I have known Alan Cruikshank for nearly 50 years. Neither of us could figure out how that much time could pass, and lo and behold, we each got older.
The years I have known Alan were spent at The Times. Last April, I left the paper to start a new career at the River of Time Museum & Exploration Center. While it was hard to leave my newspaper job and my friends at The Times, there was comfort in coming to the museum because of Alan’s connection. I didn’t have to leave him completely because of his presence and continuing attachment to the River of Time.
There is so much to remember in the past years about Alan. I was 23 when I came to work for him. I think he was 28. He was my first “real” boss, in my first “real” job. I called him Mr. Cruikshank for about a month until he told me to cut it out. I just wanted to be respectful but looking back, I’m sure he thought it was pretty weird for a person basically his same age calling him Mr. Cruikshank.
But for all those years, we forged a great friendship which has endured. Alan has always been one of my favorite people. He could definitely drive me crazy because he was a perfectionist and he wanted his way, but when I worked at the paper, his was the last word.
I remember times like seeing Wally and Beaver Cleaver (Tony Dow and Jerry Mathers) at the Windmill Dinner Theater with Alan and my husband, or when we were at a party at his house and a Joe Cocker song came on (“He came in through the bathroom window”) and Alan nailed the impersonation. I think that may have been when he decided to become Elvis.
Alan was a special human, but the thing I loved the most about him was his human-ness. He was a boy from Oklahoma, and he and I had that in common. I went to high school in Oklahoma City, and he and I were familiar with many of the same places. He was pretty corny and had a great sense of humor.
It was hard seeing Alan’s health worsening, but his spirit never wavered. He was always positive and tried hard to keep up the good fight. I learned a lot from him – not only professionally but personally. How to be a good citizen. How to care for the things that mattered. How to let go of some things and hold on to others.
This is a sad time for the paper, for the town, but especially for all the people he touched along his way. Happy trails, my friend. It’s hard to see you go.
