Maynard: Across some 40 years, here's two for the road; a love story throughout

By DICK MAYNARD 

05.18.03  

 MISSOULA, Mont. — It was a hot, sticky, late-summer day in Ames, Iowa, in 1962. Forty-one years ago and yours truly was four-fifths of the way through a college career that, even on its good days, would be hard to call "mediocre".  

 The new crop of incoming freshmen females had arrived on campus. Those ladies intent on living their college life as a Tri-Delt, a Theta, a Kappa or some other member in good standing of the Pan-Hellenic Council were strolling from sorority house to sorority house attending rush parties.  

 Along with most of my fraternity brothers, I was camped on the front lawn checking out the new ladies on campus. Collectively, we were all gawking at coed after coed heading up the walk to the Pi Phi sorority next-door. Yours truly was sprawled on the grass eyeballing and running off at the mouth with an under-the-breath play-by play-of the passing pulchritude. Next to me was fraternity brother and my current biking mate Gere Smith.  

 That's when I noticed a knock-your-socks-off beautiful lady nervously hurrying past all our beady, staring eyes. I followed her every step to the front door of the Pi Phi house. As she disappeared past the front door, I mumbled to Brother Smith, "That is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life!"  

 "Oh get a grip," he shot back "And while you're at it watch your mouth. That’s my sister."  

 And so Janet Lou Smith of Boone, Iowa, entered my life a long time ago. It wasn’t an easy courtship. She was much more interested in becoming a speech therapist than she was in being some "older guy’s" girlfriend. I, on the other hand, was not to be deterred. For the next four years, wherever you found Jan Smith, you could be sure Dick Maynard was somewhere in the neighborhood.

 Like people in any relationship, we had our rough moments. The primary cause of this discord was the fact I wanted to get married and she couldn’t have been less interested. I must have asked her to marry me, at a minimum, 4,867 times.  

 But Iowa girls have long been trained to say "No" without the slightest hint of a second thought. But the implied "take a hike" never entered my mind. Decades ago, such a never-give-up attitude was called persistence. Today, it’s termed "stalking." But whatever term you choose, my approach ultimately worked and in December of ’64 we were married.  

 From the honeymoon up to and including today, Jan has been the ultimate support group of one. Whether traveling with the family to foot races all over the Rocky Mountain West, races her husband didn’t have a prayer of winning, or spending almost every summer weekend in a camper parked beside a Western Slope swimming pool as our daughters beat the water to a froth for the Grand Junction Dolphins, Jan was there. (These swim meets took place so long ago, some of the communities they were held in no longer exist. And where have you gone, Uravan?)  

 I had the whole family participating in weeklong bicycle rides across Iowa, and while I was usually responsible for coming up with the idea for these adventures, it was always Jan who made them work. Along life’s path, she chaperoned cheerleader camps for daughter No. 2 and pompon camps for blonde No. 3 — not to mention heading the Girl Scout Cookie Drive for all of Grand Junction. Do you know the responsibility that comes with having your leaking garage filled to the brim with Girl Scout mints?  

 Then came the radio stations. The mid-’80s found clan Maynard buried in debt with our infant KEKB. While Jan insisted she married me for better or for worse, that deal didn't necessarily include the radio station and its early lack of income, a circumstance that dictated she become a part of the KEKB workforce. But at no time would she allow working to interfere with being a mom.  

 Jan was always home in the mornings and only when the blondes went off to school did she head for Fruita and the station. In the afternoon, just before 3, it was back to Grand Junction and home, arriving in time to greet our offspring when they dashed into the house wanting to talk about what happened in their day. Then, when homework was done and everyone was down for the night, Jan would return to Fruita to generate the radio schedule for the next day. We called it "the log" to do the billing and pay the bills. She would get back home around two in the morning only to wake up two hours later to kiss me goodbye as I headed out the door to be the morning geek on the radio.  

 Here we are, years later. The stations have been sold and our girls live from New York City to Seattle with families of their own. But Jan’s life as a one-person support group continues. This Mother's Day 2003 finds Jan, along with her brother — the same fellow who told me to "watch my mouth" 40 some years ago — and yours truly in the middle of Montana. Jan is our angel of mercy as we meander the United States on bicycles. Given a choice, she would rather be home in Grand Junction walking the Audubon or Serpent's Trail. Or, if she just had to be away from home, her time would be better spent with her grandchildren.  

 When I first proposed this two-wheeled journey across our land she said, "This time, you’re on your own. I’ll see you when, or if, you get back." But time and worry changed her mind.  

 So here she is, driving the support car, playing a little golf, making the hotel reservations, occasionally riding her bike, fixing breakfast when none is available and generally doing what Jan always does best, being indispensable.  

 Last week, after one kindness or another, Gere looked at me and blurted, "You’re so spoiled!" Like I didn’t know.  

 So from daughters three, grandchildren four and one very spoiled husband, "Happy Mothers Day" to a lady who could not be more special to our lives.