John L. "Bugs" Teets with a classy lass at the 1977 Cherry River Navy maneuvers.

By way of preserving some of Richwood's history, I want to introduce Richwooders who are younger than 40 years old to a man I wish you could have known. This will be a pleasant re-introduction to those who knew him.

John Lawrence Teets, better known as Bugs, died 25 years ago on Dec. 10, 1983. Even if you didn't know him, you probably know something of the legacy he left to the town.

When you see the Cherry River Navy, you are looking at a gift from Bugs Teets to Richwood. When you enjoy a mess of spring's best ramps at the Feast of the Ramson, remember Bugs as the guy who made the day famous.

Bugs was a selfless promotions man with a flair for humor

that won friends and influenced people in the name of civic accomplishment. He had a twinkle in his eye and a devilish smile in his voice when he talked about his ideas.

Bugs was editor of the Nicholas Republican two times, once in the 1930s and again in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Using the newspaper as a platform, he and some friends incorporated the Cherry River Navy in 1937 as a fun way to promote the construction of the "missing link" in State Route 39 between Richwood and Marlinton. Anyone who knew this gentleman can recognize Bugs' tongue-in-cheek signature humor in the concept of a landlocked navy.

He left the paper at the start of World War II for a job at Morgantown and then for service with the Red Cross during the war. He came back to Richwood in 1950 to take over the Nicholas Republican from Don Crislip and, most likely, I think, to rekindle his love for the Navy and the town. He revived the Navy, with its sweetheart, visiting beauty queens, Admiral Ladies, the Mopswab, a division of admirals from Parkersburg and the Admiral's Ball. After Bugs died, Bob Smith stepped in to keep the Navy alive.

I worked for Bugs off and on during high school while holding down another job as projectionist at the Richwood Drive-in. I helped put out the paper and did small printing jobs on weekends. My main job was to take pictures, but Bugs tried to spark my interest in writing as well. In an attempt to motivate me, he wrote a conservative opinion piece one time and asked me to read it to see if I agreed with it. As a courtesy, I told him it was good. The next thing I knew, it was in the paper with my byline.

Bugs was a very fast, two-finger typist. He could turn out copy with his two forefingers as fast I could type the conventional way. He told me he learned two-finger typing as a way to keep his hands warm while working in cold weather as a field representative for the Red Cross.

Bugs paved the way for me to get into graduate school with an assistantship at the University of Iowa. He wrote some pretty flowery things in his letter of recommendation to the Journalism School's director. In my first interview with the director, he produced the letter and complimented Bugs for the writing.

After I left Richwood, Bugs and I exchanged letters, and I visited him on every trip back home. By then he had retired and was living in a small apartment on Walnut Street alley. His kind wife, the former Dorothy Jane Higgins, better known as Bunny, had died several years earlier. They had no children.

Bugs ran the Cherry River Navy from his apartment. In a wooden file cabinet, library cards listed the names of all the Admirals, the dates of their commissions and other data. Pictures of the Navy's maneuvers and other memorabilia lined the walls and shelves. I took most of the pictures, thanks to the commission from Bugs as the Navy's official photographer.

Bugs was practically deaf in his latter years. As you tried to carry on a normal chat with him, you could see his twinkling eyes straining to read your lips. He was in failing health the last time I saw him while I was home on vacation from my job in Houston. Maybe the cigars he loved to smoke half way and then chew had gotten the best of him.

As we talked, neither of us acknowledged that this might indeed be our last visit. We talked mainly about the Navy and his plans for its future. We told a few jokes, and talked about his health and his intention to enter the VA hospital at Beckley where he ultimately died. The conversation got a little awkward as we wrapped up the visit. As I stood to leave, he reached into a box and picked up a half dozen LP music albums. Handing them to me, he said, "Here. I want you to have these. This is all I have to leave you." His meaning was clear, but I couldn't deal with such finality. "No, you keep them and enjoy them," I said. "I'll pick them up next time I visit."

I was unable to attend his funeral, but I am glad for one thing. I wrote to Bugs in July 1983 to thank him for all the things he had done for me. I'd feel terrible today if I had not done that.

Jim Comstock wrote an extraordinarily good tribute to Bugs in the News Leader. Jim was the best writer ever to call Richwood home. In the column, Jim left us with an appreciation of his relationship with Bugs, with a message that even competitors can be friends, and with some history about the Nicholas Republican. Richwood was a great place to grow up in the 1950s.

Before time erases all memories connecting us to the past, I hope someone will write a definitive history about Richwood. It will surely have a section devoted to Bugs, Bunny, Jim and dozens of other men and women who were our silent role models, the heart and soul of our community and our friends.