Bird Bones

I was a Biology major in college. Having stuffed a number of birds in my Ornithology class, which included some taxidermy, I am familiar with the intricate architecture of birds. The light, hollow bones, the marvelously flexible necks, the "hands" evolved for flight still amaze me 25 years after I graduated with my diploma firmly clutched in my fist and my tassel tickling my cheek.

My Ornithology professor, who was also my academic adviser, laughed at the faces of distaste I made as I worked my way determinedly through the taxidermy lesson - it was not my favorite part of ornithology. But, I never roast a chicken or make turkey soup from the bones of my Thanksgiving bird without remembering his anatomy lessons and thanking him mentally for all he taught me about birds and about life. His name was Dr. Ronald C. Dilcher; he died this past year before I ever returned to Brockport to thank him again.

Ornithology was the first class I took from him, a summer course that met at 7am - "early birds" is not just an expression. I remember trotting along behind him, straining to recognize the bird calls he heard while struggling to keep up with his long, lean stride - he was a foot taller than I and the difference was all leg.

On one of those mornings, he darted away down a path in the woods and came back to the startled class carrying a starving but still struggling Great Horned Owl, nearly a foot tall, snapping angrily and trying to bite but too weak to fly and with a foot so damaged that it could not hunt for itself. Dr. Dilcher asked for volunteers to care for the owl, whom we named Mean Joe after the famous football player and his evident temperament. I applied eagerly for the job. Mean Joe spent the next couple of months in my screened porch, sitting on a big branch that I dragged in and growing fat on chicken wrapped in dog hair that I combed daily out of my Tillie and Chica's coats (owls need roughage to aid their digestion and dog hair works a treat). He eventually went to a nature center as he would have starved in the wild. I like to think that Mean Joe gave up his freedom so that several generations of children could learn the wonder of being close to such an impressive creature.

In addition to biology, Dr. Dilcher taught me the value of patience and persistence, of trying again and again, and not giving up. He rallied me through Chemistry and encouraged me through Statistics and helped me to find my vocation, even though it took me away from him and his beloved Sciences in the end.

It's the season when we all look back over the past year and think about its significance. The loss of Dr. Dilcher is one of those important events for me. His legacy is enduring; I'm still an eager amateur bird watcher, I still care about environmental matters and I still enjoy keeping up with advances in science even though my work hasn't involved them for many years.

Our Ornithology final exam that summer involved identifying bird anatomy - from a big bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken that he brought to class and had us name as we ate. When I break this wishbone, my wish will be that all students have a Dr. Dilcher at least once in their lives.