Sandpoint of view

SPROUTS

PHOTO BY WOODS WHEATCROFT

Dann hall

PHOTO BY LEE SANTA

leon atkinson Barry Rosenberg

COURTESY PHOTO

COURTESY PHOTO GUARDChanging of the

In the great circle of life for any community, there is always a succession under way as young people and new arrivals take the reins—and the old guard who once shaped the community life slip away. The last year has seen the passing of four who were local mainstays, and begs the question: who’s gonna fill their shoes?

Jeffrey Rich—everyone called him Sprouts—was a staple around Sandpoint. His friend Pete Hicks said of Sprouts, “There was seldom a work party or gathering around Sandpoint where Sprouts wasn’t present, armed with tools for the job and dried plums in his pocket. His truck loaded with pruning saws, ladders, chainsaws, and buckets of whatever fruit he had been gleaning, he approached each day with a simple mission; to be love in action and bring kindness into the lives of everyone he encountered. He had an uncanny ability to sense where he was needed, and before he was even asked, he was ready to lend a hand. His presence, just like the fruit he collected and spread all over Sandpoint, was sweetness.”

Dann Hall was probably best known as the keeper and curator of his father’s photography catalog—Ross Hall’s photos have defined the Sandpoint zeitgeist for decades. But Dann was an accomplished photographer in his own right, contributing to the collection of images that tell us all “This is what Sandpoint is like.”

Susan Drumheller worked with Dann to preserve that Sandpoint image as he protected the Hall family’s waterfront property in perpetuity with the creation of the Pend d’Oreille Bay Trail that runs along the lake’s edge, ensuring public access to our lake for years to come.

“Dann was central to protecting ‘Bum Jungle,’ now called the Pend d’Oreille Bay Trail. When condominiums replaced an old historic neighborhood, Dann insisted the city maintain a public easement through the property to allow access to the trail, most of which was owned by Dann and his brother, who for years allowed public use of the trail with permission.” And when the time came to preserve the trail for the public, she added, “Dann was a willing seller and donated prints for fundraising events. Dann often spoke of his deep love for Sandpoint, and he walked the talk.”

Leon Atkinson brought a different gift to the community—his incredible, classical guitar talent. The host of Spokane Public Radio’s “Guitar Hour” for almost 30 years, Atkinson inspired a love of classical music—and guitar playing—throughout his Sandpoint hometown. Friend Anthony Powell said, “As a musician he helped inspire much of the artistic community we are now so fortunate to have,” adding, “He started up many of the guitar programs at the university level and brought in the instructors who still teach. He also taught private lessons and was an inspiration to his students.”

Finally, Barry Rosenberg was an unrelenting environmental watchdog. After arriving here in 1975 with wife Cathe, he served on the Selkirk-Priest Basin Association, Lands Council, and Kootenai Environmental Alliance as an energetic force for sustainable forest management. “The Rosenbergs always had a strong environmental streak,” friend Barry Espenson said, “but that passion was inflamed when the Forest Service permitted a clearcut on the neighboring land their stream flowed through, causing sediment to flush into the stream from rainstorms and snowmelt.” The family’s forest cabin had a gravity-fed system that provided their water from the stream, but they had received no notification that the timber sale was to take place. The experience showed Rosenberg that after-the-fact protests were essentially moot — and fueled his ensuing decades of effort to improve, as he saw it, forest management on our publicly owned lands. It was a flame he carried tirelessly for some 50 years.

Pillars of our community, just like these four, pass on each year. They leave holes large and small in the fabric of our towns ... and a challenge, even if unspoken, for those of us who remain to pick up the torches they have laid down.