There Was Once a Wolf Who Loved Too Much. And What Happened to Him Was a Crime.

One day in Alaska, a black wolf appeared in front of wildlife photographer Nick Jans. This is the story of Romeo.

Along Came a Wolf

Nick Jans

It was a twilit night in Juneau, Alaska, in December 2003, and Nick and Sherrie Jans were walking with Dakotah, their yellow Lab, in the Mendenhall Glacier Recreation Area not far from their house. Suddenly, a young black wolf appeared on the ice—and began running in their direction. Awestruck but scared, the couple watched as Dakotah broke loose and charged the predator, which was twice the size of the dog. The animals stopped yards apart and gazed at each other "as if each were glimpsing an almost-forgotten face and trying to remember," recalls Jans in his new book, A Wolf Called Romeo. After a few moments, Dakotah ran back to her owners, and the three hurried home, listening to the wolf howl.

The Wolf Who Loved Dogs

Nick Jans

Over the next week, the Janses kept looking for and spotting the wolf, whom they estimated to be around two years old. One day, a skier passed with her dog, and, as with Dakotah, the wolf loped ahead to meet the canine—then the two animals started to play. Jans writes, "As I watched open-mouthed, they switched to pawing and mouth-fighting like yearlings, interspersed with the wolf's gravity-defying leaps and spins." Here, the wolf runs with two Afghan hounds.

Unusual Affections

Nick Jans

While the Janeses observed that the wolf liked most dogs, some he adored, like Dakotah and Jessie, a neighbor's border collie (pictured). When the wolf saw Dakotah, Jans writes, "he'd bound over and commence to make a damn fool of himself—whining, pacing, and striking come-hither boy dog poses." Because of this behavior, Sherrie Jans dubbed the wolf "Romeo," and the name caught on.

Word Spreads

Nick Jans

Gradually, crowds started coming to catch a glimpse of the sociable wolf, and some visitors seemed to forget that wolves are predators. Fortunately Romeo remained calm, though he did take off when he was approached too quickly or felt too crowded. "There's something sexy about getting tight with big, wild carnivorous things, and that aura sucked in all kinds of people and rendered addlepated a few who should have known better," Jans writes. The Janses, however, made a point of drawing clear boundaries: Near their house, they threw chunks of snow at Romeo to keep him from coming too close to their home and road.

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Romeo Becomes a Regular

Nick Jans

"On a typical winter day, he'd be in position before first light to meet the pre-work and early-morning dog-walking crowd, as if he'd punched a time clock; of course, he preferred his favorites, but in a pinch, others would do," writes Jans of the wolf's daily routine. Besides Nick Jans, two other men spent time with Romeo every day.

A Growing Controversy

Nick Jans

For the next five years, Romeo returned to the area in fall and winter and took up his same schedule. The area had plenty of creatures for him to eat, little competition from other wolves, and abundant cover and open space. But while his admirers increased, detractors felt Romeo was a threat, and there was talk about relocating him. At the same time, a heated public debate was going on about how the state of Alaska should handle its wolf population and whether it should be limited.

What Happened Next

Nick Jans

Romeo re-appeared in September 2009, but sometime in the last half of that month, he disappeared. After some sleuthing, a supporter found he had been shot and killed by Juneau resident Park Myers III and his friend, Pennsylvanian Jeff Peacock. Both men were arrested and ended up paying fines, serving a few years on probation, and losing hunting and fishing privileges for a limited time. In late November 2010, a memorial service was held for Romeo and this plaque was laid along a path where he once roamed.

Goodbye, Romeo

Nick Jans

"Nothing can take away the miracle that was Romeo and the years we spent in his company," writes Jans. "Love, not hate, is the burden we carry." 

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A Wolf Called Romeo

Nick Jans

Nick Jans' beautiful account of his unusual relationship, A Wolf Called Romeo, is out now, and it contains additional photos from Jans. (You can also find more images on his website.) The cover photo is of Dakotah and Romeo.

Real-Life Ghost Story: Her Husband Had Been Dead For a Year. Then His Handprint Appeared on the Mirror.

OnSunday, May 8, 2005, my reality changed. That was when I discovered a handprint on the bathroom mirror in my home.

The day it appeared was the first anniversary of the death of my husband, Max Besler. We had been married for four years when he was found, at the age of 56, to have esophageal cancer. Six months later, he was gone, devastating me and my 14-year-old son, Tanner.

