I know the title is a bit much. There was no physical or verbal abuse, just abuse to my spirit and self esteem.

The background begins in 1976, when I was an undergraduate student in the park management curriculum at South Dakota State University (SDSU). I received an internship from the South Dakota Division of Parks to develop and run interpretive programs for a new nature center opening near Sioux Falls. I had the opportunity to work with volunteers from the Biology Department at Augustana College who would help with school groups coming to the park. One of these interns was Dave Ode, a junior biology major, who was several years older than me as he had done a stint in the service. Though I was ostensibly his boss it soon became evident that Dave knew more than I did about the natural history of the area so I had a wonderful resource, and soon a good friend.

In 1979 we both entered MS programs at SDSU, Dave in botany and I in agronomy. Though we didn’t regularly hang out, we renewed our friendship and at graduation both received interviews for the same job. The Nature Conservancy (TNC) and the South Dakota Department of Game Fish and Parks (SDGFP) were cooperating on a position to develop what I believe was called the Natural Heritage Program, an attempt to research and document the natural attributes of every state. I assume that TNC funded the position and SDGFP provided an office and logistical support. When Dave and I realized that we were applying for the same position we decided to drive out to Pierre together for the interview.

We arrived at a house rented by a friend of Dave’s, a cavernous old house his friend was caring for in return for cheap rent. It was too expensive to heat more than a few rooms, however, so Dave and I changed into our interview suits in a huge, unheated dining room. I have a great memory of two pale skinny Norwegian farm boys in their underwear trying to jump into some dress clothes before frozen body parts began to fall off.

At the SDGFP offices I went in first for my interview, facing Doug Hofer, the director of the Parks Division and two very serious TNC employees. We shook hands, made about fifteen seconds of small talk, and the assault began.

Recently I had gone through a very tough oral defense of my master’s thesis with an adversarial professor. That was a walk in the park compared to this interview. Questions were technical and succinct, scripted and delivered in a clipped voice. Doug Hofer threw me a couple softballs, but then I received a series of botanical and ecological questions entirely outside my experience. As soon as it became clear I didn’t know the answer to one question my fumbling attempts would be cut off with the next question. The easiest question I remember went something like this: “Name as many plants as you can from the riverine environments of the northern Black Hills, scientific names only please.” At least I could rattle off a few species as an answer. The other questions all ended with some variation of, “I’m sorry, but I’m not really familiar with that concept,” which was a polite way of saying : ” I don’t know what the hell you are talking about.”

However, the magic of being a young man is resilience; nothing sets you back for very long. At the end of the interview, which they had mercifully cut short, I put in a plug for my friend, Dave Ode. I told them that I had no illusions about my suitability for the position, but that the next interviewee was someone special, who I had worked with and could unreservedly recommend. I’m not sure if I thought if they would care about my opinion, but I didn’t really give a flying you-know-what whether they cared or not. I felt compelled to speak up for Dave. I mouthed a “good luck” to Dave as we traded places and sat down to push my eviscerated innards back into my body cavity while I waited.

After an hour or so (my interview only lasted 20 minutes) Dave came out smiling and relaxed, shaking hands with everyone. As soon as we were out of earshot I asked, “Tough interview, huh? What sort of questions did they ask you?” He looked at me somewhat perplexed and said, “Not much really; We mostly visited about the goals of the program and discussed ideas to reach those goals.” My response was something like “???????!!!!!!!!!???????”

After I lost my wounded outrage, and after a bit of reflection, it was obvious they knew they would hire Dave before we came for the interviews. He was the only qualified candidate, something that may have contributed to their sour moods when they interviewed me. The pool of conservation professionals was very shallow at that time and TNC did not carry the cachet it does today. They would give me one chance to prove my resume wrong, and when it was evident that my resume properly characterized me as a poor candidate for the position I was kicked to the side of the road. Dave not only had the proper degree, he had serious botanical chops, laying a stack of publications, both technical and popular, that he had contributed to on the table as he entered the interview room. I am certain he had glowing recommendations from researchers they knew or knew of. Hell, he was and is just a helluva guy.

Dave did a wonderful job managing the Natural Heritage Program and then slid into the position of the state botanist, a job he held until he recently retired. Now he hunts a lot, works on some projects, and I hope will continue to give me advice on my restoration project. It is a luxury and a pleasure to have such a knowledgeable friend to lean on. Sometimes qualifications, intelligence and class win through. The consolation prize is that I got to enjoy being an agronomist for 40 years. There are many paths; we just have to keep our heads up to watch for them, and gratefully accept what life has offered.