Recently, a bear was shot to death in my hometown of Amherst. With all those housing developments and strip malls, who’d have thought it?

There seem to be two things friends and relatives seek my opinions on these days: Alaskan politics and Alaskan wildlife. They seem to think I’m something of an expert on all things Alaskan even though I spent only a year there.

In light of current events, I will now share my vast cheechako experience with bear. Upon arriving in Alaska, we took a course in “bear safety.” We took notes, but at the end of each segment on the different kinds of bears, the instructor would say something like, “But if the black bears have had lengthy exposure to humans” or “If the grizzly comes from the other side of the mountains and is not a salmon eater—then everything I just told you is wrong.”

We’d been in Anchorage nearly a year before I saw my first bear. I’d just received my non-renewal notice from the university where I’d run into a buzz-saw of economic austerity and political corruption. Dr. Andy Page, a native Georgian and assistant professor nominally assigned to our department, thought a road trip to the graduation ceremonies at the Spring Creek Youthful Offender Facilities in Seward might cheer me up.

Page was born with a number of physical challenges. It was believed he would never be able to walk. After numerous operations and countless hours of physical therapy, not even a limp is detectable. Oh yeah, while all this rehab was going on, he also earned a doctorate in education. In his spare time he became a minister and a computer expert.

He moved from Georgia to Alaska because a dean (the same one who had Shanghaied me) promised him a tenure-track position. She reneged upon his arrival. Page couldn’t afford to move back, so he decided to stick it out with a series of year-to-year contracts.

Unless he told you his story, you’d never know what he’d been through. Still, he remains the most optimistic person I’ve ever met.

On the long ride to Seward we discussed our tough times and favorite books. A short while after turning onto the single-lane road up to the reformatory, a malnourished black bear crawled out of the woods and up the embankment. It sat dead center in the road blocking our egress. There were deep ditches on either side, so driving around was not an option.

We had 15 minutes to complete our journey. Page honked the horn. The bear just looked at us. As I had been taught, we rolled down our windows, waved our arms and made a lot of noise. The bear looked at us as if we were lunatics. We sat there in silence, periodically looking at our watches.

Finally I said, “Go out there Andy, and ask that bear to move.”

“No,” he replied, “you go. I have to give a speech.”

“No, I still outrank you. If you don’t, you’ll be insubordinate.”

“No, you get paid more. Besides, you’re a leader. Show some leadership.”

“Not so fast, Stonewall Jackson. Good leaders delegate responsibility.”

“Listen Phil Sheridan, why don’t you . . .”

Just then the bear got up and shuffled down the other side of embankment into the woods.

Relieved, Page restarted the car and we arrived with two minutes to spare. Page gave the kind of speech that changes people’s lives.

Last month, he got his non-renewal. Based on our experiences, we cheechakos had more to fear from Alaska’s politics than its bears. And the loss of Page will be a far greater loss to Alaska than the loss of its former governor.