In his final two months, Max spent a lot of time during the day with our friend and housekeeper, Helen. He insisted that I continue working—I was the publisher of theSacramento Bee—so I went to the office and drove home at lunch for visits.

One day, Helen and Max were in the kitchen. The sun was shining outside—until it suddenly poured. “We both just stopped and looked,” Helen recalled. “I told him, ‘I know you don’t believe in God, but this is something God created for us today. After you’re gone, if you can find a way, let us know that there’s something out there, that it just doesn’t end.’”

Max agreed he’d try. “But it will be up to you two to see it,” he said.

The Hand Appears

A  year after Max’s death, Tanner and I were still working through our grief. On this Sunday afternoon, he and I were sitting at a table in our yard in Sacramento, California. I was comforted to have him there, and I smiled as I noted his habit of moving his lips while he read. I was catching up on reading from work. 
After a while, I got up to go inside and bring us a snack.

Our home was U-shaped, and on the right side of the U were our kitchen, a guest bedroom suite, a laundry room, and the exit to the garage. Max had spent the last month of his life in the guest room because he was more comfortable in a bed by himself, as he was in grave pain.

Before entering the kitchen, I stopped in the bathroom in the guest suite. That was when I saw the handprint. It hadn’t been there when I’d gone in an hour earlier. I froze. Had someone played a trick? That was doubtful—Tanner and I would have seen or heard anyone.

I shouted, “Tanner, come here. Hurry!”

“Mom, what’s wrong? Are you OK?” he asked, running over.

“Look,” I cried. “You didn’t do this, did you?”

As I spoke, I knew that Tanner couldn’t have made it, because he’d been next to me the entire time. Still, I asked him to hold his hand up next to it. It was much larger than his and shaped differently. It was no ordinary handprint. Seemingly made of a soft, white, powdery substance, it showed the entire bone structure, as if it were an X-ray. Like most wives, I could recall precisely what my husband’s hands looked like. The wide palm with the long, narrow fingers was reminiscent of the shape of Max’s hands.

The clock had stopped at 12:44, the exact time of Max’s death.

We stared at the print, speechless and awestruck. We knew we were witnessing something astounding.

“Mom, I don’t get it. What is that?” Tanner asked.

“I’m not sure what it is, Tanner.” Then I asked him, “Do you think there’s any relationship to Max, since it’s the first anniversary of his death?”

“Maybe, but how weird is that? And how could he make it happen if he’s gone, Mom?” Tanner asked.

I had no answer, only a sense that I needed to remain calm and inquisitive. “I guess for now we don’t know. Why don’t you go out to the driveway and shoot some baskets?”

I hugged him and said I’d join him in a few minutes. I grabbed my camera and took several photographs. I should have done more, like taken a sample of the powdery substance for analysis or asked a forensics specialist to examine the fingerprints. But I was so stunned that it didn’t occur to me.

Was Max visiting to let me know there was more? I’ve always been open in life, and I wanted to be open now. But I was scared too. Entering the unknown was intimidating.

Time Stands Still

Thiswasn’t the first unusual occurrence. Max died in our living room at 12:44 p.m. on a Saturday in May 2004, surrounded by family and friends. In the backyard beneath the overhang of the roof just outside the door were two heavy wind chimes that he and I had hung. Both were sizable—one produced a deep musical sound, while the other one reminded me of the gong of a buoy at sea. I thought it was fitting that they both rang the instant that Max died, filling the house with rich, melodious 
tones. As a group, we stopped to 
listen. And as we turned our heads 
to watch the chimes, we noticed something peculiar: There was no wind.

Then, one week later, I took Casey, our yellow Lab, for a walk. It was Saturday around 7 a.m., and Tanner was asleep. I returned an hour later, and as I was unhooking Casey’s leash, I glanced up at the large, round clock over the fireplace in the living room. The clock had stopped at 12:44, the exact time of Max’s death. At first, I didn’t process it. I thought, Time to get Tanner up for breakfast. Then it sank in. How could the clock show the time of Max’s death instead of eight o’clock, the proper time?

I walked to Tanner’s room. “Wake up. Wake up. You’re not going to believe what I just saw,” I told him. He stumbled sleepily down the hallway with me to the living room. I was half hoping that when we got there, the clock would be correct.

“Look, Tanner,” I said, pointing at the clock. His eyes became big, and he muttered two words: “No way.” Tanner knew what that particular time meant as well as I did.

