Tribute from Kent Smith

Just a few days ago, the wildlife profession lost a good friend. I am sure that over the next days and weeks there will be many kind words spoken and offered in Barry Garrison’s honor; among and between co-workers and colleagues, and to family and friends. I am just as sure that there will be many quiet, personal moments of reflection on his life as we knew and shared it...and on our own lives as we wrestle with the reality that he is gone from this earth. Many of us knew Barry as the consummate professional, as a biologist and scientist, as one dedicated to his chosen vocation, as one truly involved in his work and his profession. Much of the reflection that will be shared amongst his colleagues in the coming days will be about this part of his life. Yet, if this is all that we ponder and share, then will have missed something truly important…we will have missed the unique lesson that each life that touches our own can teach us.

I knew Barry as a professional throughout most of his career, but I began to learn about and understand Barry the man, initially through interactions with him through the Western Section of The Wildlife Society, and then, for the past two and one-half years, through our both being headquartered at the Department of Fish & Game’s Region 2 office. Over these past couple of years especially, I had the opportunity and the honor to know the person behind the professional…to know Barry as a lover of sports, as a philosopher, as a concerned citizen, a husband, a father, and as the bearer of what has become a precious commodity in today’s world…plain old fashioned common sense. Over this time we shared thoughts on many issues, from science and scientists to today’s youth; from the economy to professional ethics; from coaching sports to coaching employees; from philosophy to marriage and family life; from faith and religion to global warming. I grew to understand his passion for life and for the things he cared most about, both professionally and personally. And I grew to understand that in spite of his love for natural resources and sound science, which drove his chosen career, what he cared about most, and what often frustrated him most because he cared so much, was people, and especially the decisions and choices that they make.

Barry was one of the most honest and ethical people I have known in my career and in my life, and what he gave to each of us, if we choose to really think about it and accept it, is a precious gift in today’s world. He taught us about integrity and that real science is about seeking the real truth, whether or not that truth ends up being what we had hoped or expected it to be; whether or not it fits the fad or popular diet or politically correct theme of the day. He challenged us to look deeper into the emotions and feelings and inherent biases that we all bring to our decision-making processes, and to be truthful with ourselves about how they affect the choices that we make. And by always seeking the “meaning behind the science” if you will, he helped us understand the influence that personal feelings and agendas have on much of what is called science and research today. He was in no way perfect. He was after all, human, just like the rest of us. But Barry was real. What you saw is what you got. And he was sincere…about life and about family and about the profession he loved.

I will miss our conversations. I miss them already. The world is a better place because of the integrity he brought to it. And now he must live in our hearts and memories. I have lost colleagues and close friends in the past, but for some reason, I am haunted by this loss…not so much because he left us at so young an age, but perhaps because I feel we still had so much to share, more as friends than as colleagues. I feel deeply the loss to his wife Cathie, and to their son and daughter; to all those who knew and loved him; and to all those who will never have the chance of knowing him at all. I don’t know how many out there are J.R.R. Tolkien Lord of the Rings fans, but over the past several days I have been continually drawn back to a conversation in the first book (The Fellowship of the Ring) between Frodo the Hobbit and Gandalf the Wizard (at least in the movie version). Frodo (now the “Ringbearer”) states that “I wish that this burden had never come to me”. Gandalf replies: “So do all who live to see such times, Frodo. But that is not for us to decide. What we must decide is what to do with the time that is given to us”. My hope…my prayer is that in honor of Barry, we would each think carefully about what is truly important in our lives, and what we will do, from this day forward, with the time that is given to us, however long that may be.


From Kent Smith