Dear Editor,
John W. Scherrer was a very special friend for 55 years, a real
patriot who deeply cared for his country, a man proud of his
service in the Navy during World War II, a man of traditional
values and sometimes a maker of his own traditions.
Fond memories of one man who helped make Gilroy great
Dear Editor,
John W. Scherrer was a very special friend for 55 years, a real patriot who deeply cared for his country, a man proud of his service in the Navy during World War II, a man of traditional values and sometimes a maker of his own traditions.
I write this in heartfelt respect and condolence to his family for their loss. All of us who enjoyed the privilege of being a member of his recreation club, for 17 years at the old Dowdy Ranch and 37 years at the Los Laureles, will be forever grateful and shall never be forgotten.
Some of life’s experiences for John may not be well known. I learned of one by reading the sports section one morning. A large, front-page photo of an athlete running on Santa Clara University’s track accompanied a story about the retirement of the University’s athletic trainer. But the runner was John Scherrer. He told me later he ran the 400 meter and was pretty good at it. He had competed against Ollie Matson in a dual meet against San Francisco University and almost beat him. Matson later was a star pro-football player and also won a medal in the 400-meter Olympic relay.
His experience in the Navy was all in the Pacific Theater from New Guinea to the Philippines. His ship ran into a mine in Manila Bay. He was blown overboard, injured and later awarded the Purple Heart. John always kept in touch with Navy affairs such as the annual Navy Day in San Francisco and other events from Seattle to San Diego.
He became a hunter for the first time after WWII when his mother, Helen, became owner of a large share of the Dowdy Ranch left to her by an uncle, Pat Ryan. In 1953 John was commander of American Legion Post 669. Funds were scarce so he proposed a deer hunt and, with luck, would bag enough venison to feed over 100 Legionnaires at the annual stag BBQ. I was invited to participate along with Marcel Braquet, Mark Kennedy and Jack Ehrich. Two bucks were bagged and the BBQ was a success. So began the basic group that enjoyed the old Dowdy for 17 years. Starting in 1971, I’ve made it through 37 years at the Los Laureles Ranch.
I believe any long-time deer hunter can admit to many misses during his hunting career, but John started out with some very unusual incidents. One day while strolling down along the dry streambed below Mack’s Corral, he spotted two large bucks 20 yards up the hillside standing amongst the small blue oaks. Picking out the biggest one, he fired, nothing happened, same for the next shot. The bucks then left the scene in a hurry. Perplexed, he examined the site looking for evidence of a hit. He found none. But lo and behold one 8-inch diameter oak had two neat holes dead center. I’m sure the tree is still there.
And another unusual event: The hunting group was spread out in the Dowdy Canyon. John was in an area that had burned out in a permitted control burn. He laid his gun aside and began picking up pine cones and bouncing them off the ground to get the pine nuts out to sprout new digger pines next spring.
After a few minutes he stopped to look around for more cones. What he saw were two bucks, one a big 4-pointer, the other a small forked horn. They had been watching this amazing scene. John scrambled for his gun. The bucks tore downhill but came out at ridge bottom and ran full steam through a large opening. John upped his rifle aiming at the big buck who was ahead of the small one. He fired three rounds and finally one fell. It was the little one. No one else had seen this action and it only came out during the evening meal after a couple of glasses of red wine.
There are many more stories that get told and retold when we were all together around the huge dinner table at the Los Laureles. Many are related to the presence of Glen Brem, a dead-eye shot and the master prankster of the group.
I stated earlier that John initiated actions which became traditions. He always volunteered to do the buying for the group on hunting weekends. The menu evolved into BBQ chicken on Friday night and BBQ steak Saturday night – always with big lettuce and tomato salads, toasted French bread and corn on the cob. On one trip, the corn was overlooked. John insisted that we have corn. We could not talk him out of it. So I accompanied him down the hill to the Casa de Fruta grocery store. The corn counter didn’t have much left and what was there looked like something the Indians left behind when they migrated back over to the Central Valley. No matter. We had corn on the cob after the 16-mile round trip to fetch it. John was happy.
Breakfast has always, but once, been raisin bran and bananas or sinker bear claws for the young and healthy. This tradition probably came about in the first or second year at Los Laureles. John decided to cook an old fashioned stick-to-your-ribs bacon and eggs feast for all in attendance one weekend like it used to be done back in the Dowdy days. I was not there that morning, but I certainly heard about it. What happened was all the hunters had already left and no one showed up at the appointed time for serving. Never again did one egg or one slice of bacon appear at breakfast in all 36 years.
Going with John on his trip to buy supplies was an adventure in itself. He had the list of attendees for the weekend plus the buying list figured out to a tee … so much of this, not much of that. If there were only five to be present it had to be a five-banana bunch, not one more. He always presented each of us the individual weekend bill down to the exact cent. It took many years to convince him to go to the next highest dollar.
John, I will miss you more than you could ever imagine. No more Sunday morn’ visits. No more going over the weather … dry year or wet year … rainfall amounts … politics … crop reports … the rediscovery of open pollinated Crenshaw melons … how with your old seed acquaintances led to the discovery of open pollinated type seed that an old company in Colorado had in stock. That resulted in many Crenshaw melons in my garden that I shared with you. And, of course, all the enjoyable rides around your ranch with you are etched in my mind forever. Thank you John – ’till we meet again – thank you.
Jack Sturla, Gilroy