The night before, the clock had been normal, and no one had been in the house. Besides, it was too heavy and awkward to lift it and change the time; neither Tanner nor I could manage it.

“Mom, maybe it needs a new battery. We can’t change it, but we can get some help to pull it down,” Tanner offered. “And it’s probably just a 
coincidence that it stopped at 12:44.”

“Yes, that’s probably it,” I said, uncertain but unwilling to consider the idea that it might be more. I wanted a neat answer. The shock of Max’s diagnosis, his battle with cancer, and his sudden death had taken a toll on me.

The clock stayed at 12:44 until Wednesday, when Helen, our housekeeper, arrived. After I came home that evening, I found a note from her. She said when she was there, the lights had flickered and the clock had restarted. “I think Max may have paid us a visit,” Helen wrote.

Yet Another Message

Thehandprint unmoored me in ways that the clock hadn’t. Not only was I sure I hadn’t imagined it—Tanner had also seen it—but it was too shocking to ignore.

Shortly after we saw the print, something else strange happened. Max, Tanner, and I had been planning a trip to Italy before Max’s diagnosis. He had been excited because he was knowledgeable about Italy’s artists, poets, and musicians. I told Tanner we’d go in Max’s honor. I thought of it as a way to spend time with my son and consider what was happening.

We toured Rome and Florence, and I tried to relax. But there were painful moments when I craved Max’s presence. Yet as we toured the cities, I began to unwind. Curiosity was 
replacing fear.

Tanner and I went next to the Italian Riviera. One day before sunset, we were strolling in Portofino and the afternoon sun was casting a magical glow. I handed my camera to a passerby, who snapped the two of us.

After we got home, I had the film developed—this was pre-digital cameras. I went through the photographs until I came to the one with Tanner and me at the harbor.

Behind us in the photo was the stern of a boat anchored 30 yards away. Its name was lined up between my shoulder and Tanner’s, where Max would have stood if he were there. I squinted to read the name on the boat and saw three letters: MAX.

The odds of this occurring seemed astronomically low.

A Final Acceptance

Fromthat point on, I decided to learn as much as I could about these incidents by talking with experts and reading. My journey would span eight years and take me across the United States to speak to different scientists, professors, and spiritual practitioners.

One of them was Dean Radin, PhD, chief scientist at the Institute of 
Noetic Sciences, which is devoted to the study of consciousness and phenomena that don’t fit the prevailing scientific models. In 2010, I sat in his office and showed him my photos of the handprints—a powdery print appeared again on that very same bathroom mirror on the anniversary of Max’s death in 2006 and in 2007.

Now it was time for me to ask my question: Had he seen anything like this before? He told me he couldn’t think of anything exactly like my experiences, but he and his colleagues regularly came across similar things in their research—thousands of similar occurrences, in fact. The clock stopping at 12:44? He said he could have written an entire book about clocks stopping for inexplicable reasons 
associated with emotional events.

How Presidents Met Their First Ladies: 10 True Love Stories to Make You Say ‘Awww’

How Presidents Met Their First Ladies: 10 True Love Stories to Make You Say ‘Awww’

We often think of presidents and First Ladies as stodgy old men and women. But they too were once young, and the stories of how these power couples first got together show a human side to the presidency.

                     

  When Georgie Met Martha

In 1758 Martha Dandridge Curtis was 27 and recently widowed, and a very wealthy woman. That year George Washington, also 27 and already a colonel in the Virginia militia (and not at all wealthy) met Martha via the Virginia high-society social scene and proceeded to court her. Courtship was quick, and they were married in January 1759, in what at the time was viewed as a marriage of convenience. They were, however, happily married for 41 years. (Note: The marriage took place at the plantation that Martha owned, in what was called the “White House.”)

When Johnny Met LouisaLouisa Catherine Johnson, who was born in London, met John Quincy Adams at her home in Nantes, France, in 1779. She was 4; he was 12. Adams was traveling with his father, John Adams, who was on a diplomatic mission in Europe. The two met again in 1795 in London, when John was a minister to the Netherlands. He courted her, all the while telling her she’d have to improve herself if she was going to live up to his family’s standards (his father was vice president at the time). She married him anyway, in 1797, and his family made it no secret that they disapproved of the “foreigner” in their family. Nevertheless, they were married until John Quincy Adams’s death in 1848. Louisa remains the only foreign-born First Lady in U.S. history.

