Around the city, animals come out of hibernation, too. Squirrels climb down from their trees, rabbits emerge from their burrows, chipmunks, mice and other creatures of the field begin foraging in the warm grass.
But below ground, in those rodent burrows, something more sinister lurks. Kept alive through the winter in the dark, humid dens of hibernating animals, it awakens to its grim task, a task it has ruthlessly and efficiently accomplished for many thousands of years: Death. Springtime in the Rockies is plague season.
The Bubonic Plague. The Black Death. Man's oldest and deadliest enemy...
Dumas was quite proud when one of the scientists quoted in that story called to complain that it was most irresponsible piece of journalism he'd ever read. The poor man had no idea.
Nor did we, when in June 1979, the Duke-worshiping Dumas came to us with a hot, hot news tip about his recently departed hero:
John Wayne's death-bed conversion to Roman Catholicism has caused a stir among Catholics nationwide. To have a man of Wayne's stature join the ranks of the faithful was considered a great boost to the Church's prestige in this country. So it is not all that surprising to find a Denver group lobbying for Sainthood for the Duke.
James Sullivan, of Our Lady of Lourdes parish, is leader of the movement. "We are not asking for Mr. Wayne's veneration because we want him canonized," said Sullivan, "although we would eventually like to see this happen if he meets the requirements for Sainthood. We just think the Church should bestow some special honor on a Catholic of such importance and stature."...
It is possible the Church needed John Wayne as much as John Wayne needed the Church. At the last minute, maybe the Duke accepted a commission in the greatest army of all.
Puke or laugh.
A few days later, Gene Amole, then just at the start of his long career as the Rocky Mountain News's lead columnist, wrote a piece based on Dumas's scoop. And a few days later, Time magazine called. They wanted to follow the story, too. Could we put them in touch with the priest?
Since Westword was still in its infancy, we thought getting noticed by Time was the bigtime. We called Dumas, told him the great news and asked for the priest's number.
"I'm afraid I can't give it to you," he said.
At the time, Dumas was very tweedy, very Bob Woodwardly, and we understood his reluctance to give up a source. But this was for Time, we stressed; sharing the information would be a professional courtesy.
"No," he replied in that basso profundo voice, taking off his glasses and giving us the most sincere look possible with his big baby blues ("the color of spit," he'd say, being a fan of Travis McGee). "No, I can't give it to you because I made it up."
Our shrieks pierced glass. His giggle reached the same level.
Like John Wayne, Alan Dumas was no saint.
But he had a heart so big you could forgive him anything.
Denver is a better city because he shared it with us. He brought us nothing but joy, laughter and stories.
Never-ending stories.
Services for Alan Dumas are scheduled for 1 p.m. Thursday, April 22, at Holy Ghost Church, 1900 California Street. For more information, log on to http://home.earthlink.net/~gillers/dumas.html
