The first time I met him in December 1996, he was supervising a bunch of gap-toothed, drunken yahoos, who were charged with clearing out the junk and debris from the cabin, barns and land we were buying, which is now known as Gorilla Haven.  I remember watching one young man hurling his lunch off the back deck of what is now my home, before returning to grab one end of an old pool table that was cluttering up the basement, and realizing I was definitely in a new culture.

The day before closing on the property, we stopped by to see how the clearing up process was going, since it was the only condition we’d set for purchasing the property. The old man had worked for the guy we were buying the property from, who told him some rich yuppies from the big city of Chicago were going to live here and build us a gorilla farm. You could never tell with rich Yankees – worse still, rich yuppie Yankees like us, so when we showed up, unannounced, you could see his worry that we were going to cancel the deal, since the mess was still very much in evidence.  He sauntered up to us and held out his hand, smiled and said “Howdy” as he then explained that he’d need more time to finish the huge clean up, and he was “afeared” he wouldn’t have it done on time.

I looked at him seriously, shaking my head with feigned disappointment and said “Well, then, I guess we’re just gonna hafta shoot you in the kneecaps, old man.”  He burst a gut laughing and from that point on, he was one of our dearest friends and our first employee, until his health made it impossible.  I called him my “daddy” and loved him like one.  Already past retirement age when we first met, Robert Quinton Morris was a character around town.  Since Steuart’s uncle and brother were called Robert, we used his second name, but others around town referred to him as Bob or Robert. Given all the variations on his name, I asked his wife, Barbara, what she called him.  “Fred” she said.  Or “The Old Fart.”  But he was our beloved Quinton and one of the most important people involved in the creation and initial success of Gorilla Haven. The photo is of Quinton on our lawn mower with our dog, Bwindi, taken in 1998.

One of the first things I did for Quinton was bake him some of my wonderful chocolate chip cookies.  He munched on one and I asked if he liked them, and he replied as only a true mountain man could:  “Why them’s so good, my tongue liked to have smacked my brain outta my head!”  Laughter and Quinton were synonymous. We would try to "out-insult" or tease each other constantly.  Everything at Gorilla Haven is named after my beloved gorilla friends. There are three exceptions.  Jane’s Lane is the bend in the driveway which is actually the old, original driveway, which is now by-passed by a straighter version, known as Dewar Drive. Up where Jane’s Lane and Dewar Drive intersect is a sign marked  Quinton’s Crossroads.  He would laugh and protest as I’d explain to visitors how it got its name: “Quinton’s Crossroads,” I’d say, “is just like its namesake: overgrown, dead-end and basically useless.”  Sometimes people would cringe, thinking I was being mean to poor Quinton, but it quickly became apparent that he just loved the verbal sparring – and he could give as good as he got.  When I'd tell him I'd be gone for a couple of weeks to Africa, Quinton would laugh and announce the arrival of some peace and quiet at last, complete with Hallelujahs.

Robert Quinton Morris passed away this morning around 5 a.m. at his home.  We just saw him on Christmas day and he was at home with a huge smile on his face, surrounded by his big family.  We could tell he didn’t have long, but that didn’t make the news of his passing any easier.  His great, great, great (ad infinitum) great uncle was Arthur Woody, who reintroduced white tail deer to the North Georgia Mountains and was one of the first conservationists of the area.  His home/property has a deed from King George, so you don’t get more “old timer” than that.  During the controversy, Quinton vouched for us, telling the locals "Them's good people, so give 'em a break" and we're convinced this did a lot to allay some concerns and help Gorilla Haven stay on track.

Rest in peace, dear Quinton, Bob, Robert, Fred or whatever they’re going to call you in heaven, where I’m sure things will never be the same again, just like back here on earth. We love and miss you.  Jane & Steuart Dewar