When Jimmy Met Ann

In the summer of 1819, James Buchanan, 28, became engaged to Ann Coleman, 23, the daughter of a wealthy iron magnate in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. He spent very little time with her during the first months of the engagement, being extremely busy at his law office, and rumors swirled that he was seeing other women and was only marrying her for her money. The rumors are believed to be untrue, but Ann took them to heart, and in November, after several distraught weeks, she wrote to him that the engagement was off. On December 9 she died of an overdose of laudanum, possibly in a suicide. Buchanan was devastated, and even more so when her family refused to allow him to see Ann’s body or attend her funeral. He disappeared for some time but eventually returned to his work in Lancaster. After Ann’s death, Buchanan vowed that he would never marry. He didn’t… and remains the only bachelor president in American history.

When Gracie Met CalvinOne day in 1903, Grace Anna Goodhue was watering flowers outside the Clarke School for the Deaf in Northampton, Massachusetts, where she taught. At some point, she looked up and saw a man through the open window of a boardinghouse across the street. He was shaving, his face covered with lather, and dressed in his long johns. He was also wearing a hat. Grace burst out laughing, and the man turned to look at her. That was the first meeting of Grace and Calvin Coolidge. They were married two years later.

Library of Congress

When Harry Met BessieIn 1890, when they were both small children, Harry Truman met Bess Wallace at the Baptist Church in Independence, Missouri. They were both attending Sunday school. He was six; she was five. Truman later wrote of their first meeting: “We made a number of new acquaintances, and I became interested in one in particular. She had golden curls and has, to this day, the most beautiful blue eyes. We went to Sunday school, public school from the fifth grade through high school, graduated in the same class, and marched down life’s road together. For me she still has the blue eyes and golden hair of yesteryear.” Bess and Harry were married in 1919.

When Lyndie Met Lady BirdLyndon Baines Johnson met Claudia “Lady Bird” Taylor in 1934, a few weeks after she’d graduated from the University of Texas. Johnson was a 26-year-old aide to Texas congressman Richard Kleberg, and was in Austin, Texas, on business. They went on a single breakfast date, at the end of which Johnson proposed marriage. She said she’d think about it. He returned to Washington, and sent her letters and telegrams every day until he returned to Austin 10 weeks later, when she accepted. “Sometimes,” she later wrote about her husband, “Lyndon simply takes your breath away.”

When Richie Met PattieThelma “Pat” Ryan graduated from the University of Southern California in 1937 at the age of 25. She got a job as a high school teacher in Whittier, a small town not far from Los Angeles, and became a member of the amateur theatrical group the Whittier Community Players. In 1938 Richard Nixon, a 26-year-old lawyer who had just opened a firm in nearby La Habra, joined the theater group, thinking that acquiring acting skills would help him in the courtroom. In their first performance, Nixon was cast opposite Ryan. He asked her out, and asked her to marry him on their first date. They were married three years later.

Wikimedia CommonsWhen Ronnie Met NancyRonald Reagan wrote in his autobiography that he first met Nancy Davis when she came to him for help. He was president of the Screen Actors Guild, and she couldn’t get a job acting in movies because another Nancy Davis’s name had shown up on the Hollywood blacklist of alleged communists. But according to Jon Weiner’s book Professors, Politics, and Pop, SAG records show that Nancy’s blacklist problem occurred in 1953, a year after the Reagans were married. So how did they meet? Reagan biographer Anne Edwards says that in 1949 Nancy, who had just become an MGM contract player, told a friend of Reagan’s that she wanted to meet him. The friend invited the two to a small dinner party, and the rest is history.

When Georgie Met LauraJoe and Jan O’Neill lived in Midland, Texas, and were childhood friends of Laura Welch. In 1975 another childhood friend, George W. Bush, came back to Midland after being away for a few years. The O’Neills bugged Laura to go out with George, but she didn’t want to. She later said that the O’Neills were only trying to get them together “because we were the only two people from that era in Midland who were still single.” She finally agreed to meet him at a backyard barbecue in 1977, when she was 30 and he was 31. George was smitten; Laura was, too. They were married three months later.

