab their gold watch, and plop in the chair by the TV. Others, like Rudy, seem to need watches with 36 hours and days that have no sunset. There is so much to do, and so little time in which to get it done, but that’s what happens to people, like him, who smile instead of frown.
Well, maybe once his smile wasn’t as broad. Company picnics, at the county park, were held with near-military precision under the “guidance” of Gen. Rudy. Ever the man to go out of his way to accommodate even odd employee requests, there was a young lady who told him she wouldn’t attend unless there were turkey hot dogs, because she didn’t eat the other kind. True to his nature, the general made sure there was a pack of turkey hot dogs just to please her. Guess what? She didn’t even show up at the picnic. He wasn’t real happy, but I know he scribbled her name in his mental black book. That was one thing he kept close, and probably still does to this day.
Thanks for the great memories. Don’t work too hard in this retirement, go catch a trout.