By Staff
A few days ago, I saw a most amazing phenomenon. All the tree limbs were coated with a thick layer of ice and the sun was shining brighter than it has for months. In the bright sunlight the ice sparkled with all the colors of the rainbow, looking like the tree limbs were encrusted with every gem stone known to mankind. As I watched the spectacle, my thoughts wandered to gems and my fascination with them and mostly to the most unique individual that introduced me to gem stones and rock cutting.
It was forty years ago when I first met Captain Ralph G. Smith, known as Bill, from Marcellus. He was a friend of my soon to be father-in-law. During the first few coffee drinking sessions I had suspicions this guy was certified wacko. Though appearing to be just a simple, small time farmer, Bill talked endlessly about everything one could think to talk about and even more yet about stuff you'd never think to talk about. He had been a career Army Air Corps and Air Force pilot which took him all over the globe but was now living on a meager pension. He was the outdoor type and self sufficient, living off his garden and raising a few cows.
While making his own soap, he talked of gold prospecting in Alaska and roaming the wilds of India. He talked about UFO's, cattle husbandry, aerodynamics and astrology. His favorite toy was a monstrous, dilapidated old D9 bulldozer. Beside it perched an equally dilapidated but functional pre-WWII Stinson airplane. This guy was interested in everything. I couldn't quite label him nuts, though, because he really seemed to know what he was talking about no matter what the subject.
I was fascinated with his boundless knowledge but had reservations about his stories. On one of my first visits to his old farm house the opportunity arose to test him. He was talking about when he was stationed in Alaska. He said while flying he'd note the locations of old prospector cabin remnants. He theorized some prospectors surely died or unexpectedly had not returned to the cabin, leaving their gold stash unclaimed. He said he actually did find some. "Yea, right," I thought, and asked him what he did with it. "Oh, it's around here somewhere," he said and began rummaging through the endless clutter that filled his house. Soon he returned with several small, crudely molded gold ingots. "Found 'em behind a loose stone in the cabin's chimney." So much for that.
Bill had a passion for gem stones and rock cutting that rubbed off on me. His lapidary equipment was down in the dim, dank, stone walled basement. Many glorious nights were spent down there learning to cut and polish stones. One time, he was spinning another wild tale about walking down a street in India and seeing a stone lining a driveway that he recognized as jade. He knocked on the door and offered to buy the "stone". The owner gave it to him. "Yea, right," I again thought. But, true to form, Cap'n Bill rummaged around and brandished a soft ball sized hunk of gem quality jade. Stories of finding precious gems when stationed in the Far East were backed with vials of raw rubies and sapphires.
That was in the late 1960s when the technology of making synthetic gems was in its infancy. Nothing delighted Bill more than a scientific challenge. "Heck, I bet I could do that," he said. He gathered up all the base elements of emeralds, rubies and sapphires from only God knows where and fired up his arc welder. After several weeks of making hundreds of worthless, opaque globs he finally started to get a few that really were of transparent gem quality. He had conquered the art of making precious gems with, of all things, an arc welder.
Cap'n Bill is long since gone. Not many folks knew him well, most were put off by his eccentricity. Who else would be talking chemistry and physics while tanning a deer hide in the barn? I'm glad I didn't have that hang-up for Bill Smith was the most fascinating person I've ever met. Carpe diem.