Wikimedia CommonsWhen Barry Met MichelleIn 1989 Michelle Robinson was working at a Chicago law firm when she was assigned to mentor a summer associate from Harvard with a “strange name”: Barack Obama. Not long after, Barack, 27, asked Michelle, 25, on a date. She later admitted that she was reluctant to date one of the few black men at the large firm because it seemed “tacky.” Robinson finally relented, and after dating for several months, she suggested they get married. He wasn’t interested. One night in 1991, during dinner at a Chicago restaurant, she brought it up again. Again, he said no. But when dessert showed up, there was an engagement ring in a box on one of the plates. They were married in 1992.

True Romance: The Luckiest Mistake:

She lived in Bangkok, he lived in Texas. A chance typo brought them together forever.

RACHEL: It was January 10, 2007, and you were working at a computer lab in Waco.

RUBEN: I got to work, and first thing I did was crank up my e-mail. I discovered one that I didn’t know who it was from, addressed to “RP Salazar.” I figured, Hey, my e-mail is almost the same, so they probably sent it to the wrong person. I dug up this Rachel Salazar name, and I wrote a little message — “Hi, Rachel, holá, it seems as if this message came to me instead of you. I’m in Waco, Texas, USA.” And the signature was “Ruben P. Salazar, Chicano Cyclist, Commuter, and Community Artist.” “PS: How’s the weather in Bangkok?” Because I saw you were in Thailand.

RACHEL: And I wrote to you: “Hi, Ruben, holá, thanks for forwarding the message. Weather in Bangkok is lovely; it’s the best time to visit. Gracias, Rachel.”

RUBEN: So began a chain of e-mails. I just imagined, Here’s this middle-aged woman who’s bored at work. But I happened to hover my pointer over your name and a picture popped up, and I was, like, Wow, she’s beautiful! How can I make this picture bigger?

RACHEL: Every conversation that we had right from the get-go was natural.

RUBEN: I opened myself up and told you who I am, the good things, the bad things. I don’t think I left anything unsaid. By February or March, we were on the computer sometimes for four or five hours.

RACHEL: I wrote a handwritten letter to you on a plane. I actually managed to write eight pages. I started describing the meal, how the flight attendants kept looking at me and wondering, Who is this girl writing to? Around page six or seven I got serious: “I know life has a way of interrupting the best-laid plans, but I am prepared for it.” In hindsight, you are that interruption. Honestly, I don’t think I was thinking about you in a romantic sense, probably until June.

RUBEN: Whereas I looked upon you romantically the first time I saw your picture.

RACHEL: I realized I kept telling you things I didn’t even tell my mom. Then you sent me flowers. You wrote, “Chica naranja, thank you for all you do, and thank you always for this newfound friendship we have happened upon. RPS.”

RUBEN: It sounds cheesy.

RACHEL: I know, but I loved it.

RUBEN: At some point, I called you.

RACHEL: I was excited: Wow! He sounds so real!

RUBEN: Then you threw out that you might come to the U.S., and my reply was, “If you’re ever in Texas, I’ll be glad to show you around.” I never thought you’d take me up on that!

RACHEL: I decided that I was going to Texas, but I didn’t tell anyone. Everyone would have said, You’re foolish to go halfway across the world to meet some strange guy!

RUBEN: On my end, every relative, every friend, every coworker — everyone knew. They’re, like, “No way she’s coming! She doesn’t even know you!”

RACHEL: We were e-mailing for eight months, and finally for eight days we were together. I had the greatest time of my life.

RUBEN: I remember we were dancing one night, and you mentioned something to the effect that no one —

RACHEL: — I said you were the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. No one’s ever been that tender to me.

RUBEN: I knew right at that moment: I need to do something so I don’t lose you. I got on my knee and asked you to marry me.

RACHEL: And I said yes. We got married in Waco on November 24, 2007.

RUBEN: But when you first told your family that I had proposed, they weren’t so excited. And when I told people, they’d say — You what?! Followed by five minutes of laughter.

RACHEL: Yes, but now they all tell us: You’re perfect for each other. You found the right match!

RECORDED IN WACO, TEXAS, ON NOVEMBER 27, 2010.

The Salazars celebrated their fourth anniversary last fall. At press time, they were planning to visit the Philippines, where Rachel’s family lives.

ALL THERE IS: LOVE STORIES FROM STORYCORPS, BY DAVE ISAY, COPYRIGHT © 2012 BY storycorps, IS PUBLISHED BY THE PENGUIN PRESS, A MEMBER OF PENGUIN GROUP (USA) INC., 375 HUDSON STREET, NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014.